Sweet Siren: Those Notorious Americans, Book 3

by Cerise DeLand

  Her husband took another sip.

  "Liv returned to London yesterday."

  They waited, patient and placid. He'd told them that when they arrived and they'd expressed their disappointment.

  "At the restaurant, the man who accompanied Edouard Montand was once a friend of her husband. His presence disturbed her and I have a small understanding of the cause."

  Remy cleared his throat and got to his feet. "May I?" he gestured to the cart.

  "Of course."

  Marianne sat with concern wrinkling her brow. Killian doubted she knew much of Liv's past and so he waited until Remy was ready to tell him more.

  "Liv's mother was a second cousin to my own," he said when he returned and took his place beside his wife. "The woman was, as some term it in England, nervous. She was from the English aristocracy, a younger daughter with only a small widow's portion and no particular talents or graces to commend her. Their marriage was not notable for its happiness. Liv was their only child. Her father was a viscount of little means and a small estate. He owned stock in a few companies, but he was not skilled at administration."

  Remy studied his glass, seeming reluctant to go on. "At a young age, he negotiated away his shares in his greatest holding. As a result, the family could not live as they had. The debts were double their income and the tenants suffered. I understand many simply left for London and the land went untilled. Liv's mother refused to go out into society. On a few occasions, they found her in the streets in her nightrail, muttering obscenities. She was, they say, prone to hurting herself. Mama sent funds each month to help them. I think for years they lived off that. Liv became her parents' caretaker. Cook, maid, who knows what else. After a few years when her mother became unmanageable, Liv sent her mother to a secluded home in the country. She and her father moved to a smaller house east of London near the docks, and soon after her father hung himself."

  "A very sad life," Killian said. Shock did not roll through him. As soon as she’d told him her maiden name, he’d recoiled. All the horror of his greatest disaster rained upon him like acid. "For all of them."

  "A scandal Liv wished to escape."

  Killian felt the despair of all Liv had lived through. She'd been the only one to stand up through financial decline, madness and suicide. "And when did she marry?"

  "A few weeks after she buried her father, David visited her. From what I understand from bits and pieces of Liv's conversations when she'd visit Mama and me, his family and Liv's had known each other forever. She and David grew up as neighbors until her father's loss of his businesses. David was aware of Liv's circumstances. He visited often and was appalled at their circumstances. He might even have given Liv money to aid them."

  "Why didn't he marry her before the death of her father?"

  Remy inhaled. "He didn't have to. But about the same time that Liv's father died, David had his own challenges. He'd long been known as a dandy. A fine dresser, owing much more to his tailor than appropriate for a man of his limited means. He had fine tastes in Spitalfields silks and Aubusson carpets, Japanese lacquers. But he also showed certain, shall we say, proclivities toward other men and that is not tolerated well in English society."

  Killian was more interested in her husband’s temperament. "He was a kind man?"

  "Gentle, soft-spoken, intelligent. But he was growing careless with his assignations and he'd had a few occasions when in London, that he'd been discovered with men of a different repute."

  Killian stared at Remy who honored Liv's husband with polite words. "He was a homosexual."

  Remy nodded. "He was. Here in France we look the other way. Allow people their rightful choice of lovers. But in England, they cannot overlook public displays of affections such as that. Their moral code demands conformity."

  "With a vengeance." Killian had had experience with the English demand for a patina of respectability. His oldest daughter Lily had married partly because she was discovered with her future husband in questionable circumstances. Fortunately she and her husband Julian adored each other so the wedding had been a joyous occasion and the hint of impropriety had not destroyed them. His youngest daughter Ada had escaped similar censure when she'd had a romp in Cherbourg last summer with her friends. The current scandal that brewed within his extended family was a virulent one of the marital strife between Julian's sister Elanna and her husband, the earl of Carbury.

  "People are not kind," Marianne said with a watery smile at Killian.

