Journey's End (Gilded Promises) (16 page)

So they were to be enemies with a common purpose. The thought depressed her more than it should have.

“In the spirit of fairness, I also admit”—he stretched out his legs, commandeering more than his share of the confined space—“my behavior toward you this evening lacked a certain, shall we say . . . finesse.”

Grinding her teeth together, Caroline tucked her feet under the seat and forced her jaw to relax. It was hard not to growl at the man.

“However, I stand by my initial assumption about your character.”

Smart man.

“And just so we’re clear, Caroline.” The space between them evaporated to a matter of inches. “I’m watching you. Every step you take, I’ll be there.”

“How fortuitous for me.”

“I won’t do anything to harm your reputation, or that of your family. As of now, only you, your grandfather, and I know of your motives for coming to America. It would be wise to keep it that way.”

Trapped in her seat, with him looming so close, Caroline considered several responses to his superior tone. A swift kick to his shin, an elbow in his ribs, maybe even a tear or two. She discarded all three, deciding a more sophisticated course of action was in order. Something in her, some dark portion of her soul, welcomed the challenge this man set before her, enough to pretend to consider his words carefully.

“I agree to your terms.”

His eyes dropped over her face and, for a dangerous moment, she thought he might set his mouth to hers. A shiver of anticipation coursed through her. Angered at her response, and, yes, a little frightened, too, she did what came naturally.

She fought dirty. “How do you plan to stick ever so close to me when you’re supposed to be courting my cousin?”

He drew in a sharp pull of air. “I’ll manage.”

“I just bet you will.”

With deliberate slowness, he moved away from her.

Caroline felt a sudden jolt of shame. Sweet, kind, naïve Elizabeth didn’t deserve to be used as a pawn in this battle of wills. By all indications, her cousin was not spoiled or selfish, as Caroline had expected. Her cousin’s safe childhood had formed a good, moral, decent woman of character. In short, the girl was everything Caroline was not.

Yet, as hard as she tried, Caroline couldn’t find it in her heart to hate her cousin, or even resent her. Elizabeth was too easy to like, much like Mary O’Leary. And Sally.

Montgomery’s voice interrupted her thoughts. “While we’re on the subject of Elizabeth. As far as I can tell”—he lounged on his side of the car as though he had all night to spend in conversation—“she doesn’t know anything about the letters. Or, for that matter, much about your mother.”

Caroline remembered the confused expression on her cousin’s face earlier that night. “We should keep it that way,” she said. “For her protection.”

“Agreed.”

Silence fell between them. For a brief moment, Caroline wondered what it would be like to be Elizabeth, to be innocent and adored, to have a man wish to protect her from harm. What would it be like to know someone was watching out for her safety rather than watching her every move?

A spasm of yearning trembled through her. Her hand reached toward Montgomery. Just a bit. Shocked at herself, she hid the gesture behind a quick lift of that same hand to her forehead. She pressed down as though pushing at a headache.

The car stopped in front of her hotel, and Montgomery helped her onto the sidewalk.

“I prefer to make my way inside on my own,” she said, stepping out of his reach.

“Of course.”

She turned to go, but he stopped her with a hand on her arm. “I will contact you tomorrow afternoon, and we will set up a time to discuss our next step.”

The suggestion made perfect sense. However, she needed more than a handful of hours to restore her nerves. Thankfully, she had a way out. “I have plans already.”

“Cancel them.”

“No.”

“Caroline, I—”

“Stop, Montgomery, just . . . stop.” She blew out a frustrated breath. “Stop questioning me at every turn.”

“Until your actions prove sincere, I will—”

“Oh, honestly, now you’re just being redundant.” She gave him a haughty lift of her chin. “My grandfather requested I meet him at his office at three.
Those
are my other plans.”

“Then we will meet at four, in my office, one floor beneath Richard’s.”

Tired of fighting him, she acquiesced. “Yes, yes, as you wish.”

