Journey's End (Gilded Promises) (8 page)

Only once Caroline had disappeared into the crimson drawing room did he remember Elizabeth’s presence. He turned his attention to her, and for a moment, he simply watched his future bride converse with Luke.

Perhaps it would be for the best to wait to begin his courtship. He needed to finish his business with Warren Griffin. And it wouldn’t hurt to discover just what Caroline Harding was up to now that she’d befriended Elizabeth.

“Elizabeth, I’m afraid I must leave you in Luke’s capable care.” He took her hand and again wondered where the spark had gone. Had it been there before? Yes, of course. He was simply battling a case of cold feet. “I will see you tomorrow evening at your grandfather’s home.”

Gently pulling her hand free, Elizabeth gave him her trademark serene smile. “I look forward to it.”

Frowning slightly at the lack of emotion in her voice, Jackson turned to Luke. “And you, my friend, what do you say to luncheon at the Harvard Club?”

“I say it’s about time you made the offer.”

After agreeing upon an hour to meet, Jackson went in search of Luke’s father. He found the older gentleman in the billiard room.

“Ah, Jackson, there you are.” Griffin set down his cue stick. “I was just about to come find you.”

“I was hoping that might be the case.”

“Yes, yes.” He motioned for the other man to continue the game without him. “Come along, then.”

Side by side, they navigated a labyrinth of hallways only to end up where Jackson had begun the evening—in Warren Griffin’s private study.

Once the door was shut and they were settled in their respective chairs, Jackson pulled out the bank draft he’d brought with him.

“This is the last of the payments I owe you.” He handed over the piece of paper and waited for Griffin to glance at the amount.

“You know how I feel about this.” The older man shook his head, sighed. “I never expected reimbursement. The money I gave your father was a gift.”

They’d had this same conversation every time Jackson made a payment on his father’s behalf. “He should never have taken the money from you in the first place.”

Griffin cocked a brow. “He had his reasons.”

“Dishonorable ones.”

“Not entirely. And despite what you may think, your father never coerced the money out of me. I willingly gave him what he asked for.”

Jackson frowned. “Even knowing he would use it to leave town instead of face the consequences of his actions?”

“Again, all I am willing to tell you is that he had his reasons for what he did.”

Of course he did. Jackson swallowed back a disgusted hiss. “Then he should have stuck around and explained himself.”

But Jackson knew that would never have happened. Even if he’d wanted the chance to ask for forgiveness, he couldn’t have done so. Edward Montgomery had been banished from every home in New York. Not because he’d left America without a backward glance, but because he’d taken his wife’s sister with him.

The resulting scandal had been unprecedented. At the time, Jackson had been in his final days at Harvard. It had taken him years to restore his family’s name to the point where all the best families of New York once again accepted someone with the last name Montgomery into their homes.

As if reading his thoughts, Warren Griffin cleared his throat. “Your father isn’t evil, Jackson.”

“Perhaps not. But he’s certainly selfish.”
And weak.

Edward Montgomery had never once thought about the devastation he’d left behind. Or the embittered wife who hated all men as a result of her husband’s betrayal.

“You are a good man, Jackson.” Griffin placed the bank note in the top drawer of his desk. “You have borne more than your share of the burdens for your family and have done so admirably.”

Jackson said nothing. His father had left him no other choice than to bear the consequences of his actions. “I appreciate your support, Warren, more than you can know. By opening your home to me, to my family, you taught others in town to do the same.”

“You will always be welcome here, Jackson. Not only are you Luke’s friend, but you are an honorable man. It is a great joy to include you in our circle of friends.”

Jackson shifted uncomfortably in his chair. Did he deserve such praise? Was he honorable? Had he ever truly been tested? An image of Caroline Harding flashed before him.

Was she a temptation put before him to test his resolve, to see what he was made of?

God is faithful. He will not allow you to be tempted beyond what you can bear.

Jackson had to believe that was true. He had to trust that he was nothing like his father.

“Jackson, my boy, I have said this to you before, but it bears repeating. If you ever find yourself in trouble or in need, do not hesitate to come to me for assistance.”

“Thank you, Warren. I will keep that in mind.”

