She crossed to him, finding a smile and making it count. A tiny seed of hope sprang up within her. Mr. Conway had yet to state his intentions. Perhaps…if she mentioned her departure, it might spur him to do so. A ray of light could still shine forth amid the darkness cloaking her world.
Making Linley Park prosperous again could never amend the wrong she had done Tony. But it might salve the ache inside her. Somehow, someday.
“Mr. Conway. How good it is to see you.” She stood there, waiting for him to take her hand and press a kiss against it or hold it between his.
“Miss Linley.” He gave a brief nod, expression somber. “Allow me to offer my condolences on the loss of your brother.”
“Thank you,” she said softly. “It’s been a wretched two days. But you’re here now, and I’m so very glad to see you.”
“Again, I am sorry for your loss. Now if you’ll excuse me, I’ve business to speak to your uncle about.” He started to brush past her, but she blocked his path.
“Is something the matter? Are you unwell? Please, come into the drawing room and we can talk about whatever it is that’s distressing you.” A touch of panic edged into her tone. What had happened to the man who showered her with compliments and held her hand with a familiarity that almost made her uncomfortable? Only days ago, his eyes had looked at her with something akin to fire in their gaze. Now, it had turned to ice.
“Very well.” At least he followed her, closing the door shut behind them once they’d entered.
She seated herself on the settee, making room for two. A breath of relief escaped her lips when he joined her. At least, he didn’t loathe her enough to refuse that. But why would he be cold toward her at all?
“I’m returning to England.” She clasped her hands in her lap and tried to persuade him with her gaze to look at her. Perhaps a bit of blunt honesty would crumble whatever defenses he’d erected. “I’ve become a burden on my aunt and uncle. The scandal surrounding Tony’s death has been…difficult for them. I am, to be quite honest, no longer welcome here.”
“I see. Your mother will no doubt be glad of your return. She must miss you.” He shifted, his voice no longer that of the man who’d courted her; these were the words and tone of an utter stranger. No. Even strangers spoke with more warmth toward each other.
“She will. But I am sorry to leave. These past weeks with you, getting to know you have been…” She let her words trail off, though not the tremulous pleading aimed at him. Had she tried even half so much before, he’d have fallen to his knees and begged to ease her suffering.
He held up a hand, averting his gaze. “You must understand, Miss Linley…I think you’re a charming girl. But my position in society requires me to find a wife, one who is blameless in its eyes. Recent events have rendered you otherwise.”
She pressed her lips together, fixated on the tall case clock. The same one she’d stared at while waiting for Drew on the day that now seemed so long ago. Troubles had weighted her then, but they’d been mere trifles compared to what faced her today.
“I understand.” It made sense, in light of the cruel magnifying glass directed on them by the eyes of society. Franklin Conway needed a wife to enhance, not diminish, what he had already achieved.
Yet another thing lost because of her attempt to save Drew Dawson.
“And I must thank you. For your honesty and for…the way you once felt about me. I hope, at least, that we may bid farewell as friends?” Her tone stayed steady, but she kept her gaze fixed upon the silk of her skirt, studying how her hands appeared so white, contrasted against the jet.
She started as fingers grasped hers and looked up. Mr. Conway sat closer to her than he ever had before, his thigh nearly bumping against hers.
“You speak of farewell?” His hand lingered.
“Of course.” It struck her as odd, how cold and distant he’d seemed minutes ago and how warm his gaze and hand were now. Either the man felt remorse over his coldness or his moods were more changeable than London weather. “England will again be my home, and yours will remain here. That is what I mean by farewell.”
He gave a short laugh and removed a silver case from his pocket. Adele watched, both hands again properly in her lap, as he proceeded to light and put to his lips, a cigarette.
She was ignorant of many things, but society and the roles therein were not among them. And their roles had shifted, evidenced by this act. A man did not smoke in front of a lady. No matter how new money the man or how familiar his acquaintance with the lady.
