Journey's End (Gilded Promises) (10 page)

Yet, still, Jackson couldn’t push the words declaring his intentions past his lips.

The older man broke the silence for him. “I understand your school chum has returned to New York.”

Grateful for the reprieve, Jackson answered without hesitation. “Luke, yes, I was just with him at the club.”

Richard nodded. “I always liked that boy. Can I assume he is doing well?”

“Very.” If one didn’t count the fact that Luke was struggling with some sort of family matter and being cryptic about the particulars. Jackson wasn’t sure what problem his friend had gotten himself into, but this moment wasn’t about Luke.

Enough stalling. “Sir, as you are aware, last night I paid off the last of my father’s debts.”

“I find your actions commendable. You have taken good care of your mother. Not many sons would have been so . . . patient.”

He paused, leaving the rest unspoken.

For which Jackson was grateful. His business partner was well aware that Lucille Montgomery was a difficult woman at best, unbearable at worst.

Instead of braving the storm of her husband and sister’s betrayal with courage and dignity, Jackson’s mother had grown bitter through the years. She took out her anger on those closest to her, most often her son and her God.

Jackson tried to give his mother the benefit of the doubt. The whispers had been hard on her, especially in the early days. But her husband had been gone for five full years now. It was time for her to accept that he wasn’t coming back and move on with her life.

“Many men in your position might not have taken the responsibility of family as seriously as you have,” Richard continued. “But now that the worst is over, it’s time you focused on your own life.”

There. The perfect opening. “That’s what I wished to speak with you about.”

Richard said nothing.

Jackson continued. “Now that there is no more debt, and my family’s scandal is all but forgotten, I am ready to marry. I wish to offer for—”

“You want to marry? So soon?” This seemed to surprise the older man. “But you are still young.”

“I am nearly thirty years old.”

“Like I said, still young. It’s only been one day since you paid off your father’s debt. Surely you want to take some time to enjoy your freedom.”

Freedom was the last thing Jackson wanted. Look what it had done to his father. “You know I have been working toward a specific goal of late.”
Respectability.
“Marriage to a woman of good family and fine character is the next logical step.”

“No.” Richard waved that off with a flick of his wrist. “You should put it off awhile longer. Wait at least a year or more to settle down.”

“I had planned on a yearlong engagement.”

“That’s not what I meant. You should enjoy your life without the responsibilities you’ve had to shoulder these last few years.”

The man wasn’t listening. Why wasn’t he listening? “But, sir, I—”

“Jackson. My boy.” Speaking as a father would to his son, Richard rose from his chair, circled around his desk, and set a hand on Jackson’s shoulder. “No one in society has ever questioned your honor. You are considered a man of solid Christian integrity, one who is well thought of and respected. Marriage isn’t necessary to enhance your already stellar reputation.”

Those were nearly the same words that Warren Griffin had said to him last night. But coming from his mentor and business partner, they seemed to take on new meaning, as if the other man was trying to tell him something else entirely.

But what?

“Sir, I came here today to ask for Eliz—”

“Let’s not talk about that just yet.” He released Jackson’s shoulder. “We need to discuss strategy for our upcoming meeting with Schwartz and Dietrich. I believe you visited them last week about representing our interest in the tenement buildings on Orchard Street.”

The none-too-subtle shift in topic gave Jackson pause. “Yes.”

“Very good.” Richard returned to the other side of his desk, his message clear. Despite all the talk about honor and integrity, he didn’t want Jackson to offer for Elizabeth. Not yet, anyway.

He tried to keep the disappointment out of his voice. “I need to retrieve my notes.” He rose and turned to go.

“Jackson.”

He froze midstep.

“Do not misunderstand what has been said here today. When the time is right, you will make a fine husband. The kind any father, or grandfather, would welcome into his family.”

Chapter Ten

Heart pounding wildly against her ribs, Caroline stood frozen in place outside her grandfather’s home.
Home.
The word toyed with her outward control, as if teasing her with a spark of hope she could not allow to ignite.

Mouth set in a grim line, eyes fixed on the large monstrosity of a house, Caroline couldn’t deny the feeling of enchantment surrounding the beautiful building. Even the stars twinkled above her head, while the silvery sound of leaves rustling came from the bushes lining the perimeter.

Concerned by her fanciful reaction to this house, Caroline frowned. This wasn’t the first grand home she’d entered since arriving in New York. Yet this one possessed a haunting beauty that made her breath hitch in her throat.

A chill traveled through her followed by a wave of deep-rooted regret. Why had her mother not tried harder to return home? Why had she not journeyed back to America and demanded her father listen to her side of the story?

Anger, longing, a brief moment of defeat, those were only a few of the emotions warring for supremacy in Caroline’s heart. At the moment, she didn’t know whom she was angrier with, her grandfather for abandoning his own daughter, or her mother for running off with a man for the ridiculous notion of love.

Love. What a pointless emotion, fraught with dangerous pitfalls. Caroline would never fall in love. Never. She’d seen the devastation left in its wake, knew the pain that resulted when love was lost or stolen away.