  She had also escaped censure when she'd lived with Remy up in Montmartre for a month last year. Remy had warned his friends to breathe not a word of her presence in his house. His fellow artists, respectful and careful of each other, had complied.

  Killian's whole family had felt the lick of gossip's destructive flames. But he himself was the greatest villain. During the war, he'd sailed his three ships through the Yankee blockade to Manchester and Portsmouth. Carrying cotton from the Confederates, he brought home gunpowder and rifles. He'd traded for profit. He'd prolonged the fighting and he had become ashamed of it. Yes, the proceeds had made him a rich man. A feared man. A man who reformed because his wife despised his actions—and prodded his conscience.

  "Who are you, Killian?" she'd asked him one morning, unsympathetic and angry after the unnecessary loss of a ship and eight of his seamen in a hurricane off the Chesapeake Bay. "A poor man who'd risk the lives of good men to earn a dollar? A man who'd fuel the fires of war to gain a fortune? A man who earns his daily bread by cheating others out of theirs? Or a man who offers others a way up and out of poverty? Decide. Do it quickly because I'd like once more to be proud of you."

  Months later, he refitted his two remaining ships. Ended the illegal English trade. Formed an alliance—and avoided prosecution as a traitor to the Union to transport supplies to rebuild railroads in the southern states. His wife smiled at him once again. He smiled at himself. For a few months. Until that other disaster in England had reached his ears. That other disaster that paralyzed him with shame. And guilt. If he would not trade guns to prolong an ugly war, would he countenance a purchase that was illegally negotiated…and killed a man?

  He’d walked through the fires of hell years ago to deal with that. And still today he’d had no closure on the news.

  Now he was in love with the woman who had been burned by that same fire. Because he’d set her family ablaze, she had suffered. Yet, through it all, she had cared for her parents and endured hardship and loss. She'd been brave.

  He loved her more. Much more than he had known. He was proud of her. His challenge was not simply to tell her, but to prove it to her. But how?

  "Liv's marriage?" He had to learn if she'd gained some peace in it. "Was it happy?"

  "I believe in some ways, yes," Remy said. "David needed to marry a woman of good moral reputation. She needed to be lifted out of the mire of her existence. They had a pact. The two of them came to Paris for their wedding trip. I was young. What? Twenty? Twenty-one? They came to dinner with Mama and me one night and we did enjoy ourselves. Liv seemed relieved to be married."

  "I think she was," Killian said with conviction.

  "David appeared happy, too. Why wouldn't he be? He had legitimacy. He was safe. When they left I recall Mama and I agreed that they might make a good union of it. They must have come to an understanding because later Camille was born."

  "They became decorators," Killian said.

  "Oui, partners. David had been trying his hand at it and Liv learned from him. When they began to work with one certain architect, they did very well."

  "Roger Antram. He designs my country house and my townhouses in Brighton. A good man. Ethical. I like him tremendously."

  "David and Liv did well with him. They earned a living and gained a solid reputation that overlooked her past and his."

  "And when David died, what happened?"

  "Liv was aggrieved. She loved him as a friend, the man who saved her from disgrace and despair. When I received Liv's te
legram that he'd died, I attended the funeral. The least I could do, I thought. Yesterday, I told Marianne that I believed that gentleman with Edouard in the Place du Tertre the other day looked familiar. I do believe he was there."

  "He was."

  They sat for a long minute, regarding each other.

  "There is more, isn't there, Remy?"

  "I left out much."

  Killian gripped his glass. He needed two more facts before he could attempt once more to rectify this injustice. "What year was her father bankrupted?"

  Remy stared at him. Sorrow lined his features. "Killian, you torture yourself. Is this necessary?"

  "It is. I must verify everything before I go to my solicitor in the City and to the police. So tell me, Remy, if you know when Liv’s father suffered his financial blow."

  "Sixty-one. Sixty-two?"

  "During our American civil war."

  "Oui. He owned a shipping company that declined from lack of cotton imports when the Federals blockaded shipments to England. He had to sell."

