And if all went as it ought, soon to be a thing of the past.
Perhaps then, she’d remember the look in Drew’s eyes as he spoke of his childhood, seek out others who suffered similarly, and try and do them some good.
When that day came, the wedge between them that had wormed its way in, and now evidenced itself in the way they left the coffee shop, side by side, not arm in arm, would be worth it.
It was enough to make her try for a smile as the sunlight met her face.
Try. Not succeed.
He wasn’t focusing as he ought today. An error indeed, when the task he labored over was one that required intense concentration.
Giving himself a mental slap, Drew edged his way across the tightrope, focusing straight ahead at the finishing point. The air was cool this morning, even inside the warehouse. Chill enough to send prickles dancing across his skin. It had been like this the day he’d crossed Niagara. Only then, sweat had nonetheless soaked him, a perspiration born of fear.
Each step must be planned, every dip of the rope anticipated. Hence these practice sessions in a large and empty warehouse, an almost daily occurrence now. Sometimes Conway came along to watch, though the early hour didn’t much agree with the man.
And Drew was heartily glad his employer wasn’t a spectator today.
Finished, he climbed down and released his balance pole the moment he could. Sinking down on the straw and sawdust littering the floor, he scrubbed a hand over his eyes.
Though he’d seen sacks of potatoes with fewer lumps than his pillow, he usually didn’t have much trouble falling asleep every night. Even as a kid in the orphanage, he’d been that way. Sleep was a friend, the only time his own thoughts didn’t rise in clamor.
Last night, the only friends around had been his own thoughts.
They’d tortured him like his worst enemy.
It all came down to the plan Adele had laid out for him the day before, sitting in that cheap coffee shop, a rose amid a dusty field. It hadn’t been easy, telling him all she had. And he’d done his best to keep sympathy at the forefront of his mind, doing for her what he wanted others to do for him.
When she’d come to the part about Conway though, Drew stopped feeling sympathy and started onto something else altogether. A something else he couldn’t name and wasn’t sure he wanted to.
It all made sense, now that she’d laid it out. Why she was in America, why she and Conway had become constant companions. Even why they’d met that day, so close to Conway’s house.
Did Conway care about Adele? Was he considering her as a potential wife? The last thing that would matter to the man was that she came without a fortune. He had enough for three millionaires to live out the rest of their days in total comfort. And someone seeking social acceptance, as Conway seemed to be, would receive quite the boost with a proper English lady at his side. Most Americans would think the man had married a duchess, so regally did Adele appear when decked in all her finery.
But this wasn’t a joining of assets. Adele spoke of marriage. A long, long business. One that would continue even if both bank account and good name fled to the hills.
Did Conway have feelings for Adele?
Drew ascended and began his next lap across the tightrope. Maybe the high elevation would chase these thoughts from his brain. Goodness knew, he wanted them gone. Thinking about Conway loving Adele, and Adele loving Conway, twisted his insides in worse knots than that time at the circus when he’d found an abandoned bag of penny candy in one of the seats and proceeded to devour the entire thing without stopping. But kids could be excused for such antics. And the knots in his stomach weren’t due to overindulgence.
Adele was his friend. That much they’d pledged. Friendship and honesty and nothing more.
Would she remain his friend if she married Conway? Not a chance. She’d be living in high luxury and wouldn’t need Drew for a thing. She certainly wouldn’t have any financial woes to discuss with him. She’d also have a husband who wouldn’t approve of a friendship with a man rungs below her on the social ladder.
In fact, he’d probably never see her again.
His breath came in a gasp that had nothing to do with his exertions and everything to do with his misplaced concentration.
Adele wouldn’t be the only one with financial security. He’d have money too, enough to give Hope and him a better life, and if God heard his prayers, a decent job that had nothing to do with risking his neck at Niagara Falls.
