by Renee Ryan
Gigi wanted to believe she could be forgiven. She wanted to believe her earthly father was waiting for her return.
But Harcourt Wentworth had made his position clear. She was convinced now more than ever that if she had any chance of earning her father’s forgiveness, she must show up with the pearls.
“Do not allow your past sins to define your future.”
Gigi swallowed against the burning sensation in her throat. The interior of the church seemed to close in on her. Heat radiated from deep within her soul.
She needed fresh air. She needed it now, this very minute. “I have to get out of here.”
Without a moment of hesitation, Fitz stood, reached for her hand. “We’ll leave at once.”
Gigi thought her heart couldn’t get any gloomier, but Fitz’s instant support nearly broke her. As they made their way out of the building, the preacher’s voice lifted, and Gigi’s feet ground to a halt. “If forgiveness has to be earned, then it isn’t forgiveness at all.”
Bitterness filled her, followed by an unbearable churning of the most terrifying emotion of all. Hope. That dangerous, slippery emotion that made her believe all would turn out well.
A year of struggle had taught her differently.
And yet, and yet, Gigi felt a tiny, minuscule, sliver of hope building inside her. Hope for the future, hope that she could return to being the godly woman she’d once been. And maybe capture some stability along the way.
Heavy footed, she stepped in the direction of the carriage Fitz had hired. The physical act of moving brought the rest of the world into focus. Sights, sounds, and the damp, earthy smells of autumn yielding to winter swamped her senses.
Heart in her throat, pulse beating wildly through her veins, Gigi made a decision. She was through running.
No more excuses. No more stalling.
She would give herself three weeks to settle matters in New York. Then, then, Gigi would board a train to Boston.
Fitz helped a pensive Gigi into the carriage. She was silent on the ride back to Manhattan, giving one-word responses to his futile attempts at conversation.
Apparently, the thought-provoking sermon had provoked, well, thought. Fitz had experienced his own share of revelations. His cousin had sent another telegram this morning. Though there was nothing new in the missive, Fitz sensed Connor’s impatience. His cousin had urged him to Complete your business and come home.
Fitz knew he’d stayed away too long. It was time to leave.
Nothing had turned out as he’d planned, and he wasn’t wholly sorry for it. He was falling in love with Gigi.
No, he wasn’t falling in love with her.
He was already there.
How had he let this happen again?
There could be nothing between them. Even if she returned his feelings, which he believed she might, Fitz would never put her through what he’d seen his mother endure over the past two years. He cared for Gigi too much.
While they bounced and bumped along the pocked road, Fitz worked out the sequence of events that had led to this impossible situation. He admitted, if only to himself, that Gigi was the one that got away. He was not a man who took losing well, as the members on his rowing team could attest.
Pride was a lonely companion.
Fitz was used to being lonely.
When he’d arrived in New York, he’d told himself he’d come for the pearls. But he’d have never given in to Gigi’s request to return the necklace herself if that had truly been the case. From the beginning, he’d known she would find a way to get the necklace to Annie. Fitz had known, he’d known, she hadn’t meant to keep them for herself. He could have left town after their conversation in the alley behind Esmeralda’s town house.
Instead, he’d stayed in New York, close to Gigi, making up excuses to seek her out instead of finishing up his business and going home.
He loved Gigi. Always had, always would. But the emotion was now built on more than infatuation. Fitz had gotten to know the woman she was at the core, the one she’d hidden beneath her pretty smiles and carefree manner.
Perhaps even Gigi didn’t know her true depths.
She was no longer the frivolous, spoiled heiress, but a woman of substance and compassion. She was good and kind and sat on the dirty floor so she could read stories to little girls.
His father had always liked her. Would he even remember Gigi?
Frowning at the thought, Fitz retrieved his watch from the small pocket in his vest, the one his father had given him as a graduation present. The driver chose that moment to hit a large pothole.
The watch went flying to the floor.
Gigi tumbled forward.
