by Renee Ryan
“I couldn’t stay away.”
The skin beneath her eyes was dark with fatigue, but the eyes themselves were bright and full of happiness. She was happy to see him.
“Oh. Oh, Fitz.” A gasp slipped out of her. “What happened to your eye?”
“It’s a long story. I’ll tell you all about it, every detail.” He held her gaze, willing her to hear the unspoken message in his words. “I promise you that, Gigi, and I always keep my promises.”
Her entire bearing softened. “I know. It’s one of the things I love most about you.”
She loved him. He saw it in her eyes, heard it in her voice.
His heart stopped beating too fast. With affection and without caring who saw them, he bent to place a tender kiss on her forehead, her nose, her lips.
A pretty blush spread across her cheeks. “I’m very happy to see you.”
“And I, you.” He couldn’t get enough of looking at her.
The soft curve of her lips, the light in her eyes, and the slight tilt of her head all called to him. Stunning from every angle, she’d always been beautiful.
Now, she made him yearn.
Lost in the moment, in the girl from his past who’d become the woman he loved, he paused a while and simply stared.
Big, expressive eyes looked back at him. For a moment, unspoken promises flowed between them. Fitz would spend a lifetime following through with every one of them.
“Gigi, I want—”
The blast of a high-pitched train whistle interrupted the rest of his speech.
Swallowing back his frustration, Fitz looked down at the suitcase sitting at her feet. “Did I catch you leaving New York?”
Her eyes slid past him, brushed over the train pulling into the station, then slid back. “I’m going home.”
One side of his mouth kicked up. “You redeemed the pearls.”
“No, I, that is . . . the pawnbroker . . .” She caught her bottom lip between her teeth. “He sold them.”
“They weren’t his to sell.”
Fury flashed in her blue eyes. “No, they were not.”
Fitz angled his head. “I thought you had a written agreement.”
“We did.” In short, clipped sentences, Gigi told him about the promissory note lacking the signatures of two witnesses.
Fitz had experienced a host of disagreeable emotions in the past three days, but nothing compared to the rage that scorched through him now. He drew in a hard breath. Let it out. His fury only deepened. “That crook.”
“Mortifying as it is to admit, I trusted the wrong man. Again.” She gave a short laugh devoid of all humor. “There’s nothing to be done. The pearls are gone.”
If only Fitz had acted when she’d first told him about the necklace. He should have gone to the pawnshop in Herald Square as soon as he’d known. “Did the pawnbroker say when he sold them?”
“A week ago, to a man with a British accent who was leaving the country.”
Fitz wanted to hit something. No, he wanted to hit someone. The desire left him shaken to the bone. He’d been unable to make Nathanial Dixon pay for what he’d done to Gigi. This corrupt pawnbroker would not be so lucky.
“Tell me he at least told you the name of the man.”
“He only gave me a description.”
Fitz made a mental note to contact Mr. Offutt. With the help of the private investigator, he would make this right for Gigi. Somehow, someway, though the odds were stacked against him finding success. He started to tell her what he planned but was interrupted by a blast of steam and another ear-splitting train whistle.
As he tugged Gigi away from the tracks, Fitz reached down for her suitcase. Only when his hand closed over the handle did the magnitude of her presence at the train station hit him. “You’re going home without the pearls.”
Tears swam into her eyes. “I have no other choice.”
“I’ll go with you.” He reached for her, cupped her cheek. “When you face your father, I will be right there, standing next to you.”
Closing her hand over his wrist, she smiled tenderly. “It’s a tempting offer. But I have to face him alone.”
“You don’t, Gigi. You really don’t.”
A cold wind swept off the tracks.
Gigi didn’t seem to notice. “Do you remember when we went to church together?”
He nodded.
“And the sermon? Do you also remember that?”
Again, he nodded.
“I have read the story about the Prodigal Son at least twenty times since, but it wasn’t until this morning, after I walked out of the pawnshop, that I had something of a revelation.”
Her voice held raw vulnerability. Only a sense of propriety kept Fitz from pulling her into his arms and soothing away her pain. “What did you discover?”
“The Prodigal Son didn’t repent until he lost everything. Only then, when he was at his lowest, did he go home. Don’t you see? He returned home empty-handed.” She lifted her hands, fingers splayed, to emphasize her point. “All he had to offer in exchange for his sins was a remorseful heart. That’s how I will return to my father’s house, with nothing but a remorseful heart.”
Fitz didn’t think he could love this woman any more than he did in that moment. “You are a courageous woman, Gigi Wentworth.”
Her lips twisted at a wry angle. “I am also a very slow learner.”
“We have that trait in common.”
“How do you mean?”
The fast-moving crowd seemed to close in on them. Fitz was jostled from behind. He let out a weighty push of air.
“Let’s sit.” He looked around for a suitable place out of the main traffic. “There. On that bench beneath the blue awning.”
With her suitcase in hand, he guided her across the crowded platform.
Fitz set down the luggage and joined Gigi on the bench. “On more than one occasion, you’ve asked me to confide in you.”
Her fingers curled around his. “I remember.”
