Journey's End (Gilded Promises) (17 page)

“Which she openly admitted to me, in front of you.”

A clever ploy? Or a moment of unbridled honesty? “Words, Richard. Her admission last night was a string of well-spoken words in the midst of a highly emotional moment.”

“You don’t believe she meant them?”

As a matter of fact, Jackson did believe her request for forgiveness had been sincere. But someone had to be the voice of reason. “I’m reserving judgment.”

“Good.” Richard gave an approving nod. “Skepticism is exactly what I need from you. I trust you will keep an eye on her for me.”

“That’s my plan.”

“Excellent. Excellent.” He gave Jackson a quick appraisal, looking both cagey and wise, a man with a plan of his own. “That frees me to get to know my granddaughter without having to second-guess every action or reaction on either of our parts.”

“I’m happy to assist.” More than he should be, considering the time he would have to spend with Caroline.

He rose and silently gathered up the satchel of letters. “About these.” Jackson lifted the leather case to make his point. “Do I have your permission to read them?”

“Yes.” Richard stood and came around his desk. “But be warned, my boy, you may discover information that will change how you view my granddaughter and, perhaps, even yourself.”

Such ominous words put Jackson immediately on guard. What, exactly, had Libby written in her letters? What could she have possibly revealed about her daughter that would change how Jackson looked at not only her but also himself?

There was one sure way to find out.

Chapter Seventeen

Richard St. James kept offices on Forty-Second Street. Caroline already knew the location from her extensive research. She’d strolled down this street at least a dozen times, from both directions, but she’d never been bold enough to enter the building itself.

Her reticence had been based on wisdom and, maybe, a dose of age-old fear.

This afternoon was different, her qualms more manageable. Fortified from her visit with Mary and her determination to see her friend’s situation improved, Caroline refused to feel anxious. Shoulders square, eyes looking straight ahead, she pushed through the gold-plated doors with quiet confidence.

Her grandfather’s office was on the top floor and required Caroline to take an elevator. Before coming to America, she’d never been inside one of the iron cages. She discovered she rather liked them. There was something exciting about giving the attendant her destination and then arriving there within minutes, no exertion required on her part.

Smiling at the fanciful thought, she exited the contraption, turned to her right, and came face-to-face with Jackson Montgomery.
Well, of course.

In the thundering silence, air whooshed out of her lungs, her heartbeat picked up speed, her shoulders tensed. She sighed. “You just keep turning up at all the wrong places.”

“It’s one of my talents.” He gave her a blinding smile, the gesture unraveling all sorts of unwanted emotions inside her. “You look very—”

“Presentable?”

“I was going to say appealing.” He dropped his gaze over her, and his brows drew together in confusion. “That color suits you.”

“I . . .” What was she supposed to say to that? “Thank you.”

With Sally’s guidance, Caroline had chosen a dress that would present a picture of respectability and understated style. Against Sally’s advice, she’d left her hair falling in gentle waves down her back. She hadn’t wanted to be poked and prodded for nearly an hour just so her natural curls could be tamed in the latest fashion.

“You never cease to surprise me.” Still smiling, Montgomery took her hand and drew her down a short hallway.

“Where are you taking me?”

He stopped in front of an official-looking, stately door. “To your grandfather, of course.”

“Will you be attending our meeting, then?” She hoped not. She lost track of her senses whenever he was near. Every. Single. Time.

“Sadly, no. I have some important reading still to do this afternoon.” He rubbed his thumb over her knuckles, fitting their palms tightly together.

When he continued to hold her hand, she was ever so grateful for the gloves she wore. The thin layer acted as an adequate barrier.

Then why was her pulse racing? And why wasn’t she tugging her hand free?

A heartbeat passed, and she realized it was happening again. She was falling into the same trance she did every time their hands touched. She stared into the man’s engaging eyes, the dark lashes a brilliant contrast to the blue, blue depths holding her captive.

A masculine clearing of a throat had her yanking her hand free at last. She swallowed back a gasp, even as heat rushed to her cheeks. She didn’t have to turn her head to know her grandfather stood in the doorway of his office, watching her interaction with Montgomery. So caught in the moment was she that she hadn’t heard him open his door.

Had Montgomery?

She slid a glance in his direction. No, he’d been taken by surprise as well.

“Thank you, Jackson, for fetching Caroline for me.” Her grandfather addressed Jackson with a thoughtful expression on his face.

