Mistletoe and Magic (Novella): A Loveswept Historical Romance (17 page)

As soon as their aunt retired, Jennifer dipped into her pocket and deftly opened the check that Mary Forester had given her. When she saw what Mary had written, she choked on her tea, forcing Winifred to rush to her side and pound her back. Her eyes watering, she held up the check for her sister to see.

“My word!” Winifred leaned closer, adjusting her spectacles. “It is written for one hundred dollars!”

“Hurrah!” Penelope danced around the room, while Jennifer sent her a stern look.

“We can’t possibly accept this,” Jennifer said, rereading the check as if the numbers might disappear. “I told her my rate is ten dollars.”

“Well, she obviously thinks you are worth more, and who are we to disagree?” Penelope argued prettily. “The lady wanted you to have it. She’s rich, and she gave it to you of her own accord. We could do so much with that money.”

“Legally, Penny is right,” Winifred remarked after a long pause. “You rendered a service, and Mary Forester agreed to pay a prescribed fee. If she chose to give you more of her own free will, you are not wrong to accept it.”

Jennifer sighed, then pocketed the check once more. “I suppose you’re right, and we do need the money. Mary Forester is certainly wealthy enough, and knows what she wants to do with her own money. I just have an odd feeling about this. Somehow, I don’t think this will be the end of it.”

The stately New York brownstone looked shuttered and quiet. Gabriel Forester stood at the door of his mother’s house, admiring the polished white marble steps that gleamed softly in the fading sunlight, the brass doorknob and hinges, the Georgian-style window that curved over the door like an arched brow. The house was nearly identical to a dozen others that crowded the street. All
of them were well kept and clean, reminders of the benefits of prosperity and wealth.

Yet, although there was nothing sad about the house in its appearance, Gabriel felt an overwhelming pain as he walked slowly up the steps. He hadn’t been here in over two years, hadn’t wanted to come back after his father’s death. He took care of his mother, loved her, but he was able to deal with neither his own memories, nor his mother’s preoccupation with her husband’s passing.

But he couldn’t avoid the place forever. He had known this day would come, that his mother couldn’t continue to visit him at his offices. She needed his advice on some investment matters, and there were just too many documents for her to carry. He had to go to her home, his home.

The butler lost his sedate expression when he opened the door, and a broad smile creased his face. “Master Gabriel!” He recovered quickly, then resumed his formal stance. “The mistress will be so glad to see you. Do come in, sir.”

Gabriel accompanied James into the parlor. He averted his eyes from the mantel, where his mother had insisted upon placing every photograph she possessed of John Forester. It looked like a shrine, an eerie memorial suited more to a church than to a home. He’d said as much, but his mother refused to take them down, claiming they brought her comfort. He stood with his back to the fireplace, fighting the riot of emotions that threatened to overwhelm him.

John Forester had been a gentleman. There was no other word that could so aptly describe him. He never turned away a man looking for help, even if he gave up his own dinner to provide it. He didn’t understand his son, who was far more interested in finance than art, investments rather than intellectual discussions. He reminded Gabriel of the plantation owners in the south, content to sip mint juleps while the world crashed around them.

Fortune had initially been good to his father, for he’d invested early in marble mining, never realizing that the newly formed New
York aristocracy would demand the elegant stone for their doorsteps, their floors, their offices and churches. Yet even with an overwhelming backlog of orders, he had nearly run the company into the ground. When it was almost bankrupt, Gabriel took over, and made the cuts and reductions in cost needed to survive.

Although he experienced tremendous success, his father never forgave him. A year later, when John Forester died of heart failure, some speculated that it was brought on by the crisis in his business. Although his mother never gave the slightest indication that she felt that way, she’d never been the same. Mary Forester had arranged the funeral, smiled at the guests, and accepted their condolences, but she withdrew within herself like a flower forever closed. She was only a shell of the woman he’d known all his life.

He heard his mother’s footsteps and turned, fully expecting to see the broken woman who appeared at his office every other Monday morning. He braced himself, picturing her black dress, her parchment-like face wrinkled with sorrow, her bonnet enveloping her like a shroud. His mouth dropped when she practically bounced into the room, her eyes alight with excitement, her cheeks blooming. She looked like a healthy young girl instead of a griefstricken old woman. She hugged him, and he smelled violet water, a scent that always reminded him of her and this house.

