Once an Heiress (Gilded Promises)

by Renee Ryan

  How would she explain the missing pearls?

  She pushed away from the wall, her steps slow and heavy. Gigi hadn’t felt such helplessness since the day Nathanial had abandoned her on what was supposed to have been their wedding day.

  Dark crept over the edges of her vision, threatening to pull her back to that terrible morning. She rubbed frantically at her temple as if the gesture could banish the memory. It came anyway. And with it, the full force of her disgrace.

  Back in her room, she searched for her Bible and opened it to Philippians. Just as she found the verse she was looking for, a knock sounded on her door.

  Will this day never end?

  Setting aside the Bible, Gigi called out, “Come in.”

  Lottie Flannigan entered the room, hands braided at her waist, feet shuffling. “Herself wants to see you.”

  The young kitchen maid didn’t need to explain further. Gigi knew exactly who had summoned her.

  “Thank you, Lottie. I’ll be there directly.” When the girl hesitated, Gigi reached out and touched her arm. “I’ll only be a moment. I need to straighten my clothing.”

  This explanation seemed to satisfy the girl. Esmeralda expected her domestic help to be properly groomed at all times.

  Gigi shut the door and fought to stay calm. This was a bad time for doubt, but she couldn’t help herself. Esmeralda rarely called Gigi to a private meeting.

  Had Fitz said something to her? Had he revealed their connection?

  Heart in her throat, pulse beating wildly through her veins, Gigi went to the lone mirror in her room and winced at her reflection. Nothing could mask the ravages of the day. Tension showed in the fine lines around her mouth and eyes.

  Gigi blamed Fitz.

  Nothing had prepared her for his touch, or her reaction to his hands clasping her shoulders and pulling her close. She’d been in his arms only briefly, a mere handful of seconds. Yet, for the first time in eleven months, she’d felt comforted. Safe.

  Had Fitz’s brief display of kindness been an illusion or part of some cruel game he was playing? Ruthless and hard, Gigi could handle. But a man who made her feel safe in his arms?

  How did she fight against that?

  She spun away from the mirror. There had been a fleeting moment when she’d stared into Fitz’s eyes and seen an aching loneliness that called to her, one human to another, two lost souls searching for their place in the world.

  That couldn’t be right. She’d misread the moment and . . .

  Esmeralda was waiting for her.

  Gigi hurried down the back stairwell. She bypassed the kitchen as she made her way down a darkened corridor that ran along the southern perimeter of the first floor. A few more twists and turns, then, finally, she stopped just inside the parlor where Esmeralda entertained her guests.

  Drawing in a soothing pull of air, Gigi waited for the diva to speak.

  Esmeralda had positioned herself next to the hearth. Light from the fire turned her beaded gown into a shimmering gold. She stood with the attitude of a woman whose high opinion of herself far outweighed her place in society. That haughty stance, along with her unrivaled talent, had helped her rise to the top of her profession. Though she was a coveted addition to any guest list, she would never be fully accepted into polite society.

  “You wanted to see me?”

  “I wish to know how my daughter’s luncheon went with Mrs. Burrows and the other women.”

  “I believe it went as well as can be expected,” Gigi replied with stiff courtesy, choosing her next words carefully. “You will have to ask Sophie for a more detailed report.”

  Esmeralda let out a long, dramatic sigh that had a musical quality. Even in her frustration, the singer had impressive voice control. “I knew it was too much to hope you would respond candidly.”

  She wanted candor? Gigi would give her candor. “You hired me to serve as your daughter’s maid. I was not aware you wished for me to spy on her as well.”

  For a long moment, silence was Esmeralda’s only response. Then, miraculously, her gaze softened. “Your loyalty to Sophie does you credit.”

  Gigi blinked. Had Esmeralda just given her a compliment for standing up to her? Not many dared to do so, and far fewer survived the experience, which only managed to highlight how distraught Gigi truly was over the events of the day. She’d been patently unwise to challenge the woman who paid her salary. “I apologize if I overstepped my bounds.”

