Jack gaped at Mrs. Westbrook’s companion, a stunning woman with brassy hair, a small, stubborn chin, and full lips curled into a seductive smile. She glanced up at him with half-closed eyes, then coyly tilted her head. She looked vaguely familiar, but since he ’d traveled to so many places over the last several years, he couldn’t place her.
When Mrs. Westbrook introduced her as George ’s wife, Irene, his heart sank. Poor, sorry George. From the adoring gaze George bestowed upon her, his old friend didn’t even harbor a doubt about her character. Jack hoped he was mistaken about the flirtatious woman, but her blatant interest rubbed him the wrong way.
Irene continued to scrutinize him as a maid served tea.
Mrs. Westbrook stirred several spoonfuls of sugar into her delicate cup. “George tells me you’ve settled down now and bought a newspaper and a magazine.”
“Yes, a few months ago. After I left the Klondike, I stayed in San Francisco for a while. I thought I might like to live out West. But when I heard of several business opportunities in New York, I couldn’t pass them up.” He dared to glance at Lilly; was she gathering that he was a self-made man now? And Mrs. Westbrook—clearly, George had told his parents of his success in the Klondike.
Irene cocked her head. “Why publishing?”
“My father was the editor of our hometown newspaper—in Connecticut where I grew up.” A universe away from the city and society people like the Westbrooks. “I worked there until I left for college. I’ve always been interested in the business, so it was a natural choice.”
Mrs. Westbrook sent him an approving smile. “That’s commendable, Jackson. So many of the young men who make their fortunes out West come home and squander them on meaningless pursuits.”
Wine, women, and song, that’s what she meant. For him, there ’d only been one woman . . . “I’ve wanted to own a newspaper since I was a boy.” And to build a publishing empire. “Luckily, both the Manhattan Sentinel and the New York Monthly magazine were available. I also might purchase a publishing house—Jones and Jarman.”
Lilly choked on her tea, setting off a coughing spell that doubled her over. When her chest finally quit heaving, she glanced up at Jack with watery eyes. “Pardon me.”
“Are you feeling all right?” he asked.
“I’m perfectly fine,” she rasped. “Thank you.”
Apparently convinced Lilly had sufficiently recovered, Mrs. Westbrook returned her focus on Jack. “And what exactly does Jones and Jarman print?”
He leaned forward, surprised at her curiosity and interest, although she’d treated him graciously in the past—other than dismissing him as a worthy suitor for her daughter. “Several types of books including dime novels, both western and romance.” Cheaply made fiction for the masses and often highly lucrative.
Beaming as if they shared a secret, Irene lowered her voice. “I’ve read them all.” She lifted a copy of Dorothea’s Dilemma from the folds of her dress. “Fannie Cole is extraordinary. Do you happen to know her?”
Jack shook his head. “No, I’ve never met Miss Cole. In fact, being new to publishing, I don’t even know who she really is. Most of the Jones and Jarman writers use pen names.”
“How clever,” Irene cooed.
“My daughter has been writing poetry this summer.” Mrs. Westbrook smiled with maternal pride. “She spends countless hours in her room composing verses.”
“They’re unimportant little rhymes, Mama.” Lilly blushed just as he expected she would. Shy and introspective, she disliked anyone calling attention to her achievements.
He couldn’t resist. “Are you in need of a publisher, Lilly? Perhaps I can introduce you to Mr. Jarman.”
“No, my little rhymes are merely works in progress. Besides, they don’t publish poetry, now do they? Tomes of poetry hardly mesh well with westerns and romances. Am I not right?”
“You are, but I would like to read your poems at any rate.”
“Sometime, perhaps.”
He knew she would never show him one word of her verses, not now. When they were courting he ’d read several of her poems. Her sentiments were highly emotional, unlike the decorous and reticent Lilly she presented to family and friends. Was that passionate woman still there, right beneath her carefully guarded surface? “You seem to know quite a lot about Jones and Jarman,” he said. “Have you ever read any of their books?”
