Glamorous Illusions (8 page)

Fear made my every pore tingle. What was I doing? Out at such an hour? Even at the Normal School, we were not allowed out unchaperoned past sunset. It wasn't proper. Moreover, it could be dangerous. I paused, wringing my hands in front of me, then dropped them, recognizing that the pose appeared weak.

“Hey there, miss,” the man said, pulling his hat from his head and giving me a broad smile I could see even in the dark. “Aren't you out a little late?”

“I am. But I'll be home in just a moment.”

“May I see you to your door?” he asked without pause. He'd detected my lie. I heard the other two shuffling behind me.

“No need. I am well aware of the way.”

“Still,” he said, falling into step beside me, laughing over his shoulder. “Wouldn't feel right, leaving a
lady
on her own in the wee hours of the morning.”

I hesitated over his emphatic use of
lady
. As if it were a joke. Exactly who did he think I was?

“Just got paid today,” he said with another smile in his voice. I didn't dare look his way and kept walking. “Me and the boys, we're in the mood to celebrate. Come out with us. We'll treat you right.”

“No, thank you,” I said with every ounce of authority I could muster.

He looked at his companions, and the drunk one cackled with laughter. But then all three were looking beyond me.

I glanced over my shoulder and inwardly groaned, feeling like a small child caught stealing candy from the mercantile's jars.

William McCabe.

“Is everything all right, Miss Kensington?” he asked, stepping up beside me.

I didn't know if it was the invocation of the family name, or his presence, or both, that set the threesome back a step, then two.

“Everything is fine, Mr. McCabe,” I said. “These gentlemen were just heading home.”

The first man had his hat off now and was partially bowing as he backed away. “Beggin' your pardon, miss. We had no idea. We…” He looked at his friends, and then they turned tail and ran, rounding the corner and disappearing into the dark.

I folded my arms and faced him. “Do you always have such an ill effect on strangers, Mr. McCabe?”

He let a slow smile spread across his face. “Only when one of my charges decides to take her morning constitutional at
two
in the morning.”

“Is that what I am? Your charge?”

“In a manner of speaking, yes.” I liked how his brown hair curled at the nape of his neck and around his ears. His quiet, confident manner. But I didn't like that I was noticing such things now, when we were alone, in the dark.

I am his charge.
I let the thought incense me. Just the latest of many humiliations.

“I am twenty years old, Mr. McCabe, not a toddler in need of a nanny,” I said.

I turned on my heel and began walking back to the house. He easily fell into step beside me. “No, you are clearly no toddler. But lovely young women are in need of an escort, especially at this time of night.”

My face burned with embarrassment over his praise—and my stupidity. I had no business going out alone. I knew that now. If he hadn't arrived, might those men have tried something untoward?

I was suddenly trembling, my knees shaking.

“Take my arm, Miss Kensington.”

I edged away from him. “Don't call me that.”

“What else am I to call you?” he asked. “Please. You've suffered a fright. Take my arm, and I'll get you home straightaway.”

“No! Leave me be!” With that I took hold of my skirts and ran, feeling idiotic—truly like a toddler—but unable to stop myself. I could hear him behind me, keeping pace, could feel my hair pulling loose from my pins, but I couldn't stop. Not until I was on our block.

“Miss
Kensington
,” he said, over my shoulder, as I dashed across the boulevard, urging me again to slow. “
Miss Kensington
!”

At last I slowed to a walk, pacing over the dead grass to the old oak where I'd first seen him, my hand on my head as I gasped for breath. Warm light streamed through a window above us, but no one seemed alarmed. There was no one peering out the windows, looking for us. I glanced at him in surprise.

He leaned down, hands on his knees, panting and staring at me.

“You…told no one?” I asked.

He shook his head and straightened, mouth still open as he fought to regain his breath. “You are a decent runner,” he said wryly. “Does your Normal School field a racing team?”

I ignored him. “Why did you not sound an alarm?” I asked.

His eyes searched mine. “You seemed…not yourself. I understood you were up to nothing nefarious—only needed some fresh air. Such at it is in this copper town. I merely sought to keep you in sight in case you needed aid.”

