“When then?” A breeze stirred the tendrils resting on her slender neck. Though why he should notice such a detail, now of all times, he couldn’t say.
“It was the day I brought home the chair. The day my sister realized it would take a miracle for her to walk again. And right then, more strength than she possessed to believe for one. I had to believe for her, until she was strong enough again. Now, we both believe together. But it isn’t always easy.” He ahemed away the pressure building in the back of his throat.
“I’m so sorry,” she whispered. For a split second, her hand moved, as if to reach across to grab hold of his. Just as quickly, she returned it to her lap.
He told himself it was what any true lady would do.
“Compared to what you’ve just told me, my own problems seem trivial.”
“Nothing that causes real pain is trivial. And whatever it is, you can tell me, after all I’ve told you.”
She released a breath, the bodice of her dress rising and falling. It came out more like a shudder. For a second, he thought she was going to start sobbing all over again. Then all of a sudden, a laugh escaped. “The necklace. The bracelet. They’re fake.”
“You’re kidding!” He leaned closer. The diamonds winking in that weighty silver necklace looked impressive enough to belong to the Queen of England. They lay against the smooth expanse of her neck and throat, practically shrieking wealth and status.
“Believe it or not, they aren’t original. Only the earrings are. The rest…” The faint smile fell from her face, and she dropped her gaze to her folded hands. “The originals were exchanged for cash months ago. My family’s home is on the brink of being sold to pay our accumulated debts. Meanwhile, my brother continues to spend money like it’s water sliding over the Falls. I wish I were home…but instead, I’m an ocean away, forced to smile and laugh and talk as if I haven’t a care in the world. I came outside because I couldn’t take it another instant. You can only fling glass against the wall so many times before it breaks, you know.” She let out a shuddery exhale, the remnants of tears fresh on her cheeks. “It’s not like steel, able to withstand the strain. I wish I were steel, but fear I’m little more than glass, and I feel like I’ve been flung again and again and am finally breaking.”
Had he tumbled into the Falls and been smacked by the mighty waters, he couldn’t have been hit with more force than the syllables of her statements. This woman, wearing fake diamonds? This woman, chained with a ton of debt? This woman, fretting and frightened over an uncertain future?
It was difficult to reconcile her outward appearance with the confession she had just voiced. Yet as he gazed into her eyes and read the vulnerability and shame there, he knew she spoke the truth.
Blame it on having raised his sister from childhood, but he knew how to read women. When they lied, when they were honest. In Adele Linley’s eyes, he read complete honesty.
Perhaps, even, a trace of trust. And need. She needed his help.
Having needed help of his own a time or two, he’d vowed never to refuse another’s heartfelt plea, even the unspoken ones. Especially those.
God, help me to say the right thing.
“That’s a whole lot of problems to rest on a single set of shoulders. What about your parents? Aren’t they concerned?” Surely this woman had the luxury of familial support. Drew never had, but that was just his lot, honing the phrase “manage on his own” to an unparalleled science.
She looked at him, fingers playing with the skirt of her dress, wrinkling the silky fabric. A chorus of birds, whose names he’d never learned, began their nightly concert. Had the creatures suddenly become human, they would have empathized with the woes of the mortals they regaled, so mournful was their song.
“My father is dead. My mother cares, yes. But she isn’t strong. She was raised to be a lady of gentility, to marry well and chaperone her children into society. The management of funds doesn’t come naturally to her. She needs me to give her guidance. But she’s in England, and I’m in America. So we can’t do more than write each other back and forth.”
England. So that’s where she was from. He’d been right about the accent at least. Though he still didn’t know why she was here, instead of with her family.
He exhaled slowly. Though this conversation could have continued, there were guests inside who might wonder at her absence and wonder all the more to find them here together. And most problems couldn’t be solved in a single evening, especially when he hadn’t had time to fully absorb their impact.
“I want to help you, Miss Linley. But it’s late, and people inside might wonder where you are. Give me a day or so to think and come up with some answers. Would you think it too forward…if we were to meet again?”
She didn’t answer at first, no doubt running through the complications of arranging such an encounter. Not that there would be many difficulties on his side. But for her, a well-bred lady, it would involve a whole lot of them.
A nod. Only a little one, but it was a “yes” nonetheless. “Well, I’m not sure how much good it will do, but if you are kind enough to help, I’d be a fool to refuse. I’m staying very near here, across the street, at the home of my Aunt and Uncle Osbourne. Everyone will be away tomorrow afternoon, visiting some friends whom I do not know or care to see. Shall we say, around two?”
Despite her decreased finances, she obviously hadn’t lost any of her inbred elegance. Whatever her money woes might be, this was a woman who knew how to summon servants and entertain duchesses. Apparently, her reach extended to planning rendezvous. In other circumstances, Drew might’ve balked. He took orders only from those who paid his salary and no one else. But Adele wasn’t giving orders, at least not in a way intended to offend him.
“Two o’clock it is. I look forward to thinking and praying, and hopefully, when we meet, I’ll have some answers.” He did his best to trust that he would. But sometimes God seemed all too silent. And Drew, all too uncertain.