Enough.

Lifting her chin, she mounted the first step. And then took the next.
Too many stairs in this country.
She’d never had to navigate so many in her life. Her own humble dwelling in Whitechapel had been ground level, dirty, small—the complete opposite of this grand home.

Anger sprinted through her again, followed by frustration and then sorrow, bone-deep sorrow.

This house, this mansion, was where her mother had lived the first eighteen years of her life. The reality of how far her mother had fallen made Caroline’s breath come in hard, quick snatches.

Enough.

She navigated the next three steps, her gaze shifting left to right, right to left. The three-story brownstone was a mammoth structure, filling half a city block. Gaslights from the street bathed the exterior in a golden, welcoming glow. Row upon row of windows sparkled like diamonds in the inky night. A fairy-tale palace come to life, promising safety, comfort, and happily ever after.

Caroline sighed. Happy endings didn’t exist for people like her.

Her mother had believed otherwise, and that false thinking had contributed as much to her death as Richard St. James’s abandonment.

Swallowing hard, Caroline continued up the final two steps. She lifted her hand to knock, but her knuckles met empty air as the door swung open on its own. A stiff-backed man dressed in a black servant’s uniform ushered her inside with a curt nod of his head. Remembering Sally’s instructions, Caroline barely made eye contact with him.

Pretending she was above this man’s station went against everything her mother had taught her. Libby had been a proponent of the biblical precept:
Consider others better than yourself; look not only to your own interests, but also to the interests of others.
It would seem the lesson had stayed with Caroline. She couldn’t take for granted someone else’s hard work.

Except for tonight. Tonight she was one of the wealthy. And all that that implied.

Another servant came up behind Caroline and grasped her cape. Although prepared for the move, she had to resist the urge to spin around and slap his hand away.

He is not a street thug trying to steal your property,
she reminded herself.

“The others are in the blue drawing room at the top of the stairs.”

She gave a brief nod, squared her shoulders, and made her way toward yet another set of stairs. This particular staircase extended upward in a long, sweeping arc. Made of the finest marble, these steps were far superior to the wooden ones at Ellis Island, but just as intimidating.

Caroline’s fingers twined in the fabric of her skirt.
Don’t fidget.
Sally’s instructions from earlier in the day swept through Caroline’s mind.
A lady holds her head aloft, eyes cast forward, her spine ramrod straight.

Caroline dropped her hand to her side and placed a serene look on her face, the one Sally had taught her and she’d practiced in the mirror all afternoon. The new strategy they’d designed was exceedingly different from the one Caroline had originally adopted.

Could she pull this off?

Not if she stayed rooted to the spot. She began the climb.

Halfway to the top, a voice drifted from behind her. “Miss Harding, I see you have arrived a full half hour early this evening.”

Caroline froze. A prickling, sharp as knifepoints, skidded down her spine.

The voice grew nearer. “I have to wonder at your eagerness.”

A pleasant sensation shot through her, followed by a moment of alarm. She would not—could not—allow herself to be thrown off her guard by a man, any man, and certainly not this one.

She swallowed once, twice, then turned to look over her shoulder. “Mr. Montgomery.” She flashed a wry smile. “I see you are an early arrival as well.”

“I had business I needed to discuss with the family.” He didn’t elaborate, not that she’d expected him to. He was a frequent guest in this home, as much a part of the St. James inner circle as if he’d been born into the family. She was the interloper.

A touch of cold dread moved through her. She held Montgomery’s stare, well aware that beneath the perfectly tailored evening clothes was a dangerous man, all hard muscle and coiled power, a predator capable of striking at any moment.

He came to a stop on the stair just below hers, bringing them
eye-to-eye. Only a tiny tic in his jaw marred the aura of complete
control he exuded.

A heartbeat passed. And another.
Trapped
, that was the word that flickered in her mind. But, oddly enough, she wasn’t afraid. She was intrigued despite herself. There was a hidden wildness in him she doubted others saw. Perhaps even he didn’t acknowledge that part of himself.

Fascinating.

Frightening.

Something about the man made her forget to remain coldly distant.
Beware, Caroline. Beware.

Montgomery offered his arm. “Shall we conquer the rest of the way together?”

“Certainly.”

Stomach in knots, she took his arm, suddenly glad for his support as well as the physical barrier of his sleeve and her glove. It wouldn’t do for her to get too comfortable around the man.

They climbed the stairs as one, their steps perfectly in tune with one another. Caroline might have found that odd had she had time to consider the matter in depth. For now, her mind was already inside the blue drawing room. Centered on the man she’d come to meet for the first time.

Richard St. James was in for the shock of his life.

At the top of the stairs, two servants dressed in identical black uniforms and starched white shirts opened a pair of double doors in unison. Most likely a move they’d perfected through years of practice.

Caroline hesitated at the threshold, her skin growing hot, then frigid. Her family awaited mere feet from her. People who shared her blood. Caroline closed her eyes tightly, drew in a slow breath of air.

“Problem, Miss Harding?”