Straight into Fitz’s arms.
Ignoring the watch at his feet, he closed her in his embrace, reveling in the feel of her. A bit too much. “Stop wriggling.”
“I’m trying to return to my side of the carriage.”
“I want you here.” He plunked her on the seat beside him.
Her breath caught on a gasp.
His did as well.
There was a long pause.
And then they were both talking at once.
“Gigi—”
“Fitz—”
They fell silent.
Fitz let out a slow, silent push of air. The gesture reduced the tension between his shoulders not one bit.
Gigi’s eyes skidded up to his, their blue darkened to a rich sapphire. Words formed on his tongue, tender, heartfelt promises that would last a lifetime. He spoke none of them aloud.
She remained as silent as he. How he hated the awkwardness that had returned to their relationship. “Gigi—”
“Fitz—”
They both heaved a sigh.
Spinning away from him, she looked out the window, sufficiently ending the uncomfortable moment. At least she remained on the seat beside him.
Fitz’s gut churned with a sensation stronger than affection, deeper than fondness, and more than a little complicated for his peace of mind.
“Gigi?”
She turned back around.
He reached for her hand, paused inches from making contact. Touching her again would be a bad idea.
The worst of all bad ideas.
As they stared at each other, Fitz noted, somewhat inappropriately, that Gigi’s eyelashes were utterly enchanting, a pretty auburn shade similar to her real hair color. A smile of deep affection slid across his lips.
“I think I’d be more comfortable sitting on my side of the carriage.” She glided across the short distance with exaggerated dignity, her movements graceful yet carefully controlled. Her posture perfectly precise, she leaned back against the squabs and proceeded to study the interior of the carriage.
With every bit of emotion stripped from her face, she nearly fooled Fitz into thinking she was completely self-possessed. But her gaze didn’t quite meet his, landing instead on a spot just above his right eye.
Good to know he wasn’t the only one feeling disconcerted.
This was his chance to broach the subject that had been nagging at him since their conversation on the way to church. Fitz admired Gigi’s determination to redeem her great-grandmother’s pearls on her own. But what if she was unable to earn the twenty-five dollars before the deadline?
Would she accept his help then?
One way to find out . . .
“Gigi, now that we are friends—”
“Are we friends, Fitz? Are we really?”
“Of course we are.” He placed his elbows on his knees and leaned forward. “We have shared many confidences.”
“You mean I have shared many confidences.” She gave him a sad half smile. “I know nothing of your life in Boston beyond the basic facts. I know where you live, where you work, and the names of your family members but not much else.”
She had him there. But even the smallest details of his day ultimately led back to his father. His lips remained firmly shut.
Gigi was not so easily daunted.
She scooted forward, halting only once their knees touched. “I have shared so much of myself with you. Won’t you share something of yourself with me?”
Gigi couldn’t know how badly Fitz wanted to do exactly what she asked. But once he started, he feared he wouldn’t be able to stop.
And so he took the easy way out. “I’m thinking of investing in an automobile company.”
Chapter Eighteen
Gigi and Fitz had reached a stalemate in their relationship.
As she lay in her bed Monday morning, staring up at the ceiling in the gloomy pre-dawn light, she accepted that they would never be more than something between friends and passing acquaintances. Especially if he remained distant, speaking only of business matters.
An automobile company, indeed. Her eyes had glazed over as soon as he’d expounded on the virtues of multi-cylinder engines, which Gigi suspected had been the point.
She flipped onto her stomach and sighed. She couldn’t help but think Fitz’s reticence to share anything personal was because of her past. He might claim she was Nathanial’s victim, he might even sympathize with her plight, but that didn’t mean he saw her as a potential mate.
There’d been no talk of anything beyond friendship, no attempt at another kiss. All the proof Gigi needed that Fitz thought her unworthy of something deeper.
At least he’d agreed to let her redeem the pearls on her own. But not before he’d extracted her promise to accept his help if she failed to raise the money by the deadline Mr. Ryerson had set.