Voices sounded, close enough to make Drew surmise that guests were beginning to depart. Adele must’ve heard them too, her eyes darting back and forth like a frightened child’s.
“You’d better go.” Him too. Though he’d done some mingling with the upper crust as Conway’s companion, he hadn’t yet graduated to rubbing shoulders with those of the Fargo ilk. And his employer would be more than a little miffed to find Drew had trespassed long after completing his mission of delivering the message.
“Until tomorrow then, Mr. Dawson.” Her skirt rustled as she stood and attempted to smooth out some of the wrinkles. She gave a little smile before turning in the direction of the house, her bearing regal, movements graceful.
Leaving Drew standing in the garden, hands in his pockets, and a world of questions in his heart.
Last night, madness had triumphed over rational thought. Yet with the unyielding rays of daylight, reality arrived. A much-needed dose that left Adele with only one thought.
He wouldn’t come.
It had all been a spur-of-the-moment gesture, born of chivalry. Right now, Drew Dawson was undoubtedly shaking his head in frustration and debating whether to send a note of apology or simply not show up. Adele rather hoped he’d choose the latter.
But then, why was she waiting in the drawing room, dressed in a fetching frock of mint green muslin, the house bereft of its usual occupants?
Because she was weak. Because their conversation had been the only genuine one she’d engaged in since arriving in America. Because he’d listened, no judgment in his expression. Told her of his experiences with an honesty that trumped any pathos. And seemed to genuinely want to help, or at the very least, offer comfort.
Because…she rather hoped he might come.
Across the room, the tall case clock glared at her, eyes seeming to peek out of the oval center, declaring her all kinds of a fool.
Bong. Bong.
“That’s right, Master Clock. I’m dafter than Farmer Brindley’s sheepdog. Drew Dawson isn
’t coming. It’s a quarter past two, he isn’t here, and I’m an imbecile.” She forced her fingers to disentangle themselves from the folds of her skirt.
A huff escaped. Talking to a clock. What a sorry state she’d gotten herself into.
A walk. She’d take a walk. The fresh air would lift the fog from her mind and restore a measure of sense. She wouldn’t bother Nora. Just go upstairs, neatly hang the lovely green dress in her wardrobe, and put on something more serviceable.
There. She was thinking more like herself again. Much improved already.
“Miss Linley?” Delany’s twangy voice broke into her thoughts.
“Yes?” It was difficult to be around the man she’d learned was from Texas and not want to mimic him. He sounded so delightfully foreign, and his smile was a homey thing to look upon.
“A caller.”
Had there been a moment to spare, her fretting probably would have resumed again. She might have crossed to the mirror above the fireplace and checked her appearance. Perhaps moved to stand near the window.
But in the next instant, Drew Dawson entered.
“Thanks very much.” Drew flashed a smile in Delany’s direction. “Appreciate it.”
“You’re more than welcome, sir.” Delany executed a bow that came across more cowboy than courtly before closing the drawing room door.
For a few seconds, Adele couldn’t force words past the speechlessness gathering in her throat. Wearing a grayish-blue suit and claret-colored tie, Drew shifted on the drawing room rug, though he held her gaze evenly.
“Are you always late to your engagements?” She tried and failed to keep the edge from her tone. Based on their conversation last night, she figured he wouldn’t care. In fact, he seemed to enjoy sparring with her, a thing she preferred far more than sickening sweet politeness.
“Transportation’s fault, not mine.” He loosed a disarming grin.
“I’ve not conducted many meetings of business, but I daresay the first order of the day is for you to take a seat.” Hiding her own unexpected smile, she gestured toward the various seating options, letting him take his pick.
“Thank you.” Instead of situating himself on one of the settees near the fireplace or in one of the armchairs close to the window, he dragged an ottoman Millie had used the previous evening, and pulled it up beside Adele’s chair. He sat down, planting both feet firmly on the floor, and let his hands hang loosely between his knees.
One of the things she’d discovered differed between England and America was the latter’s need for nonstop chatter. In England, people were content with, even embraced, drawn-out moments. Pauses. Adele looked up at him, letting the silence hang.
He didn’t seem inclined to break it. Was he watching her? If so, what did he see? Darkness no longer obscured them, and she found herself perusing the varying shades of his eyes—rich mahogany, to lighter swirls of hazel.
“I’ve been doing some thinking.” Either he’d looked at her as long as he wanted or decided they’d better get down to the reason for his visit.
“And?” She couldn’t hide the hope in her tone. Perhaps this man called Drew Dawson had actually found a solution to her family’s situation. If it were good enough, she might be free to return to England, leaving the patronizing Osbournes and brash Americans to their lavish dinner parties and whirl of endless amusements.
“Where did your family make most of their income?”
“Well, the acreage around the estate was farmed out to tenants who worked the land and brought in a good profit every harvest. But piece by piece, after Father died, they were sold and the money used to continue providing for Mother and my brother and me. I was sixteen at the time and didn’t have much say in all that went on. By the time I began to take over for Mother, the state of everything was far from profitable, though thankfully, Mother had engaged a steward, Mr. Bridges. We made do though, mostly due to his wisdom I expect. Until my brother’s tastes began to exceed the family income.”
