Love on a Dime (8 page)

As Jack approached he heard the man’s rough voice, but he couldn’t distinguish his words.

Lilly poked him in the leg with her parasol. “Leave me alone at once and don’t ever contact me again.”

Yelping, the man glared but refused to budge. Jack grasped him by his lapels and pushed him over to a pillar. “You heard the lady. Get out of here.”

The man stuttered, “All right. Let me go.”

As Jack released his grip, the man broke away and dashed through the terminal. Jack turned back to Lilly.

“Thank you so much,” she said with a shaky voice. “What a horrid rogue.”

Jack nodded. “Why was he harassing you? Did he want money?”

“No, actually. Well, it doesn’t matter. I’m just grateful you were here to get rid of him.”

Mrs. Carstairs came forward. “Are you quite all right, my dear? I thought you were directly behind me! One never knows the riffraff one might encounter . . .” She lifted her eyes from Lilly to Jack. “You’re Mr. Jackson Grail, aren’t you? I believe you’re acquainted with my daughter Eloise.”

He bowed. “Yes, ma’am. I am.”

“That was very good of you to come to Miss Westbrook’s aid. Are you returning to Newport on this train?”

“Yes. I’ve concluded my business in New York for the moment.”

“Please join us in my rail car,” she said gesturing toward the
Beatrice
.

Lilly blanched, but added, “By all means. We ’d so enjoy your company.”

He couldn’t pass up the opportunity to ride in a fancy rail car—with Lilly. “Thank you. I’d like that.”

Boarding the last car after the ladies, he gaped at the rococo interior. He noted a frescoed ceiling, tasseled damask curtains surrounding the wide windows, and a blue velvet sofa that matched two sturdy chairs. At one end of the car stood a piano.

“Come with me,” Mrs. Carstairs directed. She led them down a passageway with bedrooms on either side. Jack looked into the one she assigned to him, a compact room paneled in mahogany with a double bed boasting a brass head- and footboard, a chest of drawers, and a desk.

“The kitchen and dining room are at the other end,” she explained.

For all his altruistic intentions, he had to admit he still craved luxury, though not on such a grand and garish scale. Depositing his luggage on the carpeted floor, he looked about the room fit for a prince, or at least a captain of industry.

“This is quite luxurious,” he said.

“Oh, do you think so? I’ve about decided to refurbish the entire rail car. It’s not quite up to standard.”

Jack withheld a wry twist of his mouth. Would he soon adapt to this privileged life and fret over the most mundane inconveniences and imperfections? He certainly hoped not.

Lord, please help me to remember where I came from and where You want me to go. Don’t allow me to be sidetracked by things I’ve never had and don’t require
.

“It’s impressive as it is, Mrs. Carstairs. But if you do remodel, perhaps you’d consider donating what you don’t want to the Settlement House. They’re always in need.”

“What a splendid suggestion. I shall do it.”

“Thank you.” Jack grinned. “I guarantee Miss Diller will be grateful for your generosity.”

The tiny woman touched his arm lightly. “You are a most unusual young man, Mr. Grail. Any young lady would be fortunate to have you for a husband.”

His smile dimmed. He didn’t like the gleam in her eye.

EIGHT

A
s the train sped through Connecticut, Jack watched the rain splatter against the windows and stream down the glass. Miranda entertained them with several piano pieces while Lilly read a Henry James novel. Mrs. Carstairs focused her attention on Jack until she finally admitted the dreary day had made her sleepy. She adjourned to her bedroom, much to Jack’s relief. The lady incessantly chattered about her unmarried daughter, Eloise, whom he vaguely recalled as eager to please but rather clumsy.

“Lilly, would you join me in a game of checkers?”

“Yes, of course.” She smiled politely. “Jack, I’m quite eager to help Miss Diller locate funds for the Settlement House. I thought you might be willing to help us. If you wrote an article about their achievements in your newspaper—”

Jack put up his hand. “I’d be glad to. A bit of publicity would surely bring positive attention to their cause.”

