The American Heiress Brides Collection

by Carter, Lisa; Davis, Mary; Dietze, Susanne

  James left the Morrises’ grand estate and headed down the curved driveway toward the street.

  A bit flummoxed was one way to describe how he felt at the moment. He’d called on the Morrises unannounced, and the lady of the house, Mrs. Benjamin Morris, did not wish to discuss the matter with him—a person of the press—no matter his family background or good intentions. Or so it had gone. He should have expected such a reception.

  He checked his pocket watch. Nearly five o’clock and time for supper. His father was still in the city, as was Frank, so both Mother and he would be the only ones dining together this evening. In a way, he preferred it at the moment, as both Frank’s and Father’s demeanor toward him could be characterized as aloof at best during his first few days in Newport.

  He scaled the front steps of Fairwinds. The place wasn’t home to him, but the warm touches his mother had lent to the space made it feel welcoming. Flowers in vases, tapestries of flowers, soft pillows on the elegant yet stiff furniture.

  He had grown accustomed to seeing to his own hat and waistcoat and at first would not let the staff put them up in preparation for his next trip out of the house. But this time, he handed his hat and coat to Withers, the old gentleman who saw to the family’s household affairs.

  “Will you be dining at home today?” the man asked.

  “Yes, sir, I will.”

  “Good. Your mother will be glad to know that.”

  “Thank you, Mr. Withers.” James gave him a nod before following the sounds of a harp that came from the direction of the parlor.

  He slid open the pocket doors to find his mother occupied with her latest attraction. She looked up at him and smiled as she let the strings go.

  “You’re home.” She rose from her stool. “I was almost afraid I would dine alone tonight.”

  “No fear of that, Mother.” He glanced at the instrument, nearly six feet tall. “You are quite accomplished. I am impressed.”

  “I’ve had plenty of time to amuse myself in the afternoons.”

  She’s lonely.

  He’d never realized it until now. Father and Frank, running the business. Him, off pursuing his own path away from them all.

  “When will Father and Frank be here?”

  “I’ve been assured they will both be here in time for the weekend and the Livingstons’ ball for Miss Margaret.” At the mention of Maggie’s name, her eyes glowed. “I’ve invited Margaret and her mother to luncheon with me next week, after the big announcement at her debut. We will likely have much to do as soon as there will be a date to publish for the wedding.”

  He sank onto the nearest sofa, pushing a pillow aside as he did so. “I’ve just come from their house. From what I understand, Mag—Margaret doesn’t know of this engagement.”

  “It will be simply wonderful to add a daughter to the family.” Mother gazed up at the fireplace, where a family portrait of the four of them hung. “I will have someone with whom to coordinate events.”

  “What does Frank think of this arrangement?”

  “I suppose he’s glad enough. She’s a smart one, she is. And Frank needs someone smart beside him. Smart and beautiful. I imagine they’ll have handsome children.”

  “Really, Mother?” He nearly chuckled at her reference to children.

  Her face flushed. “With marriage comes babies.”

  James felt the urge to squirm at this conversation, even with him having lived among a bit less genteel—no, a lot less genteel—folk in the city.

  A bell rang signifying supper was ready and ending that line of discussion, thankfully. He rose, allowing Mother to pass through the doorway ahead of him.

  Frank had been a kind enough young man, but as an adult, James saw a calculating coldness replace that attribute. It concerned him, even more so now that Miss Maggie Livingston was soon to be engaged to his brother.

  It concerned him so much he almost began thinking of a way to stop the engagement. Another ulterior motive ate at him, he realized as he entered the ornate dining room in shades of green—green like envy. He wanted the chance to court Maggie or at least explore the idea of it. Right now, he saw no way to make that happen.

  Chapter 5

  Supper had ended and Maggie had barely touched her plate. They sat on the rear veranda of Tidewaters, the sky beyond them with the first tint of pink before the sun prepared to slide down in the west.

