Love on a Dime (20 page)
Gasps escaped pursed lips and eyes glowed.
“So I’ve heard.”
“Such an outrage.”
“
Talk of the Town
knows these things.” Mrs. van Patten gave a sage nod. “Servants tattle, you know.”
All the plumed hats bobbed in agreement.
Lilly tried to look concerned and innocent. “Perhaps
Talk of the Town
is mistaken.”
Faces drooped, taffeta bottoms shifted uneasily in their chairs.
“Oh no, my dear, they usually get it right.” Mrs. Carstairs frowned as she twisted a curl of gray hair loosened by the breeze. Her tiny face was overwhelmed by the turned-up brim of her hat trimmed with peacock feathers. “Eventually the truth will emerge, and we’ll all learn who the culprit really is.”
Mrs. van Patten inclined her head. “When we discover her identity, I for one will never speak to her again or anyone in her family. She ’ll be treated exactly like Thomasina Jones. Do you remember her?”
Mama blinked. “Indeed, I do.” She finished the last crumb of her strawberry tart. “Her family fled to Italy after . . .”
Some indiscretions were so egregious one could only allude to them.
The crash of the sea seemed to crescendo as the ladies paused, apparently to recollect the scandal that rocked society five years before. Remembering the incident brought a film of perspiration to Lilly’s face and neck. She dropped her gaze and sipped her tea as if it were delicious nectar from the gods.
Mrs. Wooten glanced from one lady to the other. “I’m afraid I don’t recall . . .”
The ladies leaned into their circle.
Mrs. Carstairs lowered her voice. “Addy Jones’s daughter ran off with a married man. One of the Stockman brothers—a money-grubbing rogue. Thomasina eventually returned home alone, but she was ruined.”
“How dreadful.” Mrs. Wooten sucked in a mouthful of air, the lines of her worn face drawn into a scandalized frown. “What happened to her?”
Mrs. Carstairs sighed. “She was unrepentant and brazen as a showgirl, if you’ll pardon my comparison. Everyone ignored her from then on.”
“Is that when her family left?” Rhonda pressed.
Mrs. van Patten shook her head. “Oh my, no. That came later. First, Thomasina had a breakdown of her nerves. She howled and screamed and carried on until most of the servants quit. It was a horrid situation for the family, losing both their daughter and their staff at the same time.”
“Her father committed her to an asylum where she ’s confined to this day,” Mama murmured, blushing flames of red. “The family fled to Europe. No one has seen them since.”
“The Joneses were quite influential,” Mrs. Carstairs added, “but even they couldn’t survive the scandal.”
A long pause let the weight of the tragedy sink in.
“But writing dime novels isn’t nearly as dreadful as going off with a married man. Is it?” Lilly cringed and wished she ’d kept quiet. To these women, one sin was equal to the other. A major breach of society’s rules and customs was punishable by exclusion. Period.
Mrs. van Patten grimaced. “Lillian, we object to more than just the books. It’s Fannie Cole herself. Someone from a good family just doesn’t work. She demeans herself, her relations, and her friends by stooping to the level of her servants. It’s one thing for a penniless immigrant girl to earn a living but quite another for a society woman to rely on herself instead of on her father or her husband. Surely you must understand this?”
Mama’s eyes fluttered again and Lilly knew she ’d gone too far. “Of course she understands, Winnie. My daughter is perfectly aware of what constitutes responsible behavior and what does not.”
“Oh dear, Vanessa, I certainly didn’t mean to imply otherwise.” Winnie gave Mama a conciliatory pat on the hand. “Please, have another tart.”
“They are delicious,” Mama agreed, mollified.
Lilly smiled contritely for her mother’s sake, though her face ached from the effort. These pampered women had nothing more to do than entertain themselves and shun each other for trivial infractions of their silly standards. She shouldn’t take them seriously. Yet their disapproval would destroy the Westbrooks’ social lives and even their business prospects. Maybe she didn’t care very much, but the rest of the family did.
Just as Lilly thought Mama was ready to leave, the butler announced the arrival of Nan Holloway and Theo Nottingham. Looking up with interest, Lilly saw the familiar semicircle of reddish waves. He bowed low before accepting the empty seat beside her. Mrs. van Patten introduced him to the group as the Holloways’ houseguest from the city. The ladies soon resumed their chatter.
Lilly studied his slight build and old man face. How could Irene find him attractive? He must be terribly rich, though he certainly didn’t look like much of a catch—not that good looks counted for a lot.
Lilly flashed her brightest social smile. “I remember seeing you at the ball here at Ocean Vista.”