“Thank you so much.”

He set up the board he found on a small table by the window. The overhead and table lamps burned brightly, dispelling the gloom, and the low, domed ceiling added a touch of intimacy to the car. They each moved their pieces twice before Jack placed his elbows on the edge of the board and leaned across the narrow expanse.

“Lilly, I’d like to tell you about my new venture, if you don’t mind. As an avid reader, I’d appreciate your perspective.”

“Please, do,” she said, then lowered her gaze to the board.

Although her tone wasn’t encouraging, he forged ahead. “I’ve decided to take Jones and Jarman in a new direction. We ’re holding our own, yet we could be so much more. With a few changes we could become a premier publishing house and far surpass our competition.”

He moved his red checker toward her black one. She jumped it. She seemed to be concentrating more on the game than on his words.

“All I need to do is expand one of our lines. It’s a matter of which one, the romances or the westerns. Westerns are selling fairly well, but the love stories are floundering—except for Fannie Cole’s novels. They’ve taken off because she ’s very gifted.” Jack moved his checker and jumped Lilly’s. Twice.

He watched her stare at the board, holding her breath. Her full lips went white, and a film of perspiration glistened on her forehead. A rather extreme reaction, he noted, to his double-jump— or was it because he mentioned Miss Cole? He pressed on, staring at her. “But Miss Cole ’s public is clamoring for more of her—more stories, more information of a personal nature. They want to get to know Fannie Cole, the real woman.”

Her mouth pursed. “That sounds intrusive to me.” She kept her gaze fastened to the board as if those red and black squares held the answer to all of life’s problems. But she didn’t make a move.

He shrugged. “Perhaps, but it would help us sell books if she came forward and met her public. And I’d see to it myself that she wasn’t exploited.”

“Going public?” She swallowed hard. “Don’t you think that’s asking a lot of her? She might cherish her privacy.” Fiddling with the jabot of her lacy white blouse, Lilly leaned away from the table, avoiding his stare.

“Our closest competitors, Atwater Publishers, flaunt their star, Mrs. Elna Price, and believe me, it’s paid off. Her writing isn’t half as good as Fannie Cole’s, but she’s a star. And that’s what I want Fannie to become, the brightest star in the publishing galaxy. She’s already a sensation. Stardom, that’s what I’m after for her.”

Lilly cheeks flared with color. “Obviously she prefers anonymity.”

“Yes,” he conceded, “right now. But I’m sure if we spoke, I could convince her to change her mind. A little dose of publicity would be in her best interest as well as mine.”

“When you locate her, you can mention it.”

Jack expelled a long groan. “As I’ve said before, I don’t know who she is. Lewis Jarman tells me even he doesn’t know her real name.”

Lilly leveled a glare. “Leave her alone, Jack. Obviously she doesn’t want to be found.”

Why was Lilly so defensive on Fannie Cole ’s part? What was it to her? Perhaps her sensibilities were offended by the genre. He bent over the board, leaning so close he could drink in her sweet breath and floral scent. Jasmine, he thought. “That’s the problem. If she doesn’t come forward and agree to some publicity, I’ll have to drop our line of romance dime novels and concentrate all our resources on the westerns.”

Lilly’s eyes widened. “You’d do that without consulting her first?” Seemingly flustered, she moved her checker piece with little consideration.

He raised his hands in frustration. “If I can’t find her, I can’t explain the importance of her cooperation, now can I?”

He slapped his checker down and jumped her black ones again and again and again. Lilly winced.

“All my money will now be tied up in my publications, especially Jones and Jarman. I need Fannie Cole to embrace her fans. Fannie is our only hope of competing with Atwater Publishers. Otherwise, I need to move on to developing our western line.”

“You’re putting a lot of pressure on her.” Lilly’s chair scraped against the floor as she pushed it back and rose. “You’ve always been a shrewd man. Perhaps you can think up another solution— one that doesn’t involve Miss Cole.”

“Where are you going? Please, sit down. Don’t run off.”