  “Think nothing of it.” With one quick slash of her wrist, Esmeralda dismissed Gigi’s concern. But then the diva suddenly looked weary and strangely vulnerable. “We share the same goal. I wish only for my daughter to find her place in the world.”

  Gigi nodded. “That is my wish as well. To guide Sophie during this awkward time of transition.”

  “No.” Esmeralda shifted her pose, her dark eyes flickering with annoyance. “You are to help my daughter understand the pitfalls of living among the upper crust of society.”

  “I am merely a lady’s maid.”

  “You are far more.” Esmeralda slanted her lips in a slow, meaningful smile. “You, my dear girl, are a fraud.”

  Gigi’s heart turned bleak. She blinked several times, but nothing could stop the black, ragged edges of despair moving through her. The sensation stole her ability to breathe.

  “I have caught you by surprise. Well, no matter.” Esmeralda lifted a silk-clad shoulder. “Your story is quite sad, I’m sure. You have made a terrible error in judgment that has sent you into hiding.”

  Gigi realized she was clenching her fists and made a grand effort to relax her fingers.

  The habit of denial was hard to break.

  “I am not in hiding.” Even to her own ears, the lie fell flat.

  “Don’t look so tragic, dear.” Esmeralda drew close enough to rest a hand on Gigi’s arm. “You will get no judgment from me.” It was a kind thing to say, more so coming from Esmeralda. “Let me give you a piece of advice.”

  “I really would rather you didn’t,” Gigi muttered.

  “You must not despair over your past. You are terribly young.” The singer lifted her hand away from Gigi’s arm. “Youth is easily deceived.”

  A familiar ache tugged at Gigi’s heart. Her mouth opened, but nothing came out. If only she could blame her behavior on youth. She’d acted with willful disobedience and no thought to her family. She’d made choices out of a selfish desire to have what she wanted, when she wanted it.

  She’d loved Nathanial, or as much as a youthful heart could love another. But now, the memory of that love brought a metallic, bitter taste to her tongue.

  “I do not need to know your story to know you have suffered at the hands of a man.”

  Gigi had suffered because of Nathanial, yes, but she had only herself to blame for her misery. For some reason, it was important to her that Esmeralda understand that. “I was fooled by a fantasy of my own making.”

  “That is precisely why I want you to protect Sophie from a youthful indiscretion. My own have harmed her enough.”

  There was a frantic note in Esmeralda’s voice. She clearly loved her daughter.

  To see this side of the diva was unexpected, humbling, and a cold reminder that Gigi’s actions could harm the people she loved as well.

  “You understand what I am asking of you?”

  “Yes.” Gigi would not abandon Sophie at her greatest hour of need.

  “I have invited Mr. Fitzpatrick to dine with Sophie and me this evening.”

  Gigi felt her hands ball into fists again. She flexed her fingers, once, twice, relaxed them, flexed again.

  “He hails from Boston.” Esmeralda smiled. Or maybe she didn’t. Gigi wasn’t sure what that twist of her lips meant. “I would very much like to see Sophie settle away from her father and half siblings. Boston would be a lovely city for her to make a home and start a family.”

  Heat crawled up Gigi’s neck. “I understand perfectly.”

  “I knew that you would. You
may go now.”

  Happy to flee the room, Gigi turned to leave. She made it halfway across when Esmeralda’s butler appeared in the doorway, barring her exit.

  Irving was ancient, somewhere between eighty and a hundred, and had been one of the most accomplished actors on the British stage half a century ago. Proving his talent was still without rival, he stood tall and dignified, his stance embodying the very essence of the upper-crust, snooty butler. “Mr. Fitzpatrick has arrived.”

  “Thank you, Irving.” Esmeralda sat in a red leather wingback chair, then arranged her skirts around her legs with practiced ease. “Please send him in.”

  Irving performed a bow worthy of the greatest butlers ever trained. “Very good, madam.”

  The same moment he left the room, the clock chimed the top of the hour.

  Of course Fitz would arrive on time, Gigi thought, frantically searching for another way out of the parlor. There was no escape. She shifted to a spot near the bookshelves.

  Unfortunately, the move proved useless. Fitz entered and, as if he’d expected to find her there, immediately caught sight of her.

