Journey's End (Gilded Promises) (4 page)

Jackson was
not
there for another glimpse of the woman with the compelling eyes and self-assured manner. That would be counterproductive and, quite frankly, a complete error in good judgment. They were from different worlds with different goals in life. His future plans did not include a woman like her.

He hadn’t been able to get her out of his mind these last two weeks, though. Memories of her beauty had haunted him deep into the late hours of the night. No matter how brief, he couldn’t deny there had been a connection between them. Despite her confidence, Jackson had experienced a strange desire to protect her.

His fascination with a complete stranger he knew nothing about, not even her name, took him by surprise. Especially with his future already mapped out, down to the smallest detail. Yet there he was, striding along the streets of the Lower East Side of Manhattan, secretly hoping for a glimpse of a woman he’d only seen once.

He had probably built her up in his mind. Surely that was the reason for this odd obsession to find her again. Yes, this was his chance to prove to himself that she was as ordinary as any other woman. Once he had his confirmation, he would be able to move on with the next step in his life.

With this new goal in mind, Jackson increased his pace along Orchard Street. Rain had fallen in the early morning hours, leaving the streets slick with moisture and a cool feel to the air not usual for this time of year. At this early hour, the vendors and street merchants were still setting up their carts for business. The sun’s rays were stuck behind the buildings, leaving gray shadows dancing lazily along the path Jackson forged.

Stopping at the spot where he’d grabbed Smythe from inside the angry crowd, he turned his back to the building and scanned the immediate area. Although this was the last place he’d seen the woman, the odds of crossing her path again were greatly against him.

So what was he doing? He should go in search of his new landlord for their scheduled tour of his tenement houses.

Instead, he dug in his heels, crossed his arms over his chest, and leaned back against the brick wall behind him. The shadows were deeper in the shelter of the building, a perfect place to watch the activity of the streets unnoticed.

Alone with his thoughts, his mind wandered to a disturbing realization he’d only recently made about himself. Before two weeks ago, he’d always thought David and Samson weak men ruled by their flesh rather than the Spirit. He’d thrown his father in their company and had judged all three harshly.

But now, after laying eyes on the beautiful woman with the stunning face and remarkable hair, Jackson had a different perspective. He still didn’t sympathize with their sinful behavior, nor was he able to justify their actions—that would make him too much like his father, which he most definitely was not—but Jackson better understood the power of temptation.

The differences between the men of the Bible and his own father were clear. Once they accepted the error of their bad behavior, Samson and David had turned away from their sin and back to God. While Edward Montgomery had embraced his debauchery.

Anger surged. He was not like his father. He was not.

Then what are you doing, seeking out this woman?

The question brought him up short. He was pursuing a stranger because of a momentary sense of kinship, an unwanted one at that.

He pushed away from the wall, resolved to move on, both literally and figuratively. With tight, angry strides he paced to the foot of the steps leading to the front entryway of 227 Orchard Street.

That was when he saw her. Exiting the very building he’d been about to enter.

Jackson froze midstep. The sight of her caused a physical pain in his chest. He wanted to walk away, at the very least to look away, but he could do neither.

Her beautiful eyes widened in surprise, giving her an expression of shocked innocence. She recovered quickly, though, too quickly, as if she refused to tolerate a single moment when she wasn’t in control of her emotions.

How well he knew the sensation.

But then, for a brief moment, her lips curved upward. The sudden, lovely smile dazzled him. Common sense told him he was doomed if he let himself be charmed by this woman. Up close, her skin was like cream, her black lashes like rich velvet.

On your guard, Jackson, this one’s not like any other woman you’ve met.

He swallowed just as she took her first step toward him. Stopping halfway down the steps, she allowed her smile to widen just a bit. “You again.”

She spoke simply, in a matter-of-fact tone, as if this meeting had been inevitable. Her cultured, sophisticated accent indicated that she hailed from England and had obtained a proper education while living in her homeland. The enthralling alto was exactly the pitch he’d expected and was in complete opposition to the humble, faded green dress she wore.

“Yes,” he said, looking soberly into her eyes. Rarely had a girl captivated him like this. “Me again.”

“You are the owner of this building, are you not?” She commandeered the next step, the move bringing her eyes level with his. “The one who sent that wretched Mr. Smythe to jail?”

It was Jackson’s turn to blink in surprise and, for a full second, he could not make himself respond to her question. He was rarely surprised by anyone, especially a woman.

