Rags to Rubies (19 page)

“You were younger then, Mary. This time you would choose with a woman’s mind and a woman’s heart.” She wondered if the same could be said for her. “Has he made any advances yet?”

“He tries to hold my hand sometimes.”

Grace groaned inwardly, thinking of all the wanton liberties she had taken with Jared.

“But he seems to realize I can’t...I mean, it will be a while before I feel comfortable.” Mary averted her eyes.

“Yes, of course, Mr. Cobb is a very astute gentleman. And you need to consider your son. You need not worry about your job, though. I’m sure Jared is more than pleased with your work.”

“Oh, Henry would never let me work,” Mary began. “His pride, you know.” She added a few sprigs of mint to her basket.

“Even so, your future is quite secure, dear. Are you attracted to Mr. Cobb?” Grace inquired.

“He’s so different from Billy’s father. Stable and kind. Giving.” Mary sat back on her heels and sighed. “Yes, I’m attracted to him more than I want to admit.” She smiled forlornly, as if Mr. Cobb were a forbidden commodity.

This is a good match, Grace thought. “Give him a chance, Mary,” she said, rising from her knees. “I shut myself off for almost two years, and I’m the only one who suffered. It all seems so silly and sad now, but I learned something. Judge a man by his actions, not his words.”

Grace dumped the weeds into a garbage bin and picked up her empty glass. “I’d better get ready for this evening’s activities.” She noticed Donagon and Jared pulling into Ravenhall’s drive, then waved at Billy and Mr. Cobb, who were approaching as she let herself in the kitchen door.

“Mama, Mama!” Billy dashed from Mr. Cobb’s muscular hold and ran to his mother, waving a fishing line that skewered three small fish. “Look what I caught! Can I keep them, Mama, please? Can I?”

Mary eyed the dangling fish. “I think it’s enough for one small boy’s lunch. A fisherman either throws the fish back or eats them,” she said. “Do you know how to clean fish, Billy?”

Billy surveyed his catch. “No, but Mr. Cobb can show me. Will you, Mr. Cobb?” he begged. “Please,” he added, after noticing his mother’s raised eyebrow.

Henry ruffled Billy’s dark hair affectionately. “Take them into the kitchen, boy, and put them in the sink. I’ll be along shortly.” Then he added, “And don’t start without me, hear now?”

“Yes, sir,” Billy replied, skipping toward the back door of the kitchen, the fish swinging from the line.

“Thank you, Henry. I really hate cleaning fish.”

“Some things a boy needs to learn from a man,” Henry said. “Here, let me take that for you,” he said lifting the basket from her arms and falling into step beside her.

“And thank you for calling him in from the pond for me. Since when are there any fish in that pond?”

“I told Jared how Billy fishes there, and he had the pond stocked. I don’t know if they’ll last the winter, but for now...”

Henry hailed Jared and Donagon. He took off his soft trilby hat, folded it in half, and shoved it in his back pocket as he waited for the men.

“What is it, Henry?” Mary asked.

“Everything copasetic, Henry?” Jared asked, as he and Donagon reached the terrace. He searched his chauffeur’s troubled face.

“Oh, I suppose it’s nothing,” Henry said. “Billy told me a man approached him at the pond today.”

Mary’s hand covered her mouth and her face paled. With a flash of insight, Jared realized she still remembered her old life, the desperate, paralyzing fear she had described to him.

“Who do you think it was? A hobo, maybe?” Mary asked, the fear apparent in her voice. “I fed one last night when he knocked at the kitchen door. Soup, and a bit of bread and meat. It’s said they’ll mark a house in some way if the owners are given to a handout.”

Henry took Mary’s hand. Jared knew the man hadn’t meant to scare her.

“Now, Mary Francis,” Henry said, “I’ll keep an eye out. Don’t you worry.”

“Tell me exactly what the man said to Billy,” Jared said.

“The gent asked after you, Jared, so he wasn’t a hobo, but no harm came of it. The boy couldn’t give much of a description except that he’d worn a brown hat. I had no reason to be suspicious, but, after all, the man
was
on estate grounds.”

“Keep a careful watch, Henry. I want to know if the man is seen again. Keep Billy close, too. Don’t let him wander off alone.” He hadn’t told his staff about Grace’s problem. He didn’t want Mary to worry over nothing, but he’d rather err on the side of caution.