“You were right. I should have opened up to you long ago.”
Before she could do more than sigh, he told her about his father’s illness. He left nothing out, baring his soul, giving her every detail of his fear and anger and frustration.
Her face drained of color. “That’s awful. Why didn’t you tell me he was that sick?”
Emotion clogged his throat, tightened his chest. “My mother swore me to secrecy. Besides her and me, the only other person who knows is my cousin Connor.”
“That’s why you feel indebted to him.”
“He’s told no one of my father’s illness, which hasn’t been easy. Especially”—Fitz’s voice went hoarse—“at the office, where his symptoms were magnified.”
“I can only imagine.”
“The rumors are true about Connor and me. We pushed my father out of the company. We had to, for his sake, or risk exposing his condition.”
Gigi squeezed his hand. “There are no words to express how sad I am about your father.”
Now that he’d begun, Fitz held nothing back. He told Gigi about his father’s night terrors, including the most recent episode that had resulted in his black eye.
Gigi placed a soft touch to his bruised skin. “Your poor mother. What a terrifying moment that must have been, watching her son forced to subdue her husband.”
“The burden of my father’s care is taking a heavy toll. She’s aged considerably in the past year. But she is determined to ride out his illness with him, even to the grave. Her devotion leaves me in awe.”
“Sounds like your parents have a solid, loving marriage.”
Now that the topic of marriage had been broached, Fitz turned the conversation to the final piece of the tale, the part that directly affected their future together. “I have consulted several physicians, including specialists in brain diseases. My father’s prognosis is grim.”
“I’m so sorry.” Gigi blinked rapidly but was unable to prevent a few tears from trailing down her ch
eeks. She swiped at them impatiently. “It’s so unfair. Your father is a good man, Fitz, one of the best I know. I’ve always liked him.”
“He’s always liked you.”
They shared a sad, gut-wrenching smile.
“There’s something else you should know. My father’s disease could be hereditary.” He commanded her gaze. “Now you know why we can’t stay engaged.”
“Oh, no you don’t.” She bounded to her feet, jammed her hands on her hips, and glared down at him. “Don’t you dare use your father’s illness as an excuse to push me away.”
He stood, drawing himself up to his full height. “Gigi, you don’t want to marry a man like me. Trust me on this. I’ve seen—”
“Do not make up my mind for me.” She waved her finger in his face in a scolding manner that would put any schoolteacher to shame. “I am a grown woman. I know what I want and who. I love you, you big idiot.”
“I love you, too, Gigi, too much to chain you to a man who may one day lose his mind.”
“You’re afraid.”
He gave a short, bitter laugh. “You’re right, I’m afraid. I’m afraid for you.”
“You think that little of me?”
“I think that much of you. I won’t sentence you to a lifetime of servitude to an invalid.”
“That’s not your decision to make. I love you, Fitz. In the same way your mother loves your father. And as you have already promised to stand by my side, I shall stand by yours. No matter what comes our way, we will weather it together. Do you hear what I’m saying?”
A smile tugged at his lips. She was offering him the precious gift of her heart. Her trust. Her future. “I hear you.”
“At this point, any self-respecting gentleman with a modicum of sense would sweep me into his arms and whisper soft, affectionate words in my ear.”
How he adored this woman. “He would, would he?”
“He would then tell me he loves me, has always loved me, and will love me until his last dying breath.”
It sounded like the perfect way to start the rest of their lives together. Fitz stretched out his hand.
Gigi shifted out of reach. “I’m not through.”
“My mistake.”
Keeping her expression bland, she tilted her head at a haughty angle. “After he professes his love, he should promise to marry me as quickly as humanly possible.”
Fitz liked that last part. A lot.
“Well?” Her foot started tapping out a rapid tattoo on the platform. “I’m waiting.”
Had he truly thought he could live without her? No more. Not a second more.
He yanked her into his embrace. “I am completely and utterly unworthy of you, Gigi Wentworth. You make me want to be a better man. It would be my honor and privilege to stand by your side until we’re old and gray.”
She softened in his arms. “And?”
“I love you. I have always loved you, since I was in short pants and you wore girlish pinafores.” He pressed his lips to her ear. “I will love you until my last dying breath.”
“And . . . ?”
The woman was ruthless. Fitz wouldn’t want her any other way.
“And . . . I promise to marry you as quickly as humanly possible. Say yes, my love.” He pressed his mouth to her temple before pulling back far enough to stare into her lovely eyes. “Say you’ll marry me.”
“Yes, Fitz. I’ll marry you.”
He smiled down at her. “And . . . ?”
She laughed, a sweet tinkling sound that warmed his heart. “I want to marry you immediately, this week, no later than next. Our families will adjust to the shock.”
“I’ll make you a good husband.”
“I’ll make you a better wife.”
Fitz had no doubt. They had a future to plan, hopes and dreams to share. He took Gigi’s hand, lifted her suitcase, and said, “Let’s go home.”
Chapter Twenty-Three
Her father had agreed to see her. The thought gave Gigi small comfort as the family’s stiff-backed butler led her to Harcourt Wentworth’s private study on the first floor of Harvest House.
