Sparked (19 page)

He found himself more drawn to her with every passing moment, like he could talk to her about anything. Not to mention that she might be the only person in the world who was like him, different, an aberration. But as much as he cared about her, wanted to be with her,
needed
her, could he really choose her over his entire family? His father hadn’t said it outright, but the implication was there—if he chose Cora there’d be hell to pay. He’d lose his trust fund, the bank, and worst of all, the support of his family. He could live with losing the money, but his father? His mother? His brother?

Dammit.

He kicked his desk.

This whole situation was impossible, and he wasn’t getting anywhere cooped up in this place. What he needed was fresh air. 

He told his secretary that he’d be gone for the day and tromped out into the bright sunshine. He stormed through the town square, through the park, and past the water fountain before he even realized where he was headed.

The store loomed up ahead: Jenkins Jewelers. 

And suddenly, Clayton realized what he had to do. He would
make
his parents understand. He would show them who Cora really was, all the potential she had. But he couldn’t do that by keeping their relationship a secret. It was the hiding itself that was the problem. It sent the wrong message—that he was ashamed of her, when he was anything but. He had to bring her out in the open, show everyone how wonderful she was, how happy she made him. And step one was treating her like any other girl he dated. No. Step one was treating her
better
.

The bell on the door jingled as he walked in. Mr. Jenkins, the owner, looked up from where he was cleaning watches at the counter. It was a small shop, a little dark, but Mr. Jenkins had fine taste. His mother swore by the man, saying she hadn’t found finer pieces even on her frequent jaunts to New York City. The display cases were full of treasures—some brand new, some antique, all with a little something special about them.

“What can I help you with today, Mr. Briggs?” Mr. Jenkins asked. 

“I’m looking for jewelry. For a girl.”

Mr. Jenkins’ face lit up, showing that all his wrinkles had begun life as well-worn smile lines. “Excellent. Excellent. She must be very special.”

“She is,” Clayton said. She
was
special. Hell, she wasn’t just special, she was extraordinary. 

He perused the counter. His eyes passed over gilt brooches and silver lockets, jeweled chokers and jade bracelets, but nothing seemed to catch his attention.

“Did you have anything in particular in mind?” Mr. Jenkins asked.

“No, actually. What do you recommend?”

“Why don’t you tell me something about the young lady?”

“She’s beautiful. Stunning and strong. But simple too. Elegant. Anything too flashy wouldn’t suit her.”

“And the color of the lady’s eyes?”

“Blue,” Clayton said. “Deep blue.”

“And how long have you been dating, if you don’t mind me asking?”

“Not long,” Clayton admitted with a chuckle. “Days. And yet she has me totally smitten.”

Mr. Jenkins’ eyes danced. “The best ones always do. That’s the way it was with my wife. We were bound together right from the start.”

Something in Clayton relaxed, hearing that. He realized he hadn’t been able to share his happiness with a single person. Of course, Mr. Jenkins didn’t know the girl in question was Cora Murphy. Would his opinion change if he did? Clayton was determined to make sure it wouldn’t. He would make them all see her as a Hollis from now on.

Mr. Jenkins led Clayton to a case he hadn’t yet examined. It was full of pearls—pearl bracelets and necklaces and pins. Simple strands and more intricate designs accented with gold filigree or diamonds.

Then he spotted it. “May I see that one, please?” he asked.

“Ah. The gentleman has excellent taste.” 

Mr. Jenkins brought it out of the case and handed it to Clayton. The necklace looked like it had been made for her. A single round sapphire surrounded by tiny pearls hung from a simple gold chain that was as delicate as silk in his fingers. The whole pendent was smaller than his thumbnail. To the passing eye it might look like costume jewelry. But Clayton was certain it was real.

Then he remembered his stupid promise about presents, and his mood darkened. How the hell was he supposed to show everyone how much she meant to him—to treat her the way she deserved to be treated—if she refused even the simplest gift? That little agreement was going to have to end immediately.

Mr. Jenkins interrupted his thoughts. “You don’t seem very pleased. Perhaps I can show you something with rubies instead?”

