Heiress

by Susan May Warren

  I love you, Jinx. I always will.

  Bennett’s voice haunted her, as she suspected it would, and she lay in the darkness, finally alone, Foster’s breathing heavy beside her. She curled herself into a ball, debating an escape back to her chamber, and pressed her face into the pillow. Why hadn’t she left with Bennett? Run away?

  Esme had chosen wisely, even if it had been fatally. Although Oliver had died, certainly Esme had a few moments, days, years of joy.

  Too well, Jinx understood the passion that had driven Esme to despair. Too easily did Bennett’s touch sweep into her thoughts.

  Foster would never be Bennett. Foster would never love her, never see her as Bennett did. Never hold her as Bennett had.

  Never make her feel beautiful.

  Her mother’s words resounded through her, echoing, driving her to press her face into her pillow, muffle her sobs.

  Please don’t lose your heart to Bennett Worth, for I fear you will never get it back.

  She waited until she’d stopped her hiccoughs, until Foster began to snore, before she finally escaped to her own bedroom.

  Then she stared at his closed door, her knees to her chest. At least now, she was free. Foster would claim the child as his own. She’d arranged her own fate, and, once again, made her own luck.

  Because that’s what Jinx did best.

  She finally lay down, cupped her hands over her stomach, and waited until the sun slid across the parquet floor of her room, until she heard him rise, and leave.

  She felt brittle, as if she might shatter. She rose and stepped onto the cool floor. She dressed herself in a loose tea gown, left off her stockings, and descended from her room before Amelia could bring her tray.

  “Ma’am, I didn’t know you had risen.” Neville stood at the bottom of the stairs, panic in his expression. “I will summon your lady’s maid.”

  Jinx raised her hand. “No need, Neville. I will take my tray on the terrace, however.”

  No trace of last night’s cotillion remained—she’d trained her staff well. The planters flanking the broad steps overflowed with ivy and geraniums, the pond glittered with goldfish, the back lawn glistened with the dew, groomed and free of litter. She stepped off the terrace and ran her toes into the thick, silky sea grass. It tickled the soft flesh on her feet. She lifted her skirt and waded out into the thick of it, lifting her face to the sun, letting the heat wash into her.

  Anything to not feel so empty, so hollow.

  Anything to erase the feel of the sea on her feet.

  She didn’t even realize she was crying until she heard the voice behind her. “Jinx? Are you all right?”

  She turned. Whisked her hands across her cheek. “Father. I didn’t know you were in town.”

  He had aged since Esme’s departure, his dark hair streaked with gray, his eyes tired. He rarely left the newspaper, and when he did, he stayed most often at his private rooms at the Casino. Today, he wore his typical black suit, waistcoat, and jacket, a bowtie at his neck, a pocket watch strung across his belly into his side pocket, fully attired, even in the early morning hours. “I need to discuss something with you. However, you seem upset?”

  The unfamiliar tone had the power to unhinge her. She shook her head. “I’m fine. To what do I owe this call?”

  Her father walked out beside her. Faced the ocean. “Your husband came to me this morning.” He waited, and she watched a pelican search the currents for breakfast. “He wants an annulment.”

  She stilled, unsure what words to form. But just last night…

  “He says, since you have been unable to give him a child, he needs to find someone who can provide him with an heir.”

  She burned with the swell of shame inside her. She stared up at her father and must have worn something wretched in her expression, for his face softened, his voice kind.

  She nearly didn’t recognize it.

  “I know of your situation, Jinx.”

  That rooted her still. “What situation?”

  He drew in a breath then lowered his voice. “I know you are in a family way. And your mother suspects that it is not Foster’s.”

  Jinx looked away but her father caught her arm. “Jinx.”

  She rounded on him, yanked her arm from his grip. “Don’t you dare stand here and judge me. Don’t you dare.”

  Instead of the rise of fury she expected, however, he met her eyes. “I fear my sins have become yours.”

  Something snapped inside her. “My sins are nothing—nothing like yours.”

  He continued to hold her gaze. “Yes, in fact, they are. But perhaps you don’t have to live my fate.”

  She narrowed her eyes at him. “I don’t understand.”