I sighed and turned, taking a few steps away, disgusted with myself. “Lucky for me.”

He remained silent.

I looked over my shoulder at him. “Thank you, Mr. McCabe.”

He nodded once, staring into my eyes.

“You will say nothing of this to Mr. Kensington?”

“Only if you promise not to venture out on your own again, without escort.”

I turned to face him. “Even in the light of day?” What sort of promise was this?

“Even in the light of day.” He paused, licked his lips, and then met my gaze again. “Miss Kensington—”

I bristled at the name. I was a Diehl. Always would be. “Cora,” I said, closing my eyes. “Please, call me Cora.”

“Only if you will call me Will.” He paused for a breath. “It must be difficult to learn something so foundational about yourself…”

I turned away, feeling the heat of a blush begin to climb my neck, not wanting him to see, though I doubted he could in the relative darkness.

“Regardless of the shock of such news,” he said gently, “you must take great care. As a Kensington, there are those who would consider you a means to their own ends. Not all would turn tail and run as those three back there did. And we shall be traveling to many places in which you might become…lost.”

As a Kensington.
I considered his words. He spoke of danger—such as kidnapping. But there would be other risks ahead, risks that might seem more benign. Men who would entertain courting me just because of my name. Not because of my mind, or my perspective, or even my visage—but because of a potential connection to Wallace Kensington. I let out a humorless laugh.

“Something amuses you?” he asked.

“No. I don't know why I'm laughing. There is truly very little I find amusing in any part of my life right now.”

He cocked his head in an endearingly caring manner, a curl of brown hair flopping over his temple and right eye. “For what it's worth, you have a friend in me, Cora. The journey ahead—I'm praying that with each day you will find clarity and greater understanding of your identity. Not only as a Kensington. But as the woman you were created to be.”

I lifted my chin and considered him. I liked the way he spoke, and his quiet confidence, which reminded me a little of my papa. “Considering what is ahead, I could stand to have at least one friend, Will.”

He smiled gently and reached out his hand to shake mine, as if we were striking a deal.

“Thank you, Will,” I said. The shock of his warm skin against my cold hand made me immediately drop his, aware that we were both without gloves. But he reached out and held onto my other hand, not in a threatening manner, but in a way that told me he was waiting for me to meet his gaze. I looked up at him, my heart fluttering. He was a big man, quite a bit taller than I, with wide shoulders.

“You shall not go out again unescorted, Cora?” he asked softly.

“I shall not,” I said. “You have my word.”

“Good.”

I waited for him to release me. Why was he staring at me so intently? I shifted, uncomfortable. I hoped he wouldn't try to—

“Then off with you, friend,” he said, turning away, making me think I had imagined a hint of romance between us. “It will not do if a servant finds us both sneaking out in the middle of the night. You shall get me dismissed.”

“Never,” I said softly, turning to do as he bade. I'd tell Mr. Kensington the whole wretched story before I would see Will and his uncle lose this opportunity to be our guides. I…needed him.

I glanced back at him as I climbed the front porch stairs, but he didn't look my way. He stared up, up into the leaves again. I wondered what he was thinking about. I wondered who William McCabe was, exactly. And if he had always wanted to be a Grand Tour guide, or if he had simply found himself thrust into this madness as I had.

CHAPTER 10

~William~

Cora was largely silent on the train trip north, seeming to ignore their conversation about the tour itinerary, yet her eyes alternately widened or narrowed as Will spoke of the sights they would see. They traveled in a fine private rail car with the name
KENSINGTON
emblazoned on its side—one of three, he'd been told—which would in time be transferred from the train in Kalispell to the one that would take their party east.

Mr. Kensington caught Will looking Cora's way a couple of times. He held his gaze to let Will know he'd seen and then went on with their discussion. Will could feel his uncle's scowl too. But he couldn't help himself. He longed to talk to her, even for a moment, to ask her how she felt about meeting her siblings. He could see the small furrow between her delicate brows, the way she anxiously rubbed her gloved hands.

What would it be like to meet sisters and a brother for the first time as an adult? He himself had never had a brother or sister, so Will had never really known what a true sibling relationship was like. He'd only had glimpses of it on the three tours they'd made alongside the States' most spoiled children. Mostly, when those trips were done, he departed eager to be alone. To bear no intrusions upon his quietude until he wished to seek others out—that was what he craved most.

