The train stopped only to take on water and coal, and with only two passenger cars connected to Kensington’s private ones, Will realized they might rumble right on through the next Montana town as they had the last.
Luncheon was served right at noon, but Cora did not join them. Mr. Kensington asked the waiter to take a tray to her. Will doubted she’d eat any of it. His own stomach was in knots. How must she be feeling right now? Afternoon cocktails were poured precisely at one—tawny scotch in crystal glasses that Will sipped reluctantly as they idled at the Missoula station, ready to cover the last few hours’ journey to Somers. From there, they’d travel by touring cars to the Kensingtons’ new lake home.
Cora emerged at last, just as they pulled out of Missoula, the train slowly gaining speed. She stumbled as the car hit a bad stretch of track, and Will reached out to steady her. “All right, there?”
“Fine, fine,” she said, straightening her crumpled jacket back into place. It was another fine ensemble, in a light teal that complemented her sparkling eyes. She obviously wished to look her finest before meeting the rest of the clan. But she turned down her father’s offer of wine “or something stronger.”
Will liked that she had the fortitude to say no. Both to her father and to drink, especially given what she was about to encounter. Though a part of him wished she might take even a little to settle her nerves. His mind went back to the night before, to how lost in thought she had been when she walked, then ran. What sort of lady ran? He hid a smile at the memory. It only brought home the fact again that Cora Kensington was not the typical young lady they were accustomed to escorting. It wouldn’t be long until the rest of the family discovered it too.
Will slammed back the rest of his scotch in one gulp, hiding his distaste from Mr. Kensington in order to not offend. He wasn’t given to drink, but there were occasions in which it helped to take the edge off. And if he were to fit into the social situations that were sure to come, he had to be able to drink his share of champagne and wine and keep his wits about him, even if their clients did not. Most especially if their clients did not. Two summers before, his uncle had drunk him under the table to bring that lesson home. Will had been so inebriated he couldn’t stand the next day. But it gave him the understanding Uncle wanted him to have—how much he could imbibe, and how much he could not.
They were greeted in Somers, a tiny logging town on a lake, by two men in touring cars, who loaded their trunks and set off in short order—Mr. Kensington and Cora in the first car, the bear and Will in the second, eating their dust. They closed the windows tight, which made the car stifling hot. Sweat rolled down their temples and cheeks. Will didn’t know why they didn’t give it up and just let the windows down. Dust still circulated inside the cab of the motor carriage, despite their best efforts. But, according to Uncle, sweat was preferable to soil, every time.
They jostled over a bump in the road that sent them sailing upward, hitting their heads on the canvas roof. It was the umpteenth such bump they’d encountered.
“Sorry about that,” said the driver. “Not much longer.”
Both Will’s neck and tailbone were grumbling their complaints. Regardless of the fine cars, the locals had not yet built roads to properly accommodate them. As if to underscore that fact, they passed one farmer after another atop wagons, with horses or oxen plodding along, pulling them.
Will stared out his window. The vast Flathead Lake glittered to their right, with mountains on either side of her, like two lines of guards. “Biggest freshwater lake west of the Mississippi,” said Uncle, dabbing a handkerchief across his face.
They turned at last and headed south into another valley that ran parallel to the one they’d just exited, divided by a smaller mountain range, undulating in ample, matronly curves covered in green. They entered the trees then, tracing the edge of a river on a newly hewn gravel road. In half an hour they pulled to a stop, and Will wiped his face of sweat and dust before the driver came around to open his door. They climbed out, and Will ran his hand through his hair, then reluctantly placed his hat atop his head.
Mr. Kensington was helping Cora out. Will caught a glimpse of her slender ankle and calf as her dress slid back.
“Keep your eyes to the ground, Nephew,” Uncle said, giving him a nudge to the center of his back.
Will looked after him, but his uncle was already on the move. Uncle Stuart ambled toward their employer with a hitched gait that told Will the old bear’s rheumatism was acting up—sitting for a long time was always difficult for him. Will hurried to join them.