Jared knew Henry loved Billy as well as his beautiful mother. If only Mary would return the man’s affection like the boy did, Henry would be a happy man. He figured Henry would get around to asking Mary to accompany him to the picture show soon. Recently Donagon had advised the young man to take it slow. “Don’t rush yer fences, boyo,” he’d said. “Mary Francis has a lot to work through.”

Jared watched as Henry patted Mary’s hand. The corners of his cook’s mouth turned up in a tiny smile, and his lovesick chauffeur grinned in return.

Chapter Twenty-Seven

Waiting patiently had never been one of his attributes, so Jared paced back and forth across the highly polished hardwood floor of the foyer. He could have paced across the thick Brussels carpeting, but the rhythmic click of his heels on the wood floor gave some purpose to his pacing.

There would be plenty of time to arrive at the Dussalts’ soirée fashionably late. So why was he pacing? Grace and Bruna had spent the morning and afternoon in the city, lunching at “21” and shopping. Or had she said a play? No, now he remembered, she’d said she would rest at Ravenhall today and be ready by eight o’clock. That’s what she had said, with a tiny smile and a backward glance of her damnable blue eyes as he passed her in the hallway this morning.

Since early morning he had been working his way slowly and deliberately through a bottle of scotch, but the liquor seemed to be ineffectual, leaving him with a dull headache instead of the numbing effect he desired. One hand stroked his sore jaw where Donagon had landed a solid facer. Had it been his eye, he’d be sporting a shiner, for sure.

Jared raked his fingers through his hair and dropped heavily into a leather wingback chair. Nothing had helped erase the burning memory of Grace in his arms and the raging conflict he struggled with every time she was near.

He glanced at the expensive French gilt box that sat on a nearby table. Raising the lid, he gently removed the contents. Staring at the aging photograph in his hand, he recognized it as his most prized possession. More prized than Ravenhall, more than his fleet of automobiles or polo ponies. More than all his vast enterprises combined.

He touched the lined and cracked photograph of his mother, running his fingertip over her cheek as he had done as a child, imagining her softness, her warmth. She would never have given him up if she’d had a choice in the matter. But fate had taken her from him. Death had taken her. He was certain of it, certain inside the hole where the darkness raged.

The bottom corner of the photograph was missing. Jared ran his blunt fingertip along the jagged edge, remembering the day it had been torn away as if it were yesterday. He muttered an oath even now, ashamed that a mere childhood memory had such power over him.

The boy had been a bully, not the first and certainly not the last, but the first to find his weakness and use it against him. The ensuing fight had been swift and brutal, the older boy holding the photo high above his reach as Jared flailed helplessly against the boy’s assault.

He could still taste the blood and dirt in his mouth as the boy shoved his face into the ground and held him there, his arms twisted painfully behind his back.

Then a great shadow fell over them and a strong hand grabbed Jared’s opponent and effortlessly hurled him against the crumbling brick wall of Angel Guardian’s courtyard. Sallie plucked the photo from the bully’s grasp, but the boy had held tightly to the corner. Jared cried in outrage at the desecration. Then Sallie, in a few heated words seven-year-old Jared didn’t recognize, explained what would happen if the boy ever bothered Jared again.

And so it had gone, Jared remembered, smiling to himself as he replaced the photograph in the box. No wonder no one wanted to adopt either of them. They’d been hell raisers. While Sallie had taken him under his wing, he hadn’t coddled him. Jared soon learned to use his fists and hold his own. A friendship was forged that had survived time and separation.

He missed his friend when Sallie came of age and left the orphanage. As soon as Jared was able, he ran away. First, to find Sallie and reassure himself of the alliance, then off to seek his fortune.

He wouldn’t have survived without Sallie’s protection, without his friendship. The world had been a very frightening and dangerous place back then. He wasn’t afraid anymore, but he knew danger still existed. But Grace, naïve and innocent, didn’t seem to understand that. He had to protect her as Sallie had done for him.

That was the crux of his conflict.

Henry had mentioned a stranger was seen on the grounds of Ravenhall. Had someone followed them from Chicago? Unlikely, but possible. Then someone cleared a throat and coughed discreetly. Jared turned toward the sound.

Grace stood in the foyer, her hands clasped in front of her. Stood meekly, he noticed. Clearly, she was embarrassed about what had transpired between them last night.

“Are you finally ready?” Jared asked with more snap to his tone than he meant. He should have monitored her liquor last night, or at least kept her from the ministrations of his so-called friends. He rose to his feet and crossed to the foyer.

