Once an Heiress (Gilded Promises)

by Renee Ryan

  “I figured it out. My father was never very creative. He chose my mother’s birthday. It took me less than five minutes to guess the sequence of numbers.” She sighed. “That wasn’t my finest hour, I know. The only thing I can say in my defense is that I had every intention of returning them.”

  Questions skittered in Fitz’s mind, one taking priority over all others. If Gigi intended to return the valuable heirloom, why hadn’t she done so by now?

  Fitz suspected he knew the answer. Her various side jobs at the theater were starting to make sense.

  “Nathanial wanted me to look my very best on my wedding day.”

  “Was it his idea you take the necklace?”

  “No, it was . . .” Her face scrunched into a frown. “I always thought it was my idea. But now . . .”

  She fell silent, her eyebrows pinched together in confusion.

  “But now?” he prompted.

  “I’m not so sure.” The look on her face could only be described as stricken. “Nathanial often made a point of complimenting my jewelry. He said I had impeccable taste and frequently mentioned how beautifully I coordinated my accessories with my gowns.”

  Fitz’s hands balled into fists. Dixon must be made to answer for his treachery. Perhaps Fitz had been hasty in releasing the private investigator. Unlike his predecessor, Mr. Offutt had been thorough, efficient, and, most of all, circumspect. He could locate the missing fortune hunter with the least amount of difficulty and fuss.

  Something worth considering, but first, Fitz needed more information. “Did Dixon know about your great-grandmother’s pearls?”

  “I must have told him about them. I’m sure I did, when we discussed our wedding. I mentioned that every Wentworth woman wore them. How could I have been so foolish?”

  Fitz recognized the shame in her quiet tone and what it boded. A part of his brain screamed, Tell her to stop her tale. But the rest of his mind was a black haze of fury. This time, at himself, for not trying harder to rescue Gigi from Dixon’s clutches. “You were in love.”

  Her gaze connected with a spot at her feet. “And now I am a fallen woman. You said so yourself.”

  Fitz’s heart thumped like the hammer on a clock. There was a depth of despair in Gigi’s countenance that he recognized. This was a woman who’d lost a part of herself, but only because she’d trusted the wrong man. “You were the target of a master manipulator.”

  Leaning her head back, Gigi closed her eyes. “At least I didn’t tell him I took the pearls.”

  “Why didn’t you?”

  A silent sigh lifted her shoulders, set them back again. “I’d like to say it was wisdom, but I wanted to surprise him on our wedding day, by looking my very best, just as he wanted. The pearls would have been the perfect adornment.”

  “I’m sure you were beautiful,” Fitz said in a low tone, so low that he wasn’t sure she heard him.

  “Oh, Fitz.” His name came out on a choked sob. “The part of me raised by godly, Christian parents should have known not to run away with Nathanial. I should have known not to believe his lies.”

  “You were dazzled, Gigi. Dixon preyed on your innocence.”

  “And I let him.” She dropped her gaze. Then, as if determined to conquer her embarrassment, she boldly lifted her chin. Grief shone in her eyes.

  The need to soothe away her pain had Fitz reaching for her. She shifted to her left and his hand met empty air.

  “I should have never taken the necklace. But I wanted so badly to wear it on my wedding day, just as every Wentworth woman before me.” She smoothed a shaking hand over her hair. “I know that’s no excuse, but it’s the truth.”

  The eyes that swung up to meet his were gray in the dim morning light, the color of fog under a full moon. How bitterly alone she looked.

  Fitz’s clamped jaw began to ache. He desperately wanted to pull her into his arms and tell her he would make everything right. But he couldn’t do that without knowing all the facts. There was one large piece of the puzzle still missing.

  “Where are the pearls now?”

  She went still for a heartbeat. Her glassy-eyed gaze shifted around the interior of the carriage, landing on several spots in no particular order. “I thought this would be easier. I told myself I wanted only truth between us.”

  “Gigi, look at me.”

  He waited for her to comply. It took her a moment, but she finally lifted her head and stared into his face.

