by Renee Ryan
On the other hand, if Caroline exacted revenge for her mother, wouldn’t that make her equally as guilty as her aunt?
Vengeance is mine. The Scripture had jumped off the page of her mother’s worn Bible when Caroline had flipped through it last night in her attempt to seek solace. Frowning, she’d flipped random pages and had come upon a similar verse. Vengeance belongs unto me.
Could Caroline trust justice for her mother to the Lord? She had no practice, no proof that she could count on good winning over evil. And, yes, what her aunt had done had been evil.
What had possessed the woman to intercept the letters and then send them back, unopened? Wouldn’t it have been equally effective to destroy them? Her mother would have been left questioning her father’s silence.
Perhaps that had been the point. It was the return of the letters that had killed Libby’s hope of ever being accepted back into the family fold.
Could Katherine have been that devious? That calculating? But why? Why had she wanted Libby never to return?
Caroline would know soon enough.
No matter what happened this morning, she would not leave her grandfather’s house without knowing her aunt’s motives.
And she would have Jackson standing by her side, offering his strength and support.
Tossing the bedcovers aside, Caroline climbed out of bed and reviewed her clothing choices. Monsieur Lappet had sent three other dresses with the blue silk. The pink would be a good option, the pale green a better one. Yes, the soft color would work perfectly.
When she was halfway through her preparations, Sally shuffled in the room, her movements slow, her gaze sleepy.
“You should have woken me,” she said, rubbing at her eyes.
“You were restless last night.” She’d even cried out at one point. “I wanted you to sleep in this morning.”
Sally shook her head. “I can sleep as soon as you leave for the day.” She lowered her gaze over the dress Caroline had set out for this morning’s altercation. “Pretty.”
“The color spoke to me.” Caroline eyed the garment. “I need to look my best today.”
“Then allow me.” Sally took the hairbrush from her hand.
No longer willing to argue over whose job it was to dress Caroline’s hair, she allowed her friend to take over the task.
By the time Caroline made her way to the stairwell, Jackson was already standing at the bottom, waiting for her, his arm casually leaning on the banister.
A slow smile spread across his lips.
That smile. It devastated her as always, and her steps faltered. She couldn’t think of anyone she’d rather have by her side this morning, not even her grandfather.
Her confidence soared. She took the stairs one at a time, her resolve growing by the second.
A flash of intent filled Jackson’s gaze right before he pulled her into his arms and kissed her soundly on the mouth. No preamble, no hesitation. A promise, a silent assurance that he was on her side and ready to slay any dragons that threatened her.
When he drew away, she released a sigh.
“Ready?” he asked.
“Ready.”
Since Granny was still abed, they left the house without fanfare. Once they were both settled in the carriage facing one another, Jackson gave the signal to the driver to set out.
Caroline leaned back in her seat. “I have been thinking about how we should proceed this morning.”
He inclined his head. “I’m listening.”
“I am much calmer than I was last night.” She pulled in a soothing breath, glanced out the window, breathed again. “Considering what Katherine did to my mother—”
“To you, Caroline.” Jackson set a hand on her knee. “What she did to you.”
“Yes, well.” She chewed on her bottom lip. “I think I should be the one to do most of the talking after all.”
His gaze perused her face at a slow, studied pace. He had something to say, she knew it by the angle of his head and the parting of his lips. Would he agree to her request? Or try to talk her out of the idea?
Eyes softening, Jackson took her hand and pulled her into the seat next to him. “Caroline, I’m here to support you, not take over.”
“I . . . thank you.”
“But know this.” He brushed his fingertips along her forehead, down her cheek. “I won’t allow Katherine to hurt you. If she tries, either by word or deed, I will step in. And I won’t apologize afterward.”
And there it was. The reason she loved this man. He was willing to allow her to take the lead, but he wouldn’t sit back and watch harm come to her. “Thank you, Jackson.”
Now that he’d had his say, now that they both had an idea of the other’s intentions, Caroline knew she should move back to her side of the carriage. They were unreasonably close, especially if they were to remain above reproach.
Unfortunately, Caroline didn’t want to remain above reproach. She didn’t want to move away from Jackson, not one single inch. Her ears filled with the sound of her frantic pulse.
Jackson seemed to be caught with the same affliction, neither moving away from her nor making any attempt to put distance between them.
Sitting this close to him, she could see the deep blue rim circling the lighter blue of his irises, could smell the clean scent of his soap. He’d recently shaved, his jaw as smooth as she’d ever seen.
He was so handsome, so painfully masculine, and so dear to her now.
Unable to resist, she pulled off her glove and cupped his face with her bare palm.
Smiling slightly, tenderly, he closed his hand over hers.
“Caroline.” He turned his head ever so slightly and placed a kiss on her tender skin.
This couldn’t be proper, what they were doing in the privacy of the carriage, yet Caroline couldn’t stop herself from wishing he would kiss her again. Like he had in Granny’s foyer. Just . . . one . . . tiny . . . kiss.
She whispered his name.
