An Unlikely Lady (31 page)

“What do you mean?”

“You know things about me that no one else knows.”

“You think I would betray you?”

“If it meant saving your own skin, I'd expect you to do it in a heartbeat.”

“I'm not Miranda, Jesse. What she did to you left a mark that cannot be erased, but I'm not her. I know what it feels like to be betrayed, to feel as if there is no one in the world you can trust. But if you never believe anything, believe this: I love you. I've loved you since the day you sat down in the Scarlet Rose and made Rose's piano sing, and I've fallen more in love with you every day. I would never betray you; I would never leave you in the dark.”

There was a pause.

“Time will tell, won't it?”

Honesty got little sleep that night. The things Jesse told her about his father and Miranda played in her mind over and over, and she understood how hard it must have been for him to tell her. He was not a man who gave his trust lightly. She couldn't help but feel as if he were testing her, somehow.

He'd given her the truth; she owed him the same.

When the first fingers of dawn began to seep through cracks in the ceiling, she pushed herself off his chest, careful not to wake him. Jesse admired courage? Well, she had that. And if he wanted the truth, she would find it.

Avoiding the tunnels he'd marked the afternoon before, Honesty set out exploring. The
stones were in here somewhere, and when she found them, she'd also find out if she was indeed the child Deuce had allegedly stolen sixteen years ago.

She lost track of time and got off course twice before finally venturing into an unfamiliar area where she came to a sudden stop, unable to believe her eyes. Soft yellow light streamed into a room where an underground brook cut a path into the floor, and melted rock poured forth in a massive display of flowing stone.

She stared at the glorious spectacle in disbelief and apprehension for several long moments before her feet began to move. As if guided by an unseen hand, she found herself stepping onto the formation and moving to the back, where the rocks gave the appearance of growing out of the wall.

Within minutes, her searching hands came into contact with a grainy surface she instantly recognized as wood, and she pulled out a long box that had been stuffed behind the stones.

Honesty's heart thundered as she set the two-foot-long box on the ground. Part of her wanted to run, for she knew that the instant she opened the lid, her life would never be the same; another part of her knew that unless she opened the box, she'd never learn if Jesse's accusations had any merit.

Summoning up her courage, she wiped her moist palms against her skirts, pressed her thumbs and index fingers at each corner, and popped the lid.

She fell back on her heels with a gasp.

“Holy mother of God . . .”

Honesty twisted around and stared at Jesse, who stood frozen at the entrance of the room. The shock on his face mirrored that in her soul. Her mouth moved, but no words came out.

Drawn by the contents, he moved forward and fell to his knees at her side.

“Jesse,” she finally managed to whisper. “It does exist. I didn't believe Roscoe when he told me my father claimed to have hidden a fortune, but it's real. This is what they were after.”

In slow motion, Jesse pushed his hands beneath the mounds of bank notes, lifted them up, and let them fall from his hands. “There's got to be thousands of dollars here.”

“This is why the Treat brothers were after my father! They wanted this.” She shook a fistful of money at him.

Spurred into action, he rifled through the notes in a frantic search for something she could only guess at—until he pulled up a packet wrapped in aged brown paper.

Honesty's stomach sank with dread.
Within lay a pile of papers, topped by a folded, yellowed one with her name printed there in bold letters.

“Open it,” she urged Jesse.

Setting the rest of the packet on his lap, he carefully opened the paper.

Jesse's voice faded away, and as he scanned the rest of the letter his face paled even more.

“What does it say?”

He stared at her in horror. “My God, you
are
the Jervais heiress!”

“The Jervais heiress?” she echoed.

“One of the little girls McGuire took sixteen years ago.”

It was a good thing she was sitting down, or she'd have fallen flat on her face.

Her? An heiress? Hysterical laughter bubbled up in her at the absurdity. She couldn't read much, she couldn't write. She wouldn't know social graces if they crawled on top of her and said “howdy.”