He mumbled, “Oh, yes.”
Apparently he hadn’t noticed her. That didn’t surprise Lilly. She tended to fade into the crowd, but that didn’t bother her at all. Observing others without being observed herself brought more satisfaction than holding the center of attention.
“You danced with my sister-in-law, Mrs. George Westbrook,” she said. And she and Jack had also seen them at the casino as well. What would her poor brother think of those two huddled behind a post like a pair of guilty lovers?
Oh, Lord, I do hope I am jumping to the wrong conclusion
.
He swallowed hard and his Adam’s apple quivered. “I don’t think I recall. I danced with so many ladies that night.”
“She’s a lovely blonde with emerald green eyes.” No one ever forgot the stunning Irene.
His hollow cheeks sank into his skull. “Ah, now I remember Mrs. Westbrook—a delightful woman—and an excellent partner.” He tapped the carpet with the toe of his polished shoe. “We only danced one waltz, so we aren’t well acquainted.”
But what about their time together hiding behind the ferns and potted palms? Or was she dramatizing an innocent conversation?
Perhaps Mr. Nottingham was truly interested in Irene, though Lilly still couldn’t imagine what engaging qualities her sister-in-law saw in him. They were an odd twosome to say the least. She couldn’t shake off the feeling that there was more there than met the eye. But he deftly changed the subject, ending Lilly's fruitless attempt at probing. At least for now.
THE WESTBROOKS' VICTORIA crunched down the pebbled drive of Ocean View, passed under the wrought iron arch, and rolled onto Bellevue Avenue. With the carriage's low body and calash top folded back, Vanessa and Lilly had a fine view of the other equipages parading up and down the town's most exclusive street.
The ladies wore their best Parisian frocks made of silk or chiffon and trimmed with lace. Flounced parasols rose above their flowered hats and vied for space in the small carriages. Vanessa adjusted her own hat as a feathery wisp escaped from the ostrich plume attached to the side of the wide brim. It landed on her nose and tickled.
She brushed it off and nodded to the ladies in the other carriages as they passed by. The only socialites Vanessa couldn’t identify were some of the newcomers who weren’t able to trace their social lineage to the days before the war.
“Mama,” Lilly began slowly, “why didn’t society forgive Thomasina Jones? Ostracizing seems too harsh a punishment.”
Vanessa met her troubled gaze. “That’s obvious, isn’t it? She broke the rules and failed to live up to accepted standards.”
A small sigh escaped Lilly. “But as Christians, shouldn’t we forgive?”
“Well, I suppose so, but Thomasina never repented. She acted as if she ’d done nothing wrong. She was quite the rebel and set a dangerous example to impressionable young ladies.”
Lilly persisted. “But what if she ’d asked for forgiveness? Would society have accepted her apology and taken her back?”
Vanessa pulled on her pearl earring while she considered her answer. “Probably not. But when she ran off with that horrid man she knew what the consequences would be. At the time, she didn’t care.”
Lilly pursed her lips. “But what about her parents? Why should they be shunned because of their daughter’s behavior? They weren’t at fault.”
“No, of course not. The Joneses were a lovely family and I miss Thomasina’s mother to this day. Addy and I were girlhood friends. She only lived a block away growing up.”
“Did you defend Mrs. Jones when everyone else ostracized her?” Lilly asked with a quiet intensity that caused Vanessa to scrutinize her more closely.
“No, I’m afraid not. Perhaps I should have stood up for her publicly, but it never crossed my mind.” Vanessa squirmed on the plush seat cushion. Had she let down her friend? The guilt of her disloyalty pressed on her. Of course she had.
“But why didn’t it occur to you to support her?”
Lilly looked so sincere Vanessa couldn’t end the conversation by accusing her of impertinence, as she ’d so often done. It wasn’t a tactic that worked well with an adult child. “I suppose I didn’t question society’s norms because no one I know ever questions them. If they’re accepted standards, then they must be worthy. At least that’s what I’ve always thought.”
“But do you think perhaps they’re too stringent?”
“No, never.” Somehow her complete honesty made her sound like an uncaring fool. No one she could possibly like or respect. Vanessa sniffed. “Abiding by standards should be applauded, not condemned. But you seem to disagree. What exactly are you trying to say, Lilly?” She wanted to draw closer to her daughter, not pick a fight, but the girl was needling her on purpose.
A warm breeze rustled the tree branches arching over the sidewalk and dislodged another bit of feather.
“We should forgive others who transgress and allow them back in our circle. We don’t have to approve of their actions to accept them as weak sinners in need of God’s grace. Every one of us falls short.”