It was early evening, but they could hear shouts and laughter, water splashing. In the still heat of the evening, covered in the grime of the road, it sounded beyond inviting. Will wanted to hurry onward, but Cora was slowing. Mr. Kensington stopped and turned, whispering something to her. Will and Uncle Stuart tarried, keeping a discreet distance. The servants, with a cartful of luggage, did the same behind them.
Mr. Kensington stared at her kindly and tucked his head, waiting, concerned.
She glanced his way, softly said something to her father. Will could see the confusion in her eyes—the desire to trust him, the obvious doubt just beneath it.
Mr. Kensington waited a moment and then lifted his chin, obviously ready to brook no further argument. He turned and offered his arm.
And, after a moment’s hesitation, she took it.
They moved forward, over the bridge. They could all see them then, in the distance—a group of six young people Cora’s and Will’s age, splashing and running, the water droplets glittering in the golden late sun. There was a delicious chill off the lake, as well as the loamy, earthy scent of the shore.
One caught sight of them and hollered, waving. Mr. Kensington smiled and lifted an arm in return.
Will watched as the group gave up on their play, heading toward servants who waited with towels on the shore, like nursemaids ready to wrap up damp toddlers. Will stifled the urge to shake his head. Such were the follies of the rich.
Mr. Kensington, Cora, Will, and Uncle Stuart took a newly laid stone path, which was already filling in with deep green grass and moss between the crevices. The sweet smell of just-milled lumber permeated the air. The buildings—five of them within sight now—were clearly influenced by their cousins in the Adirondacks. Fine, strong bones, lush curves in the roofs, intricate, stacked stone, copper flashing and gutters—clearly, no expense had been spared. How many craftsmen had Kensington imported to complete it?
A man tackled Will from behind. Will didn’t even have time to react. As the damp of his attacker’s swim clothes soaked his and they rolled in the grass, he knew who it had to be. Will laughed and turned, seeking a good wrestling hold, missing his opportunity. His opponent wrapped an arm around Will’s shoulder and neck in a secure hold from behind.
“Felix,” Will said with another laugh as if he were giving up, staring up into the sky. He could hear his friend panting behind him. “It’s good to see you, too.”
But when Felix eased his hold, Will turned and managed to gain the advantage, pinning him to the ground. “Is this to be our entire tour?” Will asked, tightening his grip.
“Only if you and your uncle bore me to drink,” Felix said, panting and laughing beneath the weight of him. Grinning, Will rose and offered a hand up.
Felix grasped it, embraced Will briefly with a clap on the back, and then took a step back. “What’s it been? Two years? Three?”
“Two,” Will said, as if it didn’t really bother him that Felix couldn’t remember when he’d left university. When Felix could carry on and Will couldn’t, even after he’d sold everything he had and still came up short of tuition.
So here they were. Once fraternity brothers. Now client and employee.
Felix’s grin put Will at ease, just as it had all those years ago. His blue eyes—so much like Cora’s and their father’s—shifted from Will to Mr. Kensington to the young woman beside him. “Heard you brought another hen to t
he nest,” he said. “This ought to be interesting.”
Will turned, and his uncle joined him. They watched as Felix approached his father, respectfully shook his hand. Then he turned toward Cora. Will held his breath as they were introduced. She looked pale, full of trepidation. Then Felix was saying something, and Mr. Kensington threw back his head and laughed, patting him on the shoulder. Felix gestured down to his dripping swimming clothes and then back at Cora. Cora smiled then, and Will couldn’t help grinning with her.
Trust Felix to make it easy. Will didn’t know why he’d worried that Felix would treat Cora in a disrespectful manner. Felix genuinely loved people, even if he didn’t think of them unless they were under his nose. His sisters, on the other hand, and the Morgans…
One at a time, Will, he told himself. One down, two to go.