This time, when she turned toward the hotel, he let her walk away. Of the two meetings tomorrow, Caroline sensed the one with her grandfather would be the easiest to bear, and possibly the source of an intriguing proposition. Conversely, the one with Montgomery would be the more challenging of the two and, she predicted, the source of a rather sleepless night.

Chapter Sixteen

The next morning, groggy and in desperate need of her friend, Caroline was up and out of the hotel before dawn. Less than an hour later, she turned onto Orchard Street, free of incident. Her safe arrival was due in large part to the fact that she’d skirted the worst of the Bowery and several other unsafe neighborhoods along the way. Personal safety was not to be trifled with, ever.

Practically alone and on a familiar street, Caroline lifted her eyes to the heavens, opened her arms wide, and breathed in deeply. Dirty, rotten-smelling air filled her lungs and left her gagging. She didn’t care. She loved this hour of the day, when night had yet to surrender fully to dawn.

So much to look forward to, more than she’d ever dreamed possible for a woman like her. Heart light, conscience relieved, she almost believed in the loving God her mother had trusted all her life. Maybe miracles were possible.

Maybe Caroline could start fresh.

My joy comes in the morning.
The Bible verse made much more sense to her now. In one evening, her sorrow had turned to joy. She’d stepped into St. James House last night prepared to ruin a man, prepared for a fight to the finish. She’d left the building with a grandfather and a family of her own.

She had much to tell Mary.

And she wanted to hear how the girl was settling in to her new country. Caroline rushed up the steps leading into her friend’s tenement house, threw open the door, and immediately collided with a hard, unforgiving wall of wool-encased muscle. “Oh.”

She teetered backward, arms flailing. “Oh!”

Strong, masculine hands caught her before she toppled down the steps she’d just skipped up.

“Are you all right, miss?” The cultured accent clearly belonged to an educated American, one who sounded somewhat familiar. Where had she heard that voice?

“I—yes, I’m quite all right.” She brushed at her skirts, smoothing out the wrinkles while she slid a covert glance at the man hovering over her.

She nearly groaned out loud. Mr. Reilly. The man had been with Jackson Montgomery that first day she and Mary had arrived in the neighborhood. He’d been in the building on several other occasions as well.

Of all the people to run into, literally, this was not the man Caroline would have chosen. She could think of only one worse scenario—if Montgomery had chosen to attend to his tenement house himself.

Mumbling an apology, Caroline pushed into the foyer and promptly tripped over a seam in the concrete.

Again, Mr. Reilly reached out to steady her.

She shrugged off his assistance as politely as she could. “Thank you, I’ve got it now.”

“Very good.” He slowly dropped his hand. “Have we met?”

“Not directly, no.” But she’d seen him in the building at least two other times, maybe three, with the new landlord in tow, both men carrying official-looking papers in their hands.

“You live in apartment 523,” he said, nodding to himself. “I’m quite certain of that.”

“No. I don’t actually live there. I’m a friend of the family living there.”

“I could have sworn . . .” His eyebrows slammed together.

She held her breath, praying he didn’t continue. Then she remembered who she was, who her
grandfather
was. She had nothing to hide. She lifted her chin at a haughty angle.

“Caro, is that you?” Mary’s voice drifted from a spot on the stairwell just above them.

The girl had absolutely perfect timing. “Yes, Mary, it is I.”

“Oh, what a lovely surprise. I’ll be right down.”

“No need. I’m on my way up now.” Caroline looked back at Mr. Reilly and gave him what she hoped was a serene smile. “If you will excuse me, Mr. . . .”

“Reilly. John Reilly.”

“Well, then, Mr. Reilly. It was lovely meeting you.”

“And you as well, Miss . . .”

“Caroline. Caroline St. James.”

The name registered at once, but she didn’t give him a chance to ask any of the questions that leapt into his eyes. “Good day, Mr. Reilly.”

“Yes, uh . . . good day, Miss St. James.”

A quick toss of her head and she was off, hurrying up the first two flights of stairs at alarming speed.