So even though they wouldn’t remain friends, they’d both be happy. He would anyway, after his sister found a doctor who could mend her body, and he came home every day to find her pink cheeked from walking across town, instead of pale after spending the entire day inside. Holding a regular job with a regular paycheck, and enough for luxuries like a roast on Sundays and presents on Christmas morning.
Would Adele be happy as Mrs. Franklin Conway? Would a life spent as the wife of a wealthy tycoon bring her the joy she deserved, especially since she wouldn’t live in England year-round?
None of this should matter to him. Adele was a girl he’d helped in a moment of crisis, a friend he’d viewed the Falls and laughed over coffee with.
Not a woman who should be taking up so much space in his heart and mind at a time when, for him, concentration had become a matter of life and death.
When trouble came to call, it didn’t knock politely and wait to be shown to the parlor. It battered the door, broke down the hinges, and pushed its way into where it wasn’t wanted. Sometimes it left soon after, broken teacups and crushed cake crumbs in its wake.
Other times, it settled down and wouldn’t go. No matter how often polite entreaties or downright ousting were attempted.
Fingering the letter from her mother, Adele breathed a weighty sigh. Would she ever open a letter marked Derbyshire and find good news within? Or was it always to be word of this creditor or that creditor, questions about what to do when the cook quit, or ought they to fix the leaking roof, or wait till they could better afford it? At least the latest news from Bridges contained better reports. He spoke optimistically of improving finances and a peaceful English summer. Both reports were too varied for each to be accurate. Someone was misled or misleading her. Was it her fragile, prone to hysterics mother? Or capable Bridges, with his finger planted firmly on the pulse of Linley Park?
A pang of guilt reared its ugly head. It seemed so selfish, continuing to remain at the Osbournes, where the greatest problems her aunt and uncle faced were how many invitations to decline or whether or not Millie might be allowed to get a new dress. Every night they danced or dined, sometimes both, the ladies paying calls during the day or sleeping off the previous evening’s fatigue.
Something must be done, some new plan made. Soon.
She’d best get Nora to press her emerald evening gown for tonight’s dinner party, the dress Franklin Conway had told her he liked best.
Her Saturday outing with Drew had been a flit, a day to forsake responsibility in favor of selfishness. Their conversation had been blissfully unencumbered, honesty trumping artifice. To the point where she’d spilled her secret like a purse of coins, once secured, now scattered. What must he think of her? They’d spoken on the return journey, but the conversation had seemed stilted.
Saturday had passed; Monday arrived. And with it, needful realism.
Rubbing the kinks from her neck, she stood from the tiny desk in her bedchamber. She crossed the carpet, the skirt of her rust-colored afternoon dress sweeping the floor, then made her way into the hall and down the stairs. Of course, she could have simply rung for her maid, but a trip down to the servants’ quarters would stretch her legs and save Nora from a mad dash to answer the summons.
Her hand trailed the glossy wood of the banister, the scent of beeswax and polish wafting over her. In the front hall, Delany opened the door to bid some guest entrance.
Tap, tap, went her heels on the stair treads.
“I’ll see if Miss Linl
ey is available to receive you, sir.” Delany’s Texas twang rumbled off the walls.
The gray-jacketed man handed his hat to the butler. Looked up, his face in full view.
“Tony?” Adele’s breath whooshed out in a gulp.
“Del.” Her brother’s face split wide in a grin. “My dear little sister!”
After practically stumbling down the final steps, she crossed to her brother. “Whatever are you doing here?” She surveyed Tony from head to toe. His unruly black hair, the same shade as their father’s, had been combed and parted neatly today. His suit, though a bit dusty, encased his frame in a perfect fit, neat as a minister’s on Sunday morning. Eyes—green like her own—and she hadn’t seen them so clear and lucid in ages.
A lump swelled her throat. He looked so like their parent, younger perhaps, but it was easy to imagine her father in the days when all had been cloudless and carefree.