“I know your publishing house is important to you, but I’d rather spend my time discussing something besides books and authors.”

Jack wasn’t sure why, but Lilly seemed jittery. And since when had she distained a discussion about books?

She started for the door leading to the bedroom compartments.

He’d take one more stab at obtaining her assistance. “Lilly,” he said softly, reaching for her arm. As soon as she turned, he dropped his hand. “Please—do you know Fannie Cole?”

If Fannie were her friend, Lilly wouldn’t want to disclose her name. But he also knew that the unfortunate matter with
Talk of the Town
wouldn’t vanish all on its own. Fannie needed an advocate and who better than her publisher?

Lilly grabbed the top of the chair with unsteady hands. “I don’t know why you’d think I would know Miss Cole. Now you must excuse—”

“I was counting on you to help me find her. You know so many in the New York and Newport set. I thought you might at least have an idea about who she might be.”

“As you’ve said yourself, Fannie Cole ’s identity is a mystery. Let it stay that way.”

Jack studied her flushed face. Lilly knew Fannie Cole. She had to know her, by her reaction. “Lilly, I must locate her. And soon. It’s not just for my sake. She may need advice about handling Colonel MacIntyre and
Talk of the Town
.”

“I’m sorry, Jack, but I can’t help you.” Starting toward the door, she glanced over her shoulder. “One more thought. You might consider curtailing your ambition somewhat. Do you really need to be the biggest and the best publishing house in New York?”

He touched his cheek, feeling like he ’d just been slapped.

More than anything he wanted to explain, but he refused to pour out his heart to a woman who apparently had no comprehension of his struggle against poverty and the nagging fear of its return—a battle he had fought, partially on her account. Without ambition, a poor man would never rise in this world to a position of substance and respect. Without ambition, he would’ve never returned with the idea of winning her heart again.

Of course many others were far more deprived than he had ever been. At least he had a loving family who walked with the Lord, a gift from his beloved pa and his mama. But was it wrong to seek a better life? He’d worked hard to acquire Jones and Jarman and now he’d work even harder to make it prosper.

Jack watched Lilly retreat into the hallway, head held high, shoulders stiff. He ’d have to find a way to change her mind.

He sat down heavily and stared out the window. Elna Price strung together cliché after cliché, but nobody seemed to care. Her readers reveled in her penchant for scarlet dresses with plunging necklines and outrageous remarks that made her fans blush and laugh all at the same time. She gave romantic dime novels a bad reputation. Fannie ’s dialogue was crisp, her narrative filled with imagery. She evoked emotion, not melodrama. Yet she wouldn’t reach the heights of Elna’s popularity without acknowledging her public.

As Jack gathered the checkers, he wondered if he really had a chance of either winning Lilly’s heart or finding out who Fannie Cole really was. Harlan was about to propose marriage and Lilly appeared poised to accept. Jack felt like an intruder, an unpleasant reminder of the past for Lilly. Was it fair to her to tarry? To hope? To pine?

LILLY RETURNED TO the bedroom Mrs. Carstairs had set aside for her, thankful for the solitude. Jack’s presence threw her thoughts into turmoil. She picked up her Bible and turned to Psalms, but she couldn’t focus her mind on the words. Glancing at the rain streaming down the window, she blew out a sigh. A knock on the door startled her.

A quiet voice said, “It’s Miranda. May I come in?”

“Please do.”

The train swayed, pushing Miranda off balance. She staggered into the compartment and dropped onto the double bed covered with a mauve satin spread, laughing at her graceless entrance.

“My, you look upset,” she said, her laugh fading. “Tell me what’s troubling you.” Miranda unlaced her walking shoes, kicked them off, and curled her legs beneath her forest green skirt. She unbuttoned the fitted jacket of her travelling suit. “It wasn’t Jackson Grail, was it?”

“Actually, yes.”

Miranda looked askance. “He saved you from a ruffian not two hours ago. One of Colonel MacIntyre ’s horrid spies, I believe. You were so grateful for Jack’s intervention. What happened to change your attitude toward him?”

