Flights of Fancy (American Heiresses Book #1)

by Jen Turano

  Ian smiled in satisfaction as he stood and nodded to Isadora. “Perhaps you should go and fetch us that tea, Izzie. I have a feeling it might take a while to get the full story out of Hank, but—” His smile turned deadly as his gaze settled on Hank. “I will get the full story out of you. Do know that I’ll do whatever it takes to squeeze every last bit of confession from you, even if whatever it takes is somewhat . . . unpleasant.”

  That threat was all it took for Hank to start talking. By the time three pots of tea had been consumed, along with the cake Aunt Birdie and the children made, Isadora, along with Ian and Jonathon, knew the very worst of what Hank had done—as well as who’d hired him to do those things.

  Chapter 32

  “It’s too bad you wouldn’t agree to go to the ball with Ian, Izzie,” Prim said, looking up from the copy of Little Women she was reading. “I just reached the part in the story where the March sisters are getting ready to attend a ball.” She nodded to Isadora’s head. “I bet I could have done something fancy with your hair.”

  “And she could’ve worn the necklace me and Daisy just made for her, which we’re hopin’ you think is real pretty, Izzie,” Violet said, moving quietly into the room as she always did, Daisy dashing past her a second later to scramble up into Isadora’s lap.

  “Present!” Daisy bellowed even as Violet came to a stop in front of Isadora and shyly held out a necklace made of braided yarn with daisies, violets, and roses woven into the braid.

  If she hadn’t already lost her heart to the two little girls grinning back at her, as well as Prim, who’d abandoned her book to come take a look, their gift would have certainly done the trick.

  “You made this for me?” she managed to ask as her vision turned blurry.

  “It’s got violets, daisies, and a rose for Prim,” Violet told her. “We couldn’t find a primrose, so that had to do.” She wrinkled her nose. “We was going to add this little chicken that Uncle Amos helped Henry whittle, but we don’t know where Henry’s run off to right now.”

  “I’m right here,” Henry said, stomping into the room and looking grumpy, Elmer tucked under his arm and Sparky walking by his side. He set Elmer on the floor and fished something out of his pocket. “This don’t really look like Elmer, but that’s what it’s supposed to be. Uncle Amos helped me put a ring through it so you can put it on the thing the girls made you.” He stomped his way to stand in front of her, thrusting out his offering a second later.

  “Should I assume you’re put out about something?” Isadora asked, taking the small whittled chicken from the little boy as she fought a grin.

  “I’ve been banished from the first floor . . . again.”

  “What’d you do now?” Prim demanded, looking every inch the older sister as she plunked her hands on her slim hips.

  “Nothin’. Some man dressed up fancy like Ian just arrived, and it weren’t more than a minute after he arrived in the library, where me and Ian were getting down to a serious checker match, that I was sent packin’.” He blew out a disgusted breath. “Not that I hate spendin’ time with all of you, but you are girls.”

  “Indeed we are,” Isadora said, setting Daisy to the ground before she rose from the chair. “And even though I’m sure you want to return to your checkers, I expect you to stay here with your sisters while I see who has come to call. I imagine it’s probably Mr. Victor Laughlin, one of Ian’s friends. Ian mentioned he might come visit soon to meet all of you.”

  “It’s not that man. It’s someone by the name of Nigel,” Henry said. “And I don’t know if you should be leaving this room either, Izzie. Ian had a funny look in his eye when Nigel walked into the room, and when he said that man’s name, it wasn’t in what I’d call a friendly voice.”

  Isadora was across the room in a flash, pausing by the door when Henry called after her.

  “You might want to tell Buttercup I’m not gonna be coming back anytime soon. She’s waitin’ for me at the bottom of the stairs, seein’ as how she don’t know how to climb them just yet.”

  She turned. “You let Buttercup into the house again? I thought we talked about that, Henry. She’s supposed to stay outside in the garden.”

  “She don’t like the garden, but I’m not sayin’ I let her in the house. Maybe she done learned how to open the door.”

  She leveled what she hoped was a stern eye on the boy. “We’ll be having a discussion about telling fibs when I return.”