She picked invisible specks of lint off her skirt. “My taste runs more toward literature, but I’ve heard some of my friends mention their dime novels.”
He nodded. “They’re quite popular. Do you write anything besides poetry?” he asked.
Lilly blinked. “Nothing of significance.” She abruptly set aside her teacup and rose.
“Please excuse me. I have correspondence to attend to.” Her small smile showed a slight thaw of her reserve. “I do wish you an enjoyable stay at Summerhill.”
"Thank you. I hope it will be."
THREE
Lilly rushed up the carpeted staircase, anxious to vanish into the sanctuary of her bedroom. Her heart tumbled end over end. She stopped before she reached the landing and forced air into and out of her lungs as rhythmically as she could manage. Still, her bosom heaved as if she ’d run several miles in a tightly laced corset.
After six years, she never expected to see Jackson Grail again. What nerve to show up on her doorstep when he surely must know his appearance would upset her. Her heart burned at the memory of him declaring his love and then casting her aside with only a lame explanation.
“You left so suddenly.” Jack’s deep voice startled her. She turned her head and spotted him at the foot of the stairs. “Did I say something to offend you, Lilly?”
She clutched the stair rail. “Not at all,” she fibbed. Why was he following her? The item in Talk of the Town coupled with Jack’s sudden appearance stripped her of every ounce of composure. She needed solitude to think and absorb all the bad news of the day.
“Then I’m sorry for my mistake. I thought you seemed distressed.” Jack inclined his head, but he didn’t turn to leave.
Lilly hesitated, and then regained her manners. “I’m afraid I haven’t been particularly welcoming, and I apologize for my behavior. Will you forgive me?”
“Yes, of course. Is there anything I can do to help?”
“No, but thank you for your concern.” She waited for him to bow and depart, but he continued to stare at her, his eyes brimming with—what? Embarrassment? Regret? She couldn’t tell.
He nodded as he shifted his weight from one foot to the other. “Would you mind stepping outside for a few moments? I have something to tell you that I should have said long ago.”
Lilly shook her head but felt her resolve weakening. “No, I’m sorry. I do have letters to write . . .”
She wasn’t ready for any more revelations today. Was he about to apologize for his departure or offer an explanation for why he failed to maintain any sort of relationship since then? Later, when she prepared herself to accept his account calmly and without bitterness, she ’d listen. But not yet.
“Can’t your correspondence wait? I promise I won’t take up much of your time.”
Curiosity overcame her better judgment. Slowly she descended the stairs, clutching the rail for support. When she reached Jack, she refused to slip her hand into the crook of his arm. He raised his brows, but she ignored his questioning look. Her knees shook as they passed through the veranda and out onto the lush back lawn.
“Shall we walk to the beach?” he suggested.
Lilly nodded and pointed to a small sandy cove hollowed out between mounds of granite that jutted into the surf.
They strolled silently across the lawn and stopped where the grass edged a narrow strip of wet, silvery sand. Wisps of downy clouds floated across an azure sky which touched the royal blue ocean. A breeze shook the leafy skirt of a nearby elm tree and stirred the wild red roses blooming all along the shore. Their perfume blended with fresh, salty air, heavy
and humid. With her hand shielding her eyes from the glare of the noonday sun, Lilly lifted her gaze to Jack.
Her heart fluttered, just as it always had when she looked at him. The years faded away and she saw the same broad-shouldered man who towered above her and moved with an athletic agility. A lock of his raven hair blew across his forehead. He pushed it back unsuccessfully, obviously unaware of his boyish appeal mixed with a strong, masculine allure. He ’d grown more handsome now that he was approaching thirty, though age had crinkled the laugh lines around his dark brown eyes. Instinctively, Lilly knew to guard her heart.
“What did you want to tell me, Jack?”
