A Daughter's Inheritance

by Judith Miller

  Sophie held her breath when Mrs. Oosterman stood before her. The mysterious man’s number had not yet been drawn. She longed to hear his number. Instead, the number belonged to her cousin Jefferson. Even with their masks in place, she could recognize both George and Jefferson from across the room. He hurried to her side when Mrs. Oosterman called his number.

  “Aren’t you the lucky one?” he whispered.

  “Oh, do stop, Jefferson. It’s me—Sophie. Don’t you recognize your own cousin?”

  His shoulders sagged. “With all of these ladies here, why’d I have to get stuck with one of my own relatives?”

  “Stuck?” Sophie jabbed him with her elbow. “You could have been partnered with old Mrs. Beauchamp. Think about shouting into her ear trumpet for the next ninety minutes. Cousin or not, that thought alone should make you happy to be paired with me.”

  Jefferson mumbled his apology, but Sophie had already returned her attention to the mystery man. His number must now be at the very bottom of the hat, for Mrs. Oosterman was nearing the end of the line and his number still hadn’t been picked. She tilted her head toward Jefferson. “Who’s the third man from the left? Do you know him?”

  Her cousin glanced down the line at the few remaining men. “No, I don’t believe I’ve ever seen him before. I’ve talked to nearly all of the men this evening, but I don’t even recall seeing him when the men gathered in the ballroom before any of the women arrived. Despite the masks, I can pick out nearly every man in this room—except him.”

  Jefferson’s intrigue nearly matched her own, and both of them gasped when Mrs. Oosterman finally called the stranger’s number. Fanny! He’d been paired with their younger cousin. Fanny wouldn’t extract any information from her dinner partner. In fact, she’d likely remain silent throughout the meal.

  Sophie tapped her fan on Jefferson’s arm. “We must do something. I want to know who he is.”

  Jefferson’s eyes gleamed from behind his black mask. “I’ll help, but you must promise to tell me if you discover his identity.”

  Sophie clutched his arm. “Oh yes. I promise. Do you have a plan?”

  He chuckled and patted her hand. “You’ll see. Wait here.”

  The paired guests had already begun the slow march into the dining room when the stranger suddenly stepped into line beside Sophie. “I hope you won’t object to a change in partners.”

  Sophie didn’t know how Jefferson had managed this, but she would be forever in his debt. Throughout the meal she teased and cajoled the masked stranger, all to no avail. When dinner had ended and she’d made no progress, Sophie expressed her dismay. “What must I do to discover who you are?”

  He pondered the question for several moments. “Walk with me before the dancing resumes, and perhaps then I will tell you.”

  She didn’t hesitate—not even for a moment. Before Mrs. Oosterman had completed her instructions for the remainder of the evening, Sophie was tugging on the stranger’s arm. After she took a possessive hold on his arm, they strolled outside toward the Oostermans’ huge pier and boathouse.

  Moonlight and starlight commingled to adorn the dark water with bright dancing prisms and beckoned them onward. When they reached the end of the pier, Sophie released his arm. “You’ve still not even given me a clue.” She tightened her lips into a tiny pout to entice him.

  He laughed and softly grasped her shoulders. For a moment, she thought he might lean down and kiss her. She hoped he would. Instead, he gently turned her toward the water. “You may turn around when I tell you.”

  She remained still and looked down at the water, her excitement mounting with each shallow breath.

  “You may turn around.”

  Ever so slowly, she made the half-turn. Shock, anger, frustration— her emotions mounted inside her like a bubbling volcano and then exploded with one unwitting backward step. “Paul!”

  Paul Medford’s name was all that Sophie screamed before falling into the water. The skirt of her golden gown floated up to surround her like a misplaced halo.

  17

  Sophie’s shrill scream echoed in the stillness.

  At Jefferson’s insistence, Fanny had walked outdoors following the evening meal. Not that she disliked being away from the hubbub of the mingling guests, but she hadn’t particularly desired company. She much preferred being alone with her thoughts. Besides, Jefferson had appeared more interested in following after Sophie than enjoying a stroll through the lighted gardens. And though the possibility of seeing Michael near the Oostermans’ boathouse had appealed to her, Fanny knew she’d dare not visit with him in Jefferson’s presence.