“You are to make yourself comfortable.” He opened the door without fully securing eye contact. “Your father will be along shortly.”
“Please tell him not to rush on my account. I don’t mind waiting.”
“I will relay your message.” He turned to go, then paused and glanced back over his shoulder. His gaze filled with compassion. “If I may be so bold as to say, it’s good to have you home, Miss Gigi.”
“Thank you, Joseph. It’s good to be home.”
They shared a brief smile before he continued on his way. The moment he disappeared around the corner, Gigi stepped inside the cavernous room.
With nerves fluttering in her stomach, she roamed aimlessly. She barely glanced at the masculine décor, hardly noticed the rich wood paneling or bookshelves lining three of the four walls. The only sound she heard over the beat of her heart was her heels clicking across the polished floorboards.
This would be the hardest meeting of her life, far harder than that last time she’d entered her father’s inner sanctum to defy his plans for her.
Please, Lord, let his anger have softened over time.
Unpleasant memories assailed her. Gigi let them come. She had no regrets, save one—her great-grandmother’s pearls.
The sound of footsteps echoed from the vast hallway. Gigi recognized those hard strikes of heels to wood, like hammers to nails. Each step brought her father closer. Gigi would tell him about the pearls and then confess her other sins. No matter his reaction, she would be free.
This was it, then.
Her chance to stand firm.
A quick burst of fear stole her breath. The resulting pain in her chest was massive, like sharp, needle-thin icicles stabbing her heart.
Lord, please fill me with Your courage.
The footsteps grew louder.
Pasting a smile on her lips, Gigi pivoted to face the doorway. A shadow fell across the threshold, elongated, and then . . .
Harcourt Wentworth appeared.
Gigi’s smile slipped.
Her father looked agonized. And older. His hair, once the same color as hers, now held more silver strands than red. Though his frame was still lean, he seemed to have shrunk an inch or two. His gray eyes, the color of morning fog, were red-rimmed and tired. He’d never looked more dear to her.
From his body language, Gigi could tell the shock of her sudden return had left him reeling. Even from this distance, she could see the muscles in his neck shift and tighten.
Silence hung between them, growing thick and heavy and uncomfortable.
Gigi braced for the moment when her father would throw her out of the house. Any minute, he would demand she leave his sight.
The command never came. And then she knew. He wasn’t angry with her. He was hurt. Sad. And a little broken.
She had done that to him.
Everything in her shattered into tiny, jagged pieces. Her head grew dizzy from the effort to hold his gaze. So much strength there. And yet so much pain.
Pain I caused.
“Oh, Father, I’m so sorry.”
“Gigi?” His shoulders flexed, then went still again. “Is it really you?”
She rushed forward, came to an abrupt halt. She nearly wobbled but forced her knees to lock. “I have come home. If . . . if you’ll have me.”
“My precious daughter.” His arms were around her with the speed of a single blink. “My beautiful, stubborn, willful girl. Your mother and I have been so worried.”
The sobs came then, big, loud, uncontrollable sobs that rocked her to the core.
“Please forgive me. Please . . .” Her voice strangled on the rest of the words.
“I forgave you the moment you disappeared.” He set her away from him and studied her face with intensity. “We despaired of ever seeing you again.”
The horror of what she’d put her family through brought back
the shame. “I sent word that I was alive and well. You received the letters, didn’t you?”
His head bobbed up and down, but the concern stayed in his gaze. “Were you truly well?”
“I . . .” She paused, thought over the past year. “I became a lady’s maid. I was treated with respect and dignity and learned the value of hard work.”
Relief entered his eyes. “I imagined the worst.”
“I’m sorry.”
He turned to pace and, running a hand through his hair, added, “Your letters gave little detail of your life. Your mother decided that meant you were well. Not I. I feared you were stuck in some hovel, frightened, alone, left to fend for yourself, with no money or skills to speak of. And there was nothing I could do. Nothing.”
He was blaming himself. The remorse in his voice was so unexpected her stomach dipped.
“I cannot tell you how many times I wanted to go back and relive our last conversation.” His hand raked through his hair again. “I would have never issued those threats. I would have attempted harder to reason with you.”
“I’m not sure I would have listened.”
“Perhaps not. You have too much of your father in you.” His tone was not unkind but rather a bit wistful, maybe even a little ironic, and full of love.
“I should have come home and asked for your forgiveness sooner.”
His face tightened. “Why didn’t you?”
“I couldn’t.” Her voice broke as she told him about Nathanial’s abandonment.
“So, it was as bad as I feared.”
She told of her despair and shock. As she spoke, her father never once interrupted, but he looked at her with devastated eyes.
“I was desperate.” The words came out on a gasp. Even to her own ears, there was such regret in the sound. So. Much. Regret. “I could think of no way out. I didn’t dare turn to you.”
“Why would you?” His voice cracked. “You must have been afraid.”
“Terrified. But I wasn’t completely without resources.” She took a hard breath. “And so, I did the only thing I could think to save myself.”
A pall of silence fell over them, broken only by the sound of a clock ticking somewhere in the distance.