“Yes, indeed. But there ’s no need to preach. I understand what forgiveness means. But you’re not talking about the Joneses, are you?”
“No, Mama. I believe the rules of our set stifle our freedom to express our true ideas and opinions. We become dull and complacent and all alike. Individuality is denigrated.”
Vanessa’s temper rose to the tip of her tongue, but then cooled. She had every right to resent Lilly’s criticism of her long-held beliefs, but there was more than a grain of truth in what the girl said. “Lilly, I warn you, if you spout off your radical ideas, you’ll lose your friends. Do take care.”
“Of course, Mama.” Lilly rolled her eyes and looked away. “Haven’t I always?”
“Yes, my dear. You’re a dutiful daughter and I appreciate it.” Not wishing to end their talk on a sour note, Vanessa added, “I shall ponder this and possibly reconsider some of my assumptions. And I shall write to Addy Jones and ask how the family is faring in Europe.”
“Thank you, Mama.”
The surprise in Lilly’s voice irked her, but Vanessa had to admit she wasn’t as open-minded as she might be.
T
he following morning Lilly rose two hours early to write before the start of the day’s social activities. After a full morning at Bailey’s Beach and luncheon at Cliff House, Lilly retired to her sitting room, hoping to spend a few more minutes working on her latest story.
Before Lilly could lock her door, Annie delivered a stack of letters.
“Your mail, miss.” The maid bobbed a quick curtsey.
Lilly nodded her thanks as she settled into a soft chair by the window. She’d scan the mail before beginning chapter two of
A Garland of Love
. She opened one invitation after another and then tossed them aside to consider later. Two letters arrived from friends touring France and Italy. She eagerly read their notes filled with descriptions of places she ’d also visited and loved. Very romantic if you were with the man you adored. Her mind filled with an image of Jack. She couldn’t stop thinking of him.
She appreciated his willingness to battle Colonel MacIntyre, but she was a grown woman responsible for defending herself against her adversaries. She ’d decided to embrace an unacceptable career and now she’d have to extricate herself from its complications. With the Lord’s help. But where was He? His silence frightened her.
I trust you, Heavenly Father. Please don’t let me down
.
He’d never failed her, so why was she starting to doubt His protection? She needed Him as never before.
She flipped through the remaining envelopes and noted several more invitations from the best cottages of Newport. The last envelope stuck out like a cold sore. Her name and address were printed in bold block letters.
Her hand shook as she slit open the crease. A sense of foreboding slithered through her body. No respectable person neglected to cite the name of her cottage or return address. She pulled out the letter. A stiff breeze blowing through the screens fluttered the paper. She tightened her grip. The short note held few words.
My dear Miss Westbrook:
If you wish to keep your name out of Newport’s most popular news sheet, I suggest you contact me without delay. Although it is not my intention to cause you distress, I strongly advise you give this request serious consideration. May we meet and discuss the unfortunate situation in which you find yourself? Send your reply in an unmarked envelope. Deliver it to Baxter and Dunne Book Shop, Bellevue Avenue, and place it in the copy of Mr. Whitman’s
Leaves of Grass
.
Sincerely,
An interested party
Who had sent the letter—Colonel MacIntrye from
Talk of the Town
? Who else would have the audacity to demand a meeting? Of course Jack had a great interest in luring his authoress out of hiding, but Jack was hardly this devious. Direct and outspoken, he wouldn’t stoop to such an underhanded tactic. Unless he was desperate to meet Fannie—and force her to the truth. She ’d have to take a chance.
“Annie, I need my pink and burgundy parasol, the one that matches this gown, and my hat with the silk roses.” Lilly piled the mail on her desk except for the colonel’s note.
The girl placed a stack of folded nightgowns in the white bureau and turned toward Lilly. “Are you feeling all right, Miss Lillian? You look piqued. Perhaps an aspirin might help. They say they’re awful good medicine.”
“Thank you, Annie, but I’m all right. Just fetch my things, please.” She tried to smile as if nothing were amiss. But her entire life was off kilter and it apparently showed in her face.
Annie headed for her dressing room. While Annie searched for the requested items, Lilly scratched out a response agreeing to meet with Colonel MacIntyre. She stuck it in an envelope and then shoved it into her reticule along with the threatening letter.
“Lillian, are you ready to leave for a few hands of whist at the Holloways?” Mama strode into the bedroom, dressed in a blueberry-colored silk frock that flattered her plump figure and a frilly, flowered hat.
“Must I go? I’m feeling out of sorts.”