“There's got to be some mistake.”

“There's no mistake. This is his confession.” Jesse lowered the letter and sifted through the rest of the contents. “These are newspaper clippings from the
San Francisco Chronicle.
TWIN HEIRESSES ABDUCTED. MANHUNT FOR MCGUIRE BEGINS
.”

“But I've never been to San Francisco. We came to Galveston from Scotland.”

“That's what he told you, Honesty. Or should I say Aniste?”

“Aniste?”

“That's your real name. Aniste Jervais.”

She tested the name out, but it just didn't fit.

“He must have hidden this here within months of taking you,” Jesse said.

“How could he have done such a terrible thing? How could he have made me believe, all these years . . .” Through shimmering vision, she sought the answers from Jesse. “Why would he do this?”

“For money, Honesty. He says that he met a man who promised him wealth beyond his dreams if he stole an object of great value and held it for a time. That object was you.”

“That doesn't make any sense. If he wanted the money, then why leave it in the box?”

Jesse turned back to the letter. “He says when he learned that the man who hired him never intended to return you, he took you and the
money and fled. He says he tried taking you back but feared for your life, just as he knew if his part in the kidnaping was ever discovered, he'd spend the rest of his life in prison and leave you in danger.”

“Is that all?”

“He finishes with, ‘My only regret is that you are not the daughter of my blood, but you will always be the daughter of my heart, and as such, I shall protect you till my last breath.'”

Tears sprang to Honesty's eyes, and the items spread before her blurred. “He died trying to protect me.” No sooner did that realization dawn than Honesty's mind captured another point. “Wait, did one of those clippings say ‘Twin Heiresses'? I have a twin?”

“You had a sister. It doesn't mention any names.”

Ho-ne-sty! Come out, come out, wherever you are
. . . “Faith,” she said with unwavering conviction. “Her name is Faith. And if I survived, then maybe she did, too.”

“Maybe.” But he didn't sound too hopeful.

“There's only one way to find out.” Honesty lifted pleading eyes to Jesse. “Will you take me home?”

S
lack-mouthed, Honesty stared through the ivy-leafed iron gates at the four-columned mansion atop Knob Hill. It had taken over three weeks of travel by coach and train to reach San Francisco. “
This
is the Jervais house? It looks more like a fortress. How are we ever going to get inside?”

“Through the front door.” He wrapped his hand around her arm and started to pull her through the gate.

Honesty dug in her heels. “Wait—Jesse, I can't do this. Let's go back to Colorado.”

He pressed a finger to her lips. “Honesty, you can't turn your back on this. This is your family. This is where you belong.”

“I feel like an imposter.” Twin or not, nobody
in his right mind would believe that streetwise Honesty McGuire was Aniste Jervais, heiress to the biggest shipping company in the country. What did she know of living the life of a society damsel? She, who knew dance halls and mining camps and wayside inns . . . she couldn't read a lick and was lucky to know how to spell her name, for Betsy's sake! “What if they don't like me?”

“Just be yourself. If they don't like you for that, then they don't deserve you.”

She looked up into the face of the man who'd made her his wife, and stored his features in her memory. He'd insisted on stopping at a shop in the city so they could clean up and purchase clothing befitting her station. She wore a red lace-lined gown with flared sleeves and a bustle, and Jesse had bought a fine suit. His long blond hair was slicked back in a tidy ponytail and tied with black silk. A starched collar banded his neck. In the coattails and cravat, he fully looked the scion of a wealthy planter, who could easily fit into this world.

As they approached the door, she thought of how strangely quiet he'd been since they'd discovered Deuce's hidden trove. She didn't know what to make of it. No doubt he was glad to be getting rid of her; she'd caused him so much trouble.

Tears pricked her eyes. She wanted to stand
here and stare at him for the rest of her life, for once they proved beyond a shadow of a doubt that she was indeed Aniste Jervais, he would leave.

And he'd take her heart with him.