“There goes that idea.” He rubbed his palm over his stubble-dusted jaw. Adele twisted the folds of her skirt, staring out the window, wishing that a solution might write itself on the new bricks of the house across the street.
He looked at her again. “I was going to suggest agriculture, though in hindsight, I should have guessed you’d already considered that. Farming, at least here in America, can make a family prosperous, provided the crops grow well and the type grown is chosen properly. Now, as I see it, without land, you’ve not many options left to you. Maybe the best thing to do is go home. Your family is there, and from the looks of things, you and that Bridges fellow are the greatest resources they have. At least, if the house does get sold, you can see it goes for a good price. I’m sure you can find a smaller place in the vicinity of your village.”
“No. I won’t do that. I’d rather…” Wed American money. It was the reason she’d endured the voyage, the reason she forced herself to pander to Aunt Osbourne’s condescension. With a wealthy husband and a backing of capital, she could buy back the land surrounding the estate and restore her house to its former beauty. It could become again the sanctuary of her girlhood days. A beacon of brightness against the disappointments life brought.
“What other option do you have? You could rent out the house, I suppose. But I don’t see how that would improve matters for you long-term.”
She should tell him. He looked almost worried, rubbing his jaw, one foot tapping staccato on the floor. Though she hadn’t known this man long, she didn’t want him fretting over troubles not his own.
But voicing her plan would only make it sound all the baser. Would undoubtedly put an end to the unaccustomed yet utterly easy familiarity between them, formed on the ferry and in the garden last night. She didn’t want that. Her own bad opinion of her motives was burden enough. She didn’t need to add that of a man she barely knew. One who, when she looked at him, made her want to keep on looking. The variance of his eyes, that strong, stubbled jaw giving him an air of solidity and roguish daring all at once…
Enough. If mere thoughts could render one in a madhouse, she’d be heading there at breakneck speed.
“I’ll think on it. There’s still time and there are always options. I’m only sorry you’ve wasted your afternoon, coming all this way.” The truth, though unspoken, seemed to cast a darkness to the room that had been absent before. It rankled, that darkness.
As did the truth.
“It wasn’t that far. And I’d promised to come. I do my best to keep my promises.”
As she met his gaze, she sensed he meant it. Sensed the inbred honor that was sterling compared to the cheap silver of false chivalry.
“Did you like the Falls?” The sudden change of subject rattled her, but perhaps he’d been uncomfortable with talk of promises.
“Yes, very much. They truly are, as the writers put it, sublime. The risk-takers who exploit them for monetary gain are their only drawback.” She’d started with a smile, but it dimmed at the thought of the risk-takers. Men of daring who scampered across the high wire like children over hopscotch squares. They willingly courted death, little caring about the consequences if their attempt ended in tragedy. Leaving their wives, parents, and children.
Children like Adele, left to gather up the shards of life, after daring ended in devastation.
Some of her emotion must have painted itself on the canvas of her face, as Drew’s expression tightened.
“What do you mean by exploit?” The quietness of his tone made the ticking of the clock sound all the louder.
“I’m by no means an expert on Niagara history, but from what I’ve heard, the Falls used to be a place of joy in nature. The daredevils have turned it into a circus, worth no more than a seat at a street fair. To be sure, they are still beautiful, but it seems marred somehow, that beauty. Don’t you agree?”
Perhaps her words made him feel guilty. Man that he was, he’d probably been a spectator at one of Blondin’s famous feats. She wouldn
’t judge him for it though. Everyone must choose for themselves. And she liked this man, the way the knot in her insides relaxed, the tension in her shoulders unwound, whenever he smiled. They could be friends during her time in Buffalo. Could they not?
“There’s some truth in that, yes. Growing up without much in the way of income myself, I’m not one to judge what a guy will do to earn a buck. Everything’s changing these days. Not just the Falls.” He stared down at his hands, and a twinge of remorse pricked her. She shouldn’t have gone on such a moral rant, especially since he’d just revealed his own state of financial lack.
Alchemy must infuse this American air. The sixteen-year-old girl who’d knelt at her father’s side after he’d risked one too many times and lost would never have considered even befriending someone who seemed to sanction the daredevils. Her father’s death had shaken her—not only bodily, but emotionally, and the impact still reverberated through her life.
“By the by, I don’t think I asked. What is your line of work?” If there was anything a debutante was taught, it was how to get the conversation back on neutral ground.
His jaw tightened, a slight movement, but tangible nonetheless.
Wrong question to ask? Possibly. She added a polished smile, hoping to calm the ripples.
“I’m involved in a business project. Something to do with the Falls. It would take too long to explain.” Whether he didn’t see the clock or thought his own timepiece superior, Drew pulled a pocket watch from his waistcoat and consulted it.
“I didn’t mean to keep you.” She stood, sensing their conversation finished. Though it was a shame, really. To speak of things that mattered beyond Paris dresses and whist games, even if those things weren’t exactly pleasant, had been refreshing indeed.
“Don’t apologize. It wasn’t your fault. I lost track of time, that’s all.”
My Heart Belongs in Niagara Falls, New York Page 4