He pressed her hand in both of his, his touch warm and firm. “We have much to discuss, dear sister. But I must admit to being quite hungry at the moment. Are my aunt and uncle, our cousins, rambling about somewhere?”
“Our uncle is at the office. Aunt Osbourne and the girls are shopping.” She couldn’t stop the smile from blooming. How could it be possible that he was truly here? And hungry, too. A life of dissipation had stolen many things from her brother, including his appetite.
Was it too much to hope that he’d put that life behind him? Oh, how she wanted to grab hold of that thought and hug it tight. But for now, she must keep it at arm’s length, at least until she heard the full story.
“Excellent! I assume we can take tea by ourselves then?”
“Of course. I’ll have it sent to the small parlor.” Motioning for him to follow, she led the way into the room reserved for casual family gatherings and pulled the cord to summon a servant.
Tony seated himself on the large settee and patted the spot nearest. She sat beside him, their shoulders brushing. Did he smell of peppermint again? His favorite candy as a boy, one that had been cast aside once liquor had taken hold of his life.
She sniffed. No peppermint but no brandy either.
A wave of promise flooded her chest with its warmth.
Delany entered. “Yes, Miss Linley?”
“Please have some tea sent in as soon as possible. My brother has been traveling and is hungry. Some sandwiches would be nice, too.”
“Your brother?” Delany’s bushy blond brows lifted.
“Yes, isn’t it wonderful?” She cast a smile in Tony’s direction.
“If you say so, miss.” Delany left, closing the door behind him.
“There’s something rather odd about that man’s way of speech.” Tony leaned one arm across the back of the settee.
She laughed. “He’s from Texas. Or so he says.”
“I don’t doubt it.” Tony’s laughter joined with hers. They sat, giggling like schoolmates, like the comrades they’d been as children, when they’d whispered over their slates about how silly it was to see their governess making eyes at the French tutor.
Tony let out a final chuckle, then a sigh. “I’ve missed you, Del.” He met her gaze, sincerity warm in his eyes. “I really have missed you.”
“Is that why you’re here?” There had to have been a driving reason to bring her brother across the ocean and to a country he’d never set foot in. But what?
“In part, yes. I’ve come to bring you home. That’s where you and I need to be right now. With Mother, at the place we love best. We’re both needed there, dear sister. You as much as I.” An earnestness she’d not seen from him since boyhood radiated in his words.
“How is Mother?” She’d been remiss in not asking first off, but who would have thought a simple walk down the stairs would have brought her face-to-face with such an unlikely visitor?
“She’s well as can be expected. Her health is steady. She spends most of her days in the village with old Nanny Bailey.”
“Isn’t that a bit odd for the leading lady of the village to be so often in company with a retired servant?” Adele bit her lip. Nanny Bailey was a kind old woman, aged as the day was long, and in need of care and tending. Not a task she would have thought her lady mother suited for, or one she’d desire.
Tony shrugged. “She seems happy. And you, of all people, ought to know we’re no longer the area’s leading family. What does any of that matter though? In my opinion, being a leading anything is vastly overrated.”
“But Tony…what brought you to this place? Not here in America…well, that too. But the place inside yourself to have changed so.” If he hadn’t been holding her hand, she’d have resorted to twisting her skirt, anything to busy herself while she waited for his answer.
“I suppose your leaving made me look at things, realize the person I’ve become. I intend to change, Del. I want to change. But you and I must go home.”
Could they? Could they go home together and face the future? Maybe, just maybe, if they both tried, they could save the estate on their own, without help from Mr. Conway’s wallet. Without her having to wed a man merely for the sake of dipping into his coffers.
For a brief moment, the wave of hope became a flood.
But it was dashed the next instant. There was no money, at least not enough. Without land or finances, Linley Park could not be made successful again. Trying would only result in chasing what could not be caught.
No. She must stay here and continue with her plans.