So what did that tell her? Mr. Conway no longer thought of her as a lady.
The smoke wafted through the air, a pungent, unpleasant aroma.
“But I don’t mean anything of the kind. Allow me to be frank with you, Adele. I know you put on airs and wear fine clothes. I also know your family’s sorry financial state. Don’t bother asking me how I know this, but I do. So here’s what I’m offering you. Let me take care of you and your family, and we can still be good friends—very good friends.”
The baseness of his gaze upon her, as if she were a high-priced filly at a London auction, sent a rush of nausea churning through her stomach. She shot from her chair and crossed the room. But the distance between them did little to settle her.
Facing him, she laced her fingers together at her waist. “I suppose by ‘very good friends,’ you mean you wish to make me a kept woman?” She must look like Caro Aubrey at this moment, tendons straining in her neck, posture regal. The only difference between them was that Adele still possessed the virtue that Caro Aubrey had no scruples about giving away. And though Adele no longer had her brother and would very soon lose her family home, she would hold fast to her honor, if nothing else.
Mr. Conway chucked the cigarette into the fireplace and came to her side, looking down at her. “It wouldn’t be like that, Adele. I do care about you, very much.”
“But not enough to marry me?” Each word came out sharp. How impossible it seemed, that she, ladylike Adele Linley, was actually conducting such a conversation. Like living someone else’s life, saying words that should’ve been far removed from such as her.
He blew out a breath. “You’re too hard on me. You’ve got to see that if I were to marry you, people would frown upon me. The right people. It’s a stupid game, really. But I’ve played it so long, it’d be foolish to stop now.” He pulled her to him, his large hands wrapping her waist, the touch warm and insistent. Body frozen but mind racing, she looked up at him for the space of a second.
“So are we agreed?” His face, his mouth, hovered above hers, the scent of cigarette and strong cologne harsh and overwhelming. In a second, he’d kiss her. Whether she said yes or not. She sensed it.
As if awakening from a dream, she jolted and jerked away from him. Sharp and fast, her palm made contact with his jaw in a stinging slap. “We most certainly are not. And if you don’t leave this very moment, it shall be your name society slanders.”
The imprint of her hand reddening on his cheek, he smoothed down the front of his suit, as if to collect himself. Anger blazed hot in his eyes. “Have it your way then. It’s foolishness though. I’m offering you a decent life.”
“You are mistaken.” The words came out strangled. “There is nothing decent about what you offer.” She turned her back to him, keeping her shoulders straight. Less than a minute later, his footsteps sounded and the door clicked shut.
Slowly, she returned to the settee. She stared down at her hand, tingling from where she’d struck him. At least pain permeated, even if tears wouldn’t come.
There was nothing left to be done. England was her only option. And she would go as soon as possible.
“I’d promised to come. I do my best to keep my promises.”
The memories of that day rose before her and brought a tightness to her throat. Drew had given her comfort, smiled as if to coax one from her.
And what had she done for him? He’d lost the income he so needed and, confined to bed,
as he undoubtedly was, wouldn’t be able to earn anytime soon. With Hope dependent upon him, how would they live? They had no family, and their friends, if any, needed every penny to care for their own. They had an apartment, but rent day would come, and how would they eat? Who would care for the house, for them both? From where would money come to pay the doctor?
Pressing her palm into her forehand, she leaned her elbow against the edge of the settee. She’d been about to arrange passage to England, leaving the debris from the disaster she had caused behind for others to deal with as they would. It was something Tony would do, her father. Not her.
Perhaps Drew would let her help him. She was no longer welcome at the Osbourne’s, but those in Canal Street held no societal scruples. Her mother need not know Adele no longer resided with her relatives, and in the meantime, Bridges would manage things as he’d always done. Once Drew recovered, she’d be free to return to England. If she sold some of her gowns and other possessions, she’d be able to afford a ticket, even leave extra with Drew, to give them some savings. Nora seemed to prefer life in the prosperous Osbourne household to that at scrape-and-save Linley Park, so would no doubt choose to locate American employment. Meanwhile, Adele could get her own job and do her best to keep Drew, Hope, and herself, sheltered and fed.