“My pleasure.” Montgomery’s attention remained cemented on Caroline as he spoke. “We’ll continue our conversation from last night once you’re finished here.”

In spite of the fact that she’d already agreed to meet with him, the independent portion of her soul bristled at the man’s assumption she would jump at his bidding. “We’ll continue our conversation when it’s convenient for me.”

Montgomery opened his mouth, perhaps to remind her of their agreement, but her grandfather’s booming laugh cut him off. “I say, girl, you sound just like my Constance.”

“Who?”

“Your grandmother.”

Intrigued, she studied his weathered face. “Well, then, I’m going to take that as a compliment.”

“As you should. My Constance was a plucky, intriguing, mesmerizing woman who never let anyone get the best of her.”

The affection in his tone was hard to miss. “Not even you?”

“Especially not me.” He took her arm and guided her into his office. “For most of our marriage she had me running in circles to keep up with her. I never knew what to expect from one day to the next.”

“I bet you hated that,” she said, unable to imagine this refined, elegant man at the mercy of any person, much less a woman.

“I loved every minute.” A twinkle glimmered in his eyes, as if he was experiencing a bout of very happy memories.

How . . . sweet.

“Keep that in mind, Jackson, my boy,” her grandfather tossed over his shoulder, proving he hadn’t forgotten Montgomery was still standing in the hallway. “A man needs his woman to keep him on his toes.”

The slight flinch of Montgomery’s shoulders revealed his reaction to the words. The poor man looked completely stunned. Caroline had the feeling she’d missed something, something important.

Montgomery recovered quickly. “Food for thought, sir.” He nodded at them both, his gaze lingering on Caroline a moment longer than polite. “I will see you soon.”

She gave a noncommittal response, then followed her grandfather into his office. Again, she noted that he had expensive taste, if somewhat predictable. The dark paneling on the walls, the intricate design of the rugs, the polished wood flooring beneath, and the wingback chairs with the leather worn to a fine patina all spoke of money and tradition and indicated important business was afoot.

Oddly enough, she felt comfortable in this room. The realization set her on edge. Needing a moment to calm her thoughts, she went to the wall of windows and looked out. At this hour activity was high. Horse-drawn carriages, motorcars, businessmen hurrying to their next appointments—just another day in New York City. So high above the ground, she felt disconnected from the bustling world below and yet somehow energized by it at the same time.

“I suppose New York seems different to you than London,” her grandfather said from behind her.

Shaking her head, she turned to face him. “Not as much as I expected.”

And that put her instantly on guard. This transition into a new life, a new
world
had been too easy, too smooth. Nothing was ever easy. Good things never happened to people like her.

Desperate for some perspective, she remembered how her grandfather had lured her to his office this afternoon with the promise of an opportunity to use her skills for good. Perhaps this was all a big game to him, or maybe even a trap.

Why hadn’t she seen that sooner?

Because you want somewhere to belong.

Her secret desire for a home had made her weak, and far too trusting. Inch by deliberate inch, she allowed her suspicion to return.

“You called this meeting,” she reminded him, her voice flat and unemotional, exactly as she’d planned. “Perhaps you’d like to tell me why?”

He didn’t answer her question directly. Instead, he addressed the change in her demeanor. Because of course he would notice. “I see you’ve had time to think matters through and have decided not to trust me just yet.”

Caroline had to give him points for reading her so quickly, and so accurately. She was starting to like the old man, more than she should given the nature of the situation. “You would be a fierce opponent on the other side of a card table.”

He chuckled. “Perhaps that is where we should begin.”

The suggestion took her completely by surprise. “Truly?”

The slight lift of his eyebrows indicated he was waiting for her to make the next move.

Recognizing the ploy, she remained steadfast, refusing to back down, then realized the futility and gave up the battle almost immediately. “I thought you wanted to discuss a way to utilize my skills for
honest
gain.”

“I do. But it might be to both our benefits if I knew precisely what sort of skills you possess.” He took her arm and led her to a chair. “What better way than to see you in action?”

What better way, indeed.
“I could simply tell you what you want to know.”

“You could.”

Was the man never ruffled? As soon as the question moved through her mind, she had her answer. He knew her game. Hadn’t he just said that his wife had been wily, immensely clever, and a woman who kept him on his toes.

He’d issued her a challenge.

All right, then.
All she had to do was keep the man on his toes. Her mind rattled through several immediate possibilities.