Her tiny white teeth probed her lower lip for a moment before she blurted out, “We don’t have to go if you don’t want to.”

“A promise is a promise,” Jared said and ushered her toward the front door.

“Wait.” Grace wrenched her arm from his firm grasp. “I don’t want your company if you’re in a foul mood. I’m sorry about last night.”

He continued to push her toward the door.

“Stop, I said! Let’s talk about this.”

“No.”

She turned and poked a finger at his chest, backing him up a step. “Listen. You’ll never understand just how sorry I am, but what happened—or didn’t happen, for that matter—is over.” She spoke in a controlled but staccato voice. “I realize you think I’m only a biscuit, but that isn’t true. I just drank too much. I’m sorry.”

He clenched his jaw. He didn’t know where the anger came from, but it always skimmed along just below the surface. He didn’t know how to begin to explain it to her. He couldn’t explain it to himself.

Jared looked down at her glistening and narrowed eyes, her pert mouth firmly set.

“You look beautiful.”

“You’re an idiot.”

Grinning, Jared opened the door. “After you, my silver-tongued fox.”

****

The old Dussalt mansion nestled among the aged Norfolk pines that stretched the entire width of Long Island from ocean to inlet. With its Mediterranean flair, the legendary estate was an unusual setting for old money, a decadent lifestyle, hot jazz, and sparkling lights. Well-modulated voices echoed far into the night and beckoned the arriving guests to the sprawling palazzo where a formally attired jazz band entertained in the vast glittering candlelit space.

Grace wondered what it would take to maintain this lifestyle. Mansions, yachts, polo ponies, villas in Florence, apartments on the Riviera. Her Long Island friends had been wealthy, but not like this. It seemed impossible to have acquired this much wealth and property in one lifetime. But of course, the entire scenario screamed old money.

That thought gave her a renewed sense of amazement at Jared’s vast holdings compared with his humble beginnings. Had he stepped on anyone to get to the top? Had his success been a compromise, a trade-off for his self-respect? Why did some people think of him as a cold-hearted bastard?

After greeting the host and hostess, Jared escorted Grace to the edge of the terrace. A gentle breeze floated in off the ocean, a gift for early November.

“Are you chilly?”

“No. It feels wonderful,” Grace said, raising her face to the balmy breeze, inhaling the salt air, knowing she would miss the smell of the sea on her return to Chicago. “Do you see Agnes and Will?”

“In this crush?” Jared plucked two glasses of champagne off a silver tray being circulated by a tuxedoed waiter. “Is this acceptable, or do you prefer something else?”

“Champagne is fine.”

Jared gazed over the crowd. “The same faces year after year,” he murmured.

Grace scanned the crowd. “Ah, the ennui of the newly rich and famous. Such a trial.”

Grinning, he turned toward her. “A toast.” He tilted his glass to touch hers. “No, a peace offering. I’m sorry for my foul mood, Grace. Will you excuse it and forgive me?”

Grace checked his expression for signs of sincerity. How had she come to care so much for this man in so little time? How had she let him undress her and touch her and kiss her as no man ever had? Even in his foul mood, she was inexplicitly drawn to him.

Yes, he would always be attractive to other women, even when gray salted his dark locks and permanent creases replaced the tiny lines that found their way to his eyes when he smiled. She imagined his body must be exquisite. His broad shoulders suggested the existence of powerful muscles. And tonight, in the moonlight, as one lock of raven hair fell in a comma over his eyes, a warmth spread over her. She knew he would be an intense, considerate lover. But would he stay, would she be enough for him? He had never spoken of anything permanent.

Grace raised her glass to clink his, smiling her acquiescence and entwining her arm in his as she took one step down into a different world.

His world.

Into a dazzling, sparkling, shimmering world of opulence and gaiety. Even the air was different. Filled with the aroma of hothouse flowers and expensive perfumes, it made her head swim. The human sea before her swelled and ebbed with color and pulsating bodies, swirling silks and satins, glittering jewels in candlelight.

They made their way through the raucous crowd slowly and deliberately. “I think I saw Agnes over there,” Grace said, her voice one level above the rhythmic din. She pointed to a white-clothed round table near the edge of an area being used for a dance floor. Jared saw Agnes, her arms thrown around the neck of some acquaintance, dazzling him with a smile and no doubt a flirtatious tale.