Journey's End (Gilded Promises) (9 page)

Sally smiled then, her wily look reminding Caroline of the young pickpockets in Whitechapel. They had the same happy expression as this girl, right after a successful pinch. “Nothing that can’t be addressed over time.”

An image of Jackson Montgomery materialized in her mind, and a shiver slipped along her skin. She remembered well the shrewd look in his eyes both times they’d met. He would surely be at the dinner tonight, watching for any mistake she might make. She would have to be smarter than him. “I don’t have a lot of time to prepare.”

Only a few hours.

Was it too late? Had she already blown her chance to ruin her grandfather before she’d even met the man and discovered his weakness, the one thing—whatever that one thing was—that would destroy him in the same way he’d destroyed her mother?

Caroline wouldn’t hurt her grandfather directly; that would make her no better than he. Instead, she would allow him to destroy himself. She would use the same strategy she did with the arrogant wealthy gentlemen who came to gaming clubs, the ones who overplayed their hands and didn’t know when to quit. Greed, it was a powerful motivator and at the root of most men’s downfalls.

“Sally, do you think you could teach me where I’m making my largest mistakes by this evening? I’d pay for your services.”

“I don’t want your money, Miss Harding. But I would consider it a joy to work with you.”

“You must let me reimburse you somehow. If not money, then some other way.”

“Perhaps you could speak with the manager and request my exclusive services during your stay?”

The request had Caroline wondering what the other guests expected from a pretty young maid like Sally. Surely there were some requests, perhaps from the males, that were decidedly unpleasant. She even supposed many of the female guests were difficult as well, perhaps openly rude.

Caroline would ask Sally about the particulars of her job and her life. One day. But now was not the time. The clock was ticking, and they had only a handful of hours to prepare.

“If I make arrangements with the hotel manager, would you be willing to start immediately?”

“Oh, yes, Miss Harding. Absolutely.”

“Excellent.” She smiled. “Under the circumstances, I think you should call me Caroline.”

“I will not.” Sally shook her head at Caroline, obviously disappointed in her. “A maid never addresses her mistress by her given name.”

“Well, then.” Caroline tried to look stern. “We’ll call that my first lesson.”

That made the girl laugh, just a little, enough to let Caroline know she’d won herself an ally, if not a friend. The realization made her miss dear Mary more than ever.

“You are a quick learner, Miss Harding. I’ll give you that.”

She had to be. “Thank you, Sally.” Caroline tightened the belt around her robe and added a hint of snobbery to her tone. “While I get dressed for the day, please seek out the hotel manager and inform the man I would like a word with him.”

Instead of doing as she was told, Sally stood rooted to the spot. When Caroline simply stared at her, the maid angled her head and gave her a look of impatience.

“What now?”

“Miss Harding.” Sally blew out a slow rush of air. “A woman in your position would never dress herself.”

“But that’s absurd. I’m in the privacy of my own room. Who will know?”

“
You
will know.”

The point was a valid one. Even alone, Caroline must play her role. With that in mind, she threw her shoulders back. “Allow me to rephrase my request. Once you have helped me dress, you will inform the hotel manager that I wish to speak with him about an important matter.”

“Yes, Miss Harding.”

Caroline moved to the dressing table and sat. Eyes focused on her image in the vanity, she grabbed her hairbrush without looking down and handed it to Sally over her shoulder.

The maid got immediately to work.

Holding back a smile, Caroline watched Sally arrange her long dark hair into a beautiful, fashionable twist. The girl had considerable skills, and Caroline liked her more as each moment passed. “I will wear the green-striped walking dress today.”

“An excellent choice, miss. I will see to it at once.”

Before turning away to retrieve the garment, Sally caught her eye in the mirror and winked. The gesture spoke volumes. Caroline was on the right track at last.

She only hoped her efforts would be enough.

Chapter Nine

Jackson arrived at the Harvard Club twenty minutes ahead of his scheduled meeting with Luke. Welcoming the time alone, he strode along the dimly lit corridors, hardly taking note of the décor, his mind hastening through the events of the previous evening. Nothing had gone as planned, not his conversation with Warren Griffin or his interaction with his future bride.