Jackson rose, said a final farewell, and then left the room without another word. He had no plans of taking the man up on his offer. Because no matter what challenge Caroline Harding presented in the coming days, he would not give in to her charms. He would keep his honor intact, remembering what he would lose if he faltered even for a moment.

Halfway down the hall, the earlier sense of foreboding returned. The sensation grew more distinct with each step he took. Jackson couldn’t help but wonder if he was already in over his head.

Chapter Eight

Caroline woke the next day with a ruthless headache. Her dreams had been plagued with dark, watery images she hadn’t been able to bring into focus. More exhausted now than when she’d first laid her head on the pillow, she allowed awareness to drift into her mind by degrees. Better that than remember the details of the previous evening.

And the man who’d played a starring role in her dreams: Jackson Montgomery, her cousin’s future husband, her grandfather’s business partner.

Caroline’s own personal nemesis.

She winced but kept her eyes firmly shut.

After a moment, she became aware of the first threads of sunlight filtering through the large plate glass window of her hotel suite, beckoning her to start her day.

Sighing, Caroline peeled open one eye, then the next, then promptly shut both when her gaze landed on the ornate red and gold canopy above her head. How could people live with such decadence when so many others barely scratched out an existence? Not that Caroline didn’t enjoy the luxurious room—she’d be a hypocrite to pretend otherwise—but it was the principle of the matter that raised her hackles.

Most of her life she’d hustled for food, always worrying about where she’d find her next meal. Now she had to pretend she came from a world of luxury where her most pressing problem was what to wear that day.

She stretched out her limbs, gave a little sigh of pleasure as the fine linen slid across her torso. The sound startled her eyes open. What was wrong with her? This was not her, this lazy, idle creature. Infiltrating her grandfather’s world was already taking a toll on her spirit.

Living among the wealthy, even for a week, carried unexpected challenges. One in particular came to mind.

Jackson Montgomery.

After spending her dream-hours with him, Caroline did not wish to think of him this morning. He’d already proven himself far too clever, too dangerous, and highly suspicious of her. A deadly combination.

It was unnerving how he seemed to look past her exterior and straight into her core. If he showed up at her grandfather’s tonight, Caroline could not let her guard down around him, nor could she let him see a moment of weakness in her.

Groaning at the daunting task ahead, she buried her head beneath her pillow. The scent of lavender filled her nose. The pleasant aroma reminded her that she didn’t belong in this world. But she didn’t belong in Whitechapel, either. In truth, she didn’t know where she belonged.

Sighing a third time in so many minutes—
really, that is quite enough of that
—Caroline tossed aside the pillow and stared up at the canopy above her head. She’d fallen asleep counting the seams in the material, her mind a whirlwind of chaotic thoughts. Now she couldn’t seem to get out of bed, even when she had a multitude of tasks to complete before tonight’s dinner party.

Not for the first time since moving uptown, she wished Mary were here with her. Caroline could use the girl’s calming influence. Maybe her friend would pray for her. Or simply offer up words that would provide comfort.

A knock at the door had her scrambling out of bed with a cold start. Looking frantically around, she had to remind herself she’d done nothing wrong. She’d paid for this room already, a full two weeks in advance.

“One moment, please,” she called out.

Working fast, she shrugged into a lush rose-colored robe that cost more than her mother had earned in a year. Guilt coursed through her as Caroline let her gaze wander about the bedchamber. Libby St. James would have enjoyed a night in a room like this. Her mother had
deserved
a night in a room like this.

Why hadn’t Caroline tried to win vast amounts of money before her mother died, if for no other reason than to lighten Libby St. James’s burdens?

Caroline knew the answer, of course.

Because fleecing unsuspecting gamblers, no matter how much money they had in their pockets or how badly they played, could not be justified. Not morally.

Another knock rang out, this one louder than the first.

“Enter,” Caroline called out at the same time she slipped her feet into a pair of satin slippers. Satin! What a strange, extravagant luxury that felt beyond ridiculous, yet she knew it was required for the role she’d chosen to play.

The hotel maid assigned to her room poked her head around the door. “You told me to wake you at dawn, Miss Harding.”