“It’s not that,” Clayton said. He fingered the jewel in his hand, imagined it hanging around her lovely, long neck. “I’ll take the necklace. It’s perfect.”

“Then what is it?”

“She isn’t going to like it,” Clayton said with a mischievous grin. 

“Of course she will. Young men always worry about making the right choice. But in my experience, it’s the gesture itself that’s the greatest gift.”

“No, it’s not that. Some women, they expect jewelry. But this one is very different.” 

“While the first category keeps me in business, I, too, prefer the later type,” Mr. Jenkins said with a smile. 

Clayton winked at him. “Then I guess I’ll just have to convince her to forgive me, won’t I?”

CHAPTER TWENTY

Cora

Cora smoothed out her dress and pressed the buzzer at the back door of the Briggs mansion. It looked like a dollhouse—the biggest dollhouse in a neighborhood full of them. The area was called Highledge because it sat at the highest point in town. It was the oldest, most moneyed neighborhood for miles.

She held a cake in her hands—dark chocolate with a cherry filling and fresh candied cherries clustered on top. 

She had agonized over the cake, wanting to make it perfect. Mrs. Briggs had never ordered anything before, and she suspected this order had come because of Clayton’s influence. Why else would Florence Briggs, the most pedigreed woman in Independence Falls, hire a Murphy for anything? The Briggs had a full time cook who could probably teach Cora a lesson or two herself. The order had come via messenger directly to her door this morning—a young boy named Robby who was about Bethany’s age and made deliveries for the general store. The cake was a test; she knew it. If word got around that Mrs. Briggs was ordering regularly from Cora, many of the other ladies in town might follow suit. 

She knew she had Clayton to thank. She couldn’t wait to be alone with him again. Longed for it. She had never felt anything like she felt when he touched her. 

His hands on her skin. My
God
. The thought nearly melted her on the spot. She had expected, when she joined him at the movie theater, that they would neck in the back row of the balcony. She had been nervous about being seen, but her excitement to be with him had overridden her nerves. But he had just held her hand, put his arm around her shoulders, and listened to her talk. He had treated her to a real date, like she was a real lady.

The door opened, jarring her thoughts. But it wasn’t the cook standing there. It was Mrs. Briggs herself.

She was the picture of elegance in a sleeveless emerald pencil dress with a bateau neckline and a string of white pearls. Her chestnut hair was cut short and styled soft like Elizabeth Taylor’s. The effect of the feminine hair and the more reserved dress was stunning. She came off as both approachable and untouchable all at once. Cora thought she had never seen anyone so well put together in all her life. 

She immediately felt self-conscious and worried over her worn gingham dress. It was at least five seasons out of fashion, and hung limp without a crinoline like most of the other ladies her age wore. 

“Good afternoon, Mrs. Briggs.”

“Cora,” Mrs. Briggs smiled politely. “I was hoping I might catch you today. Do you have a moment to come inside?”

Cora’s breath caught in her throat; she hadn’t come prepared for a conversation with Mrs. Briggs. What could she possibly want? 

“Yes, ma’am,” she said.

“Wonderful.”

Cora walked through the door with the cake still in her hands.

“You can just set that on the table, dear. Mrs. Dunder will see to it.”

Cora did so, then followed Mrs. Briggs through the house. It was enormous; her entire shack would have fit into the kitchen. She had never been inside before—as far as she knew, no Murphy had—only spied the immense mansion from afar. She struggled to keep from gaping. Ornately carved wood shone from the banisters and paneled the walls. Tall, sparkling windows welcomed beams of sunlight, and Cora thought about how hard she worked to keep her small windows clean. Everywhere she looked, there was something beautiful: tall vases full of flowers, intricate gold clocks, copper busts of the Briggs family through the ages. Elegant furniture, upholstered in rich fabrics, stood on plush carpets that made Cora think of far-off places she had only imagined. But the Briggs family had traveled there, she knew; they had brought back these treasures from all over the world. 

This was where Clayton grew up? Cora couldn’t imagine what it must be like to wake up here every day. She couldn’t see herself ever feeling comfortable in a place like this. She would always be afraid of ruining its stately perfection.