The man is a crook, he’d said with unmistakable indignation.
Fitz’s reaction had warmed Gigi to her toes. She wanted to bask in his strength. She wanted to rely on him. But Nathanial had taught her well.
Gigi trusted no man.
You trusted Fitz with the truth about Nathanial and the pearls.
And where had that gotten her?
Fitz hadn’t opened up in return. Though he’d softened toward her, there was still something he wasn’t telling her. Something, Gigi suspected, having to do with his cousin or his family or perhaps both.
Crawling out from beneath the bedcovers, she dressed quickly and went downstairs to begin her day. Once her chores were complete, she would have to get herself, and then Sophie, ready for the luncheon at Elizabeth Griffin’s.
Hours later, after she’d mended not one but two rips in the gown Sophie had worn to the ball, Gigi checked the clock on the wall and yelped. She’d lost track of time. She blamed Fitz. She couldn’t get the man out of her head.
I’d rather moon over him than attend a luncheon any day.
Gigi used to look forward to such events. Sally, however, felt scandalous spending a large part of the afternoon doing nothing but sipping tea and eating fancy sandwiches. At least she wasn’t shirking her duties at the theater. Maestro Grimaldi had called off the day’s rehearsal because Esmeralda was giving a private performance for several donors with deep pockets.
Gigi entered her room and moved to her closet, hesitating when she saw a flash of peach silk on the bed. Sophie had followed through with her threat to provide Gigi a more suitable dress for the luncheon. Picking up the gown with tentative fingers, she studied it from every angle. The dress was exquisite, the color a perfect foil for her hair in its natural state.
Why, why did Sophie have to be so persistent? Why, why did Gigi long to wear this lovely creation?
She wasn’t having it. She would wear the brown dress as planned.
She went to her closet and discovered the garment was gone. As if predicting Gigi’s reaction, Sophie had taken away her only option besides her maid’s uniform. Gigi moved aside the row of black dresses in a final, desperate attempt to search for something less pretty to wear. With profound reluctance—and resentment—she stepped back and shut the closet door.
Sophie had no right to make this decision for her. Gigi would wear her uniform. It was her only choice thanks to Sophie’s meddling.
She blinked at the peach dress, sighed heavily. Yesterday’s sermon came back to her. If forgiveness couldn’t be earned, as the pastor claimed, then she was truly lost.
Sighing again, she moved to the mirror and stared at her reflection, honing in on her two-tone hair. What an awkward picture she made. One foot in the past, one foot in the present, with no idea what lay in the future.
Who am I?
Rebellion shot through her, digging deep, taking root. She was tired of concealing her true self inside this pale, nondescript version of a woman. Gigi wasn’t clothing herself in righteousness, as she’d tried to tell herself. She was hiding.
It was time to stop living in this unhappy state of limbo.
If not now, when?
Decision made, she dug out her sewing kit, grabbed the scissors, and went to work. When she finished, she’d cut off nearly six inches of faded, dull, straw-like hair. Setting down the scissors, she studied her handiwork.
The remaining hair was thick, shiny, and red. Even better, Gigi had been able to leave just enough length to twist the strands into a modern style atop her head.
Next, Gigi changed into the dress Sophie had left on her bed and returned to the mirror. There. The woman smiling back at her was no longer Sally, but not Gigi Wentworth, either. She was a new creation and looked more herself than ever before. She was ready to step into the uncertain future.
Or else she wouldn’t be this pleased Sophie had stolen her dress. But still. “Nosy, meddlesome, pushy young woman.”
“Who do you mean, dear friend?”
Gigi whirled around. Sophie stood in the open doorway, eyebrows arched at an attractive angle, eyes twinkling with satisfaction.
“Your hair, it’s, why it’s really quite fetching.” The young woman moved toward her, hand outstretched as if she meant to touch the strands. “I knew you were pretty, but I hadn’t realized just how stunning you are until now, with your hair its proper color.”