Uneasiness spread through him, and he quickened his pace.

Was he experiencing a case of cold feet? Was that the cause of this sudden void in his heart?

That had to be the reason.

The sooner he made an offer for Elizabeth’s hand, the sooner they could set a date. His life would be back on course. Nothing stood in the way anymore, nothing except this odd sense of uneasiness that refused to release him. Bad timing, that, since he planned to speak with Richard St. James that very afternoon. He would eventually request Elizabeth’s hand from her father, Marcus, as that had always been the plan. But out of deference for his business relationship with Richard, Jackson wanted to approach the elder St. James first. Once he had Richard’s blessing, he would seek out Marcus’s as well.

Jackson anticipated both conversations going well. After all, the engagement between him and Elizabeth had been understood for years.

Soon, she would become his fiancée. And then his wife.

Uneasiness spread through him again, a sensation Jackson had rarely felt before a month ago.

Before
he’d met Caroline Harding with her beautiful eyes, hidden agenda, and secretive nature.

Scowling, he veered into the club’s library and settled in a chair next to a small table containing the day’s morning newspapers. He couldn’t drum up any interest in the news. His mind reeled with thoughts of a woman he hardly knew.

Something about Caroline Harding had captured his attention. Whenever he was in her presence, some indefinable emotion called to his inner nature, a wild part of his soul he’d kept hidden deep within himself since boyhood.

Angry at the direction of his thoughts, he yanked up one of the newspapers and snapped it open. The type blurred in front of his eyes.

The logical course of action would be to seek out more information on Caroline Harding, perhaps verify her story and connection to Malcolm Green’s new wife, Patricia Harding. Jackson knew where to start, with her traveling maid turned companion. He knew the girl’s name—Mary. He also knew where she lived—
his
tenement house.

So why wasn’t he charging down there right now and demanding answers?

Scoffing in frustration, he turned the page with a hard flick of his wrist.

A movement off to his left caught his eye. Turning, he saw Luke striding in his direction. His friend made slow progress, stopping every few feet to address someone wanting to shake his hand or welcome him back.

Smiling ruefully, Jackson set the newspaper back on the table.

A hand clasped his shoulder and Luke came into view, then moved around Jackson and sank in the overstuffed chair across from him.

“The Harvard Club hasn’t changed a bit.”

Jackson looked around, took in the rows of bookshelves on his left, the brick fireplace on his right, the muted colors on the wall, the masculine furniture throughout. A man’s sanctuary, to be sure, all the way down to the smell of cigars and aged leather. “I suppose that’s part of its charm.”

“Charm.” Laughing, Luke’s gaze shot around the room. “I don’t know about that, but the sameness does provide a sense of homecoming, one I find rather comforting.”

“Speaking of your homecoming.” Jackson repositioned himself in his chair and leaned slightly forward. “Is your return permanent or temporary?”

“I don’t know yet.” Luke took another long look around the room. “It will depend on whether I can settle a certain matter with my father.”

The evasive answer wasn’t typical of the man Jackson had once known. He remembered the awkward tension in Warren’s study last night, a tension father and son had rarely shared in the past. Something didn’t add up.

Due to their long-standing friendship, Jackson decided to be direct. “Why are you really here, Luke? What brought you home so suddenly?”

“Would you believe me if I said I was homesick?”

“I would not.”

“You know me well. But I assure you, nothing earth-shattering has occurred.” Luke waved off Jackson’s attempt to interrupt him with a flick of his wrist. “I merely find myself embroiled in a small family matter that requires immediate action on my part.”

Luke’s explanation was evasive at best. Jackson was too much of a lawyer to let the matter drop. “Should I ask the question again?” He rested his forearms on his knees. “Or perhaps I’ll redirect my initial query. Tell me, my friend, why did you leave America in the first place?”

