Swansea Destiny

by Fayrene Preston

  During the time she had been speaking, her anger and pain had come at him like waves, soaking into him. He could do little more than stand and listen. And after all she had said, he still wasn't going to be able to tell her what she wanted to know, what she deserved to know. The answer was a tangled, complicated mass of his own anger and pain. "No."

  Arabella stared at him. He looked like a man in anguish, but she didn't believe it for a minute. He was too hard, too calculating to let things touch him. "Why did you even bother to track me down?"

  "Because I want to go on seeing you."

  If he had said because he planned to pull out a gun and kill her, she couldn't have been more surprised. "Why? For heaven's sake, why?"

  "Because I still want you as much as ever, in fact more. And because I can't sleep without dreaming about you, and I can't be awake without thinking about you. I dream you with my eyes wide open, Arabella."

  She swallowed, trying to ease her tightening throat. "Let me see if I understand this. You still want to have an affair with me."

  "Yes."

  "An affair without the possibility of marriage."

  "Yes."

  "No possibility at all."

  "That's right."

  "And you won't tell me why."

  "I can't."

  "Here's your cape, Miss Linden," the footman said, holding the ermine out to her.

  "Thank you." She took it and swirled it over her shoulders.

  Jas stuck his head over the banister of the staircase. "Arabella, you can't be leaving. It's early yet, barely midnight! Jake. You made it after all! And I'm mad for your attire. I'll have to remember—when you expect everyone will wear evening dress, come casual. How very elegant. Arabella, now that Jake's here, stay for a while. It's a swell party."

  "Swell," she said, her gaze lingering on Jake. There was something riveting about him, mesmerizing. Why, after what he had done to her, did she continue to find him so damnably attractive? And why, out of all the men in the world, did she have to fall in love with him? A love without hope.

  She fastened the cape. "Thanks for the party, Jas." she said, still gazing at Jake. "I'm sure I'll see you soon. Good-bye, Jake."

  As she made to pass him, his hand shot out in front of her, checking her exit. "It's not good-bye, Arabella."

  "You're a smart man, Jake. That's what makes it all the harder for me to understand how you can consistently be so wrong."

  Arabella was awake when the presents began arriving early the next morning. The first was a large heart-shaped wreath of roses, a rope of diamonds threaded among the buds. The card read, "Please be my valentine. Go out with me tonight." Beneath the message was scrawled a "J" made in one big fluid stroke.

  She turned to the waiting delivery boy. "Is today St. Valentine's Day?"

  "Yes, miss."

  It was unlike her to forget the current date, she reflected, but then, her life hadn't exactly been normal lately. She stuffed the card into its envelope and handed it to the boy. "Take it back."

  "Miss?"

  "Return the wreath, the diamonds, and the card to Mr. Deverell." The boy's expression told her that he clearly thought she had lost her mind.

  "Yes, miss."

  After that, boxes of candy along with baskets and bouquets of flowers began to arrive, not from Jake, but from friends like Jas and Ed. And all the gifts came with cards beseeching her to "Be My Valentine." Her life would be so simple, she thought, if she could just choose one of these men—one of these nice, stable, predictable men. One of these men she didn't love…

  At noon a gold heart-shaped standing mirror for her dresser arrived. Golden cupids with outstretched hands bracketed the mirror, and each cupid held the end of a fabulous ruby necklace. Arabella stared with fascination at the sparkling red stones. And she knew before she saw the card that the mirror and the necklace were from Jake.

  She opened the envelope and read. "I need to see you, Arabella. Please say you'll see me tonight." She gazed at the "J" written boldly in black ink, while pain, love, anger, and confusion ran riot inside her. But it never once occurred to her to accept either his gifts or his invitation.

  "Take it back," she said to the same boy who had delivered the roses and the diamonds.

  He sighed. "Yes, miss."

  "Damn, Bella." Kenneth uttered the mild epithet later that afternoon as he viewed the entry hall. "This place looks like a flower shop." He grinned. "Or maybe it's a funeral parlor. I can't decide."