  Maggie had no appetite after Gertrude’s sudden departure. She’d run after the young woman, whispering promises to help her and that if all went well she would see her back in the Livingstons’ employ. Gertrude barely spoke but continued away, tears streaming down her cheeks.

  Instead of sheer curiosity which drove her to wonder about the robberies, she now had a larger purpose: clear Gertrude’s name. While the authorities weren’t involved—yet—she hated to think of what might happen to Gertrude if they were.

  She glanced toward her mother. No use in trying to sway her opinion. In Mother’s eyes, Gertrude had taken something that didn’t belong to her and therefore needed to be dismissed, regardless if she had anything to do with the robbery or not.

  The carriage house held bicycles available to use, and Maggie knew how to ride one, her own bicycle still in New York. She would ride over to Fairwinds and tell James straightaway what had happened. Perhaps he had learned something from the Morrises, as well. If she left now, she could be back before dark. She would not let this wait until tomorrow.

  “I believe I shall take a turn around the block on the bicycle,” she announced, placing her napkin on her plate.

  “By yourself? It is a bit unseemly to do so, even in our neighborhood.” Mother sounded as if she’d proposed racing around the block in her nightgown and robe.

  “Oh, Mrs. Livingston, let her go. There are still others walking about after supper. She will not be alone. And possibly she will meet up with some other young women like herself.” Father wiped his mouth with his napkin, dabbing at his mustache as he did so.

  “Thank you, Father. I promise I shall not be long.” She scooted away from the table to fetch her hat. Thankfully, she still wore her walking skirt from earlier that day, a garment of which her mother did not completely approve but was still perfectly modest.

  She was soon pedaling along the lane to the street. She stopped only long enough to open a narrow side gate, meant for leaving the grounds on foot—or in her case, on bicycle. As her father supposed, a few people were out taking a walk after supper. Maggie didn’t recognize them—but oh—there was Francesca Wallingford!

  “Good evening, Francesca!” She waved at the young debutante, soon to be launched into society like herself. Francesca had joked once that the idea of “launching” the young women into society sounded much like a ship being christened in the harbor.

  “I certainly hope no one cracks a bottle at our sterns,” the young woman had said, at which they had both laughed.

  The flicker of memory of that conversation made Maggie smile as she continued along toward Fairwinds. She was calling on a man unannounced. Perhaps it would be better to inquire of Mrs. Blankenship first and then ask about James.

  Her heart beat a bit faster at the thought of asking for him. What if her voice betrayed her with a squeak? She dared not think of that happening. Instead, she cleared her throat a few times as the blocks passed by.

  Ahead of her lay Fairwinds, the next home on the right. The massive cottage wasn’t surrounded by large fences of iron bars but a stone wall that would not be too difficult for a nimble person to hop over or climb over with the assistance of a mounting block.

  The home boasted six fireplaces with grand dormers and no fewer than four porches and one immense terrace on the second floor that faced the sea. Fairwinds wasn’t as grand as Marble House or Tranquility, but it spoke of old money and of a family’s wealth that had stood longer than her family’s own.

  Maggie plucked up her courage anew as she rode up the driveway to the porte cochere and glided to a stop. Wher
e to place her bicycle? She dismounted—carefully, not to disrupt her split skirt—and balanced the bicycle.

  She leaned her bicycle against one of two stone lions guarding the double doors to the home and made use of the large, cast-iron knocker. Her heart knocked in her throat.

  To her surprise, the lady of the house, Mrs. Blankenship herself, answered the front door.

  “Ah, Miss Margaret Livingston, what a pleasant surprise.” The woman smiled sweetly, her warmth genuine. “What brings you calling after supper on this fine day?”

  “I, ah, would like to speak with you, ah, and your son, if you have some time this evening.” She inclined her head with a slight bow. “Please excuse my forwardness in calling in this manner. But to me, it is rather urgent.”

  “My dear, Frank is in the city, with his father. They won’t be back until the day of your debut.”

  “I see. Well, I welcome the chance to visit with you and James, as well.”