  Trying not to sigh, she shut her eyes, battled a wave of emotion, then snapped them open again. Fitz was already on the move, striding across the patterned rug at a steady pace. He headed straight for her, his moss-green eyes unreadable in the dim light.

  Gigi retreated to the shadows, her gaze never leaving Fitz’s face. He looked every bit the successful financier. His jaw was free of stubble, indicating he’d recently shaved. He wore elegant evening attire, perfectly appropriate for a dinner with the most celebrated opera singer in the world and her daughter. The pristine white of his starched linen shirt stood in stark contrast to the black wool of his tailored coat and vest.

  An unwelcome jolt of longing crawled through Gigi, landing somewhere in the vicinity of her heart. Something flickered in his eyes as well, something personal, just for her. The questions were there, too, questions about the past eleven months she was unprepared to answer.

  Panic reared, morphed into a far more complicated mix of emotions. Fury. Foolishness. Irritation. Shame.

  Her need to escape this room, this man, intensified. But her feet refused to move. Why wouldn’t her feet move?

  Glancing in the same direction as Fitz, Esmeralda sighed dramatically. “Sally, please inform my daughter our guest has arrived.”

  “Yes, ma’am.” Gigi scurried out of the room as fast as her feet could carry her.

  Fitz watched Gigi’s retreating back, unable to stop staring. Even in her maid’s uniform, she was a stunning woman. The exotic curve of her lips, the attractive tilt of her head, the regal bearing that had always been a part of her were still there. Hidden, but not gone.

  If Fitz was honest with himself, he’d admit that she still called to him, even now, when he knew the risk. The unlikelihood anything would come of the attraction.

  He had one goal and would not be distracted by a pretty face. Wanting the business with Gigi over and done with, he took a step toward the empty doorway.

  An obstruction impeded his exit.

  Looking down, Fitz spotted an enormous ball of black-and-white fur squatting at his feet, belly protruding.

  The animal looked like a cat. He—she—it?—swished the fluffy plume of a tail, crouched low, danced on its hindquarters, and then . . .

  It launched its massive body into the air with surprising alacrity. Fitz staggered back, arms instinctively wrapping around the large animal. He turned to Esmeralda with a question on his lips.

  She made the introductions before he could voice his query. “That’s my dear, sweet Othello.”

  “He’s spoiled beyond measure.”

  This last statement came from somewhere behind Fitz.

  Shifting the heavy load in his arms, he glanced over his shoulder. Sophie Cappelletti stood framed in the doorway.

  Once again, Esmeralda performed the introductions.

  “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Miss Cappelletti.”

  “You may call her Sophie,” Esmeralda told him.

  Fitz divided a smile between the two women.

  Sophie was a younger version of her mother, nearly a perfect copy, except where Esmeralda’s eyes were dark brown, Sophie’s were pale amber. Fitz wasn’t especially moved by the dark beauty, but he suspected most men were.

  Taking his cue, he set the animal on the ground. Othello waddled over to his mistress.

  “My sweet boy doesn’t usually like men.” Esmeralda set the cat on her lap and looked from Fitz to her daughter. Fitz to her daughter. Fitz. To. Her. Daughter. “You should be flattered, Mr. Fitzpatrick.”

  His smile tightened. “Should I?”

  “Othello is an excellent judge of character.”

  Fitz responded to this piece of absurdity with a bland smile.

  With her self-importance firmly in place, Esmeralda invited him to sit on the settee beside her daughter. An awkward pause passed. Then they began a stilted conversation about the weather.

  Only a part of his mind was on the conversation. The rest focused on Gigi. She was still in New York, which was a good thing. She hadn’t run.

  Yet.

  Unpleasant emotions edged through him. Impatience, frustration, a need to settle matters between them quickly and decisively. Fitz wouldn’t leave this house until he retrieved what Gigi had taken.

  He had to get through dinner first.

  Fitz suffered more small talk about upcoming soirees and the latest fashions. Despite the inane talk, he knew most men would consider dining with these two beautiful women a rare blessing. Fitz did not.