Later in the morning, Cora went to rest in the sleeping section of Kensington's private car, and her father took to reviewing a pile of papers at his desk in the far corner. Will's uncle unfurled a newspaper, gesturing toward another, wanting Will to read. He liked Will current on recent news, ready to dialogue with their clients
.
Will scanned a few headlines, but when his uncle became absorbed in an article, he opted to stare out the window instead.

The train stopped only to take on water and coal, and with only two passenger cars connected to Kensington's private ones, Will realized they might rumble right on through the next Montana town as they had the last.

Luncheon was served right at noon, but Cora did not join them. Mr. Kensington asked the waiter to take a tray to her. Will doubted she'd eat any of it. His own stomach was in knots.
How must she be feeling right now?
Afternoon cocktails were poured precisely at one—tawny scotch in crystal glasses that Will sipped reluctantly as they idled at the Missoula station, ready to cover the last few hours' journey to Somers. From there, they'd travel by touring cars to the Kensingtons' new lake home.

Cora emerged at last, just as they pulled out of Missoula, the train slowly gaining speed. She stumbled as the car hit a bad stretch of track, and Will reached out to steady her. “All right, there?”

“Fine, fine,” she said, straightening her crumpled jacket back into place. It was another fine ensemble, in a light teal that complemented her sparkling eyes. She obviously wished to look her finest before meeting the rest of the clan. But she turned down her father's offer of wine “or something stronger.”

Will liked that she had the fortitude to say no. Both to her father and to drink, especially given what she was about to encounter. Though a part of him wished she might take even a little to settle her nerves. His mind went back to the night before, to how lost in thought she had been when she walked, then ran. What sort of lady ran? He hid a smile at the memory. It only brought home the fact again that Cora Kensington was not the typical young lady they were accustomed to escorting. It wouldn't be long until the rest of the family discovered it too.

Will slammed back the rest of his scotch in one gulp, hiding his distaste from Mr. Kensington in order to not offend. He wasn't given to drink, but there were occasions in which it helped to take the edge off. And if he were to fit into the social situations that were sure to come, he had to be able to drink his share of champagne and wine and keep his wits about him, even if their clients did not.
Most especially if their clients did not.
Two summers before, his uncle had drunk him under the table to bring that lesson home. Will had been so inebriated he couldn't stand the next day. But it gave him the understanding Uncle wanted him to have—how much he could imbibe, and how much he could not.

They were greeted in Somers, a tiny logging town on a lake, by two men in touring cars, who loaded their trunks and set off in short order—Mr. Kensington and Cora in the first car, the bear and Will in the second, eating their dust. They closed the windows tight, which made the car stifling hot. Sweat rolled down their temples and cheeks. Will didn't know why they didn't give it up and just let the windows down. Dust still circulated inside the cab of the motor carriage, despite their best efforts. But, according to Uncle, sweat was preferable to soil, every time.

They jostled over a bump in the road that sent them sailing upward, hitting their heads on the canvas roof. It was the umpteenth such bump they'd encountered.

“Sorry about that,” said the driver. “Not much longer.”

Both Will's neck and tailbone were grumbling their complaints. Regardless of the fine cars, the locals had not yet built roads to properly accommodate them. As if to underscore that fact, they passed one farmer after another atop wagons, with horses or oxen plodding along, pulling them.

Will stared out his window. The vast Flathead Lake glittered to their right, with mountains on either side of her, like two lines of guards. “Biggest freshwater lake west of the Mississippi,” said Uncle, dabbing a handkerchief across his face.

They turned at last and headed south into another valley that ran parallel to the one they'd just exited, divided by a smaller mountain range, undulating in ample, matronly curves covered in green. They entered the trees then, tracing the edge of a river on a newly hewn gravel road. In half an hour they pulled to a stop, and Will wiped his face of sweat and dust before the driver came around to open his door. They climbed out, and Will ran his hand through his hair, then reluctantly placed his hat atop his head.