Lilly groaned as she buried her head in her hands. “He’s pushing me to help him find Fannie Cole so he can convince her to promote her dime novels.”

“Oh my. You can’t very well do that.”

Lilly nodded. “You’re most definitely right. I’d like to help his business succeed, but without exposing myself to ruin, I can’t do a thing.”

“I have to say that his work ethic is quite admirable. Most of the men we know would have taken that Klondike fortune and made themselves professional men of leisure. And he is assisting us at the Settlement House . . .”

Lilly shot her a look. “I’m well aware of that. But so am I, as Fannie Cole! And if he forces me to embrace my public, then it will destroy my private life. How do I possibly choose that? Can you imagine my mother’s reaction? My father’s?” She laid back on the bed with a sigh.

“You’re falling for him again,” Miranda said, eyes wide.

“Of course not,” she retorted. “What we had was purely in the past.” Lilly glanced at her and then threw up her hands. “I just told him he ought to curb his ambition, set his goals upon lesser heights. Does that sound like a woman in love?”

“It sounds like a woman striving to keep a man at bay. Jack’s always been determined to succeed in business. You know that, Lilly, better than anyone.”

“I know that he ’s always put his goals for stature above his heart. That’s what I know.” Lilly sighed again, heavily. “I can’t see what’s best here. Should I confess to my true identity and then plead for his understanding? That’s the easiest solution, but I don’t know if I can trust him to keep my secret. He might very well place his best interests above my own.”

“He seems . . . changed. Grown, somehow. Can’t you give him another chance?”

Lilly eyed her. “As my publisher or as a beau?”

Miranda’s eyes widened, considering. “God forgive me, Harlan . . .” she whispered to the ceiling, as if her cousin could hear her. “Maybe . . . both?”

Lilly held her breath a moment and then shook her head. “I don’t think I should chance it. On either front.”

The memory of Jack proposing and then leaving her evoked unending sorrow, as deep as a grave. How could she know if he ’d cheat her of happiness once more?

“If I were you, I’d pray long and hard.” She took Lilly’s hand in hers. “God will show you the way. Wait upon Him.”

“Yes and I draw comfort from knowing I’m doing the Lord’s will with my writing. Somehow I’ll avoid detection, even if I have to deal with Jones and Jarman entirely by mail. I can’t risk meeting Jack in his office. When I return to New York in September, I’ll rent a post office box.”

Time would tell whether or not that would work well. Yet it was the only plan she could conjure up as her world began to slowly squeeze in on her.

LILLY AVOIDED JACK for the rest of the journey by remaining in her room. On the carriage ride from the depot to Summerhill, Miranda generously kept up a constant chatter with Jack while Lilly gazed at the scenery. Once home she vanished to her bedroom and spent the rest of the day and evening working on her newest novel,
A Garland of Love
.

The following afternoon she wandered into the deserted library ready for a respite after a morning walking along Bailey’s, Newport’s most exclusive beach, picking her way among the heavy seaweed, arm in arm with Miranda.

She picked up a copy of the local newspaper from a marble table and settled into a cushioned chair.

The newspaper headline jolted her like an electric shock.
Elna Price to Autograph Books
. Mrs. Price in Newport? She reread the boldly printed caption and then skimmed the article.
The ever popular author of dozens of dime novels will autograph her latest title at Aquidneck Books and Stationery, Thames Street, this afternoon between the hours of two and four o’clock
.

Lilly dropped the newspaper onto her lap. She’d love to glimpse what a famous novelist endured, dealing with her public. Did Mrs. Price enjoy chatting with her readers while she inscribed her name in books until her hand grew numb? Or did she grit her teeth and pretend to thrive on the jostling along with the admiration?

She’d wager Jack would like to organize a similar event for Fannie Cole and capitalize on her popularity for his own profit. No doubt he’d try to force her into the limelight just to sell more books. But in case she was wrong about the horrors of publicity, she really ought to go and see for herself—not that anything would change her opinion.