Eyes turning haunted, Luke lowered his gaze and picked at a piece of lint on his pant leg. “What can I say? I was bored with my pampered life.” He looked up again, his face now clear of all expression. “I needed a change of scenery.”

At the cryptic response, Jackson remembered the exchange of anxious glances between father and son last night. “Are you in trouble?”

“I suppose I am.” Luke growled low in his throat, a sound of angry frustration. “But not in the way you probably think. I . . .”

When he remained silent, Jackson filled the conversational void. “What kind of trouble are you in?”

Luke’s eyes darted left to right, right to left, not quite landing on Jackson’s. “I hurt someone very badly, and I won’t be forced to repeat my mistake, no matter how passionately my father insists or how noble his reasons may seem on the surface.”

The man was withholding vital pieces of information. Jackson knew all the signs: the guarded, wandering expression, the lack of concrete answers. Traits he would never attribute to his friend, a man whose yes always meant yes and no always meant no.

“What’s really going on with you? Talk to me, Luke. Maybe I can help.”

“You are the last person who would understand the position I find myself in.”

Considering his family history, Jackson understood a great many things. “Perhaps you aren’t giving me enough credit.”

Luke closed his eyes, tipped his head back, and breathed in deeply. “My reason for leaving America had to do with a . . . woman.”

Of all the possible reasons for Luke leaving the country, Jackson would never have suspected the cause was a woman. Luke had a reputation for handling women with charm and aplomb. In fact, he was considered somewhat of a legend among the younger men in society.

The tortured look in his friend’s eyes did not match the man Jackson knew. “Go on. You were saying you left because of a woman.”

Luke scrubbed a hand over his mouth. “I handled our relationship badly. There can be no restitution for what I did to her or how I left matters between us. And that’s all I’m going to say about it.”

“You can’t possibly think—”

“I mean it, Jackson. Don’t press me on this matter.”

For the span of several heartbeats, Jackson held silent. What could have possibly gone wrong with Luke and this mysterious woman?

You are the last person who would understand.

Jackson braced himself. Despite sensing his opinion of his friend might be changed forever, he did exactly what Luke asked him not to do. He pressed for more information. “Did you become involved with a married woman?”

“No.” Luke’s temper came fast and hard, making Jackson wonder if he’d hit the mark despite his friend’s denial. “I’m guilty of many sins, but adultery is not one of them.”

Fair enough.
“Well, whatever led to your departure and subsequent return, I’m glad you’re back. You’ve been missed.”

“I didn’t exactly come home willingly.” Luke sighed. “I was summoned by my father. He has decided it’s time I marry, for the sake of our family. Words like
legacy
and
duty
were tossed around more than once. I have two months to choose a woman on my own or my father will do so for me.”

“Luke, we don’t arrange marriages in America.”

“Not according to my father. Apparently”—Luke’s tone turned bitter—“I am paying for another man’s sins. Ironic, really, when you consider I have my own sins to answer for.”

“What man?”

“I cannot say.”

Noting how his friend kept shooting glances toward another part of the club, Jackson followed the direction of his gaze. There were several men involved in a deep conversation, heads bent. Jackson wasn’t friends with any in the group nor, did he think, was Luke. He swiveled back around. “What are you going to do?”

Luke shrugged, the casual gesture at odds with the storm clouds in his eyes. “I haven’t decided. If I can come up with no other solution, I will
consider
marriage. But only to a woman of my choice and on my terms. Love will not be part of the equation.”

The ferocity in his friend’s words had Jackson rearing back in surprise. “You hate the idea of a love match that much?”

Luke’s features contorted into a dark, thunderous glower. “Love is the root of chaos and uncertainty and only ends in heartache.”

“When did you get so cynical?”

“Do you disagree?”

Jackson had no ready answer. His mother had loved his father. Look how that had turned out. “I’m sorry you’re being forced to make such a difficult decision.”

“I appreciate that, but don’t worry about me. I have everything under control.”

