She’d only followed Him when the path He set before her was inviting and cheery, ignoring His commands if obeying looked like a hardship.
What kind of faith was that? Did she believe God would watch over her even in the midst of terrible situations or not? Life was not pleasant for Paul, the disciples, and countless Old Testament folks, but that didn’t mean God hated them.
She was making God in her own image, a heavenly benefactor who approved her decision making and delivered accordingly. Her preferred god gave her what she dreamed of: miraculous healing for her mother, a loving, easy father, excuses for ignoring people she wanted to ignore, the man she loved. And that god wasn’t delivering . . .
The driver stopped outside of Lowe’s Hotel, where Sebastian had wanted to hold the party, most likely to throw her infatuation with Nicholas in her face.
Lydia forced herself to accept the driver’s hand to help her out. Her father steadied her mother, and the trio walked in silence toward the hotel. She laced her arm through Mama’s, pretending she was only supporting her rather than anchoring herself into going forward.
After entering the dining hall ensconced in white gauzy fabric, silver bells, and candles, Lydia scanned the room of happy, smiling faces, buzzing with small talk. Nicholas wasn’t anywhere in the crowd.
She had to trust God to help her without Nicholas.
“Ah, the woman of the hour!” Clinking of glass and utensils followed Sebastian’s pronouncement as he traversed the room. His smiling face and ruddy complexion would fool everyone in the room into believing he was enamored with her. Most likely alcohol-enhanced punch and the pretentious hors d’oeuvres made him glow.
She let Papa take Mama to find a seat and grabbed Sebastian’s elbow. “Can I have a word with you?” A jolt of pity for confronting him in front of everybody hit her, but she shook it off. She shouldn’t care about humiliating a man trying to blackmail her—especially since this party was nothing but show. But she could at least try to avoid a scene, for her mother’s sake.
He remained planted in the middle of the floor and took a sip of his punch, staring at her over the brim.
“Now, Sebastian. Somewhere else.”
“Speech. Speech.” A male voice behind her called.
Would that she could melt into a puddle on the floor. “No,” she rumbled, giving Sebastian an intent look. Turning, she faced the crowd and waved for silence. “If you would excuse us for a moment.”
Sebastian leaned down and spoke through gritted teeth. “If you do something to ruin my career, I promise I’ll have no remorse over what Father will do to you later.”
Papa’s smoky smell filled the air beside her. “Honey, this is not the time to second-guess anything. Let’s not upset the Littles.”
“Please.” She pulled away from her father’s grip on her shoulder. “It would be wrong to go through with something that—”
“Ladies and gentleman.” Papa snagged a punch cup off a nearby waiter’s tray and held it high. “I’m so pleased to have you here for my daughter’s engagement to this fine gentleman. I’m proud to be connected to the upstanding Little family.”
“Upstanding?” Her incredulous tone was drowned out by a volley of agreements, well wishes, and the clinking of glass.
Sebastian pulled her toward the front table, where they were supposed to sit together.
She tried to get out of his bruising hold. Frustration over being bullied welled up in hot tears. “I can’t.”
“Don’t.” Sebastian’s eyes were fiercer than his command. His smile, tight and scary.
“I’m sorry, everyone, but there’s been a mistake.” She escaped from Sebastian’s sweaty clasp.
Mama gave her a weak nod from her chair, but Papa stood ramrod straight in the suddenly silent room, his hands locked into fists.
“I . . . I can’t. I shouldn’t have agreed to this.”
“Excuse us for a moment. The lady’s gotten a case of cold feet.” Sebastian wrapped his arm around her in a comforting gesture, but his nails bit into her shoulder. “We’ll work this out and be back before the first course.”
“No, we won’t.” She’d wanted to speak to him alone earlier, but the dark look in his eyes made her think better of going with him now. “I can’t wed a man who’s only marrying me to shut me up.”
A glass shattered on the floor at Mrs. Little’s feet. Her face was fiercer than an enraged bull’s.