  His eyes locked with hers, and Fitz asked the question again, softer this time, without an ounce of judgment in his voice. “Where are the pearls?”

  A shudder moved through her. “When Nathanial never showed up at the church, I returned to the hotel room, thinking something terrible must have happened. I discovered all his belongings were missing, and he hadn’t even bothered leaving a note, not one word of explanation.”

  A burning throb knotted in Fitz’s throat.

  “He’d taken all my money and left a large hotel bill to settle. The only thing of value I still had in my possession was the pearl necklace. The hotel manager vowed to turn me over to the police if I didn’t pay.”

  Fitz had threatened the same and now understood why she’d gone a little wild at the warning. “You pawned the necklace to avoid going to jail.”

  “Yes. But the money I got for it wasn’t enough to cover the bill.”

  That had to have been some hotel bill, Fitz thought.

  “I took a job as a maid there to pay off the rest.”

  The weary resignation in her voice was Fitz’s undoing.

  He’d heard enough.

  He drew her into his arms and whispered soothingly in her ear. “You aren’t alone,” he said over and over until she nodded and then slowly pulled away.

  “Now you know my secrets, all of them.” She met his gaze, the echo of defeat trembling on her lips. “And the full extent of my shame.”

  Cupping her face in his hands, Fitz brushed his mouth briefly across the slope of her cheek. “You were lied to and betrayed in the worst way possible. That doesn’t make you dishonorable—it makes you incredibly human and brave.”

  “I’m not brave.”

  He brought her hands to his lips, kissed both sets of knuckles. “You are the bravest person I know.”

  “I’m not. I don’t have the courage to put the past behind me, not completely. I don’t think I will ever find it in my heart to forgive Nathanial.”

  “You don’t need to forgive Nathanial. Gigi, you need to forgive yourself.”

  She made a soft sound of protest in her throat and tried to pull her hands away. He wouldn’t let her.

  “Forgive yourself, Gigi. Then go home and ask for forgiveness from your family.”

  Dismissing his suggestion with a sniff, she said, “I can’t go home. Not without the pearls.”

  Fitz was no theologian, but he read the Bible. He was pretty sure forgiveness wasn’t that simple, or that complicated. The cost was a contrite heart, not a pearl necklace.

  “The pawnshop still has them,” she said. “We made an arrangement so I would have a chance to reclaim them. But I only have three weeks to come up with the remaining balance, or the owner will sell them to another.”

  If buying back the pearls was all that prevented Gigi from going home, then, finally, Fitz could make one of her problems go away. “I’ll give you the money.”

  She was shaking her head before he’d finished speaking. “No.”

  “Gigi, let me do this for you. There’s no shame in accepting help from a friend.”

  Everything about her tensed at his words—her posture, her expression. “I have gotten myself into this predicament. I must be the one to get myself out. I nearly have the money I need.”

  “That’s good. Really good.” He set his hand on her shoulder lightly, carefully, because there was something in her response that didn’t sit well with him. The word nearly. “How short are you?”

  Instead of answering the question directly, she lowered he
r gaze and said, “I would have been able to purchase them before now if the pawnbroker hadn’t charged additional interest at the last minute.”

  Fitz took his hand from her shoulder. “What do you mean, additional interest?”

  Mouth grim, she told him about her recent visit to the pawnshop.

  The pawnbroker had taken advantage of her as surely as Nathanial had. “The man is a crook.”

  “You are not wrong.”

  The resignation in Gigi’s tone spoke of the battles she’d had to fight on her own. Well, she wasn’t alone anymore. “How much more is he asking?”

  “Fifty dollars.”

  The carriage drew to a stop. As if welcoming a chance to escape, she reached for the door handle. He stopped her movement with a touch to her hand. “How short are you?”

  “I have half.”

  Twenty-five dollars. Fitz spent more than that on his weekly supply of handkerchiefs. A ridiculously small sum to a man with his wealth. But to a lady’s maid who probably didn’t earn that much money in a month, the amount might as well be millions.