Mr. Kensington was helping Cora out. Will caught a glimpse of her slender ankle and calf as her dress slid back.

“Keep your eyes to the ground, Nephew,” Uncle said, giving him a nudge to the center of his back.

Will looked after him, but his uncle was already on the move. Uncle Stuart ambled toward their employer with a hitched gait that told Will the old bear's rheumatism was acting up—sitting for a long time was always difficult for him. Will hurried to join them.

It was early evening, but they could hear shouts and laughter, water splashing. In the still heat of the evening, covered in the grime of the road, it sounded beyond inviting. Will wanted to hurry onward, but Cora was slowing. Mr. Kensington stopped and turned, whispering something to her. Will and Uncle Stuart tarried, keeping a discreet distance. The servants, with a cartful of luggage, did the same behind them.

Mr. Kensington stared at her kindly and tucked his head, waiting, concerned.

She glanced his way, softly said something to her father. Will could see the confusion in her eyes—the desire to trust him, the obvious doubt just beneath it.

Mr. Kensington waited a moment and then lifted his chin, obviously ready to brook no further argument. He turned and offered his arm.

And, after a moment's hesitation, she took it.

They moved forward, over the bridge. They could all see them then, in the distance—a group of six young people Cora's and Will's age, splashing and running, the water droplets glittering in the golden late sun. There was a delicious chill off the lake, as well as the loamy, earthy scent of the shore.

One caught sight of them and hollered, waving. Mr. Kensington smiled and lifted an arm in return.

Will watched as the group gave up on their play, heading toward servants who waited with towels on the shore, like nursemaids ready to wrap up damp toddlers. Will stifled the urge to shake his head. Such were the follies of the rich.

Mr. Kensington, Cora, Will, and Uncle Stuart took a newly laid stone path, which was already filling in with deep green grass and moss between the crevices. The sweet smell of just-milled lumber permeated the air. The buildings—five of them within sight now—were clearly influenced by their cousins in the Adirondacks. Fine, strong bones, lush curves in the roofs, intricate, stacked stone, copper flashing and gutters—clearly, no expense had been spared. How many craftsmen had Kensington imported to complete it?

A man tackled Will from behind. Will didn't even have time to react. As the damp of his attacker's swim clothes soaked his and they rolled in the grass, he knew who it had to be. Will laughed and turned, seeking a good wrestling hold, missing his opportunity. His opponent wrapped an arm around Will's shoulder and neck in a secure hold from behind.

“Felix,” Will said with another laugh as if he were giving up, staring up into the sky. He could hear his friend panting behind him. “It's good to see you, too.”

But when Felix eased his hold, Will turned and managed to gain the advantage, pinning him to the ground. “Is this to be our entire tour?” Will asked, tightening his grip.

“Only if you and your uncle bore me to drink,” Felix said, panting and laughing beneath the weight of him. Grinning, Will rose and offered a hand up.

Felix grasped it, embraced Will briefly with a clap on the back, and then took a step back. “What's it been? Two years? Three?”

“Two,” Will said, as if it didn't really bother him that Felix couldn't remember when he'd left university. When Felix could carry on and Will couldn't, even after he'd sold everything he had and still came up short of tuition.

So here they were. Once fraternity brothers. Now client and employee.

Felix's grin put Will at ease, just as it had all those years ago. His blue eyes—so much like Cora's and their father's—shifted from Will to Mr. Kensington to the young woman beside him. “Heard you brought another hen to the nest,” he said. “This ought to be interesting.”

Will turned, and his uncle joined him. They watched as Felix approached his father, respectfully shook his hand. Then he turned toward Cora. Will held his breath as they were introduced. She looked pale, full of trepidation. Then Felix was saying something, and Mr. Kensington threw back his head and laughed, patting him on the shoulder. Felix gestured down to his dripping swimming clothes and then back at Cora. Cora smiled then, and Will couldn't help grinning with her.

Trust Felix to make it easy.
Will didn't know why he'd worried that Felix would treat Cora in a disrespectful manner. Felix genuinely loved people, even if he didn't think of them unless they were under his nose. His sisters, on the other hand, and the Morgans…

One at a time, Will
,
he told himself.
One down, two to go.