  Arabella rested her hips against the edge of a marble table and crossed her legs in front of her. "There are too many boxes of candy, not to mention lace handkerchiefs, fans, trinkets and baubles, for it to be a funeral parlor."

  His grin widened. "Oh, is that how you decide between a flower shop and a mausoleum? I've always wondered."

  "They've been arriving all day."

  "Another typical Valentine's Day at the Lindens, and from all the goodies here, it looks like you've had an especially fine year." He plucked a card from one of the bouquets and read it. "Marcus O'Donnell. Who's that?"

  "Don't you remember? He's the young man who threw himself in front of my car at Christmastime and vowed not to get up until I said I would go out with him."

  Kenneth nodded, strolling on to the next few bouquets, checking more of the cards. "That's right. And you went out with him, didn't you?"

  "Sure," she said with a pronounced twinkle in her eye. "What else could I do? It was blackmail, pure and simple. My car was brand new and I couldn't risk the possibility of a dent."

  With a chuckle he replaced one card and reached for another. "Of course not."

  "And who did you send valentines to this year, dear brother of mine?"

  "I just sent one, a bouquet, to Jennifer Cummings."

  "Ah, the lovely Jennifer. I approve."

  A devilish expression appeared on his face. "I live for your approval, sweet sister."

  "As I do yours, darling brother."

  He abandoned his investigation of the cards and sauntered over to her. "Well, as long as we're speaking of approval, I couldn't help but notice that there's nothing here from Jake."

  She studied her fingernails. "He sent a couple of things, quite grand things actually, but I had the boy take them back."

  He reached out an arm and patted her shoulder. "You did the best thing."

  "I know."

  He shot back his cuff and glanced at his watch. "Listen, kiddo, I'm on my way over to the Ritz-Carlton to meet Jennifer for tea. Want to come?"

  She shook her head. "I'll stay home."

  "Are you sure?" He gestured toward all the gifts and flowers. "You're not going to accept any of the invitations on those cards?"

  "No." She rubbed at her temple. "If you want to know the truth, I'm a little tired."

  He frowned. "Hey, are you all right? Do you want me to stay home with you?"

  She looked at him fondly, happy to see him in such a good mood. Something seemed to have altered with him since they'd returned from SwanSea. There were times he seemed almost haunted. "Don't be silly. I'll be fine. You go on, and be sure to tell Jennifer hello for me."

  "Okay, then. See you later."

  When the door chime sounded a few minutes later, Arabella was still propped against the table. A great feeling of lassitude had settled over her, and she was a little astonished. Listlessness was foreign to her, as was any form of illness, even minor colds. She thought about the matter for a few moments, then with grim humor realized there could be only one explanation—fighting against love must take an awful lot of energy.

  Perkins closed the front door after accepting yet another large floral arrangement. "Would you like us to begin distributing these around the house, miss?"

  "I think I have a better idea this year, Perkins. Send them over to Massachusetts General to the head nurses of the various sections to give to the patients who would enjoy them most. The candy might be just the thing for the children's ward, but do check with the nurses." />
  "Very good, miss."

  The door chime sounded again, as the phone began to ring. Arabella sighed. "Go ahead and answer the door, Perkins, I'll get this." She reached around behind her, scooped the handset off the table, lifted the receiver from its hook, and spoke into the mouthpiece. "Hello?"

  "It's Ed, Arabella. You said I could call today."

  What she had actually said, she thought, was that she would have been disappointed if he hadn't asked if he could. "Yes, Ed, how nice to hear from you."

  "Did you get my flowers?"

  She stared down at the tips of her shoes, trying to remember which flowers he had sent. "Yes, I did. Thank you so much. Violets in winter—they are truly lovely." She searched her mind to recall if he had sent her anything else. "And thank you for the candy also."

  "I didn't know what type you liked, so I thought an assortment would be best."