  Leaving Henry looking remarkably guilty and Prim immediately launching into her own lecture on the subject of telling fibs, Isadora quit the room, feeling somewhat guilty as well since she’d been less than truthful of late.

  She hurried down the two flights of stairs to reach the main floor, pulling the flower necklace the girls had made her over her head as she moved to where voices were sounding from the library. Hesitating in front of the open door, she glanced at Ian, who had his back turned to her, then stiffened when she realized Nigel had spotted her and was beaming far too brightly her way.

  “Mrs. Delmont, I was hoping I’d get to see you,” Nigel exclaimed as Ian spun around, a crystal decanter in his hand. “Do come and join us. Ian’s pouring us both a brandy. Would you care for one?”

  Walking into the room, Isadora shook her head. “I’m not really a brandy type, Mr. Flaherty.”

  “My apologies, Mrs. Delmont. Should I assume you’re more of . . .” He paused and tilted his head. “What is that wine Mr. Ward McAllister always goes on about? Is it the 1871 Latour or the 1879 Brion?”

  The hair on the nape of her neck stood to attention.

  After seeing her father’s very good friend Mr. William Rives in the tearoom, Isadora had been truly concerned that he’d recognized her. But when Mr. Rives hadn’t bothered to seek her out or walk over to Ian after she’d left the table and inquire whether or not Ian was in the company of Miss Isadora Delafield, she had decided he’d not recognized her at all and had probably only been looking her way because Nigel had been telling tales of how a household manager was enjoying a cup of tea with an esteemed man of Pittsburgh business.

  She might have been mistaken about that.

  Forcing down the response that sprang to her lips—everyone knew Mr. Ward McAllister was infatuated with the 1871 Latour—Isadora gave an airy wave of her hand. “I’m sure I wouldn’t know the answer to that, Mr. Flaherty.”

  “Please, call me Nigel, and may I say that’s a lovely necklace you’re wearing. It certainly dresses up the outfit you’ve apparently chosen to wear to the ball, taking Miss Moore’s suggestion, of course. Do know that I completely understand why you’d make use of such a clever—”

  “She’s not going to the ball, Nigel,” Ian interrupted, all but thrusting a glass of brandy at him. “But since the ball is starting soon, what say we forgo these banal pleasantries and delve into the reason you’re here? Should I assume it’s about Hank?”

  “Who?”

  Ian inclined his head. “Ah, so we’re going to play games, are we? Very well, let me refresh your memory. Hank is the man you and your investors hired to muscle people off their farms when they wouldn’t sell their land to you.”

  Nigel took a sip of his brandy, and then, surprisingly enough, he took a seat on a settee that had only just been delivered that day. He nodded to a chair beside him and ignored that Ian was glaring at him because he’d taken a seat before Isadora had taken hers. Isadora took the arm Ian held out to her, soon finding herself sitting in the chair farthest removed from Nigel. Ian, however, after he’d poured a glass of wine and handed it to her, took a seat directly beside his guest.

  Taking a sip of his brandy, Ian smiled, although it was a rather terrifying sort of smile and didn’t bode well for Nigel. “Now then, where were we?”

  “You were prattling on about some man named Hank,” Nigel said.

  “I’m afraid I’m not the one prone to prattling, whereas Hank, well, when faced with a rather lengthy prison term unless he cooperated, was prattling for all
of an hour right in this very house before he was taken off to jail.”

  Nigel’s eyes narrowed. “Since I am unfamiliar with anyone by the name of Hank, I’m not certain what this man could have possibly said to make you believe I’m involved in any shenanigans.”

  “So that coal mining venture you’re a part of isn’t trying to acquire land in and outside of Canonsburg?”

  A single bead of sweat ran down the side of Nigel’s face, which he ignored. “There are many coal ventures being planned for that area.”

  “Yes, but unfortunately, the venture I know you’re involved with is simply not going to happen.”

  Nigel’s gaze sharpened on Ian’s face. “What do you mean?”