The soft, lilting American accent sounded more pronounced this morning, as if Sally was taking great pains to speak very clearly, very precisely. Caroline only noticed the small change because she took equal care with her own accent. What, she wondered, was Sally hiding inside that careful inflection?

“Yes, I did wish for you to wake me early. Thank you.” When the girl hovered on the threshold, chewing on her bottom lip, Caroline motioned her forward. “Please. Come in, Sally. I would like your opinion on something.”

“You want
my
opinion?”

“I do.”

Not sure why that surprised the girl, Caroline ushered Sally into the room. The maid wore the requisite hotel uniform, a nondescript light blue dress under a long white apron tied in a neat bow at her back. The cap on her head hid the girl’s hair, but Caroline could tell from her fair coloring and light eyebrows that Sally was a blonde like Elizabeth. They were of the same height and build as well.

Unsettled by the similarities, Caroline let go of Sally’s arm and moved across the room to glance out the window overlooking the street below. At this hour, activity was light.

Sally cleared her throat.

Caroline glanced over her shoulder.

“You wished for my assistance with something, Miss Harding?”

“Yes. Come with me.” Caroline directed the maid to the closet on the far side of the room. “I’ve been invited to a private dinner party tonight, and I’m mulling over what I should wear.”

“You want my opinion on what you should wear?” Sally straightened her spine, looking quite pleased, perhaps even triumphant, as if she’d just succeeded at some secret task. “Truly?”

Caroline bit her lip again, wondering if she was making a mistake dragging the maid into her intrigue, no matter how indirectly. She proceeded cautiously. “If you were ever to attend a private dinner party where you were meeting an important person for the first time, would you wear this dress?” She pulled out a sophisticated crimson gown. “Or that one?” She indicated a blue silk dress with a nod of her head.

As Sally surveyed the choices a moment, a shrewd look filled her eyes. “If I were to attend such a party”—she stepped forward and considered a moment longer—“what impression would I be wanting to make?”

The question proved the girl was far more intelligent and observant than most in her position, traits Caroline had noticed from their first meeting. Sally might be an employee in this hotel, but she had brains. And that knowing look in her eyes indicated that she recognized that Caroline wasn’t quite the person she pretended to be. Perhaps Sally wasn’t the person she seemed, either. Perhaps, like Caroline, the woman carried secrets hidden deep within her.

Instead of feeling threatened by her suspicions, Caroline felt a connection to the maid, as if she’d known the girl all her life. She’d felt a similar bond with Mary the first time they’d met as well. Two strong connections in so many months. How odd. “The goal is to make the people at the party want to know you better.”

Sally nodded. “Would I want to portray”—she glanced at Caroline—“innocence?”

A valid question, one Caroline had considered long before she’d boarded the SS
Princess Helena
. “No, not innocence, not particularly. However, you would want to present a nonthreatening air. Let’s say harmless but likable.”

Hands on her hips, Sally leaned forward and stuck her head inside the closet. “I’d wear this one.” She plucked out a white silk dress with delicate silver lace on the bodice and a satin ribbon of the same color at the waist. “They’ll not be able to resist you.”

At Sally’s declaration, Caroline found herself torn between amusement and a jolt of unexpected longing. “I could never pull off irresistible.”

“But of course you could. Not only will this dress set off your coloring, but you will appear sweet and pure, like a . . . like an ingénue.” Sally gave an impressive eye roll, the censure in the gesture making her seem as though she knew more than she was letting on. “The wealthy in this country do so love their ingénues.”

An ingénue, indeed.
Caroline smiled reluctantly. Did she wish to make that particular statement? A pointless question. She could never pull off sweet, youthful innocence.

Despair threatened to overwhelm her. Was she kidding herself? Was she playing at a game that was beyond her skills? Would she ultimately destroy herself rather than her grandfather?

As if sensing the direction of Caroline’s thoughts, Sally replaced the dress in the closet with considerable care and set a slim hand on Caroline’s arm. “May I speak freely, Miss Harding?”

Caroline nodded.

“I know you are not one of them.”

Caroline drew in a sharp breath. She thought she’d been so careful, addressing every last detail. Clothes. Hair. Attitude. “How . . . how do you know?”

“It’s not a bad thing.” Sally squeezed her arm. “I meant it as a compliment.”