  "And you were absolutely right. Thank you again. And thank you for calling." She supposed her multiple thanks sprang from guilt. This time a year ago she would have laughed with him and flirted. But she was a changed woman. New Year's Eve had marked the beginning of her change, and a dark-haired, dark-eyed, dark-souled man was the reason. "Excuse me, Ed, what did you say?"

  "I said I was hoping you would go out with me this evening. There's a party at—"

  "No, I'm sorry." The last thing she wanted to do was lead him or anyone on. She opted for the truth. "You're a really nice man, Ed, and I like you a great deal—as a friend."

  He groaned. "Arabella, don't call me a friend. That's the kiss of death."

  Her gaze still fixed on the toes of her shoes, she chuckled. "But I want you as a friend. Friends last longer than boyfriends, Ed. Always remember that."

  "You're a swell girl, Arabella. And I guess since you are, I'll give in gracefully."

  "You're a smart man, Ed Forsyth. The next time we're at the same party, I'll expect a dance. See you."

  She dropped the receiver onto its hook and twisted around to replace the telephone on the table.

  "That was very prettily done."

  Her head jerked around and her hand flew to her heart. "Jake!" She quickly searched for Perkins, but he was nowhere to be seen.

  "How are you, Arabella?" he asked, walking slowly toward her. "I don't have to ask what kind of day you've had. I can see for myself. There's probably not a single flower left in all the florist shops in Boston."

  His overcoat was folded neatly over one arm, and he held his hat in his hand, telling her that he had probably been in the hall the entire time she was talking to Ed. She also couldn't help but notice his clean-shaven face, his starched, pristine-white shirt, an elegantly patterned tie, and a magnificently tailored dark blue suit with vest. He looked as if he were going to church, she thought, and had to swallow the bubble of hysterical laughter that rose in her throat. Men with dark souls didn't go to church.

  He stopped in front of her. "You didn't really think I'd give up, did you?"

  No, she hadn't. At least not deep inside her heart she hadn't. She straightened and moved around him until she was several safe steps away. "What do you want, Jake?"

  He pulled a small, slim, black velvet jewelry box from the inside pocket of his suit and held it out to her. "I thought maybe you might have a harder time refusing me than you did the delivery boy."

  She eyed the box, trying to guess what might be in it. Then, disgusted at herself for her curiosity, she crossed her arms under her breasts. "Well, you were wrong. I won't accept anything from you. And, if that's all, please leave."

  He slipped the jewelry box back into the pocket. "No, that's not all. I also wanted to ask you to go to dinner with me tonight."

  "No," she said, and thought she saw pain flash across his face. But if the expression had been pain, it disappeared as fast as it had appeared, leaving only his heart-stoppingly handsome face for her to look at.

  "I didn't mean to hurt you, Arabella." His voice was soft.

  "Then you were careless, because that's exactly what you did. But it's all right. I recovered very quickly." She paused. "Now, once and for all, please leave." She started for the stairs.

  "My mother is going to be very disappointed."

  She stopped dead still in her tracks and turned back to him. "What did you say?"

  "My mother is going to be extremely disappointed. I told her I was going to bring a very nice young lady to meet her this evening."

  "Your mother?" There were very few things that would have shocked her more than Jake Deverell inviting her to meet his mother, she thought, searching his expression. But as usual, he was keeping his thoughts and feelings to himself.

  "Today is her birthday, and we're going to have a special dinner."

  "Jake, I didn't even know you had a mother. Why did Edward Deverell adopt you if your mother is still living?"

  His mouth quirked. "That's a good question."

  "Then what's the answer?"

  "The answer is Edward Deverell is a sonofabitch."

  She stared at him, wondering what to think. He ran the brim of his hat through his fingers, a sign of tension in any other man.

  "I'd really like you to come, Arabella. She doesn't get to meet many new people."

  "Why me, Jake? Do you honestly want to introduce her to the woman whose name has been so infamously linked with yours in the newspaper?"

  "She doesn't read Randolph's column. I asked her not to years ago, and she doesn't."

  "Okay, but I still don't know why you want to take me to your mother's, of all places."