  Fitz hadn’t truly considered what Gigi’s day-to-day existence was like. He was humbled by the woman she’d become. So strong, so brave, never letting circumstances break her. Well, her days of struggle were over. Fitz couldn’t be with her, but he could help her.

  He would help her. “We’ll go to the pawnshop after service and redeem the pearls. You can pay me back once you have the money.”

  “While I appreciate the sentiment behind your offer, I cannot allow you to rescue me, Fitz. My way is the only way.”

  “The only way for . . . what?”

  “The only way for me to”—she drew her bottom lip between her teeth, looked everywhere but at him—“atone for my sins.”

  In one fluid motion, Gigi twisted the door handle and alighted from the carriage.

  That, Fitz supposed, was the end of their conversation.

  For now.

  Chapter Seventeen

  Gigi was grateful she’d chosen a seat next to the center aisle, in the very last pew in the back of the church. If at any moment the service became too much, she could leave without having to disturb the other churchgoers, including Fitz.

  He stood next to her, holding a hymnal open. Looking at her without quite looking at her, he angled the book until she could see the page. As if on cue, the first strains of organ music wafted through the sanctuary.

  Although Fitz concentrated on the book, Gigi could feel his attention on her. She couldn’t look at him. His behavior in the carriage had left her reeling. Instead of judging her, he’d offered tremendous sympathy and reassurance, once again proving he was a good and decent man. Gigi should be dancing for joy.

  She felt nothing but regret.

  How could she ever measure up to a man like Fitz? He was full of integrity and honor, while she was a fallen woman. His words, and something she must never let herself forget.

  Unable to resist, she shot a covert glance in his direction. Her heart began drumming a wild, chaotic beat. Was she . . .

  Could she be . . .

  Was she in love with Fitz? She’d always thought love required a certain amount of pain. What she felt for Fitz was easy, full of peace, and yet more powerful than anything she’d ever experienced.

  She closed her eyes and breathed him in. He smelled of soap and sandalwood and happier times. Gigi took another breath, leaned closer to the man, then promptly stood straight again.

  The initial strains of a popular hymn filled the church. Sing, she told herself. Don’t think. Sing.

  As she launched into the hymn, peace enveloped her. How she’d missed singing in church. The melody rolled off Fitz’s tongue, too, but in a clear, perfectly pitched baritone. Gigi had forgotten what a good singer he was, or had she never known? What else hadn’t she learned about the man at her side? In this moment, she wished to know everything.

  Their voices joined in flawless harmony, as though they’d been singing together all their lives. Which, in retrospect, she realized they had. Against her best efforts to stay focused on the song, Gigi’s thoughts sped toward the future. She imagined a life with Fitz, attending church together, relaxing at home by the fire, teaching their children their favorite hymns.

  They would . . . they would . . .

  She shook away the image. You are a fallen woman.

  Out of the corner of her eye, she glanced at him, only to discover he was watching her in the same veiled manner. Something quite pleasant passed between them, a feeling that instilled utter contentment. Perhaps attending church was exactly what she’d needed.

  The singing came to an end, and Gigi sat next to Fitz while he returned the hymnal to the slot on the pew in front of them. It took considerable willpower not to lean into him. She could feel his heat. Capability all but radiated off of him.

  Now that the music portion of the service was over, her nerves returned. She felt like the ultimate imposter. What right did she have stepping inside a church, sitting beside godly men and women as if she deserved to be in the same building with them?

  She shifted uncomfortably in her seat.

  Hand on her knee, Fitz whispered, “Relax, Gigi.”

  “I don’t belong here.”

  “This is God’s House.” He took her hand, strength and assurance in his grip, and Gigi thought she might cry at the tenderness she saw in his eyes. “Everyone belongs here.”

  Why did Fitz have to be so good?

  Why did he have to behave in a way that proved every one of her preconceived notions wrong, not only the ones she’d had about him, but the ones she had about herself?