Oh, but this was terrible. “How am I giving myself away?”

“You look me in the eye, for one. You also speak to me in a respectful tone.” She let out a short laugh. “At this point, due to my impertinence, you should be tossing me out of this room, but instead you are waiting to hear what else I have to say. You are good, Miss Harding, and very kind. Those qualities can’t be faked and are rarely seen among the wealthy set in New York. Not from my experience, anyway.”

Caroline was many things, but she’d never thought of herself as either good or kind. In her experience, such qualities equaled weakness. And weakness was a death sentence in Whitechapel.

“Whatever you are planning,” Sally continued, “you will be better off playing to your strengths.”

Caroline tapped a fingertip to her lips, her mind running through the decisions she’d made over the last few weeks. She
had
been playing to her strengths, or so she’d thought. She’d used her keen mind to gather information about her enemy. She’d meticulously planned every detail of her entry into her grandfather’s world, down to what clothes to wear and when. But now this hotel maid claimed she’d missed the mark.

“All right, Sally, since you seem to have me all figured out. What are my strengths?”

Not at all insulted by Caroline’s flat tone, Sally dropped her hand and stepped back. “You have a unique ability to make people around you feel important, as though they matter.”

“I . . . do?”

“You are doing it now, by asking a hotel maid for advice. Anyone else in your position would ignore me completely, but you treat me as someone of worth. No.” Sally shook her head vehemently. “You are not one of them. I’d stake my life on it.”

Caroline’s heart lurched. “But I have to make them think I belong.” Her grandfather must not discern her reasons for getting close to them, not at first.

Definitely not tonight.

“Well, then, I suggest you be yourself—charming, kind. Likable. Speak to the other guests the way you speak to me. They will have no other choice but to love you.”

Love her. Another sliver of longing slipped past her defenses. No.
No.
She couldn’t allow herself to hope for something so out of reach. This pursuit wasn’t about love, or acceptance. Or even belonging. It was about righting a wrong, about making a man pay for his sins. A man who’d embraced his granddaughter Elizabeth while he’d abandoned his own daughter to the mean streets of London.

Richard St. James must pay. He must.

What will you do after you’ve exacted your revenge?

Caroline didn’t know the answer to that question. In truth, she hadn’t bothered thinking that far ahead. She knew she could never go back to living on the London streets. Where she would go when this was over, she couldn’t say.

Thankfully, Sally’s voice broke through her thoughts before she could contemplate the problem any longer. “You don’t want them to love you, do you? You want something else entirely.”

How much should she tell this girl? Cautious to the bone, for very good reasons, Caroline knew better than to reveal her plan to a stranger. Thus, she spoke in generalities. “I simply want them to think I’m one of them. That’s all for now.”

A thoughtful expression in her gaze, Sally nodded. “There’s no denying you look the part. You sound like one of them, too.”

Caroline sighed. Of course she looked and sounded like an educated woman of class and substance. Libby St. James had taught Caroline herself, focusing on the various traits one would expect in a highborn lady. A well-worn, beloved Bible had been her primer.

When Sally held her silence, blinking at her with a measured gaze, Caroline took the maid’s arm and directed her into the tiny parlor of her suite. “Looking and sounding the part aren’t enough, are they?”

“No.” Sally shook her head. “Of course, with the right dress and the proper hairstyle you’ve won half the battle.”

Winning half the battle, or even the full battle, wasn’t her goal. Caroline wanted to win the war. According to Sally, she needed a new approach, one she should have thought of before now.

This maid was the key. What better way to know how the upper class acted than to learn from someone who witnessed their activity on a daily basis?

“Sally, how long have you worked at this hotel?”

“Nearly four years. I worked in a private home a year before that.” A shadow fell over her face. “I was the personal maid for the lady of the house.”

There was a story there, but Caroline didn’t think Sally would reveal the details if she asked. Not with that closed expression on her face. “Would you say you’ve had considerable experience with the wealthy men and women of New York?”

Sally snorted in disdain. “I would, indeed.”

Definitely a story there.

“What am I doing wrong?” The question was as much an admission of her role as an imposter as if she’d come out and said as much aloud.