  The two of them raced toward the pier. Fanny’s shoes slid on the grassy slope, and a mental picture of her body sprawled on the lawn in some ungainly position with her skirts arranged in an unladylike fashion flashed before her. She grasped Jefferson’s arm in a death grip. His objection served no purpose, for she tightened her grip even more.

  “What do you think has happened?” she panted. The moon outlined a huddle of men—likely the skippers of the guests’ boats. Several appeared to be holding poles.

  “Looks like someone’s in the water. Let’s hope it’s not Sophie.” The cadence of Jefferson’s reply synchronized with their pounding feet.

  Fanny was certain her cousin had screamed the name Paul, but she couldn’t imagine why. The only Paul any of them knew was Paul Medford, Uncle Quincy’s assistant, and he hadn’t even been invited to the party. And why would he be? Fanny considered Paul quite nice, but Mrs. Oosterman wouldn’t consider someone such as Paul an acceptable addition to her guest list.

  One of the launches equipped with a small searchlight aimed a beacon toward the pier, and Fanny gasped at the sight. Two burly men had hauled a drenched and wilted Sophie from the river. Her sopping gown was ruined, her beautifully coiffed hair hung in dripping ringlets, her mask was tipped sideways atop her head, and greenish-brown weeds poked between the topaz stones of her mother’s cherished necklace. She continued to clutch her beaded reticule in one hand while she gestured to Fanny with the other.

  Fanny gasped in surprise when her cousin’s knees buckled under the weight of the gown. Sophie had angled herself forward but lost her balance and tipped in the opposite direction. Without a moment’s hesitation, Paul grasped her by the arm and managed to hold her upright. Had he faltered, Sophie would have been underwater for the second time in one evening.

  “Don’t you touch me!” She slapped Paul’s hand from her arm, and both Fanny and Jefferson hurried to her side.

  “What’s he done to you?” Jefferson asked.

  Sophie glared at her cousin. “What does it look like, Jefferson?”

  Jefferson’s jaw sagged. “He pushed you into the river? Why, I . . .” He balled his fists and positioned himself in a fighting stance near the end of the pier.

  “Oh, forevermore, Jefferson, do put your arms down. Next they’ll be fishing you out of the river,” Sophie exclaimed.

  “I didn’t push her into the river. She accidentally stepped backward and fell in.” Paul glowered at Jefferson. “I can’t believe you’d think I’d do such a thing.”

  Michael stepped forward and offered two blankets he’d retrieved from the DaisyBee. “Wrap these around her. Do you want me to bring the boat around and take you back to Broadmoor Island?”

  Fanny draped one of the blankets around her cousin’s shoulders and nodded. “You must get out of these clothes, Sophie.”

  She pulled the blanket tighter and turned around to thank Fanny but instead her jaw dropped in horror. Word had obviously spread, and a group of guests was hurrying toward the pier. “Hurry! Get me into the boat before they all come down here and see me looking like this.” She grabbed Fanny’s hand. “Please say you’ll come with me.”

  “Yes, of course.” Fanny motioned toward the crowd. “Head them off, Jefferson. Tell them the excitement is over and all is well.”

  Jefferson headed off to do her bidding. Once Michael had dep
arted to retrieve the launch, Paul approached. “I’m terribly sorry, Sophie. I didn’t intend to startle you, and the last thing I wanted was to have you fall in the water.” He took a step closer. “You do believe me, don’t you?”

  Sophie clenched her jaw. “I believe you’re a fraud, Paul Medford. What are you doing here, anyway? You say you disdain the ways of the wealthy, yet you mingle with us when you can hide behind a mask. What are you doing here, and how did you obtain an invitation to permit your entry?”

  “Your father gave me his and suggested I use it.”

  “My father? But why?”

  “He knew I wouldn’t be recognized. He suggested I speak with some of the guests about the possibility of donating to the shelter.” Paul shrugged. “I told him it was a bad idea, but he persisted. Eventually I yielded to his request—and here I am.”