  Mrs. Blankenship glanced over her shoulder toward the street. “Please, come in. We don’t have to stand here on the doorstep when we can enjoy the breeze on the rear veranda. I’ll call for some lemonade as well. Unless you’d prefer tea?”

  A rivulet of perspiration snaked down her back. “Lemonade sounds like just the thing, Mrs. Blankenship.”

  The older woman stepped back into the grand house. “You may call me Violet, Margaret.”

  “All right.” Maggie smiled as she entered the house’s foyer with its dark wooden staircase that curved up the wall. “Violet, lemonade sounds lovely.”

  Violet Blankenship gestured to the rear of the staircase, where a set of floor-to-ceiling paned doors had been flung open, revealing a seascape behind them. “Join James on the veranda, and I shall be there shortly. You are acquainted with James, are you not?”

  “Yes, I am.” Again, her heart gave a skipping beat. “Thank you.”

  Her summer boots sounded too loud on the polished wooden floors as she crossed under the staircase, passed a set of fireplaces that faced each other, and stepped through the open doorways and onto the veranda.

  James, not wearing a dinner jacket, leapt up from one of the chairs. “Maggie.”

  “Hello.” She smiled at him but felt it leave her face as she recalled the main reason for her visit.

  “What’s wrong?”

  She shook her head, letting out a pent-up breath. “It’s Gertrude. My mother fired her, thinking she is in cahoots with whoever robbed the jewelry. We simply must get to the bottom of whomever did this.”

  Maggie made a pretty picture as she stood on the veranda, her cheeks flushed and a few beads of perspiration on her forehead.

  “Please, sit down,” James said. “What happened that caused your mother to dismiss Gertrude?”

  Maggie settled onto a nearby wooden folding chair and explained about the broken earring as well as Gertrude’s explanation for having it.

  “So you see, I’d missed the earring long ago. I figured it had come off when I was walking in the garden in New York.” She stared out toward the ocean, where twilight reflected on the water. “I didn’t remember I’d lost it until Mr. Webster showed it to us.”

  “I agree with you.” He scratched his chin. “I think it is unlikely that Gertrude had anything to do with the robbery.”

  “I’m glad you think so. Mother wouldn’t listen, and Father, well, he leaves the running of the household to her. Mother’s word is law where our home is concerned.” She leaned on the arm of her chair and looked in his direction. “Did the Morrises speak with you today?”

  “No.” He paused, not wanting to explain what had transpired. “But you’re friends with Miss Elizabeth Morris, aren’t you?”

  “Yes. In fact, this afternoon we were discussing the robbery at her house when we were interrupted about the one at mine.”

  “Don’t you two look thick as thieves, already?” Mrs. Blankenship strode out onto the veranda. “The lemonade is coming right out. I know night is falling shortly, but there is enough time to sip one glass before you are on your way, Margaret.”

  A woman clad in a gray dress with a white apron emerged from the house. She carried a tray with three glasses filled with lemony yellow liquid and ice. Without saying a word, she set the tray on a small table nestled between their chairs and slipped back into the house.

  Mrs. Blankenship took a seat on the other empty chair and picked up a glass of lemonade, with James picking up the other two glasses. He gave one to Maggie.

  The coolness of the glass chilled his fingers and kept them from losing their grip.

  “This is very good lemonade, Mrs. Blankenship,” Maggie said after taking her first sip. “Thank you.”

  “You are very welcome.”

  “Would you care to walk along our ocean-view courtyard?” James heard himself saying.

  “That would be very lovely.” Maggie took another sip. “Would you like to come with us, Mrs. Blankenship?”

  “No, the courtyard is in view of the veranda.” She beamed at them. “So glad that you are both getting along so well. Like family.”

  James desperately wanted to tell Maggie about Frank, but it wasn’t his place. He shouldn’t have asked her for a walk, but he didn’t trust the fidgets he felt the longer he was in Maggie’s presence.

  They crossed the expanse of green lawn and soon reached the smooth, paved courtyard of stones. It had served the family well as a sort of large checkerboard when he and his brother were much younger.