  Ian swirled the brandy around in his glass before he lifted his head and smiled. “I think not going to happen is self-explanatory. But if you need clarification . . .” His smile turned deadly. “I’ve only just purchased, as in an hour ago, every single one of those farms you had your sights on down by Canonsburg. It’s really quite remarkable how quickly word can reach a town through the telegram. But since a very good friend of my Uncle Amos runs the telegraph station, he very kindly saw to it that the telegrams I sent out were immediately delivered, and that the responses to those telegrams reached me in a timely fashion. Clearly, the good folks of Canonsburg are far more receptive to selling me their land than you.”

  For a long moment, Nigel didn’t say anything, but then he rose to his feet. “There are other powerful men involved in this deal, MacKenzie. They’ll not take kindly to you ruining everything.”

  Ian’s smile turned deadlier than ever. “That’s where I think you’re mistaken, Flaherty. You see, as an attorney, I realize what happens when the law needs to deal with powerful men. Yes, I’ve gotten Hank to confess that it was you who hired him, but you and I know that your attorney, a man I’ve often gone up against, and a man who possesses formidable skill, will convince a judge or a jury that you were completely ignorant of the means Hank was going to use to get the land you wanted. Why, I even imagine your attorney will go about the unpleasant business of paying people off, which means you’ll never see so much as a day in jail over crimes you and I know you were responsible for ordering. However, I’m a powerful man as well—not as powerful as you, of course—but I’m respected. I have to believe the other investors will not want to get into the mud with us if I threaten to press charges against you, even if those charges won’t amount to much.”

  Ian got to his feet and faced Nigel. “While it is true that most people turn a blind eye to some of the questionable tactics men of business use to get what they want, I’m afraid I can’t do that in this instance since you went after my family. It’s not possible for me to allow you to blithely walk away without some type of punishment. That is exactly why I decided the best punishment I could give was taking something from you that would affect your bottom line.”

  For a second, Isadora feared Nigel was going to punch Ian, but then, concerningly enough, he turned and leveled cold eyes on her, looking her over for an uncomfortable minute before he returned his attention to Ian.

  “You should remember I’m not a man to be crossed, MacKenzie. I’ll ruin you, but before I get to that, as luck would have it, I currently have the means to take something from you as well—your self-respect and pride.”

  “Do tell,” Ian all but drawled.

  “Oh, I shall, and I’ll enjoy every second of it.” Nigel nodded to Isadora. “It just so happens that what I have to say involves your household manager, Mrs. Delmont.”

  The hair on the nape of her neck stood to attention again as all the breath got stuck in her throat.

  “You’ll leave Izzie out of this, Nigel, and that’s not up for debate.”

  “Ah yes, dear Izzie. What a delightful name, and even though I’d love to leave the lovely lady out of this, I’m afraid I can’t because, you see . . .”

  Isadora braced herself, knowing without a doubt that what Nigel was going to say next was not going to be pleasant.

  “That lady sitting over there is no Mrs. Delmont. She’s Miss Isadora Delafield, esteemed member of the New York Four Hundred, and one of the great American heiresses of today.”

  Chapter 33

  As the seconds ticked away and Isadora didn’t dispute Nigel’s outlandish claims, Ian suddenly realized, given the starkness of her face and the panic in her eyes, that she wasn’t going to dispute the claims because they were nothing less than the truth.

  The affection he’d held for her began to shrivel in that moment as unpleasant reality settled.

  She’d played him for a fool.

  How she must have laughed at him as she’d offered her deal of working without pay, one he’d thought spoke highly of her work ethic, but a deal he now understood must have been nothing but a lark, given the fortune she clearly commanded.

  “Oh dear . . . Do not tell me you were foolish enough to form an attachment with Miss Delafield, MacKenzie. But given the anguish in your eyes as you wait for her to say I’m lying is certain proof that you have.”

  Ian set aside his glass of brandy so that he wouldn’t shatter the glass as his hand clenched around it. “It’s time for you to leave, Nigel.”

  “But the fun’s just starting. Don’t you want to know how I discovered her identity—or better yet, why I believe she left New York?”

  The emotional part of him wanted nothing of the sort, but the lawyer in him craved answers, which had him inclining his head. “Very well. Go on.”