  "Do you know the English port?"

  Remy stared at him with sad eyes. "I do."

  The coincidence is a hellish irony. The perfect reason for Liv to hate me. "Liverpool."

  Remy nodded once, then drained his glass and took the hand of his wife to help her up. "Come along, ma chèrie. We must leave your uncle to his memories."

  Chapter 17

  August, 1879

  Brighton

  Liv climbed the hill to the construction site, Camille close behind her. As it was a brilliant Saturday morning, Liv had promised her daughter a day on the promenade. Ices in a cup, fresh steamed shrimp from a monger's stall, perhaps even a sail on the boat in the city regatta that set out each afternoon for a short sail along the shore.

  Camille was eager to get out of Liv's tiny rented townhouse. For the past week, she'd been cooped up there because of rain or dreary cold mist. At last at dawn, sun had broken through the clouds and Liv was eager to show her daughter a happy day and to check on progress on Killian's house.

  Liv shaded her eyes with a hand to the straw brim of her hat, smiling at the two men on the scaffolding. "Hello, there!"

  "Hallo, milady!" One of the carpenters waved to her from atop his ladder leaning against the framework for the roof. "Hot to be out today!"

  "It is. But we've come for the sunshine!"

  "Oh, Mama. It's magnificent."

  Liv turned to Camille who had a hand to her heart, her mouth agog as she gazed up at the expanse that was to be the grand county home of the American millionaire, Killian Hanniford.

  The Manor gave the appearance of sitting into the eyebrow of the hill. The curving drive added grace to the approach. The friendliness and open terrain added a charm that shimmered in the white stone, delineated by pale bricks in herringbone at hip height. The chimneys for the many fireplaces dotted the roof at regular points and gave punctuation to the Palladian order of the serene front and each side.

  Inside, she had ordered Italian marble tiles for the rotunda foyer and for the grand staircase. The entry was a peaceful circle that opened so that one room led grandly to another. Each room was of a dimension that could accommodate twenty in conversational groups. The dining room could hold thirty. The breakfast room held ten. The drawing room looked out over the west lawn and in the large nook in the floor were colored tiles laid into a design of the map of the world. All floors were fireproofed, double-framed with concrete and iron. The kitchen, in so many houses situated far from the dining areas, in this house was a few steps away. Food would be delivered hot and fragrant to the owners.

  A pleasant benefit for the staff, a nearby kitchen meant footmen need not run from yards away to serve course after course—and deliver them still warm as cook intended. Those employed at the house could count other advantages. The servants quarters on the third floor were a full height, not the three-quarters of many manors, which meant they could stand upright in their own rooms. Even the kitchen quarters downstairs for cook and her maids was extraordinary in size. What the owners and family of this house would have in size and care would be shared in many ways by those who waited upon them. Even the carriage house, the stables and the kitchen garden and stillroom were dry, cool, heated with a fire place and also well ventilated.

  The modern amenities that Killian had demanded tried the expertise of the masons and the plumbers. But they improvised and they learned new techniques. They used new techniques to secure flanges on the elbow joints and experimented with copper for the drainage and the septic systems. If at first they laughed over Hanniford's requirements, now as they implemented new safety for the electrical wiring and bigger water tanks for the w.c.s, they were very happy they did. What they learned here, they could use elsewhere. They talked over their pail lunches of how they'd gain fame and fortune in the long run.

  But all of her time here had not been totally focused on the house.

  These past three weeks had allowed Liv breathing room to consider her actions. She was not proud of herself. She'd been less than honest with Killian about her rejection of him. And the ache in her heart reminded her with every step she took that she missed him. And she loved him.

  That revelation burst upon her the day after her meeting with Roger. She recalled Killian’s laughter, his kindness, his joy in his family and his charming pursuit of her favor. For herself and him and what they might share, she buried her old fear of others, their critiques, their cruelty. Had any one of the lofty One Hundred aided her? Other than David who had married her, and Remy and his mother who had sent her family funds, who among those whose favor she had honored, had been kind and helpful to her? Who among them had smiled upon her in her poverty or in her travail to keep her parents clothed and fed? Who had treasured her?

