“Many times people don’t realize the long-term effects of what seems such a simple happenstance. Might I use you as an example?”
“Of course.”
“You are the heir to your father’s business. That simple fact has likely altered your future, as well as swaying decisions both past and present. This same fact has also likely prevented you from having any direct input into the direction your life has taken. Correct?”
Rachel arched an eyebrow. “That is the way of life for those in my position.”
“True, yet have you not found yourself wondering what your life perspectives might have been without that influence?”
“Why trouble myself when my family’s social status has determined what I am to do? There was no ‘decision’. There was a ‘fact’, as you yourself have observed.”
“This ‘fact’ was determined by your father’s wishes. What of yours? Were you consulted?”
Her fingers teased the edges of her fan as she regarded the man’s handsome features taut with serious concern. “Should I not wish to assume Father’s role?”
“That is to be expected, but were you offered the choice?”
“I am the sole heir and, as such, have a determined future. There is no path toward change, especially when my training to that end is complete.” But how intriguing that he should press this particular point. It caused her mind to begin a careful and deliberate test to those paths of her future which she believed set in stone.
“You present a valid argument, but entertaining the question of ‘what was your choice’ is better than ignoring it altogether.”
“Again, entertaining a question of choices I may or may not have had has no meaning at this point of my life, sir. However, since you press the matter, I shall answer. My choice is, and was, to excel, for that is the only choice available to me.”
“Hm.” He tapped a solitary rhythm upon the arm of the overstuffed chair before speaking. “That particular choice is not as important as those that would have been determined by your dreams and not those of your father. Self-honesty regarding dreams we held at one time often keeps us true to who we are and who we wish to be.”
“You sound as if you yourself must have given great thought to your own desires, dreams, and futures.” Silence descended and Rachel arched an eyebrow when he adjusted his position in his seat. “I see I’ve struck upon a… tender subject.”
He cleared his throat. “I have given it some thought lately.”
“Truly? What is this desire which causes such discomfort?”
The gentleman’s expression warmed to a reluctant smile. “To be quite honest, it’s as simple as family.”
“Family?” She blinked at him.
“A family is a very precious thing. I love the idea of wife and children, believe it or not, and I want several of my own.”
“Wives?”
“Heaven forbid,” the gentleman laughed.
Rachel’s fingers absently tapped upon her fan as she watched the different waves of amusement and mischief dance across his expression. “Forgive me for being blunt, but that is an unusual desire for someone of your age and good looks.” His eyebrow rose. “The few handsome and wealthy men I have had the opportunity to meet wished to… enjoy their single years until they were compelled to marry in order to continue their family line.” Rachel smirked. “I find myself doubting the refreshing viewpoint that you desire a family for family’s sake, but I will concede it as genuine at this time.”
He smiled, the twinkle of his brown eyes teasing a smile to her own lips. “Thank you.”
And though she wished to thank him for every inflection of conversation that hummed with interest and charm, she simply inclined her head and continued their discourse with pleasure.
~*~
The morning hours sped by, filled to the brim with discussions on articles within the New York Times and occasional intersessions of comfortable silence. Neither the gentleman nor she herself had introduced themselves by name, and she felt no reservation with the decision. The gentleman even bypassed the society pages with a look of scorn, though she knew he could have easily discovered her name and history with but a simple glance.
“One can seldom believe what is reported there,” he had told her. “It tends to be a collection of embellishments and sensationalism that should only be found in novels.”
Rachel had found herself in agreement.
The gentleman displayed a quick mind and sharper wit, and he wasn’t hesitant in the expression of a difference in opinion. In fact, Rachel found herself purposefully disagreeing with him simply to test his views. He never retreated from the challenge. Instead, he presented an admirable showing of detailed facts, doing so without minimizing her own opinion or intelligence.
Luncheon and dinner passed much the same, alternating between discussions regarding national business policies and how they had been affected by the Civil War, and discussions on foreign policies directly influenced by the presidency. The discussions were an unexpected pleasure for Rachel, and they gave her an opportunity to expand what she had learned abroad while fine-tuning her ability to debate. The gentleman didn’t seem to mind. Once or twice it seemed that his brown eyes twinkled as she relentlessly pressed a point home.
Too soon, both she and the gentleman could no longer hide the clear signs of exhaustion.
Offering a reluctant albeit slight smile, Rachel stood. The gentleman followed her lead. “Much as I’ve enjoyed our repartee, sir, we should both retire.”
“Of course you’re right, Miss. Forgive me for keeping you so late.” Rachel waved it aside. The gentleman gestured for her to precede him through the coach to the sleeping quarters beyond. “Shall I meet with you tomorrow for breakfast?”
“Yes. Please do.” Rachel scolded herself the glow of eagerness in her voice and smoothed it from her expression.
The gentleman made no mention of the slip as he held the door from the reserved coach to the sleeping compartments beyond. When she faced him, he smiled down at her with the expected warmth of genuine pleasure. “Sleep well, Miss,” he offered.
“Thank you, sir, and good evening.”