CHAPTER 11
Cora
My half sisters, Vivian and Lillian, did not reappear until supper, nor did any of the Morgans. When they saw us coming across the bridge, they’d scurried indoors, apparently wishing to make themselves presentable before our introductions—which clearly hadn’t bothered Felix. I supposed I ought to be grateful for the respite, the opportunity to freshen myself, but the anticipation was excruciating. I began a letter to my mother but, when I could come up with nothing but angry, bitter words, abandoned it. Then I tried to pray, asking for the right things to say when I met my sisters, but received only silence. Dimly, I understood that God was not likely to answer the pleas of a petulant, frustrated woman, but I wasn’t ready to let it go. Oh, Mama, how could you… How could you?
Giving up on any sense of peaceful solitude, I moved outdoors and down the path that led to the lake. Mr. Kensington spotted me before I could duck away, and he waved me over to meet his business partner, Mr. Morgan, a sprite of a man, all of five foot two and a hundred pounds.
“How do you do?” I repeated after him, giving his small hand a single shake and nodding slightly as my maid, Anna, had trained me to do.
“Please, my dear, join us for some lemonade,” Mr. Morgan said, gesturing toward a rocking chair next to my father on the small stone patio. The pleasantries soon over, the men moved back into conversation about the Montana Copper Mine, debating the skill of one manager over another. I tried to sit still, delicately sipping lemonade and staring at the lake, but my nervousness made me feel as if the lemons had become whole, the sour rind choking me. So I ended up merely holding the sweating crystal goblet and tried not to fidget.
Will and his uncle ambled by, strolling beside the lake, but they didn’t come near. Perhaps they wanted to steer far away from the explosion that was bound to occur. I watched as Will bent and took hold of a flat rock, then skipped it across the still surface of the lake. Mr. Kensington and Mr. Morgan went on endlessly speaking of what was happening at the mine, the smelter, mostly ignoring me. For that I was relieved. I didn’t have it in me to make conversation. Not when I was about to meet more of my family.
Family. I thought of my parents, in Minneapolis. Wondered how Papa was faring. I wished I was with them, with my grandparents, anyplace but here, regardless of how lovely it might be. The lush, verdant lawn and sparkling lake were a stark contrast to our hardscrabble farm, so riddled with brown, so lacking in life. Here, everything was green, from the grass beside the lake, to the small bend in the shoreline where lily pads grew, to the giant pines reflected in the water.
To our right, the river flowed, just past the footbridge we’d crossed. To our left was the widening lake, which, according to Anna, stretched for miles to the south, around a slow bend.
I fought the urge to rise and walk, to trace the water’s edge and round the corner to see the rest of it, rather than sit here awaiting my fate like a fat hen facing a starving farmer’s wife. Happily, these families had more than they’d ever need to eat—perhaps they’d forget about me. I smiled to myself and took my first full breath in what seemed hours.
“And who is this stunning creature?” said a tall, thin young man about Felix’s age. I looked up, but with the sun behind him, he was little more than a silhouette.
A girl giggled at his side and hit him playfully on the arm. “You know very well who it is, brother.”
Mr. Kensington and Mr. Morgan rose. My father reached to help me up, but I ignored him, wanting to touch him as little as possible. I straightened my linen coat, knowing I’d become frightfully rumpled again, sitting there.
“Mr. Hugh Morgan and Miss Nell Morgan,” Mr. Kensington said, “allow me to introduce my daughter Miss Cora Kensington.”
I nodded. “How do you do?”
“We are well,” Hugh said, looking me over with more intensity than seemed proper. “And you?”
“I’m well, thank you,” I said, lying through my teeth. I’d been better the day I took to my bed with measles.
He was tall and slender, with foppish, wavy brown hair that swept rakishly close to one of his dark-brown eyes. Like Will’s did, but more contrived. Unnatural.
His younger sister, Nell, was as round as he was slender, reaching my shoulder and sporting ringlets of brown curls around her red-apple cheeks. Dark lashes lined her sparkling eyes, and she grinned in delight at me. “Miss Kensington, I do believe you are the most interesting thing to happen to our traveling party yet.”
“Nell,” Mr. Morgan chastened with a low growl.
“Yes. I would imagine,” I said.
Hugh continued to look me over with calculating eyes. I felt like I was an insect under a magnifying glass, and he was trying to scorch me with the sun’s rays. I ignored him, looking instead to the man who had to be his brother. He was rapidly striding our way.