After a deep breath, he shook himself out of his frozen state of . . . fascination. “Do you live here in this building?”

Although that would explain her presence here this morning, he could not picture this beautiful, elegant creature living in one of his tenement houses.

“No, well, yes, but I am a very temporary resident,” she confirmed. “I will be moving out at the end of this week.”

Questions tangled in his mind. Why had she come to America? Why New York? Where was she heading next? Farther uptown or to another part of the country entirely? There were many more questions running through his mind. He asked none of them. Everything about this woman spelled trouble, and Jackson had made it his policy to avoid trouble at all costs.

Why wasn’t he continuing on his way? Why was he standing there, hoping to prolong their encounter for as long as possible?

“Tell me, Miss . . .”

“Caroline. My name is Caroline.”

Aware that she had chosen to reveal her first name only, and bristling at that, Jackson continued a bit more cautiously. “Tell me, Caroline, since you’ve lived in this building for a few weeks, what do you think of the living conditions?”

She rested a hand on her hip, caution in her eyes now as well. “Do you wish to hear my true opinion?”

“Of course.”

“I think you were correct to get rid of Mr. Smythe. He allowed this building to become nothing short of a slum.”

Jackson nodded. Why bother arguing the point? “Go on.”

“The current landlord is much better, more caring. He is forging ahead with the building’s repairs in a quick and timely manner. However . . .” She allowed her words to trail off, as if she wasn’t sure if she should continue.
“However,”
she repeated more firmly. “I do believe Mr. Tierney could benefit from the occasional bath or two.”

Charmed by the accurate remark, Jackson resisted the urge to throw his head back and laugh. He was not one to give in to his emotions. He maintained his composure for five full seconds. Then a smile spread across his lips.

In a single glance a thousand words passed between him and Caroline, unspoken phrases that Jackson completely understood but refused to decipher.

No matter how captivating she seemed, no matter how mesmerized he felt at the moment, nothing could change the fact that she was the wrong woman, rousing the wrong emotions in him.

A crying shame, really, because Jackson sensed she would have kept him on his toes given half a chance. And he was only just now realizing how much he would have enjoyed that.

Chapter Four

Caroline watched Mr. Montgomery’s reaction to her suggestion that his landlord needed a bath. Or rather, she watched his
highly restrained
reaction to her suggestion. More than a little intrigued, she waited for him to give in to his amusement fully.

He did not, of course. She hadn’t actually expected him to. They were alike in that. In fact, as she watched him wipe his face clean of all expression, she found herself doing the same.

Despite her outward calm, her heart beat a sporadic rhythm against her ribs, as if something deep within her recognized a kindred spirit in this man. One overly controlled soul to another.

What pain in the man’s past had taught him such careful moderation? Even more interesting, what would it take to push him to the limit, to prod him into a loss of his remarkable control, if only momentarily?

Surprised by the direction of her thoughts, she looked away from his handsome face and clamped her lips tightly shut. She had a long day ahead of her at the library and then the newspaper office and, if all went according to plan, at the Waldorf-Astoria. Yet here she stood, neither attempting to push past Mr. Montgomery nor enticing him into further conversation.

He seemed equally caught in the moment.

Needing something to do with her hands, she tucked some of the hair that brushed her cheek behind her ear. His gaze followed the gesture, then just as quickly snapped back to her face.

His eyes narrowed ever so slightly.

Laid bare under the intensity of his stare, Caroline tensed. She forced herself to breathe slowly, forced her mind to settle. But nothing she tried could pull her out of her strangely distracted state. She was entranced and felt painfully alive in this man’s presence.

A dangerous, impossible situation when she was so close to finalizing the details of her plan. With the information she’d already gathered about her grandfather—from the way the New York papers hailed him as a highly respected civic leader and businessman to the particulars of his philanthropic endeavors—Caroline was even more driven to disclose his true nature to society.

If, in the process, she managed to avenge her mother’s untimely death as well, then so much the better.

The need to right such a terrible wrong was like a sickness in her, having grown far too powerful to be driven out by a momentary—albeit pleasant—encounter with a handsome gentleman.

As if understanding her hurt on a level even Caroline didn’t comprehend, Mr. Montgomery gave her a bold, manly smile and then touched her arm. The connection was whisper light and unbearably gentle.