Mama fitted white gloves onto her hands. “I’m sorry to hear that, but yes, you must come along. You cannot turn down invitations at the last minute or you’ll be deemed unsociable. Oh dear, please don’t cry. Do take an aspirin tablet. Annie will fetch one for you.”
Lilly knew that she ’d lost. She ’d deliver the note after they returned.
Five minutes later, as she climbed aboard the carriage, she spotted Jack carrying a chair across the front lawn, book in hand. She yearned to sit beside him, let the sun’s warmth surround them, and listen to him talk about literature and more. His smooth voice would surely be better than Mama’s cheerful jabber.
JACK PLACED HIS wicker chair beneath the shade of a wide-skirted maple. He calculated he could read several chapters of
Dorothea’s Dilemma
before George dragged him to the tennis courts. Jack liked to play, but work came first. During his short tenure as publisher, he ’d read two of Miss Cole ’s dime novels but hadn’t found time to go through any more.
He settled into the soft cushion, swatted a bumblebee, and read the first seventy-five pages surprisingly fast. Before long he ’d discover if the heroine had escaped from the villain’s clutches and accepted the marriage proposal of the most dashing fictional hero he’d come across in ages. Another hour or two flew by. From the corner of his eye, he saw the Westbrook carriage roll up the driveway and halt in front of the veranda. Back from their calls, the ladies emerged and waved to him before they disappeared inside the mansion.
He turned the page and came to a scene where the heroine, Ada Brown, fell through a crack in the ice and slipped beneath the surface of the pond. Jack skimmed the text. Of course the hero, Lawrence Macon, plunged in after Ada and grabbed her before she sunk to the bottom. He ’d pulled her onto the ice, gasping for breath, yet thrilled he ’d saved the life of his true love.
“Thank you, Lawrence,” she gasped. “Oh dear, I’ve lost my emerald ring in the pond!
”
Without a second thought, the hero leapt back into the frigid water and brought up the treasure, still gleaming through the mud. Ada grasped the ring, threw her arms around her beau, and planted a kiss firmly on his frozen cheek.
A satisfying, romantic scene that stirred long-forgotten memories. Jack straightened his back as he placed the book in his lap and stared up at the cottage. He smiled in satisfaction. This was proof that Lilly was indeed his sought-after authoress. He ’d once saved Lilly from drowning at her cousin’s country estate in the Adirondacks. This was no coincidence. Lilly was Fannie.
He studied her bedroom window. She’d never come out of hiding as long as he insisted she promote her dime novels like Elna Price. Her reserved nature held her back. Frustrated, he slapped his palm against the wicker arm rest and let out a long groan. How he wished Fannie Cole was anyone else but Lilly. He didn’t have a chance of coaxing her into the public eye.
Is this what held her back from him? Ever since she had broken her engagement with Harlan, she ’d kept him at arm’s length. Was it because she feared he ’d force her to tell the truth, force her into the limelight?
He’d find her and hash this out now. Rising, he spotted her with her maid on the front veranda. Jack tossed
Dorothea’s Dilemma
onto the cushion of the wicker chair and rushed across the lawn. He tipped his bowler and bowed. A frown flashed across Lilly’s face before smoothing into a faint smile.
“Where are you off to?” He masked his guile behind a wide grin, or so he hoped. “I thought you’d just returned.” Unveiling Fannie would require tact and patience, two qualities he consistently lacked but needed to acquire in a hurry. “If you have a few minutes, I’d like to speak with you.”
She glanced toward the stables, her mouth tightened with obvious anxiety. “I have a few errands to run in town.”
“Coincidentally, so do I. May I join you?”
She shook her head and the plume on her large hat fluttered. “I’m sorry, but I’m driving the runabout and there won’t be enough room.”
There was enough space even with her maid and several packages. “All right. I’ll go alone. When you’re finished perhaps we can meet for tea or coffee.”
“Thank you for the invitation, but I’m afraid I can’t.”
“You mean you don’t wish to.” Exasperation swamped his chest.
Lilly let out a sigh. “I’m afraid I’m too busy this afternoon.” She spoke with exaggerated patience he didn’t appreciate.
Jack blew out a groan. “I need to discuss something important with you.”
As the runabout turned onto the drive, Lilly flew down the veranda steps. “I’m sorry, but that’s impossible right now,” she called over her shoulder. “Maybe we can talk for a few moments when I return. I’ll not be long.”
She and Annie scrambled aboard the small carriage. She flicked the reins. The roan trotted down the long driveway, turned onto Ocean Avenue, and vanished. Jack stepped inside Summerhill and found Mr. Ames near the door.