  Pretty, popular Gigi was a fraud. Plain, dedicated Sally was a pretender. Who am I, Lord?

  She didn’t know anymore. She’d never really known, not any better than she’d thought she’d known Fitz. She’d gone through her days as a silly, self-indulgent heiress, living in the moment, never thinking about anyone but herself. That lack in her character had been vulnerable to Nathanial.

  The preacher took his place behind the pulpit with steady strides. He looked like no man of God Gigi had ever met.

  Big and muscular, he resembled a blacksmith or perhaps a factory worker rather than a preacher of the Word. Tall, broad through the shoulders and chest, he had a penetrating stare, sandy-brown hair, and a piercing presence that put Gigi ill at ease. Fire and brimstone came to mind.

  She nearly left the church.

  But then the man swept a wide, welcoming smile over the assembled group, and she felt a little less out of place, a little less tense. This is God’s House, Fitz had said. Everyone belongs.

  The preacher greeted the congregation with a few words of welcome, then started with prayer, asking the Lord to open the hearts and minds of the people in attendance. “Heavenly Father, You are a good and gracious God. I thank You for each of Your children in attendance here today. I am but Your humble vessel. I pray You speak Your Word through me.”

  His voice was as rough as gravel, yet also soothing. Gigi closed her eyes and felt the corners of her mouth lift. Somehow she’d known he would speak in a deep, resonating tone.

  “Some here may believe they don’t belong in Your House.”

  Gigi cracked open an eye.

  “I pray You give those individuals peace and the knowledge that they are loved and accepted as Your beloved children.”

  Gigi swallowed back the well of emotion rising in her throat. How could this preacher know what was in her heart? She looked covertly around, wondering if others shared her overwhelming sense of inadequacy and shame.

  “I ask this in Your Son’s name, Amen.”

  The preacher waited a beat, then looked out over the congregation. “God loves the lost.”

  Unable to hold back a gasp of surprise, Gigi shifted in her seat. Fitz gave her hand a reassuring squeeze.

  “I am reminded of the parable of the Lost Sheep.” The preacher paused again, caught several eyes near the front of the church, the
n added, “And the Prodigal Son.”

  Gigi shifted in her seat again, glanced down at her lap, back up again. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Fitz sit up straighter as well, his lips pressed tightly together. She had no idea what struck him in the sermon, only that he was listening intently now. Would Gigi ever solve the mystery that was so much a part of the man?

  “Both parables carry the themes of loss, searching, and rejoicing. The image of our Lord celebrating the recovery of just one lost sinner speaks of the fundamental nature of our loving God.”

  Though his smile remained in place, the preacher’s expression turned serious. “Through the years, I have witnessed many fall away from the Lord, never to return. While others, like the Prodigal Son, come home after a season of rebellion with contrition in their hearts.”

  He paused, drew in a slow breath, waited for the congregation to lean in.

  “What turns one heart hard and another full of regret? What makes one sinner repent, while another wallows in shame and self-pity?”

  Gigi’s blood roared in her veins. Was he about to give her the formula for redemption?

  Looking down, he opened his Bible and read from the fifteenth chapter of Luke. “‘What man of you, having an hundred sheep, if he lose one of them, doth not leave the ninety and nine in the wilderness, and go after that which is lost, until he find it? And when he hath found it, he layeth it on his shoulders, rejoicing.’”

  He looked up, spoke of repentance, then read the story of the Prodigal Son. “I point you to the son’s contrite heart. That was all it took for his father to forgive him. Many of us, like the older son in this story, falsely believe forgiveness must be earned.”

  Gigi sighed. A lovely sentiment, but not all earthly fathers were like the one in the Bible. Not all forgave so easily. Not all forgave without some token to prove change had occurred.

  “The story of the Prodigal Son teaches us that no sin is too great, no transgression too terrible, for the Lord to forgive.”

  Gigi remained unconvinced.

  “We all fall short. Making mistakes is part of living. God’s love is stronger than our shame. We only have to ask for forgiveness, and then receive it.”