  None.

  To whom did she owe her loyalty? Her respect? Her devotion?

  David was dead. Remy and his mother were alive. They were as thrilled to see her as in the days when she was an innocent girl visiting with her mama—and she treasured them.

  Aside from that, she had saved herself from despair and poverty. She had married David, not for romantic love, but she had been not only loyal but also honest to him and herself about her motives.

  She could now free herself of her fear of society to accept the possibility of happiness with a man who had in his own way changed for the better. A man who had decided—soon after the horrid negotiation with her father for his company—to be a better man?

  If she could find her way back into his good graces, she hoped to ameliorate the sins of her past, just as he had his. In that vein, she had worked diligently on this house. This edifice which would stand as a haven for the Hannifords she hoped might also serve as a window to how people might resolve to build new futures for themselves.

  She had written to him. In a note separate from her usual updates on the buildings’ progress, she asked to see him soon. She was polite, informal. She offered to go up to London if that was convenient for him. Or she’d welcome him to her home in Brighton. She did not say that if he did not wish to see her, she would understand. Whatever his view of her since Paris, she must offer him her apology in person. It was the only way to go on with her life with any integirty.

  He had replied the next day. “’I have a pressing matter I must investigate. After that, I will come to Brighton to meet with you.’”

  Disappointed that she had no definite date from him, she noted his polite tone…and his agreement to meet her. She had to accept that. In the meantime to occupy her, she had her work…and her daughter.

  "Can we go inside?" Camille's jade green gaze danced over the rafters, down along the alabaster columns. "I need to see it. I shall use it in my next novel."

  Liv laughed. "I thought you liked gloomy castles with spider webs dripping from the curtain walls."

  Camille stuck out her tongue. "I'm tired of brooding heroes. I'm up for a romp of the Regency period."

  "Dear heavens." Liv put a h
and to her heart like an over-dramatic actress. "A duke?"

  "Or a rogue who's a second son. His papa likes his oldest boy. Sedate and prudent."

  "Boring."

  "True. We need a man who rouses the spirit, breaks a few rules and then repents."

  Liv nodded. "More exciting."

  "There you are! So this house with its creamy stone and meandering front drive is just the setting for the return of the prodigal son."

  Liv laughed and put an arm around her girl's shoulders. Camille, with her sixteenth birthday next week, was as tall as Liv now. She was an elegant swan, with perfect pink cheeks and small white teeth, a river of golden hair streaked with glistening copper. She was quite breath-taking to look at. In fact, when they'd dined out these past few evenings, Liv had noticed the covetous glances sent to her gorgeous daughter. If she wished it, Camille could marry early and quite well. But Liv hoped she'd wait a very long time to choose a groom. If she could persuade her daughter to enjoy that opportunity, then Liv predicted her only child would find the perfect man to love and to love her in return.

  Liv took the rocky path toward the front steps.

  "I hear the sea."

  Liv looked back at Camille who had paused, her eyes closed, a rapturous look on her face.

  She spun and headed for the cliff. "I have to see it! Come on, Mama!"

  "Wait for me!" Liv ran behind her daughter.

  Camille came to an abrupt halt in front of the Dominican abbey's arches. Wild flowers growing around her feet, they decorated her skirt as if they'd been painted there. A glorious riot of summertime blooms, pinks, yellows and whites dotted her daughter's pale green muslin gown. She trailed her fingertips through the blossoms, scattering petals in the breeze. "Oh, this is glorious. I bet it's wonderful on a moonlit night. A marvelous place to be kissed and to fall in love."

  Camille's words had Liv wrapping her arms around her waist, envisioning what it must be like to be romanced in such a place. I could hope for that. Want it badly. Once in my life. "Enchanting, yes. It is."