“Thank you, Caroline. I appreciate your candor this morning. You have been a wealth of information.”

Had she? She’d barely told him anything at all.

“I stand by what I said,” she insisted, leaning forward until she’d closed the distance between them to a handful of inches. “All of it.”

He laughed outright, unmistakable humor filling his gaze.

At last,
she thought,
I have managed to push past this man’s courteous facade at last.

Still smiling, his hand traveled toward her face but stopped halfway and floated back down by his side. “I . . . That is, thank you again, Caroline.” He stepped to his left, clearing a path for her to proceed down the steps unhindered. “I won’t detain you any longer.”

Dismissed. She’d been dismissed. In a very polite manner, to be sure, but there was no doubt their conversation had come to an end. At least from Mr. Montgomery’s standpoint.

Strangely relieved rather than insulted, Caroline cracked a rueful smile. “I’m pleased I could help.”

He gave her a sharp nod, then continued up the steps and into the tenement house as if they’d never met. Hesitating just inside the threshold, his hand stilled on the doorknob. He glanced back over his shoulder, looking straight into her eyes.

They exchanged faint, cautious smiles, a silent, yet definitive farewell that communicated a world of regret on both sides.

I will never see him again,
Caroline realized with a heavy dose of sadness. It was just as well, she knew, but that didn’t stop the sense of loss swelling inside her.

“Good-bye,” she said softly, her voice barely above a whisper.

“Good-bye, Caroline.” He shut the door behind him with a resounding click.

After the briefest of pauses, Caroline began her descent down the remaining two steps and then turned in the direction of the Astor Library on Lafayette Street.

Her mind was already on the task before her. But unlike her previous encounter with Mr. Montgomery, this time she did look back in his direction. Not once, but twice.

A half hour later, Caroline completed the eight-block walk to Lafayette Street and Astor Place. Moving quickly, she skirted past a slow-moving carriage pulled by an ancient horse and then a motorcar puttering along the road at an even slower rate. Men, women, and well-behaved children joined her on the sidewalk, but most were en route to some other place than the library.

That meant Caroline had a quiet morning of reading ahead of her, a perfect scenario under any circumstance. If her time were her own, how she would enjoy spending hours on end in the library, exploring all the worlds inside each book and periodical.

Such was not the case. She had much work to do.

At the entrance to the library she paused a moment and took in the magnificent stone and brick structure that stood four stories high. The architecture was quite complicated and spoke of wealth and money. Large glass windows encased inside stone arches were spaced perfectly from end to end on every floor.

Though Caroline wouldn’t have guessed it, according to the librarian, the building had been through several renovations and expansions.

The structure appealed to Caroline’s love of precision and order. The sturdy stone and red brick gave her a sense of hope for the future, a reminder that there just might be a place where chaos and uncertainty did not exist.

Refusing to allow her mind to dwell on such a notion, Caroline entered the library quickly, her head down. The smell of leather, decades-old parchment, and freshly varnished wood filled her senses—a pleasing aroma that encouraged her to relax her guard a moment, to stay awhile and simply enjoy the literary treasures waiting to be discovered.

But there was no time for that now.

Gaze still focused at her feet, she made her way to the stairs to the second floor. If she allowed herself to look at the shelves of books lining the walls, if she caught even a glimpse of the beautiful marble and elegant walls, her heart would yearn for what she could never have. Stability. A sense of permanence.

Home.

Yet another dangerous fantasy she couldn’t afford.

When Caroline had foolishly confessed to Mary her wish for a secure future and a place to call her own, the girl had told Caroline such a thing was possible. “Caro,” she’d explained in her gentle voice. “All things are possible with God.”

Caroline had promptly changed the subject before Mary could start in on her about surrendering her cares to the Lord or some such nonsense. In Caroline’s experience, God was nothing more than a vengeful, distant presence that allowed flagrant injustices in the world. Why would she ever surrender to such a callous deity?

Lips flattened in a grim line, she climbed the stairs to the second floor and paced to the back of the cavernous room.

Stopping at her usual table, Caroline allowed herself a small smile. The librarian had anticipated her today. The morning newspapers were already stacked in neat, orderly piles awaiting her perusal.

Lowering herself into a chair, she chose the
New York Times
to read first. Ignoring all other sections, she turned directly to the society page and ran her fingertip along the words, looking for one name in particular.

Richard St. James.

She found him halfway down the first column.