Hugh turned and saw him too, as the patriarchs moved off toward a table where a steward poured from crystal decanters. Mr. Kensington mumbled an explanation over his shoulder about leaving us young people to get acquainted. Even though his presence continually agitated me, the thought of him leaving me alone with these strangers made me feel terrible. Undefended.
The eldest Morgan’s approach did little to alleviate the sensation. He strode right up to me, arms folded, and looked me up and down. “So, the claim jumper has made it into the fold,” he jeered. “A tidy arrangement for you, miss.”
I frowned. Claim jumper? Surely I misheard him. “I beg your pardon,” I said, reaching out a gloved hand. “My name is—”
“Cora Kensington,” he ground out. “If you think you can shimmy into our lives and claim a part of Vivian’s inheritance, you have another thought coming.”
“First of all, my name is Cora Diehl,” I said. “And I assure you, I have no idea of what you speak.”
His eyes narrowed. “We’re not simpletons, Miss Diehl. You wormed your way into our summer plans,” he said. “Everyone knows what you’ll be after next.”
Nell nervously giggled and put a hand on his arm. “Andrew, really,” she tried. He shook it off.
“See here, Andrew,” Hugh said from his other side, “the girl just arrived. Could you not be a tad more gracious?”
“To an interloper?” Andrew asked, looking me over in derision as he straightened. “The maid’s daughter?” The way he said maid had me itching to grab something breakable and throw it at him. “She’ll cast a pall over our entire group. We may as well change our plans and remain here in seclusion for all the invitations we’ll get!”
A collective gasp sounded over my left shoulder, and with cheeks aflame, I turned to see Felix, looking chagrined, with a young woman on either arm. My sisters. Half sisters, I reminded myself. Could our meeting be more humiliating?
“Remain here in Montana?” said the older one, so perfectly poised and dressed she reminded me of a model from Harper’s Bazaar. Straight shoulders curved down into a tiny waist and out again at her hips. She moved past me and took Andrew’s arm. “What silly notion has taken you over now, Drew?”
“Forgive me, darling. Seeing her here…” His tone deepened as he looked at her, total adoration in his eyes.
So the eldest Morgan was courting the eldest Kensington. Now things were making sense. Inwardly, I sighed. The families were far more melded than I had hoped. I’d thought perhaps the Morgans would at least accept my presence with less strain, that they might be a door by which I could enter their circle. No such luck.
She turned toward me and offered me a limp hand and a steady gaze from her hazel eyes. “Cora,” she said firmly, “I am Vivian, your elder sister. Trust me, Andrew has his charms. He tends to be bit passionate. He’ll warm to you in time. As we all will.” Her words were kind, but her eyes were cold.
I swallowed hard and took her stiff hand in mine, awkwardly giving it a little shake. She was as forthright and firm as our father, doing what was expected, but I got the feeling she couldn’t stomach my presence any more than her beau did.
“And I’m Lillian,” said the other girl, far more friendly in her tone. She had blonde curls to match Nell Morgan’s brown ringlets, but she was slender, with green eyes less muddy than her older sister’s. Our older sister’s. “Friends call me Lil.”
Did that include me? I didn’t dare to be too presumptuous. “I’m most glad to make your acquaintance, Lillian.”
A shadow passed through the younger girl’s eyes. Had I made the wrong decision, not wishing to assume she was inviting me to call her by her nickname? Felix laughed and clapped his hands. “Well, now that that awkward moment is over, shall we give our new friend and sister a bit of air? She looks like she might faint dead away.”
With a mixture of mutterings—some dismissive, some empathetic—the group separated and walked across the wide lawn to the main lodge, where a servant was ringing a dainty bell, calling us in to dinner. Hugh waited till most of the others moved ahead, giving me an intimate, predatory smile that sent a shiver down my back before he turned to follow our siblings.
Only Felix remained behind. He took my hand and tucked it into the crook of his arm as we climbed the hill. “Be careful with that one,” he whispered, nodding toward Hugh’s back. “He fancies himself a ladies’ man.”
Glamorous Illusions Page 8