Impulsively, she cupped his jaw in her cheek and placed a tender kiss on his lips.

“What was that for?”

“Courage,” she replied.

He cleared his throat. “Are you ready?”

Nerves set up a riot in her stomach once more, but she nodded with determination. Jesse was right. If they didn't like her, didn't want her, she'd find someplace else. She'd done it before; she could do it again.

Jesse rapped on the door, and it opened a moment later.

“We're here to see Anton Jervais,” Jesse announced with authority.

The butler stared at Honesty, then stepped back to allow them inside. Jesse's hand burned into the small of her back as they followed the man through a marble-floored foyer into a library.

It was a monstrosity of a room, with shelves from floor to ceiling along three of its four walls, and a ladder that rolled on tracks around the perimeter to reach the higher volumes. The fourth wall seemed entirely made up of windows and allowed a vast view of the bay.
Honesty couldn't resist approaching the desk, which looked out over the sea. Diamond-tipped waves crashed against the rocks below. The blues and greens and golds of her dreams crashed back to her memory.

“Honesty, come look at this.”

She turned toward Jesse, who stood in front of a floor-to-ceiling fireplace. Above the bare mantel hung a large portrait of a man, a woman, and two young children. Unlike most portrait subjects, these were smiling. The man had thick black hair parted down the center and combed back from a wide brow, a narrow nose between deep brown eyes, and muttonchop whiskers. The woman had light brown hair and the bluest eyes Honesty had ever seen, a wide brow, a slightly large nose, and a wide mouth. She wasn't the prettiest woman Honesty had ever encountered, but there was a refined grace about her that made her compellingly attractive.

Yet it was the children who captured Honesty's attention. Two girls, two or three years old; both with the woman's fairer coloring.

“That's my ring! Jesse, she's wearing my ring!”

A tall broad-shouldered man near Jesse's age entered the room.

“May I help you?”

Honesty swung away from the portrait toward the tall, dark-haired man in the doorway.

“We're here to see Anton Jervais,” Jesse announced.

Eyes of pewter gray narrowed immediately. “Mr. Jervais is upstairs resting and is not to be disturbed.”

“Please tell him that his daughter Aniste is here to see him.”

The sun-tinged hue of the man's face turned ashen. “That's not possible. My cousin is dead.”

“I'll bet you'd like that to be true, wouldn't you?” Jesse said cynically.

“Jesse—”

“No, Honesty, look at him. If you don't come back, he gets all this.”

“How dare you! This house has been in mourning for sixteen years. If I could bring Aniste back, I would do so in a heartbeat. You have no idea how many times I've wished I had been the one fished out of the bay, if only to spare the man up there his pain.” He collected the emotions getting the better of him. “I don't know what sort of game you are playing, but I want you out of this house.”

“He stays with me,” Honesty asserted, clasping Jesse's hand in her own, drawing strength from it.

“I see. Then you leave me no recourse.” He rang a bell that sat on a polished round table near the doorway and immediately a servant appeared. “Summon the police immediately.”

“Good idea. Summon your lawyer, too. You're going to need one.”

“Just who do you think you are?”

“I'm an agent for the Pinkerton Detective Agency, hired to find Deuce McGuire.”

“A detective?”

“But maybe you knew that. Maybe you also knew that Honesty wasn't dead. Are you the one who hired me to find her, then set goons after her? Did you want to make sure she didn't return?”

“We hired detectives to find McGuire, but that was years ago.”

“Then if you didn't hire Jesse, who did?” Honesty asked.

A new voice said, “I did.”

Three faces turned as one to the stately man standing in the doorway. He wore a brown silk robe over pressed trousers and a snowy white shirt open at the throat.

Alex strode to his side and helped him to a nearby Queen Anne chair. “Uncle, what are you doing up?”

“I've come down to welcome my sweet Aniste home.” He smiled through his tears.

“Uncle, Aniste is not here, much to my regret.”