Offering a bow, he then turned and navigated his way through the coach, exiting after one last smile toward her. Once more Rachel found herself staring after him, arms crossed and a very slight smile on her lips. He is so very….
The men in Europe had focused solely on her wealth and beauty, using that as the basis for pursuit. None entertained the possibility of her knowledge. Rachel declined many an invitation due to this very attitude, and those accepted hadn’t been repeated, mostly due to stray hands and shallow words in shadowy gardens. Remembering their own encounter in a shadowed garden had Rachel wondering how different her Parisian experience would have been had she met him there.
Finally, Rachel uttered a quiet “Hm,” and turned to seek out her sleeping compartment.
~*~
The next day Rachel wouldn’t classify the emotion she felt as eagerness, but she definitely didn’t dread the prospect of once again sharing the gentleman’s company. Neither had she resigned herself to the rising desire to invite him to stay at the family estate for a time. When they hadn’t been properly introduced? Such a thought! Rachel scoffed and snatched up the previous day’s paper from the side-table, revealing the gentleman’s gray traveling gloves from the day before. She gathered them up, her thumb stroking the soft material as the intense pleasure of the previous day’s conversation overtook her thoughts.
“An expression of extreme reflection, and I without my coffee.”
An easy smile blossomed as Rachel’s eyes met those of the welcome “stranger” from the previous day. “Good morning, sir.”
“Good morning, Miss– Ah. I see you’ve found my gloves. I had begun to think they were forever lost, traipsing about New York in some person’s carriage.” The gentleman retrieved them from her and lowered himself into the chair across from her. “Now, to the subject at hand:
the reason for such an extreme expression of distraction.”
Rachel moved her focus to her now empty hands before reaching out to the menus propped between the unlit candle-holders on the same side-table. “It matters not, as I begin to see I may think overly much.”
“Understandable under the circumstances, yes? You more than likely dread the confrontation with your father when you inform him that your goals for your life might have changed.”
Forcing the face of her father from her mind, Rachel cast the gentleman a tight smile. “Nothing is ever a confrontation where my father is concerned. Only plain and simple facts.” She examined the gentleman’s face and expression therein. “I don’t see why you interest yourself in my relationship with him.”
“Because familial relationships are important,” he explained. “Especially healthy ones. You’ve been abroad for many years and that time from home has likely made your relationship with your parents more… strained. Communicating a simple desire will begin the recovery.”
Looking over the menus, Rachel momentarily pressed her lips together. “You don’t know my father,” she informed. “Communicating differences of opinion would lead to disaster.” For she still remembered the shock felt at his response to her request to return home– Rachel pushed it away.
“Expressing a unique opinion is not a disaster.”
Her brows dipped.
The gentleman cleared his throat. “Forgive me, Miss. I have pushed this particular subject too far.”
“No, you haven’t. I—” Rachel released a slight breath before once more meeting the gentleman’s gaze. “The subject of my father is generally left alone. That is all.”
“Then I’ll leave the subject where it is and move along.”
“Thank you.” When Rachel again focused on the menu, the words wouldn’t form sentences. She raised her eyes. “Do you truly believe pressing an issue such as unique choice, whatever it may be regarding, is a stand I should take? Shouldn’t I choose my battles more carefully?”
“What battle could be more important than the one involving your future?”
“Even though the future currently set is all I’ve known?”
“Certainly you dreamed a previous future before your schooling? For example, when I was a young boy I dreamt of foreign grandeur battling in countries such as Arabia or Egypt. Now I’ve been trained to discuss business, law, or even cultures with dignitaries from these same countries.”
Rachel looked away. “The past and the dreams within it are not important. This path has been chosen, and this path is the one I follow.”
The gentleman examined her face before reaching across the table to cover her hand with his. Rachel met his gaze in surprise, both that he had made such a forward gesture and that she didn’t feel invaded by the soft touch. “Never forget that you have a mind and spirit unique to yourself. We may be servants to our station, but such does not mean we must sacrifice our independent views.”
“Who are you?” Rachel asked suddenly.
He smiled and gave her hand a gentle squeeze. “An understanding stranger.” He tugged the cord that would bring their steward.
“But how can we be strangers when you seem to have read all the pages of my life beforehand? You’ve left me at a disadvantage.”
Chuckling, he reminded, “I seem to recall you had a few of your own uncanny insights yesterday.”
Recalling those “uncanny insights” gave her a large amount of satisfaction, especially when remembering his expression of amusement and surprise. To her own self they were minor victories. After all, she had been trained to pinpoint a person’s character, as well as their weaknesses, so as to make use of them. Yet he congratulated her the insight she had into his character, even though how she presented it would most often cause offense. People seldom cared to have their weaknesses and strengths classified with calm and seriousness. Perhaps that was why you presented it the way you did? To bait him? Rachel smirked with the remembrance of titling him “firm in your assurance”, “somewhat flippant due to your scorn of society”, and “determined to have all views of a subject properly conceded before yielding an argument, even should your stand be in the wrong.”