Alone in the large room, she read the entry in a small, quiet voice. “Richard St. James made a rare appearance at the opera this evening. His beloved granddaughter, Elizabeth St. James, was by his side, looking as lovely as ever.”

Hand shaking, Caroline’s finger paused over the newspaper. She remained perfectly still for several heartbeats and forced her breathing to slow.

But no matter how many times she told herself to remain calm, nothing could suppress the feeling of despair. Her blood ran hot, then ice-cold, and her stomach churned with—yes, she admitted it to
herself—envy. Pure, unadulterated jealousy of the first order.

All because of that name. That name!

Elizabeth St. James.
Beloved granddaughter.

Caroline’s first cousin. Her own flesh and blood. A young girl barely nineteen years old who’d been named after Caroline’s mother.

The irony was like a dagger to her heart.

Elizabeth St. James.

Caroline suppressed the howl of outrage that formed in her throat. She wanted to rip the newspaper into tiny little pieces and toss each one into a smoldering fire, hot as the fury running through her veins. She wouldn’t, of course. Caroline had far too much control to give in to such a childish reaction.

Steeling herself, she continued to read in a low, staggering voice that hitched over every other word. “Dressed in a gossamer gown of layers upon layers of white silk, Miss St. James was, as always, the most attractive, accomplished young woman in the theater.”

Attractive. Accomplished.
Caroline felt the breath leave her lungs. Yet she read on. “Considered the most popular girl in social and musical circles across the city, Elizabeth had her trademark blonde curls swept up in a classic chignon, offsetting her deep blue eyes that have caused many a male to spout poetry in her presence.”

This time it was not jealousy that washed through Caroline but a sense of unfairness. While this nineteen-year-old girl had been enjoying trips to the opera and the theater, Caroline had been scraping for the barest of existences, with the fear of starvation driving her every decision.

The blood rushed from her head, making her dizzy. The emotions raging inside her—hurt, longing, loneliness—were so strong, so powerful she bent over in response. She rested her forehead on the table, overwhelmed and heartsick. How could she ever pull this off? How could she waltz into parties and pretend she didn’t know who these people were?

No.
No.
Caroline refused to give up when she’d come this far. No sentiment allowed. And definitely no crying.

She squeezed her eyes tightly shut and breathed in slowly. In. Out. In. Out.

Back in control, she sat up and continued reading. She skimmed over the list of occupants in the St. James private box, completely uninterested, until she came upon another familiar name.

A gasp sputtered past her lips. “Among the other patrons in attendance was longtime family friend and St. James business partner Mr. Jackson Montgomery.”

Montgomery? Caroline’s pulse leapt. Could this Jackson Montgomery be the same Mr. Montgomery she’d met on Orchard Street?

Surely not. Most certainly this was a mere coincidence.
Her
Mr. Montgomery owned tenement houses, while there’d never been any mention of Richard St. James owning that type of building.

Besides, Montgomery was a common enough name. Although . . . Caroline had to admit that the man she’d met on the street that morning would fit in her grandfather’s world.

Slowly, resolutely, Caroline read on. “It is believed a match between Mr. Montgomery and Miss St. James is in the making. Will a spring wedding be in order for this fashionable couple?”

Goose bumps rose along Caroline’s arms, and her scalp began to tingle. What were the odds?
What were the odds?
She did the math in her head, calculating all the variables, coming up with a disastrous answer.

Resigned
,
yet determined to be thorough in her fact gathering, she flipped through the other newspapers the librarian had left for her. This time she searched for the name
Jackson Montgomery
.

She came across no fewer than three other stories speculating on the “event about to take place” between the handsome Mr. Montgomery, a young man of excellent standing, and the pretty Miss St. James, a most worthy match for the gentleman.

Caroline waited for some feeling to emerge. Nothing but a cold emptiness swept through her.

What did it matter if Jackson Montgomery was the same man she’d spoken with this morning? This bit of information changed nothing. In truth, Caroline should consider herself fortunate to have discovered the possibility of Montgomery’s connection to her grandfather—and cousin—before she worked her way into their world.

Forewarned is forearmed
—one of the hardest lessons she’d learned on the London streets.

After reading through each newspaper again, this time more slowly, Caroline decided she had enough information to put her plan into motion. She knew all the names of the important people of New York, who was in town, and who had traveled to the Continent for an extended stay or honeymoon.