“No, I . . .” She tapped into the trace of stubbornness that had kept her strong through the leanest, most difficult times. “I am ready.”

His eyes narrowed. “Interesting choice of words.”

Oh, he was a clever one. Taking out her frustration on him, she fixed the infuriating man with a quelling stare.

That earned her a dry chuckle. “I don’t know quite what to think of you, Miss Harding.”

“Perhaps thinking is precisely your problem.”

Dropping his head close to hers, he hovered near her upturned face. For a dreadful moment, she thought he was going to kiss her.

In the next instant, he snapped back to attention. “Perhaps thinking too much is my biggest failing of all.”

She doubted that.

Without another word, he led her past the open doors. The room was so grand and sophisticated and dripping with sparkling light that Caroline found herself dazzled. And stunned speechless.

An unanticipated, dangerous reaction. This was not the way she’d planned to enter her grandfather’s world. Clutching Mr. Montgomery’s arm, she blinked several times, then focused her gaze. She counted a total of three other occupants in the room, her cousin, Elizabeth, and Elizabeth’s parents—a middle-aged couple Caroline knew to be her Uncle Marcus and her Aunt Katherine.

She’d seen them before, at the opera and the theater, but they had not seen her. She’d made sure of that.

Montgomery cleared his throat.

All heads turned.

Elizabeth smiled at them both, started forward, then stopped as a collective gasp rose from her parents. She returned to their side.

“Mother? Father?” Frowning in confusion, Elizabeth angled her head and studied the older pair. “Whatever is wrong with you?”

Katherine St. James ignored her daughter’s question, her gaze widening with each breath she took. “It can’t be. It just can’t be.”

A glass slipped from her hand and crashed to the floor, the sound reverberating against the ornately decorated walls.

Out of nowhere, a servant rushed forward to clean up the broken shards. Caroline’s uncle jumped to his feet and started for Caroline but was tugged back by his wife. “Marcus, wait.”

Silence hung in the room like a thick wool blanket.

“I say, Miss Harding.” Montgomery drawled the words in a low tone meant only for her ears. “You certainly know how to make an entrance.”

She didn’t respond to his goading. She couldn’t. Her gaze was fixed on her uncle. He appeared shocked by her appearance, and . . . oddly—somehow—pleased to see her.

Caroline hadn’t expected that reaction.

But then she remembered that her mother had always spoken fondly of her older brother, even though ten years had separated them in age. If Libby were to be believed, Marcus had loved his little sister to distraction, spoiling her beyond reason. Caroline hadn’t believed that. Such a devoted brother would have come looking for his sister when she’d disappeared all those years ago.

Marcus St. James had never crossed the Atlantic Ocean. Not once. Her mother had been clear on this subject, heartbreakingly clear.

Caroline broke eye contact with her uncle, the hair on the back of her neck rising. Another person had entered the room.

She slowly turned and, finally, after all the planning and scheming, locked gazes with Richard St. James.

Heart in her throat, Caroline took a step forward, froze. She hadn’t expected to feel this rush of homecoming, this sense of hope mixed with utter confusion. Her grandfather was supposed to be an old man, a frail scrooge showing his age, not this strong, handsome man with broad shoulders, a kind face, and . . . her eyes.

She’d thought she’d inherited her eyes from her mother but hadn’t suspected her mother had inherited them from this man.

The color drained from her grandfather’s face. “Libby?” His eyes blinked rapidly. “Is, is that you?”

“No. Not Libby. Caroline. My name is Caroline.” Her voice came out far too unsteady for her liking. “Libby was my mother.”

Jackson viewed the unfolding drama as if through a tank of murky water. Half his mind focused on the shock racing across Richard’s face and the other half on the fact that Caroline Harding was still holding on to his arm. With a death grip.

He realized he should probably peel away her fingers and extricate himself at once. But something about her carefully contained behavior, the way she tried to still her shaking, the vulnerability in her eyes, got to him. It seemed appropriate to suspect her of something underhanded, but an inexplicable need to protect her suddenly shot through him.

She wasn’t what she seemed; he knew that now. She’d come to this house with an ulterior motive. Until he knew what she had in mind—precisely—Jackson wouldn’t abandon her.

Richard moved toward them, his gaze drifting from one to the other, confusion evident in his eyes. “Jackson, you know this young woman?”

The question was a valid one, especially with their arms linked so tightly together. “Elizabeth introduced us last evening.”

As if gathering her courage, Caroline drew in a harsh breath, released his arm, and faced Richard directly. “Do you deny me? Do you deny who I am?”

Her eyes were filled with a mixture of pain and anger, big shining eyes full of fight and spirit. Eyes that were so similar to Richard’s there could be no question they were related.

Was she his love child?

No, Richard was an honorable man. By all accounts, he’d loved only one woman, his wife, Constance. When she’d died, he’d vowed never to love again. Thirty years later Richard had never once broken that vow.

Or had he? Who was this Libby?

“Everyone out.” Richard’s eyes never left Caroline’s face. “Everyone but you.”