Their steward arrived then, and they ordered breakfast before continuing their debates and discussions of the day before. There seemed to be an unexpected connection between the two. A connection Rachel hadn’t felt since leaving home. So, once again, she found herself entertaining the idea of inviting the gentleman to visit. To meet her father. To become a true friend and exchange names as well as ideas. It would be nice to have a true ally, wouldn’t it? Her mind conceded the point, accepting defeat gracefully.
When the breakfast dishes had been cleared and the steward gone from the room, Rachel felt ready to voice the invitation. “Sir, I must confess that I have what could be an uncomfortable question for you.”
The gentleman raised an eyebrow. “My curiosity begs you to ask.”
“I’ve found our time together enjoyable,” she began.
“With a beginning such as that, I find myself doubting the question to be as horrible as you initially made it sound.”
Rachel’s lips twitched upward, the action deftly hidden behind the graceful opening and lifting of her fan.
He motioned toward her. “So sorry. Please continue.”
“If your schedule permits when we arrive in Boston day after tomorrow, I would like to extend to you an invitation to stay with my father and myself. I understand that propriety demands a ‘proper’ introduction, but who is to say that choosing to tell you my name is ‘Rachel Samson’ cannot be enough?”
The gentleman’s smile vanished, and his complexion even seemed to pale. However, the reaction stood as so contrary to his previous attitude that she dismissed it as ridiculous.
“Our debates and discussions leave me with no doubt that Father would not only approve my friendship with you,” she continued, “but that he would most likely offer you a position within the business.”
His gaze retreated from hers. “Yet if he didn’t approve? Would you continue said friendship?”
“That’s an unexpected question, I must say.” Rachel examined his suddenly guarded expression. “Have I offended you, sir?”
“No, and I am honored by your invitation, yet….” He took in a long, deep breath and stood to his feet. He bowed. “Please forgive me my secrets and mysteries, Miss… Samson, but my conscience refuses me your company. I hope the remainder of your journey is more enjoyable.” Turning, he moved toward the exit.
Rachel hurried after him. “Sir, wait!”
The gentleman halted, his hand clutching the golden handle of the door. Rachel Byron, calm yourself before you look a fool! She pushed away the confusion as well as a surprising feeling of muted panic as she came to stand beside him. His jaw was tightly clenched, his eyes focused intensely on the hand still gripping the door handle.
“If there is no insult nor offense, at least tell me your name and where I might send future correspondence.”
“Miss Samson, I….” He finally met her gaze, his eyes black and his features shadowed. It caught at Rachel’s breath. “I’ve taken liberties and do not deserve your attention, nor your letters.”
“Liberties?” Rachel repeated. “But, sir, you’ve done nothing. If anything, you’ve replenished my faith in the intelligence and chivalry of men.”
The smile offered seemed regretful as their gazes held. Then it slowly faded. “I apologize for the confusion and consternation, but–” He shook his head, and the stiff action yet again drew his gaze from hers. “Good day, Miss Samson.” Then he left the coach, the door purring shut behind him.
Rachel stared through the glass at his retreating figure, thoughts scattered and form so tense that her joints began to ache. Then, when he had passed through the passenger car and entered the one beyond, she turned away to the dimmed brightness of the coach. The fan trembled within a white-knuckled grasp.
Three
A Preferred Stranger
Rachel accepted the help of the conductor as she stepped from the private coach onto the landing of the main station in her home city of Boston, Massachusetts. Brushing the creases from the rich emerald corduroy of her traveling habit, Rachel couldn’t keep herself from examining the comings and goings of those still disembarking. The gentleman wasn’t among them.
The first day he separated himself from her Rachel respected his desire for distance. The second day, however, brought the decision to pursue a repair of what could prove a strategic friendship. Unfortunately, when she inquired of him to the conductor, she discovered the gentleman had disembarked the previous evening.
Now, Rachel brushed away the rising confusion. A shadow darkened her eyes, but she turned it aside, pointedly ignoring an impression of isolation. A nearby porter accepted her luggage claim tickets and beckoned to a cluster of his workmates before disappearing into the disembarking throngs in search of her belongings.
Stepping from the train to the waiting carriage from the Samson estate did nothing to lessen the mounting unease. The gentleman’s presence would have been a much-needed support– Rachel tightened her hold on her reticule moments before she stepped up into the carriage. How will you last as heir to the Samson estate if you are unable to face your own father without the support of a man?
But how could she last as heir without support?
The carriage lurched forward, pressing her into the velvet seats the same time it cast her thoughts toward the gentleman and his mysterious reaction to her identity. Certainly Lynette would know the gentleman. Yet why she should go to the trouble of seeking him out when he had excused himself from her with such… finality? Due to the fact there was no inappropriate action on his part directly beforehand, she reminded, opening and closing her fan with a teasing motion of her wrist. Time and again he demonstrated respect, intelligence, deference, maturity…. She refused to allow this distance when he could only be classified as ally and comrade. For who other had demonstrated understanding without arousing even the mildest suspicion?
Broken Angel Page 3