Thankfully, Mr. Reilly didn’t follow or call after her. Thus, she completely pushed him out of her mind.

Mary met her on the third-floor landing. Caroline threw herself into her friend’s arms. “Oh, my dear girl, I have missed you so.”

“And I, you.”

They clung to each other a moment longer, then broke apart in unison, laughing.

Hands on Caroline’s shoulders, Mary gasped. “Caro, you are”—she shook her head—“changed.”

Yes, she supposed that was true. “I have much to tell you.”

“Then come along.”

Caroline followed her friend up the remaining two flights of stairs, watching carefully for any sure signs of fatigue. Mary looked healthier than the last time they’d met but was still slightly underweight. Caroline had left money with her friend. She hoped she was using the bulk of it to buy food.

Mary looked at Caroline over her shoulder and laughed. “Stop worrying about me, Caro. I’m fine and getting stronger every day.”

Was she? Caroline wasn’t convinced. Nor was she leaving this building until she knew for certain that her friend was truly on the mend.

They settled into chairs around the small kitchen table. Before Mary could offer her any food or drink, none of which the girl could afford to share, Caroline took her friend’s hand. “Tell me how you’ve been since we last met.”

“I’ve found work in the Garment District as a seamstress.”

“Why, that’s wonderful.”

“Oh, Caro, it is. It truly is.” Mary’s grasp tightened, and her face lit from within. “I really enjoy sewing, even if the lighting isn’t the best and the days are long and hot.”

Caroline leaned over the table. “Just how long and hot are your workdays?”

Sighing, Mary let go of Caroline and sat back in her chair. “I’m working no harder than anyone else in the factory.”

And that told Caroline far more than Mary probably realized. “I’m going to get you another job in one of my grandfather’s companies. I’ll make sure the days won’t be long and hot or—”

“I don’t want special treatment. Besides, I’m learning a lot where I am. I’m told my needlework is impeccable. I’ve even been given the task of finishing the dresses for my boss, which is quite an honor. One day”—Mary’s gaze took on a faraway look—“I’ll design and make my own dresses and maybe even sell them at a department store.”

Caroline’s heart constricted with admiration. Mary was a dreamer and so full of hope. Caroline loved her friend for that. But she knew the harsh realities of the world, especially for women with Mary’s lack of education and connections.

Except . . .

Mary wasn’t without connections. She had Caroline. And Caroline was a St. James. If she did nothing else, she would at least provide a better life for her friend.

By the time she left 227 Orchard Street, Caroline made sure Mary had an additional twenty dollars in the cookie jar where she kept her money. And Caroline had the beginnings of a plan swirling around in her head.

On the other side of town, Jackson arrived at his offices before his assistant. With a bit of time on his hands, he went in search of Richard. The door to his mentor’s office stood open and unattended. Weak morning light filtered through the large floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking Central Park. The hush on the air seemed magnified at this hour, the silence broken only by the faint sound of a pen scratching across paper.

Richard was already at work. As Jackson had expected.

Last night, after escorting Caroline to her hotel, he’d debated over whether to return to the St. James home or wait until morning. He’d chosen to wait.

Moving through the deserted reception area, Jackson couldn’t help but admire the man he’d worked alongside for years. Even in the midst of a family drama, Richard St. James had arrived at work as he did every day, before anyone else.

Jackson knocked once on the doorjamb as he passed over the threshold and entered the office.

Without looking up from the papers in front of him, Richard addressed him. “You’re early this morning.”

“No earlier than you.”

That earned him a slight smile. “Have a seat.” Richard set his pen on the desk and leaned back in his chair. “We have much to discuss before we begin the day.”

“Yes, we do.”

Richard placed his hand on top of the satchel Caroline had given him last night, the one holding his daughter’s missing letters. For a moment, he gazed at some unknown spot above Jackson’s head, his face undergoing a journey from bafflement to remorse. “I want you to keep these safe for me.” He pushed the satchel across the desk. “No one in my family can know of their existence.”