“Did Miss Westbrook mention where she planned to go this afternoon?” Jack asked without preamble.
“I heard her say something about Baxter and Dunne’s, the book shop on Bellevue Avenue.”
Jack thanked the butler and raced to the stable where he requested a gig. Lilly couldn’t avoid him forever, try as she might.
LILLY URGED THE horse around Ocean Drive, past the seventy-five or so cottages gracing Bellevue Avenue, and on to the small shopping district near the casino. She wished Miranda was with her, but her friend hadn’t yet returned from the library.
As soon as they arrived at Baxter and Dunne’s Book Shop, Lilly’s breath escaped from her lungs in one long
whoosh
. What if she couldn’t find a copy of Mr. Walt Whitman’s
Leaves of Grass
? What if she was caught by someone she knew? Pausing before the store, she steadied her breathing while she pretended to examine the book titles in the window.
She could send Annie to insert the note into the book, but Annie was a curious girl and might peek at the contents first. No, she ’d do the deed by herself.
As she and Annie passed through the shop door, the soft tinkling of a bell announced their presence. A clerk who was shelving a stack of books glanced over to the door and asked if she required assistance. Lilly declined and he continued with his task. She strolled down the first aisle flanked by rows of religion and philosophy books. She easily found the poetry section and scanned the book spines for “W” and then for “Whitman.”
It was there—a tall, brown tome with gold lettering on the spine. Relief slowed her heartbeat. Glancing around, she noticed the store bustled with customers she recognized. Fortunately, the poetry aisle remained empty, except for herself and her maid. She turned away from the main aisle, hoping no one would identify her.
“Annie, would you please run over to the children’s shelves and try to find
The Adventures of Tom Sawyer
? If you can’t locate it, ask the proprietor.”
“Yes, miss.” Annie hesitated. “Is this for your cousin, Mrs. Templeton’s boy?”
Lilly nodded, anxious for her maid to disappear. Annie ambled down the row of books, scanning the titles. Though always respectful to the Westbrooks and their guests, her curiosity bordered on nosiness. Lilly’s mother often claimed the servants knew all about their employers, including their tastes and preferences. Often, even their secrets.
Once the maid was out of sight, Lilly reached up to the top shelf for
Leaves of Grass
. Her fingers brushed the bottom of the spine, and she grabbed for it. But it stood too high. She rolled onto the balls of her feet but couldn’t get a grip on the book. In a final attempt, she leaped up and slapped it with the palm of her hand, dislodging the next volume. It tumbled to the wide pine floor with a crash.
“May I help you, Lilly?”
Lilly gasped and she turned. “Oh my, you startled me, Jack. I didn’t hear you sneaking up on me.” She paused. She planted her hands on her hips. “What are you doing here? Are you following me?”
“I confess I am. I’m hoping you’ll lead me to Fannie Cole.”
“Don’t be absurd.” Flustered, Lilly bent forward to retrieve the book. Jack leaned over at the same time and they nearly bumped heads. His face came so close he could have kissed her. Why had that image suddenly popped into her head? Lilly thought she might faint.
“Are you feeling well? You look flushed.”
She inhaled the fragrance of his woodsy cologne, then stood up with the errant volume. “Yes, I’m perfectly fine. Only I can’t reach the book I want. Perhaps you can get it for me. It’s called
Leaves of Grass
by Mr. Walt Whitman.”
An easy reach for him, he handed Lilly the only copy and returned the other book to the shelf. “Do you enjoy Mr. Whitman’s poetry?”
Lilly let out an uncharacteristic giggle. “I haven’t read any of his poems, but I’m open-minded. I’ll let you know what I think after I read it.” What was she babbling about? There was only one copy of the book and it wasn’t coming home with her. She’d have to borrow the volume from the library in case Jack asked her opinion of it.
“I understand
Leaves of Grass
might not be suitable for young ladies,” he said.
His hearty chuckle pushed her off stride. “Dear me, I hope not. But maybe I should choose something else . . .” She pretended to peruse the shelves.
She waited for him to leave so she could reclaim her dignity and finish her task. But Jack didn’t move, as if he was seeing right through her. And now he expected her to choose another title or head for the counter and purchase the book. Irritatingly, he perused the shelves beside her, pulling out one book after another.
“Would you mind checking up on my maid? I sent her over to the children’s section to find a book for my cousin’s son. She ’s taking quite a long time.”
His eyebrows shot upward toward his thick black hair. “At your service.” His lopsided grin set her teeth on edge. What was wrong with him? Why was he acting so peculiar?