She stood, shoulders straightening.
It was a grain of sand against the desert of her wrongs.
But all she had to give.
I could use a miracle, Lord…
A man who possessed a million dollars only realized how grand that million was when he lost it. Drew’s health had been his million dollars. His physical strength had put bread on the table, cared for Hope’s needs, cleaned the apartment.
Now, he was reduced to lying here, staring at the blank wall opposite his bed, able to get up but only with assistance and even then with difficulty. Mrs. Fisher, the kind lady from the bakery, came in twice a day to help and bring groceries, and Hope handled all the cooking. But Mrs. Fisher’s daughter had just birthed a baby, and the woman was needed elsewhere.
Hence Drew’s need for a miracle. One that didn’t cost a cent of his own savings and one that could only come from God on High.
A crash sounded from the kitchen. Drew started.
“Hope! You all right?” he yelled.
“I’m fine,” Hope called. “But remember that glass bowl? The big one? It…broke.”
A broken bowl was the least of their concerns. Hope tried her best, but she was in a wheelchair, for goodness’ sake. And she tried to accomplish more than she was able. Stubborn girl. Like himself, in that regard. Always striving, pushing himself to his limits.
These days his limits were getting himself out of bed without assistance to use the chamber pot.
How weak he’d become.
It rankled, paining almost more than his injuries.
God, You have to help us. If not, we’re on the quick road to starvation. The bill to the doctor took most of my savings, and he’s still coming. Still needs to be paid. And the rent’s due next week. And though Mrs. Fisher brings us stale sweet rolls, we can’t exist on those for the next two months!
What a miserable excuse for a man he was. Unable to provide for his family, to do much of anything, in fact.
Not to mention the debt he owed Conway.
Voices drifted from the next room. Mrs. Fisher? A bit early for her evening visit. The woman really was a godsend—
“Hello, Drew.”
She’d appeared in the doorway so quietly, as if she walked on air instead of the floor. A dress of black draped her frame from head to toe, a matching bonnet tied at her throat.
Angels wore white. But to his weary eyes, that was just how Adele appeared. Like an angel.
Like the miracle he’d asked God for.
“Adele?”
His heart sped up, anticipation swelling. Then just as quickly fell. He had no right to expect anything from her. She’d asked for his help, and he’d promised to succeed. But he’d only failed her. She shouldn’t be here. He didn’t want to face her, look into those emerald eyes and wonder—if he’d only gotten to the Castle faster, would her brother still be alive?
“How are you feeling?” The moment the words left her mouth, embarrassment flushed through him. The apartment was a mess. He was a mess. He didn’t even have a shirt on, his chest covered by the binding around his ribs. His hand went to his jaw. When had he last shaved? He couldn’t remember. There was nothing wrong with Hope seeing him like this, even Mrs. Fisher. The grandmotherly woman who’d served as a nurse in her younger days had no doubt seen much worse. But Adele?
He’d have shouted at her to get out, if not for the look in her eyes. The concern in her expression. Not pity, just concern.
“I’m doing all right.”
Preparing himself for the ensuing agony, he braced his arms against the mattress and scooted himself into a sitting position, her gaze taking in his appearance. Pink stained her cheeks. A pretty contrast, considering how pale her skin appeared against the high collar of her black dress.
He hadn’t consumed any laudanum in several hours. Thus, that couldn’t be blamed for the unconscionable pleasure it brought to see her blush.
His gaze darted around the room in search of his shirt. He spied it in the corner, lying on the floor in a rumpled heap. He’d have asked her to hand it to him, but that would only draw attention to his not wearing one in the first place.
No matter. If she didn’t like the look of him, she could just turn around and go right back to Delaware Avenue. He sure wouldn’t stop her. Would he?
“May I sit down?”