The request sounded easy enough but was fraught with potential difficulties. “Does that include Marcus?”

The older man’s lips pressed into a hard line. “Especially him.”

Jackson heard the anger, the regret, and, yes, the dread. The fact that Richard was having this conversation with Jackson instead of his son spoke volumes. “Do you think he’s the one who intercepted the letters?”

“I don’t know what I think.” Richard picked up a pen and rolled it between his fingers. His expression wasn’t exactly angry, but close. “My son would benefit the most from Libby’s disappearance. And thus is the obvious suspect. Then again, he adored his little sister. He’s the last person I would imagine harming her.”

Jackson agreed, solely on the basis of the man he knew Marcus St. James to be. Perhaps Richard’s son wasn’t as hardworking or dedicated to the family business as his father, but Jackson had never seen signs of dishonesty or greed in him, either. Marcus lived a life above reproach. He didn’t drink alcohol, never gambled, and was notoriously faithful to his wife. Most telling of all, he’d raised Elizabeth to be a young woman of strong faith and impeccable character. Jackson could do worse for a father-in-law.

There was something else, a key factor that couldn’t be ignored. “Since Marcus is the firstborn and your only son, doesn’t he stand to inherit the bulk of your fortune anyway?”

“Yes.” Richard let out a short sigh. “Marcus hasn’t lived up to his potential, but that doesn’t make him a bad man.”

No, unless he was hiding a secret life. Jackson doubted that, but it wasn’t completely out of the realm of possibility and was something to keep in mind.

“When Elizabeth was born,” Richard continued, “Marcus insisted they name her after his sister. Katherine was opposed at first. She’d wanted to name her daughter after her mother, but Marcus refused to budge on the matter.”

Out of guilt? Or genuine affection for his lost sister?

Frowning at the uncertainty spreading through him, Jackson picked up the satchel and placed it in his lap. “Perhaps there is something in the letters themselves that will help us uncover the truth.”

“Perhaps.” Richard eyed him carefully, a speculative gleam replacing the sadness. “Tell me, Jackson, what do you think of my granddaughter?”

“Elizabeth is a beautiful, kind, charming woman who—”

“I meant my other granddaughter. Caroline.” Richard leaned back and rested his chin on top of his fingertips. “What is your initial impression of the girl?”

Jackson took a moment to gather his thoughts. There was no doubt that Caroline was equally beautiful and charming, perhaps even more so than her cousin because of the aura of mystery surrounding her. The woman made him uneasy, made him feel things he’d never felt before. It wasn’t just her physical beauty that put him on guard. Caroline made him question himself, his basic motives, and what he wanted out of life. She made him second-guess who he was at his core.

She was the most confounding woman Jackson had ever met. When it came to describing his initial impressions of her, he was at a loss. “Caroline is a woman with hidden . . .” He fumbled for the right word. “Secrets.”

That wasn’t entirely what he’d meant to say. He’d meant to say the woman was a complete mystery to him, intriguing and mesmerizing. But secretive? No. Caroline was anything but. She was a woman who spoke her mind without qualms, a trait he admired. There was no pretension in her, no coy games of saying one thing while meaning another.

“Interesting choice of words, Jackson. But everyone has secrets, my boy. Even you.”

He bristled. “I have no secrets.”

Richard said nothing, a brilliant tactic but wasted on Jackson, who redirected the conversation to the real matter at hand. “I don’t completely trust your granddaughter.”

More than that. He didn’t completely trust
himself
when he was around her. For a brief moment last night in the motorcar, when his face had been inches from hers, he’d had a strong urge to kiss her. Was he more like his father than he wanted to admit?

No. His mind refused to allow such a thought to take hold. “What do
you
think of Caroline?”

“My granddaughter is a remarkable woman with very interesting talents. She’s smarter than most women who’ve had the benefit of a formal education. I find I quite admire her.”

That sort of thinking was dangerous. “You’ve known her less than a day. Don’t forget, she came here with the sole purpose of ruining you.”