  He tore his gaze from hers then, to the ground, and walked ahead of her. She didn’t move. Didn’t breathe.

  Finally, “I betrayed your mother.”

  The edges of her mouth hardened, her teeth clenched.

  “I should have never done it, but, like you, she couldn’t bear a child. And the pain of that bled into our marriage. Kept us apart. I—I found solace in the arms of another woman.”

  She knew this, but said nothing. Let him confess, tell her what he’d done. Tell her which of his daughters was illegitimate.

  She steeled herself for the truth.

  “She bore me a daughter. And I brought her into my barren, dead marriage and asked my wife to raise her as her own.”

  Please, don’t let it be—

  “Esme was the light of my life, Jinx. I couldn’t hide it, I know, and for that I apologize.” He glanced at her, and the pain in his eyes made her want to forgive him.

  She’d let out her breath too.

  He continued walking, and she followed. “I should have divorced your mother, perhaps. Taken Esme and raised her with the woman I loved. But I feared being cut off from my family, from our means. And I feared your mother’s father. He would have ruined me.”

  Yes, Grandfather, what little Jinx remembered of him, would have brought her father to his knees. At the very least run him out of town, socially, if not economically.

  “I was a coward. And then—then you were born.” He stopped at the edge of the yard, where the grass tumbled into the sea. Below, the waves splattered against the rocks, receded, threw themselves again.

  “You were the only good thing to come out of our loveless marriage, Jinx.”

  She looked up at him, caught his gaze on her.

  “You were the other light of my life, Jinx. But your mother wouldn’t let me near you. Said I didn’t deserve you—which of course, I didn’t. But I did love you, Jinx. I still love you. I’m sorry I never told you that.”

  She looked away, afraid of the emotions on his face. Of the way her breath caught, her throat tight, burning.

  He stood, watching the waves climb the shore and then fall in a mass of frothy defeat.

  “I knew from the beginning that you and Foster wouldn’t be a good match.”

  “You knew?” Her voice emerged as a fractured whisper.

  “I didn’t want either of my daughters to marry Foster. I knew of his philandering. But my desire to protect Esme from scandal pushed me into arranging the marriage. I thought Foster’s pedigree would protect her. But he has instead ruined you also.”

  His voice betrayed him. “I am sick of my own machinations. Sick of trying to arrange and deceive and pretend.” He drew in a breath and looked at her in a way she didn’t recognize. “I lost Esme. And I fear losing you too, Jinx.

  “Jinx, if you want to have a life with Bennett, I will protect you. I will have your marriage annulled and provide Bennett with a job. You will not go hungry. Yes, you may lose your position in society, but you will not have to look over your shoulder with regret. Marry Bennett with my blessing.”

  With his blessing.

  She couldn’t breathe. And then, yes, she could. Could breathe full and thick and glorious, and for a long moment she thought she might take the drafts with the pelicans.
<
br />   But, “Bennett is engaged to Elise Donahue.”

  Oddly, his face curled into a smile. “Can it be that I know more of society gossip than Jinx Worth?”

  Her pulse had the power to deafen her. “Stop toying with me, Father. What do you know?”

  He checked his watch. “Bennett and Elise had a terrible row last night in the yard of Rosehaven. Something ugly and having to do with him being in love with another woman.”

  Jinx closed her eyes.

  “She didn’t mention you—I’m not sure she even knows. But she did tell him that she would not abide a marriage of convenience.”

  “Then she does not know society.”

  “Indeed. I fear her brother’s marriage spoiled her. Put ideas into her head.”

  “Is it so terrible to love and to want to be loved? To share something…” She bit back her words, pushing away the images, the senses that rushed at her.

  “Perhaps not. Perhaps…not.” He tucked his watch back into his pocket. “As I rose this morning, I saw the Casino porters loading Bennett’s trunks onto a carriage. He has hired a yacht to ferry him back to Paris.”

  The words dismantled her. She pressed her hand to her lips, hating the cry that nearly issued.

  This was for the best. Surely, for the best. But she pressed her hands against her stomach, at the lurching there, the way she wanted to crumble.