In Jackson’s experience, when a man said he had
everything under control
, he was moments away from losing perspective. And yet, Jackson couldn’t fault the man’s resolve to avoid love. Love was messy and turned to bitterness when things went wrong. His mother was proof of that.

Friendship was a far better foundation for marriage than love.

But was it enough?

Of course it is enough.
Jackson refused to let doubt settle over him. Elizabeth was going to make him a good, proper wife, and Jackson would be a loyal, dutiful husband in return. The situation was no more complicated than that.

Keep telling yourself that, Montgomery.

Jackson eventually left the club and returned to his office. Thanks to his conversation with Luke, he was feeling unsettled and perplexed. Who was this woman Luke had hurt? Did Jackson know her?

Possibly. Probably.

His friend was hiding a large portion of the tale, but Jackson wouldn’t press him for more information. If Luke required his help, he would ask. Until that time, Jackson had his own future plans to set into motion.

Squaring his shoulders, he stopped at his office and informed John Reilly that he was heading straight to his meeting with St. James.

Reilly, his head buried in a stack of papers, nodded absently. “Good enough.”

Organizing his argument in his mind, Jackson went up the additional flights of stairs to the top floor of the building. The climb helped settle his mind and strengthen his resolve.

The moment he entered the penthouse suite, Richard’s secretary greeted him with a smile. “Good afternoon, Mr. Montgomery. Mr. St. James is expecting you.”

“Thank you, Edith.” Jackson returned the older woman’s smile with a genuine one of his own. He liked the middle-aged woman. She might tuck her brown hair into an ordinary bun at the nape of her neck, but there was nothing ordinary about her. Yes, she had plain brown eyes and plain, unremarkable features and wore plain, nondescript clothing, but her inner kindness radiated out of her like a sunbeam splitting through a dingy cloud on a blustery day.

“You may go on in now.”

“Thank you.”

Maneuvering around her desk, Jackson knocked twice on the closed door before entering the spacious office without waiting for a response.

His father’s former business partner, now Jackson’s, sat behind a large desk made of the finest mahogany available. Nothing but the best for the business titan. The high ceilings gave the room a feeling of grandeur and permanence, much like the man behind the desk.

At seventy years old, the older man was in peak physical condition. He wore the aura of power comfortably. He had a full shock of white hair, handsome features that had weathered over time, and a tall, lithe frame. His startling green eyes held keen intelligence and a lifetime of secrets.

Those who worked for Richard St. James considered him a fair man, if somewhat single-minded. There were rumors of a sad tale in the man’s past, something to do with his daughter, but Jackson had never been privy to the particulars.

He halted a few feet short of Richard’s desk.

The older man’s gaze landed directly on his face. In that moment, Richard reminded Jackson of Caroline Harding. They had the same direct stare, the same startling green eyes.

Jackson swallowed.

Wrong woman.

He swallowed again.

Horrendous timing.

He had no business thinking of another woman now, or ever. He was about to ask this man, his mentor and business partner, for permission to marry his beloved granddaughter.

A pair of bushy white eyebrows traveled upward. “You requested this meeting. I assume you had a reason.”

Jackson cleared his throat. “I did.”

“Well, then, have a seat and let’s get to it.”

Jackson did as requested, choosing one of the two wingback chairs facing the older man’s desk. Not sure where to begin now that the time had come, he cleared his throat again. This wasn’t supposed to be so hard.

Why the sudden reticence?
he wondered. Jackson adored Elizabeth, had always adored her. He’d known her most of his life and had considered her as precious as a sister.

A sister?

Where had that terrible thought come from? Elizabeth was the woman he wanted as the mother of his children.

And yet . . .

The thought of building a family with her made him mildly queasy.

He blamed his sudden resistance on his conversation with Luke. Love wasn’t necessary for a successful marriage, Jackson reminded himself. He admired Elizabeth and her family, especially her grandfather. Perhaps it would be more conventional for Jackson to ask Elizabeth’s father for her hand, but Richard St. James was the family patriarch. It made sense for Jackson to speak with the head of the family first.