“I wouldn’t continue with this nonsense if I were you.” Sebastian put a hand on top of her head and patted her as if she were loony. “Let’s get you something to drink.”
He yanked her arm so hard her shoulder smarted. She turned toward her parents and frowned at the look in Mama’s eyes. “I’m sorry, Mama, I’ve made it worse.”
Mama’s frail arm, draped in a delicate shawl, shivered its way up into the air. “Hold on, Mr. Little.” Her voice was rough with the attempt to hold a coughing fit at bay. “Lydia has some accusations I’d like cleared up before you proceed to manhandle her to the altar.”
When Mama gave in to a bout of coughs, whispers danced around the room, which suddenly looked less crowded.
“Accusations?” Sebastian let her go and crossed his arms. A wide, wide smile cracked his lips, like he knew he’d already won. “You think anyone here is going to believe wild accusations?”
She closed her eyes, shutting out the faces surrounding her. None of them were her friends. Everyone in this room was probably being blackmailed or was in on Sebastian’s underhanded dealings. Why hadn’t she thought of that sooner? What other kinds of friends would he have?
Even if the ledger contained irrefutable proof, she couldn’t hurt him in front of handpicked guests. If Nicholas didn’t arrive in time, who’d bother to stand with her besides her feeble mother? She likely stood in a den of liars, cheats, and people as scared of the Littles as she was.
And what if Nicholas wasn’t here because he’d realized there was no way to get her out of her predicament?
Should she pretend her mother’s weakened state had made her delusional and beg for everyone to continue celebrating? Or should she tell the plain truth, knowing it would do no good, and trust God to love her when she ended up in the gutter?
47
Nicholas slid through his hotel’s kitchen doors and into the silent banquet room. He almost knocked into one of his servers holding a tray of chicken-salad appetizers.
“Let me go.” Lydia’s voice, a mixture of stubbornness and pleading, sounded from the center of the room.
Nicholas pushed through the stilled crowd and stopped just behind a group of older women.
Lydia yanked her sleeve from a livid Sebastian’s grip.
Nicholas let out a rush of air. He’d thought he’d be too late, but he appeared to be right on time.
“What’s your mother talking about?” Sebastian’s brow wriggled on his forehead as if he were confused, but the man’s stance, with wide legs and tilted chin, indicated he felt in control. “I can’t think of a thing you could accuse me of.” He shook his head. “And I’m hurt you’d do this to me now, in front of our friends and my associates.”
“I tried to get you to speak to me somewhere else,” Lydia said.
“Why?” Sebastian’s jaw worked. “I’ve got nothing to hide. You might as well share with them whatever it is you think I’m doing.”
Despite the energy coursing through Nicholas, which had kept him running throughout the morning and afternoon with no sleep, he couldn’t help a face-splitting yawn but shook it off. He didn’t want to miss watching Sebastian lose his smirk the moment she pulled out that ledger.
Lydia shook her head. “I’m not going to accuse you of anything.”
She wasn’t? Had she changed her mind? The weight of sleep deprivation smothered his lungs, and his vision swirled. He’d worked for hours to come to her defense. He’d only just finished convincing Mr. Falstaff fifteen minutes ago to come with him. Sebastian’s secretary was too pivotal for
him to have walked away until he’d done everything he could to convince the man they could defeat the Littles.
“I don’t have enough evidence to make any definitive accusations, but I can tell these people what I’ve heard and let them decide, if you’d like.”
Nicholas blew out his breath and let his body relax. Hearsay wouldn’t be good enough, but that was all right; he was prepared.
“You’re offering gossip as evidence?” Sebastian snorted.
A few other dissenting voices filled the still air, along with a smattering of tense laughter.
“It’s not gossip when it came from your own lips.”
“Then go ahead and clear your mind, my dear. As I’ve said, I’ve nothing to hide.”
Lydia’s face paled, but she threw back her shoulders. Nicholas could envision a sling and five stones in those tiny hands of hers. How he loved her tenacity.