Cora twined her fingers together, fidgeting as she followed. What was this about? She couldn’t make sense of it, and her stomach churned. 

Mrs. Briggs led her to a room that seemed to protrude off of the side of the house like a bubble. It was made entirely of glass, and filled with plants. Floor to ceiling windows surrounded the room, giving an amazing view of a lush garden beyond. Cora nearly gasped at the beauty.

“Have a seat,” Mrs. Briggs said, motioning to two white wicker armchairs positioned across from a white divan. “Would you like some tea?”

There was a silver tray spread on the coffee table with a full tea set as well as finger sandwiches and cookies. But there was no one else here. Cora realized that Mrs. Briggs hadn’t just
hoped
to run into her. She’d been
planning
for it. The pace of her heart picked up. This encounter definitely wasn’t about baking. Somehow, she had discovered them. Cora cursed herself for not being more careful.

She was also immediately more wary. Even the simple question about tea felt like a test. Would taking the tea mean she was greedy and didn’t know her place? Would not taking it mean she was ungrateful?

Stop being a dolt, Cora. Tea is just tea.

“Yes, thank you,” she said, sitting in the wicker chair nearest the window.

Mrs. Briggs sat on the divan—looking every bit a queen—and poured two cups, handing one to Cora. “I hope you like Earl Grey.”

“That sounds lovely, thank you,” Cora said, accepting the cup. The words sounded foreign to her, as though they were coming from a different person. She felt like such a fake, sitting in this incredible room inside this incredible home wearing her dingy old work dress. Not to mention her shoes, which were old to begin with and must be dusty from her walk. She crossed her ankles and tucked them under her chair.

“May I ask what it is you wanted to speak to me about?” Cora asked. Anxiety was building in her like a pot boiling over. She didn’t want to waste any time on niceties.

“Of course. You’re a very busy girl, I imagine,” Mrs. Briggs said.

Cora hoped she hadn’t offended Mrs. Briggs in her haste.

“I wanted to speak to you about my son,” she said. “He seems to be very taken with you.”

It was a statement, not a question, but it hung in the air between them waiting for an answer.

What should Cora say? Denying it was clearly useless. She decided on the truth.

“I’m uh …,” Cora said hesitantly, “I’m very taken with him too.”

“I assumed as much,” Mrs. Briggs said. “But I’m sure you can see that—or rather understand—how impractical a match it is between the two of you.”

Cora had known it was coming. Still, she was startled into silence by Mrs. Brigg’s directness.

“I hope you don’t take that the wrong way, dear,” Mrs. Briggs continued, genuine concern on her face. “I actually think you’re a lovely girl. Frankly, your can-do spirit is remarkable, coming from the background you do. And you’re quite talented in the kitchen. I’ve tasted your sweets at a party or two and if I didn’t worry about offending our dear Mrs. Dunder, I’d have ordered from you before now.”

Mrs. Briggs placed her teacup into the saucer on her lap. 

“But we both know that our families share a certain history. My husband, well, he takes quite a bit of pride in his ancestry. I don’t believe there’s a way to erase the past.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“I’m quite concerned that my son’s association with you could drive a deep wedge between him and his father.”

This wasn’t something Cora had even considered. But of course she was right. Of course it was true. She felt horrible. She may not have a father who cared about her, but Clayton did. Who was she to come between them?

“And even if we could overcome our past, the two of you are so different. Clayton needs a partner who understands our world—who can navigate the ins and outs of a sometimes very complex social landscape. You see, the man Clayton is becoming—the man he’s destined to be—simply requires a certain kind of woman. The kind of woman it takes a lifetime to learn how to be. He needs someone who can stand by his side, offer guidance in questionable times. Not a woman who he would, ultimately, have to spend a lifetime making excuses for. Not someone who would hold him back.”

Hold him back. Cora’s heart dropped off the edge of a cliff. She couldn’t disagree. Even if she wasn’t a Murphy, what could she ever be to Clayton but a burden? Not only was she miles beneath him socially, but she was also a freak. What would he say if he knew what she could do? Of her powers to command water? What would his mother say about that?