  His mind remained elsewhere, reviewing the exact moment when his gaze had connected with Gigi’s. His reaction had been that of a schoolboy. Fitz didn’t want to be attracted to her. And he certainly didn’t want to feel sympathy for her plight. She’d made her choices, including the one that could be deemed a criminal act if her father decided to press charges.

  A memory of her panicked expression flashed in his mind.

  She had to know why he was here.

  Would his appearance chase her away before he could take back what she’d stolen?

  Let her run, Fitz thought grimly. She wouldn’t get far. He would find her again. And again, until he had what he wanted.

  “Are you enjoying your time in New York, Mr. Fitzpatrick?”

  Fitz shifted his attention to Esmeralda’s daughter.

  She wore a blue-and-silver gown that complemented her coloring. Though she wasn’t as shiny or glittering as her mother, there was something rather likable about the young woman. She had an honest innocence about her that couldn’t be faked.

  As she smiled into his eyes, Fitz realized she didn’t look any more interested in him than he was in her. Her expression was pleasantly polite, not too bright, not too dim.

  “I am enjoying my stay very much.” He met her honey-brown eyes. He’d seen that unusual color before.

  Where? Fitz couldn’t remember. The connection was there, in the back of his mind, but he couldn’t retrieve it.

  “Which attractions have you seen?”

  “None,” he admitted, then amended his answer slightly. “Other than the Summer Garden and my hotel.”

  Sophie laughed softly. “I don’t recall you mentioning where you are staying.”

  “The Waldorf-Astoria.” He’d chosen his lodgings because of Gigi. The famous hotel was the last place she’d been seen before her disappearance. Fitz had asked discreet questions of the hotel staff but he’d met with tight-lipped silence thus far.

  Much the same as the reaction he was getting from Sophie Cappelletti. He wondered at that. When she failed to say anything in turn, he added, “The hotel’s décor is unparalleled.”

  “Yes, it is.” Sophie’s gaze dropped to her lap, and she said nothing more. Seconds turned into a minute, and still she kept her silence.

  Clearly, Fitz had upset the young woman. He couldn’t think what he’d done to make her uncom
fortable. This was why he hated these types of affairs. Having no idea how to restore the harmony, other than to wait for Sophie to speak again, he leaned back on the settee and turned his attention to Esmeralda.

  Fitz caught the sly look in the singer’s eyes. She was in for a large disappointment if she thought to match him with her daughter.

  True, Sophie was attractive and charming, and Fitz had no doubt she would make some man a suitable match. Fitz was not that man. Marriage was not in his future. Even if he were in the market for a wife, Sophie Cappelletti would not be his first choice.

  He preferred women with red hair, even if they dyed their glorious tresses a tarnished yellow-gold in a ridiculous attempt to hide their identity.

  Gigi’s face materialized in his mind. Fitz banished the image. He had not sought her out to woo her.

  Sophie broke her silence at last. “It was unseasonably warm today.”

  And they were back to the weather. Would this evening never end?

  Fitz caught Esmeralda’s eye roll before responding. “I fear it won’t last. The air smelled of snow when I alighted from my hired carriage.”

  “There is to be a ball at your hotel this weekend, hosted by Genevieve and Hugh Burrows.” Sophie’s brows rose. “Are you acquainted with the Burrows family?”

  “I have conducted business with Hugh and his son.”

  “You know Simon?”

  Fitz nodded, wondering at Sophie’s sudden animation. If he remembered correctly, Simon had recently married.

  Esmeralda made an unladylike snort. “Do not speak of that family in my presence.”

  “But Simon married Penelope. And Mrs. Burrows is sponsoring me in society. She has been very kind and—”

  “Do not make the mistake of thinking that woman’s kindness is for you.” Esmeralda stroked her cat’s fur. “Your connection to her daughter-in-law is the only reason she tolerates you.”

  Sophie’s eyes widened, looking as if her mother had slapped her.

  Seeing a war brewing between mother and daughter, Fitz interjected himself into the conversation. “I am acquainted with Simon’s wife, though only in passing. I am friends with her brother.”