This might be fun, almost as fun as matching wits with Montgomery.

Montgomery. Now was not the time to allow him to crowd her thoughts.

“Let’s set aside the card-playing discussion for a moment, shall we?”

She sighed, realizing her grandfather must have interpreted her silence as retreat. Couldn’t have that. She lifted her hands in the air and flexed her fingers. “I would be more than willing to play a hand or two of, let’s say . . .” She gauged her grandfather’s regal bearing, the expensive clothes, the upright setting. No doubt about it, he was probably a whist man. “Poker.”

“Later.” His gaze shifted away from her, creating a distance as surely as if he’d walked to the other side of the room. “I read your mother’s letters again this morning. She mentioned you in almost every one. When read chronologically, I was able to gather a portrait of your childhood.”

Oh.
Words stuck in her throat.

Gaze softening, her grandfather took her hand in his, creating a sense of safety she’d never experienced, even as harrowing memories fought for supremacy in her mind.

“I was able to glean how you grew from a child to an adult before you were barely eight years old.”

Caroline panicked at the gentle tone, her mind searching for a quick escape. She tugged on her hand.

His hold tightened.

“My mother did the best she could.” She felt the need to defend Libby. “She taught me how to read and write and, as you may have noticed, how to speak properly. Those skills alone put me far ahead of the game, especially in Whitechapel.”

“Those lessons weren’t enough, though, were they?”

Tears started to form in her eyes, tears of disappointment and loss. She shoved them away with a hard blink. “I won’t speak ill of my mother.”

“I’m not asking you to.” He squeezed her hand. “I know you were cast into the role of provider for your family before you were ready. You and Jackson have that in common.”

Did they? Was there more to Jackson Montgomery than she’d given him credit for?

Of course there was. Hadn’t she sensed from the very start how capable he was, how strong and in charge he could be, how determined he was to protect the ones he cared about? Such as that day on Orchard Street when he’d championed his tenants.

“It’s my fault,” her grandfather said.

What was his fault? Caroline shook her head and focused on the conversation once again.

“If I hadn’t pampered your mother, if I hadn’t given her everything she ever needed or wanted, maybe she would have been better equipped to take care of herself and you.”

“You couldn’t have known she would end up alone, with no hope or skills to speak of.” Now Caroline was defending him? When she’d been so determined to keep up her guard?

Laugh’s on you, Caroline. You’re already caught in this man’s trap.

She shuddered.

At the same moment, her grandfather swallowed, hard, then let go of her hand. “Let’s get back to my original point.”

Braiding her fingers together in her lap, she nodded. “Of course.”

“Tell me how you managed to provide for you and your mother when you were nothing more than a child.”

The question she’d dreaded most.

Needing to move to release the tension in her muscles, she rose and began pacing the room, much in the same way she’d done the previous night in her grandfather’s study. “I don’t know when the shift occurred, not precisely. Mother started having difficulty getting out of bed in the mornings, rising later and later until she stopped getting out of bed altogether.”

Sighing, her grandfather closed his eyes. “Yet she never stopped trying to contact me.” There was such pain in his voice.

“No. She never gave up hope. I instinctively knew she was sick. Not in her body, but . . . in her mind.”

Her grandfather shuddered.

She closed her eyes and continued. “I was too young to understand. All I knew was that if I wanted to survive, then I would have to fend for myself, and her.”

“I’m sorry, Caroline, I—”

She cut him off. “No apologies, remember?”

“Right.” He gave one firm nod, his expression blank, but she could feel the sorrow wafting off of him.

Her hand reached to him, but he shook his head at her. “Continue with your story.”

“It’s probably nothing you haven’t read in a Dickens novel.” She cringed at the irony. “I found a gang of kids much in the same situation. Some were completely alone, others had siblings, while a few were like me, with a mother incapable of . . . mothering.”

“Ah, Caroline. I’m sorr—” He cut himself off. “Go on.”

“We worked together at first, learning from each other, adding members, losing some.” She lifted her shoulder. “The short version is that I quickly became proficient at making a living with what could be seen as questionable means.”

“Such as?”

“Some members of our gang were gifted at lifting wallets, and I could certainly pull my own weight there, but I used my skill with figures to win money at games of chance. Not only could I remember every card played, I could calculate which ones were left in the deck.”

“Fortuitous.”

Though she sensed her actions had been wrong, she’d done what was necessary to survive. There was no room for dignity and honor on an empty belly.