  Her father caught her arm again. This time, she allowed his support.

  “I know you care for him. And with Foster set against you… Go to Bennett. Have his child. Live happily with the man you love.” His eyes glistened, and she knew he longed to say those words to Esme. “I will support you as I can. You may not have the power you now possess, but perhaps that won’t matter.” She stared up at him as he cupped her cheek then, leaned over, and kissed her forehead. “You have my blessing, my daughter.”

  * * * * *

  “What are you doing, Mrs. Worth?”

  Amelia stood at the door of Jinx’s room, holding her morning tray. She entered the room, set it down on the bureau. “Are you and Mr. Foster leaving?”

  A bag lay on her bed—she’d found it in a storeroom down the hall, where they kept her summer ball gowns, stuffed onto dress forms. Now, a few of her things—a corset, a pair of bloomers, her jewelry cases—lay upon her bed.

  She had no idea how to pack for her escape from this life. Maybe she should take nothing.

  Maybe she should leave it all behind, just like Esme.

  She turned to Amelia, not sure what to say. “I…I’m leaving Foster.”

  Amelia gave her the expression she expected, wide eyes, the intake of breath. Indeed, she might have reacted the same to those words, laying out so naked, if they hadn’t already been burning through her head for the past thirty minutes.

  She was leaving Foster. She let the words slide through her again, unlock something deep inside.

  “I’m going with Bennett to Paris.” At least, she hoped so. She turned to stare at her scattered items. “I don’t have much time before Mr. Foster returns.” Maybe she didn’t need them. None of them, none of this life.

  She heard Amelia close the door. “He has already arrived.” Her voice shook. “Mr. Foster has such a temper. How will you leave?”

  She looked at Amelia and must have worn a desperate look, because her lady’s maid drew herself up, nodded. “I’ll get your bathing costume.”

  “But I’m not going to the beach.” Except, Foster didn’t know that, did he?

  “You’re brilliant, Amelia,” she said as the maid returned, holding her bathing attire: the black-sleeved tunic, tied at the neck, her corset, full-length cotton drawers, and the shorter skirt.

  Amelia loaded the clothes into the valise. Closed it. Paused. Then, “I will be happy to accompany you,” she said. She met Jinx’s eyes, something rare, bold. “I cannot stay here with Mr. Worth and his—his valet. There is an evil there that disturbs me. His valet watches you, miss, and sometimes follows you when you go out, even when Mr. Worth is at home.”

  Jinx had always harbored a fear of Lewis O’Farrell, with his cauliflower ears, a nose that jagged down his face. She had noticed his black eyes that followed her with a sort of undisguised contempt.

  She wanted to forbid him from the house when Foster wasn’t at home. But, he was still a servant. “He is a vile man, I admit, Amelia, but—”

  “Please, ma’am. I will be happy to serve you, even in Paris. I have no one here.”

  For the first time, Jinx considered her, the young girl who had turned into a woman while caring for Jinx. She’d cared for Jinx after her miscarriages, fitted her into her finery, made herself invisible in their home, always alert for her mistress’s needs.

  “Yes. Of course.” Jinx had the sudden, mad urge to touch Amelia’s hand, to squeeze it. But they weren’t exactly sisters.

  “Help me dress then fetch your things. I will wait by my carriage for five minutes.”

  Amelia cinched Jinx inside a day dress then left with the valise.

  Jinx pressed her hand to her chest. Took a breath. She ran her hand over her body, where Bennett’s child grew. Closed her eyes and heard her own voice. Is it so terrible to love and want to be loved?

  Perhaps not.

  She didn’t look for Foster as she left, although she was glad he wasn’t in the dining room, nor the front salon. Perhaps he’d gone out.

  With his valet.

  She waited inside her covered landau, the glass windows and convertible top up, curtains pulled just enough so she could shrink back should Foster see her.

  The door opened and Amelia climbed inside. She held Jinx’s valise, now bulging, to her chest. “I haven’t much,” she said, and opened the valise.

  Inside, a small bag, tied at the top, was tucked inside.

  Jinx drew in a breath. She hadn’t realized she’d given Amelia such a small life.