  “Yes, here you are,” Sophie said. “And I thought you were someone special.”

  Fanny poked her cousin in the side. “Sophie!”

  Paul smiled. “It’s quite all right, Fanny. I know I’m someone special. Perhaps not in your eyes, Sophie, but in God’s eyes, I’m extremely special—and so are you.” He glanced toward the approaching boat. “I believe that would be your ride.”

  Michael held out his hand to assist them into the boat and then waved at Paul. “Do you want a ride over to Broadmoor with us?”

  “No, but thanks for the offer.”

  “You shouldn’t be offering him a ride,” Sophie hissed. “It’s his fault I’m soaking wet!”

  Michael eased the boat away from the pier and headed out into the water. “I thought you said it was an accident.”

  After a good deal of prodding, Fanny managed to elicit the truth from her cousin. Though Jefferson hadn’t betrayed Sophie’s confidence, his explanation of why he needed to change dinner partners had never been fully explained until now. “You truly shouldn’t involve others in your deceit, Sophie.”

  “Well, it’s not as though I’ve tainted him. Jefferson is far more cunning than you can imagine, dear Fanny. He was pleased to act as my accomplice. I still can’t believe it was Paul beneath that mask.”

  Michael steered the boat alongside the pier near the boathouse. “The water is too shallow or I’d take you over to the little pier, where you’d be closer to the house.”

  “This is fine. I’m going into the boathouse to remove my gown and petticoats. I can wrap the blanket around me. You can take Fanny back to the party. I’ll be fine.”

  “Oh, but I don’t want to go back.”

  Sophie shook her head. “You must. Uncle Jonas will be angry if you don’t return,” she said and headed to the boathouse.

  Fanny’s heart pounded an erratic beat. The boat ride would permit her time alone with Michael, but one look at his face was enough to reveal he didn’t relish the idea. Nevertheless, she didn’t want to anger her uncle.

  Careful to keep his distance, Michael set about his duties without a word, pushing the craft away from the pier. Fanny got up and moved to his side.

  “You should sit down. If we hit rough water, you might lose your footing. I don’t want you to fall.”

  She folded her arms across the waist of her taffeta gown. “What is wrong with you, Michael? What have I done that you’re treating me like a complete stranger? I’ve been to the boathouse every day this week, and the minute I come near, you mysteriously vanish.”

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about. I’ve been busy all week. Your uncle has assigned me some additional chores. Unlike you, I must work in order to earn my keep and live on Broadmoor Island.”

  Fanny reeled at his response. What had happened to her friend—the man she believed cared for her, the man she thought she loved. Silence hung between them like a thick early morning fog. She longed for the words that would touch his heart but doubted her ability to melt his frosty demeanor. He stood with his shoulders squared and his jaw taut until they reached the Oostermans’ pier.

  He stepped out of the boat and then offered his hand. She grasped hold, and when he attempted to withdraw, she refused to turn loose. “Tell me what I’ve done, Michael. I truly have no idea why you’re angry.”

  He wiped a tear from her cheek with the pad of his thumb. “I’m sorry, Fanny. I don’t want to hurt you, but these feelings . . . we can’t . . .”

  She closed the gap between them. “Please, Michael. You’re my best friend. Please don’t do this.”

  “Victoria! Take Fanny back to the house.” Uncle Jonas’s voice boomed through the evening silence. He took a menacing step toward Michael. “And you!” He pointed his index finger beneath Michael’s nose. “Over here. We need to have another talk.”

  Fanny pulled against her aunt’s grasp. She didn’t want to go back to the Oosterman party. She wanted to remain and hear what Uncle Jonas said to Michael. Why was he so angry?

  “Didn’t Jefferson explain what happened? I returned to Broadmoor Island with Sophie—she asked me to ride along with her, but then she insisted I return to the party. Why is Uncle Jonas angry with Michael? He was merely performing his duties.”

  “Come along, Fanny. You’ll only make matters worse if you don’t do as your uncle asked.”

  “You mean commanded,” Fanny muttered. She glanced over her shoulder. Uncle Jonas and Michael stood toe to toe. There was little doubt Michael was receiving a stern lecture.