  “I remember this courtyard.” Maggie stopped at the edge of a darker stone square. “It seems smaller than I recall.”

  He laughed at this. “It seemed to grow smaller, gradually, every year we came here when I was younger. I can’t recall the last time I took a walk out here.” Perhaps it was that last party, before he went to the university.

  “Why did you leave your family?”

  The question surprised him. “I didn’t leave them, not really. Father and I … had a disagreement. I wanted to write, and he wanted me to stay in the family business. I told him I would rather write. He told me I wouldn’t see another penny if I did. So I did.”

  “That was very brave of you. Or foolhardy.”

  He had to smile at her words. “Probably both. I have both regretted and not regretted my decision.”

  “Have you had the opportunity to travel much as a news writer?”

  “No. I went abroad to spend summers in Europe during my university days, which only fueled my desire to write, but I’ve stayed in Manhattan and the boroughs of the city.” He stopped walking, realizing he’d been pacing back and forth on the courtyard. Maggie stood staring at him, a half smile on her face.

  “I have always wanted to travel. I believe my parents are giving me a trip to Europe for a present. It’s supposed to be a surprise, but Mother has paid extra attention to my wardrobe for the fall and suggested we purchase a few more travel trunks.”

  “I would have liked to show you the sights in Paris, London, even Rome, perhaps.” He still remembered his first trip abroad, and it would be something else to go again and see it anew through someone else’s eyes.

  She said nothing in response, simply smiled and nodded her head. Yet a pink glow lit her face. Or was it simply the slant of the dwindling sun before it slipped behind the treetops to the west?

  Maggie looked back toward the house. “It must be hard for you to be here this summer with them.”

  “I haven’t seen Father much. Frank is due to arrive tomorrow.”

  He wanted to tell her about Frank but realized it wasn’t his news to tell. Even thinking the words, “By the way, your parents are marrying you off to my older brother,” left a bitter taste.

  “I should go. The light is fading faster than I realized it would.”

  “You’re very right.” He led her back toward the veranda where Mother sat, sipping her lemonade. “I enjoyed our conversation. I’m sorry I don’t have more helpful information about the Morrises.”

&nbs
p; “That’s quite all right. I, too, enjoyed our conversation.”

  Mother rose from her chair as they drew closer. “Did you enjoy your walk?”

  “Yes, Mrs. Blankenship, I did, thank you.” Maggie smiled. “However, I must go now.”

  “Come again soon, if not before your debut. My husband and sons and I look forward to attending and to our big announcement.”

  “Oh, a big announcement?”

  “Yes, I’m presenting you with a very special gift.” Mother clasped her hands together in glee. “I wore it for my wedding, and your mother thought it would be fitting to wear for yours.”

  “Wedding.” The word came from Maggie’s lips in a pitiful squeak. Her pretty brown eyes grew round. She glanced at him, a flicker of—something—inside them that went out when he shook his head.

  “To our son Frank. We are delighted to have your parents announce your engagement with all of us present at your debut. We shall gain a daughter, and James a sister, come next spring.”

  Chapter 6

  Somehow Maggie made it back to Tidewaters. She didn’t recall what she did with the bicycle upon her arrival. She didn’t remember whom she saw when she entered the house and climbed the stairs. If anyone had questioned her return in the dusky twilight, she didn’t recall.

  She could only feel her pulse thudding in her ears as she lay on her bed and stared at the ornate ceiling. The center of the room where the gas chandelier hung had a fresco which reminded her of a bright blue summer sky with fanciful clouds and a scattering of winged birds. She had chosen the design herself because of the birds. Now, she wished she had wings so she could fly away like one of them.

  Her? To be engaged? To Frank Blankenship?

  She didn’t know the man, couldn’t recall his hair color, his demeanor, or anything else about him.

  James had blue eyes, the color of the sea and lit with an enthusiasm she could feel when he looked at her. She wanted to ask him more about his travels, more about everything he did. Perhaps it was because he’d bucked his family’s expectations.