“I can’t, Tony. I want to. Truly I do. But I still have work to do here. I cannot leave yet.” She hoped her gaze conveyed enough regret. Had this been two years ago, when they’d still had land to work with, she would have booked the first passage to England she could lay hands upon. If Tony had shown these desires then, they likely wouldn’t be in the mess they found themselves in now.
“Work? What sort of work?” He pulled his hand from around hers and narrowed his eyes.
“I’m working on a way for us to return home. For Linley Park to be what it should. But if I go now, everything will be for naught. I might as well not have come in the first place.” She loosed a sigh.
“Are you investing? What kind of a plan is this?” An edge laced his tone. He’d asked her a similar question, moments before she’d entered the carriage to begin her journey to America. But then, he’d been bleary from drink and hadn’t deserved the truth. Now?
Deserve it or not, she couldn’t tell him. He’d find some way to spoil it and then where would she be? Perhaps this concealment wasn’t the right or best decision.
“Haven’t you ever done something simply because it was the practical thing to do, leaving emotions aside?”
Mr. Conway’s words whispered verbatim in her ear, so clear it was as if he stood at her side, his scent of Bay Rum imbuing her senses. There was truth in those words. Logic. A logic she’d employ now, for the benefit of her mother, of Linley Park. Even Tony, much as he might chafe against it.
“I’d tell you if I could, but right now, it’s best if you don’t ask questions. Stay here, in America, with me for another few weeks. I promise, after that, we can, we will return home.” She smiled, reaching for his hand again. But he drew away from the conciliatory gesture, because of Delany’s entrance, or because she’d angered him, she couldn’t tell which.
“Tea is here, miss.” Delany placed a large silver tray bearing tea things, sandwiches, and a cake platter onto the table in front of the settee.
“Thank you, Delany. No, allow me.” She held up her hand to stay him from serving and pouring. “I can manage. I’ll care for my brother.” Adele reached for the pot and a cup, pouring the liquid with a practiced tilt of her wrist.
Yes. She would manage. Would care for her brother, for her family. In ways that went far beyond the simple pouring of tea.
COME ONE, COME ALL!
THE FEARLESS GENTLEMAN DAREDEVIL WILL CONQUER
THE MIGHTY FALLS OF NIAGARA ON JUNE 18TH AT 4 P.M.
UNPARALLELED, DE
ATH-DEFYING FEATS!
COME AND BE AMAZED!
ADMISSION 25 CENTS!
Drew crumpled the handbill in his fist and leaned back against the carriage seat. Nothing like seeing your name linked to “death-defying.”
What if you didn’t defy death? What if it defied you?
A miserable thought on a miserable rainy evening.
Rubbing a finger across the crease in his forehead, he wished he could rub away the headache simmering there just as easily. Getting out of the carriage and attending another party dictated by Conway was the last thing he wanted to do. But the only thing he would do, if he wanted to stay in the man’s good graces. In the past weeks, he’d met every man in Buffalo with the capital to invest in their scheme. A few had. Conway seemed pleased, even if Drew couldn’t wait to be through with this round of drawing room soirees.
The only bright spot in it all, and probably the reason his hand reached for the carriage door and his feet landed on the pavement with as much alacrity as they did—Adele.
The woman who would marry Franklin Conway before year’s end. At least, if she had her way.
Reverend Darfield’s Sunday sermon should have quieted the clamor of thoughts. The preacher had spoken of trust, total surrender to the will of God. Laying down that which one held most dear and exercising implicit faith in the Lord’s ability to carry any burden far better than any person. But hearing a sermon was one thing. Putting it into practice seven days a week was another story. So Drew continued to ponder and worry.
Climbing the stone steps of yet another Delaware Avenue mansion, Drew gave a rap on the lion’s head knocker. A footman opened the door a moment later. Within five minutes, he’d entered the drawing room where the “glitter set,” the privileged families who made up Buffalo’s elite, assembled en masse.
My Heart Belongs in Niagara Falls, New York Page 10