“I’m going to try to take that as a compliment.”
“You should. It was meant as one.”
“Sophie.” Gigi took in her friend’s appearance. “You’re dressed already.”
“How observant of you.”
They shared a laugh.
“Well?” The young woman gave a slow, elegant spin. “What do you think?”
“I think that you are”—Gigi took in the green silk gown with the intricate flower embroidery on the bodice—“perfect. The dress presents just the right amount of innocence and maturity. Well done, Sophie.”
“I am rather pleased with myself.” She twirled around the room, somehow managing to miss the bed and dresser. “Though you may not believe this, especially after our discussion two evenings ago, I do listen to what you say, Gigi. I really, truly do.”
“I’m glad.”
Sophie laughed again. The sound was richer this time, full of delight and happiness. The signs were unmistakable. Sophie was infatuated with Robert Dain, possibly even in love.
Was the English doctor worthy of her?
Spinning across the threshold, Sophie halted in the darkened hallway and gave Gigi an expectant look. “Are you coming?”
Gigi hurried after her.
Outside, the sun shone bright. The air was crisp and refreshing. The town house Elizabeth shared with her husband was but a quick walk uptown.
Two blocks short of their destination, Gigi and Sophie came upon a well-dressed woman and her two teenage daughters. All three wore garments made from various shades of blue. Their beautiful, expensive overcoats were cut in a popular style.
The three halted when they saw Sophie. Clearly, they recognized her. Sophie smiled. None returned the gesture.
Proving she was Esmeralda’s daughter with a spine of steel, Sophie refused to be daunted. “Good morning, Mrs. Pembroke.” She glanced from the older woman to the two girls. “These pretty young ladies must be your daughters. I’m Sophie Cappelletti.” She made a motion with her hand. “And this is my friend—”
“Girls.” M
rs. Pembroke sniffed in disdain. “Do not respond to that woman.”
She looked down her nose at Sophie, while completely ignoring Gigi, then herded her daughters a few steps to the left, giving Sophie a ridiculously wide berth to make a point that didn’t need making. “We do not acknowledge women like her.”
Gigi bit back a nasty retort. It was difficult not to speak in Sophie’s defense. But she feared standing up for her friend would only bring more criticism.
Did Mrs. Pembroke think Sophie had no feelings? Did the woman not care that her snub caused unnecessary hurt? Gigi couldn’t help but think about what this woman was teaching her daughters, that they were somehow better than Sophie, simply because they’d been born into a proper home.
Gigi’s thoughts turned to her fellow servants in the various homes where she’d worked. They were good, hardworking men and women who earned their living by serving people like Mrs. Pembroke and her daughters.
Poor Sophie.
How long would New York society punish her for her parents’ misdeeds?
“Come away, Sophie.”
The young woman stood her ground, holding Mrs. Pembroke’s stare without flinching.
Admirable, to be sure, but Gigi knew it could not be easy. She hurt for her friend. No wonder Esmeralda was matchmaking in earnest. Once Sophie was married to a man of good standing, much of this criticism would disappear.
But some would never go away. Something Gigi should keep in mind.
The three Pembroke women stalked off.
There wasn’t much Gigi could say in the aftermath. She could, however, offer a bit of encouragement.
“Pay no attention to that woman and her hurtful words.” Casting a frown at Mrs. Pembroke’s retreating back, Gigi hooked her arm through Sophie’s, and they continued on their way. “Hold your head high, Sophie. You are worth a thousand times more than closed-minded women like that.”
“Indeed, I am.”
Gigi heard new confidence in the young woman’s voice. She glanced over at her friend. Sophie was smiling. Smiling! Broadly. As if she hadn’t a care in the world.
“Sophie? Are you not bothered by Mrs. Pembroke’s censure?”
“Not in the least.” The young woman’s smile turned into a smirk. “What a ridiculous way to behave, and in front of her daughters. Shocking, really.”