She tore her eyes from Sebastian’s and slowly turned; very few people met her gaze. “I overheard him and the mayor discussing their business practices. It seems that, though Sebastian is campaigning to get rid of saloons and prostitution, he actually has money invested in those endeavors. They make a profit by both damning the red-light district and taking advantage of it.”
Sebastian’s mouth hung slightly agape and he let his shoulders sag. “I can’t believe you’d think that of me.” The man swallowed with obvious exaggeration.
The lawyer should’ve gone into theater.
“I wouldn’t have if I hadn’t heard it with my own ears.”
“Everyone has seen how passionately my family fights against vice. I promised you I’d try for better child-labor laws, and with my mother’s serenades and my father working tirelessly to—”
“All shams, including your mother’s serenades. She’s in on it too.”
Nicholas rubbed a hand against his chin as gasps and murmurs rose around him.
“I’m ashamed I ever marched behind her.”
He’d assumed the biddy was as ignorant of her family’s dealings, as she was of the uselessness of her evangelizing methods. But maybe this made more sense—if she truly didn’t care about sinners, then her methods were for show and presented no danger to the Littles’ profits.
He stepped out from behind the cluster of women he’d used as a blind and headed toward them. Why was Lydia withholding the ledger? “Do you have anything with you to back up your statements, Miss King?”
Lydia closed her eyes and her face relaxed, and then she slumped.
He caught her elbow lest she topple to the floor. “Are you all right?”
Her mouth moved, but he couldn’t hear what she said with all the shuffling of feet and the buzz of surprise flitting about the room.
Sebastian yanked her away from him and then jabbed him in the chest with his long, knobby fingers. “I don’t recall asking you to get involved. This is between me and Lydia.”
Nicholas refused to push back, but he closed up the space between them. “Not when you force her to speak in front of all your friends.” He glanced around the crowd, seeing a few men in attendance he hadn’t been able to find earlier that morning.
“Everyone knows you have it in for me, Lowe. You have it in for anyone who tries to do anything that hurts your pocketbook. You’re the devil profiting from the red-light district. And don’t try denying it—five blocks from your home wasn’t close enough to its pleasures, so you hid a handful of painted ladies in that mansion of yours to fire up more than your multitude of fireplaces.”
Nicholas clenched his fists but worked up a sly smile. “Seems one of us is lying.”
Sebastian did nothing more than shift an eyebrow.
“Lydia, didn’t you have some proof other than an overheard conversation?”
“Yes.” She clutched her bag and took a step closer. “I made some educated guesses with the evidence I collected.”
“What do you have?” Sebastian grabbed for her bag, but she stepped out of reach.
The second she pulled out a dark red book, Sebastian’s eyes glinted and the curl of his lip turned nasty. Nicholas worked hard not to grunt with victory. Whether or not she understood what was in the book, she had the right thing in her hand. The list of names she’d given Caroline had certainly helped narrow his search today.
“How did you get that?” His hand moved to his forehead and pushed back at his receding hairline. “I’ve not given you permission to rifle through my client’s confidential files.”
“You’re right, I obtained it without permission, but—”
“You broke into my office and stole confidential information.” He lifted his hand off the top of his head. “And we’re supposed to believe you’re the upright individual?”
She held up the ledger. “The entries are cryptic, but it seems Sebastian is keeping a tally of money passing hands between him and several prostitutes and saloon owners.”
“I’m a lawyer. I don’t choose my clients.”
“Then why are you trying to hide their names? These records are vague and sparse. And some of it seems to have interest tacked on, like you’re getting money back on a loan. Lawyers aren’t in the business of giving out loans.” She opened the ledger and ran her hand down a column. “And here you wrote ‘jewelry and perfume.’”
“Prostitutes don’t always have ready cash,” he spoke through gritted teeth.
“But it’s next to Reed’s name—like you purchased it from Reed’s.”
He flung out his hands. “This is all conjecture—I could’ve sold it to him.”
“Reed’s isn’t a pawnshop.”
“Or I could’ve returned it.”