“Yes. Of course.” Though where she’d get the chair, he hadn’t the foggiest.
She turned and left the room, the trail of her black skirt the last he saw of her. He leaned his head against the wall. A minute passed. Then another. Had she taken the opportunity and left? Blaming her was the last thing he’d do. A woman of her caliber should never have set foot in his apartment. She was too good for it, for this wretched place. Too good to see him as he was now, a lame wreck with a destroyed future.
Scraping sounded as Adele carried in the dining room chair he’d found in a junk heap as a youth. It had been the first piece of furniture he and Hope had ever possessed, and he’d taken great pride in repairing and polishing it. They never sat in it anymore, unless they had company. Drew wasn’t too sure it would even hold much weight. But Adele sat, her skirt rustling around her. The chair didn’t so much as creak.
“What have you done today?” He’d once called her a princess. But never had she appeared more so than now, perched regally atop a half-broken chair, her hair piled atop her head, tendrils framing her face and slender neck, the stark outline of her dress accentuating the slimness of her waist and the curves above.
“Moved out of the Osbourne’s.”
Her words hit him like an uppercut to the jaw. Moving. Leaving. And the only place she’d go was back to England.
“So you’re returning to your family?” He drew in a sharp breath, ribs throbbing. A breath that revealed far more than he wanted to admit. He wasn’t entitled to even this visit, but he needed to know her plans. For the sake of his own peace of mind.
She shook her head. “Not yet. But my aunt and uncle made it quite clear that Tony’s death and the ensuing scandal made me an unwelcome guest in their home.”
Though curious as to the meaning of her “not yet”, that question could wait. What he needed to say next could not. Reaching across the space between them, he lifted her hand from her lap and wrapped his around it.
She had every right to pull away. To refuse to listen to what he had to say.
But—an ache gathered at the back of his throat—she actually held on tighter. As if gathering strength from their joining as much as he.
“I’m sorry about Tony. If only you knew how I’ve reproached myself while lying here. I should have done more. If only I’d gotten there sooner…I know I can never hope f
or your forgiveness.”
She pressed her lips together, eyes shimmering. Surprisingly, no redness or swelling rimmed them. Had she not been crying? But only the faintest sheen of moisture filmed their depths now. “There is nothing to forgive. You did all you could to save Tony, and at such great cost to yourself. I beg you, do not spend another moment in reproach. What’s done is done.”
He wanted to latch on to her words, much as he grabbed hold of her hand. Take them and the comfort that came with them. But no matter what she said, it couldn’t erase his blame. It would be wrong to let it pass away from him so lightly.
“Thank you for saying that.” He disentangled his fingers from hers, placing his hand on the mattress. What an absence her touch brought. Much as he ought to, he couldn’t deny the chasm it left.
“Don’t you want to know where I’m staying, now that I’ve left the Osbourne’s?” A soft smile flitted across her lips. A jolt of tension knotted through him. Though he hadn’t felt a ring as he’d held her hand, that didn’t mean she wasn’t engaged to Conway. And listening to her announce that news would make the pain in his chest and leg seem trivial at best when compared to what hearing of her future with that man would do to him.
“Where?” He steeled himself for the answer, willing his emotions to match the weakness in his body.
“With you.” Another wave of redness bloomed in her cheeks. “That is…I mean to say…I wish to stay and be of use to you. You and Hope need someone to care for you. Let me be that person. I’ll get a job, provide for us all, until such time as—”
“No.” The word left his mouth as a voice inside his head whispered, But isn’t this what you just asked for? A miracle?
Yes, he’d asked for a miracle. A miracle, not a woman tending his every need and keeping food on the table. Especially a woman who belonged in a Delaware Avenue ballroom, not a hovel on Canal Street working her fingers to the bone.
“No?” She tossed the word back at him like an echo.
“No. You won’t do that.” There wasn’t much in his world he could control, but he could decide who earned the bread and did the laundry. Couldn’t he?
My Heart Belongs in Niagara Falls, New York Page 18