  Nigel puffed out his chest. “From what I learned, it appears as if Miss Delafield was going on one of those—how do you call it?—ah yes, ‘flights of fancy’ that are popular with so many impetuous young ladies. She obviously thought it would be a dramatic adventure to assume an identity that was so far removed from who she truly is, and it was a most brilliant plan.” He inclined his head to Izzie. “Brilliant until you let your guard down and allowed yourself to be seen in public at Joseph Horne Company.”

  Izzie didn’t say a single word to that, although her lips thinned and something interesting flashed through her eyes.

  “Imagine my surprise,” Nigel continued, “when after I was introduced to Mr. William Rives, a wealthy industrialist who was visiting from New York City, I was then presented with a prime opportunity to see you laid low, MacKenzie. Not that I realized that while I was enjoying tea with him and the Bryces.”

  “I don’t know Mr. and Mrs. Bryce, nor do I know a Mr. William Rives.”

  “That’s precisely why I was pointing you out to them,” Nigel returned with a nasty smile. “As I was doing that, after having mentioned that you were the negotiator who probably lost Mr. Bryce a whole lot of money since his family is invested in the mills, Mr. Rives made a most shocking statement.” Nigel returned his attention to Izzie. “He, for the briefest of moments, thought he recognized you as being the daughter of one of his very good friends, a Mr. Frederick Delafield. I did get a chuckle out of that and immediately explained to the man that you were merely MacKenzie’s household manager, a woman bereft of any of the social graces.”

  Nigel’s smile turned smug. “Now, I normally wouldn’t have given Mr. Rives’s remark further consideration, but you annoy me, MacKenzie, what with your propensity for getting up on your soapbox to promote better working conditions for the laborers. I followed up on Mr. Rives’s observation because of that, and because I did think there was something odd about your household manager, since it’s rare indeed to witness a woman—even of the servant class—eating cake with her fingers and not making use of her napkin.” Nigel stopped speaking and sent a pleasant smile Isadora’s way. “That was a lovely bit of acting on your part, Miss Delafield, although I’m not certain that mother of yours would care to entertain the thought of her only daughter taking to the stage.”

  “You’ve spoken with my mother?” Isadora whispered.

  “I’ve not had the pleasure . . . yet.” Nigel looked back at Ian. “But to continue my stor
y, after I did a bit of sleuthing and discovered that Mrs. Delmont was going by the name of Izzie, which is remarkably similar to Isadora if you think about it, just as Delmont is remarkably similar to Delafield, it got me thinking. Because I’m a man with unlimited funds, I happen to have an honest-to-goodness personal telephone in my house, and even though it cost me a small fortune to have lines set up between here and New York, I’ve found the luxury of having a telephone to be well worth the cost. I was able to place a call to a very savvy contact I have in my pocket in New York City, and then he, very quickly, was able to phone me back with some astonishing information regarding your Mrs. Delmont.”

  Ian fought to keep his expression carefully schooled, even though he wanted nothing more than to scowl at Isadora, who was now paler than ever but looking rather resolved.

  Nigel chuckled. “What I discovered about her was this: Rumors are rampant about Miss Isadora Delafield. She’s apparently gone missing, although her mother is claiming she’s merely off on a flight of fancy before she makes a most advantageous marriage—and to a duke, no less.”

  “That’s not true,” Isadora said, rising to her feet. She set aside her glass of wine with a hand that Ian couldn’t help but notice was trembling. “I am not a lady to go off on flights of fancy. And I have no intention of marrying the Duke of Montrose.”

  “That’s not what my source told me,” Nigel contradicted. “He told me that you’re known to be a somewhat snobbish sort, spoiled as well. Because of that, and because the duke is most sought after by many New York socialites, you left the city to pique the duke’s interest and to ensure he’d choose you to wed at the end of the season.”

  Nigel turned back to Ian. “It’s a shame you allowed yourself to become involved with Miss Delafield, although I’m sure you wouldn’t have allowed that to happen if you’d truly known who she was. No grand heiress will settle for a man who grew up in abject poverty with a drunk for a father, but you won’t have to tolerate her being under your roof for long. I took it upon myself to send one of those telegrams you so enjoy to the Delafield house, not wanting to impart such delicate information over telephone lines, which are occasionally unsecure.”