  Her aunt ignored the remark. Once they’d reached the decorative stone wall that circled the Oosterman mansion, the older woman slowed her pace. “You’ll be pleased to know that Mrs. Oosterman has changed her plans for the unmasking. Rather than waiting until the end of the evening, we played a delightful little game in which we removed our masks. I am so sorry you missed it, but I’m sure Amanda will give you all the details.”

  Fanny wasn’t certain why that information should please her, except that she wouldn’t be required to wear a mask for the remainder of the evening. Unlike Sophie, she hadn’t cared who was behind the masks.

  “I believe your uncle Jonas told me there are a number of gentlemen inquiring about your whereabouts. Is your dance card full?”

  Fanny wanted to fib, but she shook her head. “No. There are some empty spaces.”

  “Let me see.” Her aunt stood watch while Fanny opened her lozenge-shaped reticule and retrieved the card. “Oh, dear me!” She clutched a hand to her bodice. “You’ve hardly any dance partners at all.” Victoria turned the card over and slowly wagged her head. “This is very sad.”

  “It’s fine. I don’t enjoy dancing.”

  “You were intentionally avoiding dance partners?”

  “I wasn’t hiding, but I didn’t flirt, either. You know I dislike these parties, Aunt Victoria. I prefer exploring the island or fishing with—” She stopped short of uttering Michael’s name and waved toward the mansion. “I don’t like all of this.”

  The older woman patted her lace-gloved hand atop Fanny’s arm. “You must adapt, Fanny. I understand you enjoy outdoor activities, but if you are to find the proper man to love and marry, you must attend the functions where you will meet him.”

  The two continued toward the sweeping veranda. Music drifted through the open ballroom doors. Fanny dared not tell her aunt she’d already located the man she wanted to marry, for neither her aunt nor any other member of the Broadmoor family would consider Michael proper—not for Frances Jane Broadmoor.

  Jonas couldn’t sleep. When he could take no more of the tossing and turning, he rolled out of bed and shoved his arms into his dressing gown. Though it wasn’t yet six o’clock, the sun was already breaking the horizon in a blaze of bright tangerine and gold. He opened the French doors that led from the bedroom and stepped onto the covered balcony. Lapping water and twittering birds were the only sounds that greeted him. Peaceful. Perhaps that’s why his parents had loved this place. It provided the peace and quiet that eluded them in the city.

  He leaned on the pink granite ledge that surrounded the balcony and knew it w
asn’t the tranquil setting that had drawn them to this island each summer. Quite the contrary. It had been his mother’s incessant desire to create a family circle for Fanny that had been the motivation for the family gatherings at Broadmoor Island. Fanny! Always Fanny. And it had been Fanny who had caused his sleeplessness last night.

  Thus far she’d shown no interest in any of the young men he’d brought to the island. Even with the promised incentive of a future of wealth, none of the men had been able to capture her interest. Young men nowadays certainly didn’t have the ambition required to succeed. Look at his youngest sons! As far as Jonas was concerned, the two of them lacked enough enthusiasm to perform a decent day’s work and enough intelligence to make a sound decision.

  His thoughts were interrupted by the sound of a woman’s soft lilting laughter, and he stepped along the balcony until he reached the south end. Theresa O’Malley had followed Michael out of the rear of the house. She was fawning over him like a woman in love. Jonas rubbed the dark stubble that lined his jaw and considered the young woman. If he handled the matter properly, perhaps Theresa would prove helpful.

  Jonas waited until midafternoon, when few family members and guests remained on the island. His wife had announced plans during the noonday meal to travel to Round Island for the annual picnic hosted at the Frontenac Hotel. Jonas thought the family could find sufficient entertainment on their own island, but Victoria had insisted. And he’d relented, as long as he didn’t have to accompany them and endure the mindless conversation of weekend guests visiting the hotel or the endless games of badminton and croquet that had become favorite summer pastimes of his family.

  He pushed away from the desk in the mansion’s cherry-paneled library and made his way down several hallways to the rear of the house.

  Mrs. Atwell looked up from her piecrust and stopped midroll. “Is there something wrong, Mr. Broadmoor?”