He placed his hand at the small of her back and pulled her close. No words came out of his mouth, no promises or declarations or even warnings that this was a bad idea. Instead, he communicated his heart with the gentle pressure of his lips against hers.
One moment stretched into two.
Caroline’s eyes began to water. She’d found where she belonged. In this man’s arms.
His head pulled away, inch by measured inch. The light caught his eyes. What she saw in them took her breath away.
He loved her.
But did he want her for his wife?
Would she accept anything less from him?
No, no she would not.
The carriage drew to a halt. Needing a moment to organize her thoughts, she scrambled to her side of the carriage before the coachman opened the door.
Still looking at her, his heart in his eyes, Jackson reached for her again. “Caroline, I lo—”
“No.” She placed the missing glove back onto her hand. “Don’t say it yet. Wait until after we have confronted my aunt.”
He frowned, clearly unhappy with her request. “If that’s what you want. But when this is over, I’m going to have my say, and you’re going to listen.” His tone brooked no argument.
A little thrill slid down her spine. “I understand.”
He exited the carriage first and then helped her to the ground. They ascended the stoop together, matching their steps as always. From the very first day, at the Griffin Ball, even before she’d met her grandfather, Caroline and Jackson had been in step with one another. It seemed only fitting that he was the one to stand with her now.
The butler opened the door before they had a chance to knock, looking appropriately bored and put out. Behind the man, Katherine St. James stood frozen in place.
Gone was the kind, Christian demeanor she portrayed to the rest of society. In its place was a pinched display of bitterness. And hate. Such hate. Caroline shuddered under the powerful emotion.
Cold wind swept across Caroline’s
soul, followed by a hot ball of anger in the pit of her stomach. This woman, a member of her own family, her mother’s friend, had plotted and schemed to keep Libby St. James from returning home.
Needing a moment to calm her temper, Caroline studied her aunt with a critical eye. Under the bold, unforgiving light of morning, her age showed in every line upon her face. Balancing slightly on her toes, with her shoulders hunched forward and her arms stiff by her side, the woman looked like a snake ready to strike. Even her mean, narrowed gaze had the requisite predatory sheen.
This was no ordinary foe but one who had proven herself willing to fight dirty.
Ah, yes, this was the battle Caroline had come across the ocean to fight.
“You know why I’m here,” she said, unashamed by the rage that sounded in her voice.
Her aunt lifted her chin, her beady eyes narrowing to tiny slits. “Oh, I know. In fact, I’ve been waiting for you to make your move for some time now. I’m surprised it has taken you so long.”
Realizing they were in the foyer, where anyone could hear their conversation, Caroline suggested they move to a more private room.
“With your lack of breeding, I would have expected you to prefer a more public venue.” Katherine lowered her gaze over Caroline, her lips curling into a sneer. “You might walk and talk like you belong in our world, but we both know you are nothing more than a grubby street urchin.”
The insult hit its mark, filling Caroline with a moment of humiliation. How could Katherine be so mean-spirited, when she herself had experienced what it meant to be an outsider?
Caroline felt Jackson tense by her side. She placed her hand on his arm and shook her head, willing him to adhere to her silent request not to interfere. Yet.
Her aunt had spoken the truth. Two months ago Caroline had lived in a one-room shack with a dirt floor and only a threadbare blanket for warmth against the cold. Her idea of dressing for “the occasion” had included a borrowed dress from a prostitute and a tedious brushing of her hair.
As if sensing she’d drawn blood, Katherine shifted her gaze to Jackson. “I assume this private confrontation was your idea?”
The implication was clear. Caroline would never have had the natural instinct to behave in a respectable manner.
Jackson started to speak, but Caroline shook her head at him again.
“You’ve made your point, Aunt, but now it’s time we addressed the matter at hand.”
“Whatever you wish, Niece.” As if she had all the time in the world, Katherine led them into the parlor and chose a chair near the window, lowering herself with practiced elegance. It was no wonder the woman was considered a sought-after guest in all the elegant homes in New York. Her manners were impeccable, which made her behavior seem all the more evil.
For several beats, silence cloaked the room.
When neither Caroline nor Jackson moved to break the silence, Katherine wound her wrist in the air. “Do proceed with your questions.”
The perfect society maven was there in her manner.
For a dangerous moment, Caroline wanted to rush across the room and shake the woman hard and remind her how it felt to be found lacking by her peers. Praying for calm, hoping the Lord heard her, Caroline sat on a brocade settee instead and spoke in a cool, even voice. “We know you’re the one who intercepted my mother’s letters.”
The woman didn’t even blink at the accusation.
“You don’t deny it?” Caroline had expected a cursory denial at the very least.
“Why would I? Quite frankly, I’m surprised it took you so long to discover it was me.”
The nerve of the woman. She acted as if she’d had every right in the world to destroy another woman’s life, her friend’s life. Anger surged, demanding release. Caroline swallowed—once, twice; on the third she curled her fingers into Jackson’s sleeve.
He covered her hand in a show of comfort but remained silent. As she’d requested.
She swallowed one more time. “What I don’t understand is why.”
“Why?” Katherine raised her voice, the first real sign her composure was slipping. “Why, you ask? Isn’t it obvious?”