  He gazed down at his hat. "Because I think she truly will enjoy meeting you. And because I want to be with you, and I was afraid you would say no to any other invitation."

  "Did you say you were afraid?"

  His head came up, and his eyes narrowed. "I knew with absolute certainty you would say no. But I felt you might agree to dinner at my mother's house."

  He was close to being right, she thought, still dealing with her shock. He had given her an invitation almost impossible to refuse. The urge to meet his mother and perhaps learn more about him was nearly irresistible. "You've already told her I'm coming?"

  He gave a quick smile, and she was shaken to realize that at that moment he reminded her of a guilty little boy.

  "Yes. As I've said, I want to be with you, and I was really hopeful that you would come."

  Arabella rubbed her temple. There had to be a catch somewhere. There had to be a reason why she shouldn't go. "Where does she live? New York City?"

  He smiled again, and she realized with chagrin that the cause of his smile was her own thoughts. He had read them.

  "No, Arabella, she lives here in Boston, the. Back Bay area." His smile faded. "I wanted her to live at SwanSea, where we could be together more often, but she said she would feel more comfortable staying here. Needless to say, though, I got her out of the North End as soon as possible."

  Arabella was silent for a moment. "I really don't know what to tell you, Jake."

  "Say you'll go."

  She hesitated. "We'll go right there and then straight back here? No detours?"

  "I promise. I give you my word, and, Arabella, my word is good."

  Vanessa had said the same thing last night, she thought inconsequentially. She spread out her hands. "I don't have a gift for her."

  He threw a quick glance around the hall, then walked over to a table and picked up a box of chocolates. "Mother loves chocolates. Take her these. She'll be very pleased, and you didn't plan to eat them anyway."

  She looked at him in surprise. "How do you know?"

  "Because you like white chocolate. I haven't forgotten."

  Chapter 8

  Gwendolyn Conall smiled at Arabella, who was sitting a short distance away from her on the couch. "My dear, you were so sweet to come tonight."

  Arabella had met Jake's mother only fifteen minutes before, but she was already completely charmed by her. "It's my great pleasure to be here," she said sincer
ely, and didn't notice the thoughtful look Jake cast her. They were in the front parlor of the house, a modest but stately three-story home on Commonwealth Avenue. The furnishings were elegant and feminine. And Gwendolyn was one of the most incredible women Arabella had ever met.

  Her hair was pure white, and her eyes shone pale milky blue behind a pair of strong, thick glasses. Wrinkles lined her skin and arthritis had knotted and twisted her fingers, but she had a soft beauty that seemed to touch everything around her.

  "How did you meet my son, Arabella?"

  "I attended his New Year's house party with my brother Kenneth."

  "She brought me a pair of snow-white peacocks as a gift," Jake told his mother in an amused tone. He was lounging in a big overstuffed chair a few feet away from them.

  "How wonderful of you, Arabella," Gwendolyn said, her expression lighting with delight. "How did you ever come up with such an original idea for a present?"

  "I visited SwanSea with my father when I was a little girl and I always remembered it, the staircase, the ballroom—everything about it." She glanced at Jake.

  One black brow lifted slightly. "You didn't mention that you'd been there before."

  "It wasn't really important." She looked back at Gwendolyn. "Jake told me you didn't think you would be comfortable living at SwanSea, but you've visited, haven't you?"

  The expression of delight slowly faded from her face. "No, I haven't."

  Even separated by a few feet of space, Arabella sensed Jake tensing. She threw him a puzzled glance, but when he didn't say anything, she continued. "You should definitely go up for a long visit, Mrs. Conall. It's a wonderful place."

  For a few moments the older woman became very quiet, seeming to lose herself in her own thoughts. "Perhaps when I have grandchildren, when I can hear their laughter and their sweet voices filling those big rooms, then I will."

  Surprised, Arabella quickly looked over at Jake and was even more surprised to see that his eyes were closed, as if he would not see a painful vision. Obviously, she thought, he hadn't told his mother that he didn't plan to marry.