  She signaled to the driver, holding her breath, but he pulled them out of the driveway, toward Belleview Avenue, without fanfare.

  Without the faltering of her heart.

  She clasped her hands on her lap, mostly to keep them from shaking. She couldn’t look at Amelia.

  “To the harbor,” she said to her driver once they’d reached Belleview.

  You have my blessing, my daughter.

  She tried not to let those words taste bittersweet in her mouth. But perhaps her father had found his own healing in surrendering those words.

  They finally turned onto Thames, and she drew back the curtain to locate Bennett. In the harbor, shiny yachts caught the sun and she spied the Jinx listing at anchor out in the marina.

  Further on, in the shipping port, fishermen would be hauling in their morning catch, ships waiting to be loaded.

  Here, however, porters loaded trunks into a yacht moored along the long pier. She read the name—the Shamrock, a beautiful three-masted yacht bound for Paris. She spotted Bennett on the dock, the wind in his hair, wearing a white linen suit, his hands in his pockets as he talked with the captain, and her heart gave a rebellious, joyous lurch.

  He hadn’t left without her, just like he promised.

  She tried not to listen to the voice pulsing inside, the one that told her that Foster would find them, hurt them.

  No. He wanted to annul their marriage. Those words, from her father, had woken her, finally, to the truth. Whatever marriage they had was a disgrace to their vows, however selfish they’d been. Foster hated her. In fact, she had no doubt he’d be relieved if—

  They pulled up across the street to the wharf, and as she watched, her breath caught.

  Amelia leaned up, stared out the window. “It’s Lewis.”

  Foster’s valet stalked down the pier toward Bennett.

  Bennett looked up, his expression not welcoming. Lewis handed him something, Bennett took it, shook his head.

  He turned away and flung whatever he held in his hand into the sea.

  Lewis turned and walked away. Positioned himself at
the end of the dock.

  “Foster knows,” Jinx said quietly. He had to know. He didn’t want her for himself, but he didn’t want his brother to have her either.

  “Mrs. Worth—”

  “If I go out there, Lewis will see me.” She looked at Amelia then back to the valet. He hadn’t moved, and she thanked the shades she’d drawn, hiding her.

  “We must go, now, Mrs. Worth.”

  Yes. What did it matter that Foster knew? She’d be with Bennett, in Paris. She reached for the handle, opened the door.

  On the dock, Bennett was boarding the yacht.

  No. She glanced at Amelia, shook her head. “No!”

  Workmen on the dock turned to stare at her, gulls cried overhead, the sea lapped against the pilings. Motorcars braked, a horse reared, snorting as its driver yanked back the reins.

  Lewis turned her direction; she could see him searching.

  “Mrs. Worth!” Her driver disembarked, pulled her back toward the curb. “Be careful.”

  Bennett hadn’t heard the commotion, hadn’t turned, hadn’t run after her.

  And, as she looked around her, she couldn’t move. Her own actions made her tremble. What was she thinking?

  “Let’s go, now, ma’am!” Amelia had pushed out of the landau behind her, holding her valise. “Run!”

  Eyes still watched her, and now they were casting off the ropes.

  No. A lady didn’t run. She didn’t make a scene. She didn’t… She couldn’t run out on the dock like a wanton woman after her seafaring man.

  She drew in a shaking breath. She couldn’t live as a tarnished, shamed woman. She’d worked too hard to create this life. Her life. She could live with her husband ignoring her, without his love, with his indiscretions—what Fifth Avenue woman didn’t? But she couldn’t live with the stamp of adultery, of betrayal upon her. She couldn’t be the fodder for Page Six.

  And if she ran out on this dock, in the middle of a blue-skied Newport day, in full view of every tongue-wagger…

  Jinx pressed her hand over her mouth as the yacht drifted from the pier, the motor stirring the waters to carry it into the marina then out to sea.

  “Where are we going, ma’am?” Her driver jolted her from the view of Bennett’s yacht disappearing toward the ocean. Dressed in last night’s livery of a black leather waistcoat, a topcoat of suede, a top hat, only the best attire for her footman. A trickle of disgusting sweat dripped down his cheek.