“James, fetch some tea! I prayed just this morning that you would come today. You see,” she looked at him shyly, “I have something to tell you.”

Stunned, Gabriel sank into a chair, shaking his head. “Mother, are you … well? You don’t have a fever?” He felt her hand, but it was cool.

She giggled, the sound like rippling water. The servant returned, silently laying out tea. She smiled at him, and continued when he left the room. “No, silly, I’m just fine! Wonderful, perhaps. The most magnificent thing has happened. But let me start with my news. I’m going to marry Robert Wood.” She sat across from him, dressed in lemon-sprigged muslin, looking like a schoolgirl with a wonderful secret.

“What?” The teacup he’d accepted tumbled to the floor and he gaped at his mother. “Isn’t he a pauper?”

“Robert Wood has been a very good friend to myself and your father,” his mother said defensively. “I had initially refused him,” she continued, “out of respect for your father’s memory. But the most wonderful thing happened! I saw Jack and spoke to him. He wants me to wed, can you imagine?”

“What?” Gabriel couldn’t take his eyes from his mother. He couldn’t believe what he was hearing. For a moment he thought she had gone mad, and he closely examined her eyes for dilation. They looked fine. Her breathing had quickened, but from excitement rather than illness. “You … spoke to my father?” he asked cautiously.

“Yes. Oh, I’m sorry. I’ve ruined my story by starting at the end. But that’s all old news. This is the happiest day of my life!”

Gabriel tried to concentrate as his mother, brimming with joy, explained her recent encounter. “Remember that spiritualist I mentioned to you? She really is an amazing girl. I went to see her last week and she contacted Jack. I’d been so afraid that he would think … that I no longer loved him.” Mary paused for a moment, her eyes filling with tears. Gabriel saw the old expression return to her face and he leaned forward, touching her hand.

“Go on, dear. Tell me what happened.”

Mary nodded, touching her eyes with her handkerchief. “Anyway, the spiritualist acted as a medium and brought him back to speak to me. He insisted that I wed again, and said he understood completely! Oh, Gabriel, if you only knew what it meant to see him one more time, and to know, really know, that he is content with this! The woman gave me such peace of mind, I paid her extra!”

“How much extra?” Gabriel fought the fury that swept over him. He was beginning to understand, all right, and he didn’t like what he was understanding at all. Good God, this spiritualist, this charlatan, had taken full advantage of his poor mother’s grief!

“Oh, just a hundred dollars. Gabriel, why are you looking at me
like that? It was worth every cent!”

“Dear—” Gabriel struggled to stay calm. He recalled the suspicious check, the odd numbers he’d seen in the bankbook, and Mary’s secret new friends. Outrage flooded through him. He’d heard of these spiritualists, who took advantage of grieving widows and milked them for every last dime. He forced himself to speak evenly, but inwardly swore it wouldn’t happen to his mother. “Don’t you realize you’ve been cheated? This phony tea-leaf reader has absconded with one hundred dollars of your personal savings! Tell me everything. How often did you see this woman? Who is she? Where does she live?”

“Jennifer Appleton is worthy of a fortune, a king’s ransom, I would say,” Mary insisted. “There is nothing phony about her. You have to meet her, Gabriel, then you would understand. She is gifted, a very holy woman. There is no one like her.”

“Miss Appleton, whatever she is, is not worth the security for your old age,” Gabriel said grimly.

“I am secure,” Mary said naïvely. “I have a house, a future husband, and James. What else do I need?”

“You have a future husband who is penniless, you’re pouring money into some charlatan’s pocket, and if you continue at this rate, you won’t be able to afford James. Thank God I’ve paid for the house, or you’d probably lose that as well.” Gabriel rose in frustration. He accepted his hat from the butler, who had deftly appeared, and put it on with angry determination.

His mother rose in alarm. “Gabriel! You frighten me with that look! Where are you going?”

“I’m going to pay Miss Jennifer Appleton a visit. Don’t worry, I won’t do anything rash. I just want to explain a few things to her. By the time I’m finished, you are the last person she will swindle.”

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