“Why are you coming up with possibilities, Sebastian?” Nicholas took the book from her shaky arms. “Why don’t you explain what the entries in this ledger actually are?”
Sebastian’s jaw was so tight his neck muscles bunched. “I have no reason to explain my paperwork to you.”
He reached for his ledger, but Nicholas held it away.
Mayor Little came out of the crowd, nonchalantly wiping his spectacles. “It seems to me Miss King no longer wishes to be engaged to my son, and instead of behaving like a lady and ending things privately, she’s trying to justify stringing my son along by making him look like a criminal.”
“I . . . I didn’t string . . .” Lydia’s face turned red.
“When did you decide you didn’t want to marry my son, then?” Mayor Little’s lips twitched.
“A few days ago.”
“So . . . since the beginning, you’ve loved my son, and you’ve just now decided you don’t?”
“N-no.” She played with the buttons below her neckline.
“Hold on.” Nicholas edged between them. “You, sir, are dodgy, along with your son. Let’s not turn the attention away from what Lydia’s brought up about your—”
“You’re the problem, Lowe.” The hot air from the mayor’s bellow hit him in the face. “You’ve stolen my son’s fiancée out from under him—of course you’d stick up for her. Good riddance.” He clapped his son on the shoulder. “Let’s call off this gathering before any more mudslinging happens. I’m frankly tired of that in politics. I don’t want to have to deal with any more of this on a day that was supposed to be happy. Mr. Lowe has obviously tainted Lydia’s weak mind with suspicions he wishes were true so he can dodge the legal fees he’s incurred for running a brothel.”
Nicholas was done having the mayor steer them off topic. He held up a hand to stay the few who were trying to slink out. “Let’s review. We have what Lydia’s overheard.”
“She can say she overheard anything she wants.” Sebastian shook his head. “Even if that is what I said—and it isn’t—it’s not worthy evidence.”
“And a ledger”
“Stolen property.”
“And a roomful of witnesses.”
“Witnesses to unsubstantiated accusations?” Sebastian chuckled. “Did you forget which one of us is a lawyer? I’d advise you to forget any
ambitions you have to pass the bar. You’d be wasting your money if you think any of this proves I’ve committed a crime.”
Nicholas opened the ledger and turned it toward Lydia. “Where are the prostitute names you found in here?”
She flipped a page and pointed to the middle of a column. “Well, D. Emma I think stands for Dirty Emma. I know her.”
The room swelled with a collective gasp.
Lydia sent them a wicked glance. “For those of you who missed the interrogation I received at church a while back, Dirty Emma was in charge of the abandoned children I was trying to find homes for. So I figured these other lady names with initials—since I know no ladies who go by initials—were also prostitutes. There’s an I. Mary, an L. Liz, and an S. Annie.”
Nicholas nodded. “I know an Irish Mary and Dirty Emma.”
Sebastian scratched his head and gestured about the room. “Funny how two people who intimately know prostitutes are accusing me of wrongdoing because I’ve helped them with their legal matters.”
“Well, let’s just see if Emma and Mary can shed some light on why they’re in this book.” Nicholas gestured toward the small window in the swinging kitchen door.
Caroline’s sister, Moira, who’d called herself Irish Mary since moving to Teaville, swaggered out in a dark pink silk, feathers flouncing in her hair. The dark circles under her eyes left behind by her sickness made her scowl look even fiercer.
Dirty Emma, true to her name, traipsed out in a dress that had seen better days. Her hair fell in greasy ringlets, and he’d bet the hand tucked into the folds of her full skirt held a silver flask.
The ladies in the room seemed to move en masse a step or two in the opposite direction.
All but Lydia. She took a few steps forward. “Emma? Mary?”
They both nodded.
“What kind of business have you with—”
“This is ridiculous. Who’s going to take the word of a prostitute for anything?” The mayor blubbered. “They’re the dregs of society—given to drink and tomfoolery and hissy fits. They’ve both spent time in jail this past year—multiple times, if I’m not mistaken. Where’s Officer Vincent?”
A Heart Most Certain Page 33