Caroline had no answer to the question. How could she know this woman’s mind?
As soon as the question roared through her thoughts, Caroline realized Katherine’s game. The woman wanted her to cry, to beg for an explanation.
Caroline would do neither.
In such matters, silence was a most effective weapon.
Drumming her fingers on the arm of her chair, Katherine released a snakelike hiss. “I intercepted your mother’s letters because I never wanted her to return. She had no understanding of the true meaning of sacrifice.”
“On the contrary, my mother sacrificed everything for love.”
“No.” Katherine’s face contorted into a look of pure hatred. “She chose love. She chose to ignore her position and duty to her family. She didn’t deserve a second chance.”
So much meaning was tucked inside those words, so much ugliness. “She was your friend.”
“She was never my friend. The day she ran off with her one true love was the day I learned to hate her.”
Caroline gasped, struck momentarily speechless. Katherine despised Libby because she chose to follow her heart? But that made no sense, especially when Libby’s choice didn’t directly harm Katherine.
What was Caroline missing?
Jackson squeezed her hand. “Why go to the trouble of returning the letters,” he asked in a deceptively calm voice. “Why not destroy them instead?”
Katherine’s gaze snapped to him. “I wasn’t stupid. I knew she had to be growing desperate. If she thought there was the slightest possibility that her letters hadn’t made it to her father, she might try to speak with him personally. I could not allow that to happen.”
Confused by the Machiavellian response, Caroline looked helplessly at Jackson. He shrugged, equally at a loss.
“What threat could my mother possibly present to you? Your husband is the firstborn son, the heir. His inheritance would have been secure whether my mother returned or not.”
“Don’t insult either of us by playing stupid. Your mother was always Richard’s favorite. Libby could do no wrong in her father’s eyes, while Marcus could never do enough right.”
Caroline couldn’t let that remark go. “That’s not true. My grandfather thinks very highly of his son. I’ve seen them together, at the office. There is great affection between them.”
“Affection?” She spat the word. “Richard has always held Marcus to an impossible standard, while Libby was given anything she wanted, whenever she asked.”
A range of bitter emotions crossed Katherine’s face.
“Do you know? When your mother ran off with that stable hand, Richard was as livid as I’ve ever seen him. I thought, finally, the man sees his daughter as she really is. Was Marcus rewarded for staying home, for staying true?” She slammed her fist against the chair’s arm. “No. Nothing changed. While Richard searched for Libby, Marcus was still expected to work hard and earn his way in the world.”
“There is no shame in earning one’s way,” Jackson said. “It’s that which makes America great.”
Katherine ignored him. “I knew if Libby returned, Richard would welcome her back in the fold. He would throw her a party, the prodigal returned and all that.” She snarled at Caroline. The woman actually snarled. “Once again, Libby would be rewarded for doing everything wrong, while Marcus and I would be punished for doing everything right.”
Caroline had heard the Prodigal Son story countless times from her mother. The parable had given Libby hope that one day her father would forgive her, as the father in the Bible had forgiven his son. But to hear Katherine’s interpretation, it was clear her aunt had missed the message of the story.
Before Caroline could say as much, the doors swung open with a loud smack of wood meeting wall. Eyes murderous, jaw clenched, her grandfather strode into the room a
nd stopped next to Katherine. He loomed over her, every bit of his rage evident in his bunched muscles and angry expression. “You are forgetting the most important portion of the story, my dear.”
Katherine stumbled back a step. “Richard, you must understand, I—”
“You have forgotten the part where the father must decide whether to forgive the offense”—he held her frozen in his stare—“or not.”
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Katherine jumped out of her chair and shoved past her father-in-law, panic in the move. “Richard. You’re supposed to have left for the office.”
“Obviously, I am still at home.” Their stares met, clashed. “I want you out of my house. Today.”
“I . . . please . . . no.” Her hand went to her throat. “I can explain. Truly, I can.”
Hoping to defuse Richard’s anger before it snapped, Jackson went to him. “Let her finish explaining her actions.”
Richard turned his head, black thunderclouds in his gaze. “Why should I?”
“For Caroline’s sake.” Jackson willed the older man to hear what he was saying. “Your granddaughter deserves to hear the entire story.”
After a slight hesitation, the older man nodded. “Go on, Katherine.” His tone turned cold. Ice-cold. “I believe you were relating your version of the Prodigal Son story.”
“I’ve always hated that parable,” Katherine admitted.
“It’s always been my favorite,” Caroline said, reminding them all of her presence. And why they were having this conversation. “As well as my mother’s.”
“Do you know why I hate the story?” she asked Caroline. “Because the Prodigal Son is welcomed back by his father, no questions asked, as if he’d done nothing wrong and would suffer no consequences for his actions.” She spun to glare at her father-in-law. “While the good son, who has done everything his father has requested, is scolded for complaining.”
“That’s where you’re wrong, Katherine.” Richard’s tone was low and menacing. “The father said to the faithful son, thou are ever with me and all that I have is thine. He was still the heir and still received his full portion, as will Marcus.”