“I’d like to clear the air since I’ll be at Summerhill for a while.” Taking a wide stance, he paused, as if he was unsure how to continue. “Hmm. This is harder than I expected.” A grim expression replaced his buoyant self assurance. “All right, I’ll come directly to the point. I regret that I left you so suddenly. I couldn’t be the husband you deserved and I was wrong to propose when I was so financially unprepared.” Jack stepped closer. “I made a mess of things and I’m terribly sorry, Lilly.”
Jack narrowed his eyes, obviously seeking a reaction. To look at him was like staring at the sun, brilliant and blinding. She glanced toward the waves relentlessly crashing against the craggy coast, but still, she felt the penetration of his intense stare.
She raised her palms. “There’s no need to say any more. I believe it would be best if we let the past lie buried.” She blinked back tears welling behind her eyelids. She wouldn’t let him see her cry.
At first he looked as if he’d protest, but then he gave a curt nod. “Yes, perhaps you’re right—although I hope we can be friends.”
Lilly half-smiled, suspecting that a couple once in love could never become just friends no matter how hard they tried. “Of course, if you wish.”
Relief ironed out the worry lines that had gathered at the edges of his eyes. “I’m thankful you’re not still angry with me. Or are you?”
“I don’t carry grudges from the past. I look toward the future.” That wasn’t completely true. She hadn’t forgotten Jack; his shadow loomed in every corner of her mind. And try as she might, she hadn’t quite forgiven him.
He moved closer. “I also look forward to the future. That’s why I bought the newspaper and magazine. No more hunting for treasure.”
Lilly couldn’t suppress a grin. “I heard you found all the gold you could ever want in the Klondike.”
Tales of his enormous achievement had filtered back to New York society and caused quite a stir. Once he returned to the city he’d garnered countless invitations from the best of families who were anxious to introduce him to their unmarried daughters. Or so she ’d heard. “You’re a very rich man, I understand.”
He tucked his chin to his chest. “I’ve been blessed with enough funds to buy a newspaper and a magazine—and possibly a publishing house. In the coming years I hope to make them grow larger and more successful.” He smiled. “But I’m not as wealthy as people think—especially after my purchases.”
Then his lips curved downward and Lilly thought he might say something more personal, but instead he merely paused as if he wanted to speak but couldn’t find the words.
Lilly glanced over her shoulder and squinted. Harlan, thin as a quill, was standing on the back veranda talking to George. Should she feel grateful for his timely appearance or fearful he ’d misinterpret Jack’s presence? She took a deep breath and waved. Although he raised his hand in return, the grim set of his mouth sent a jolt of apprehension through her chest.
“Who’s the gentleman walking toward us? Is that Harlan Santerre?” Frown lines cut into Jack’s forehead.
“Yes. He’s a friend of the family.” Lilly eased away and strolled across the lawn toward her beau.
Jack followed. “The railroad man?”
“The very same. His father owns the New Jersey and Washington line, among others.” Why had she added that? Did she hope that Jack would be jealous?
“You’re among illustrious company, aren’t you? The Santerres are powerful people.”
Lilly shrugged, trying to soften her stance. “I suppose they are. Now that my brother has returned from the West, he expects Harlan will offer him a good position at one of his railroads.” And that gave her parents hope that their son might amount to something after all. “Harlan and George were friends at school, you know. Perhaps you remember him too?” Lilly asked.
Jack’s cocky grin pulled downward and vanished. “Indeed, I remember him well.”
“He’s our houseguest for the rest of July and August.”
Jack strolled close to her, scarcely a hair’s breadth apart, as Harlan sauntered across the grass to meet them. “It must be grand to take the summer off, but some of us can’t afford to.” A hint of bitterness crept into his deep voice.
Lilly chuckled. “Come now, Jack, with your success in the Klondike, you’d never be forced to work another day in your life. You’re choosing to do so.”
He exhaled a long, mournful sigh. “I want to succeed as a businessman, not as a lucky prospector.”
“I understand.” She smiled.
The years hadn’t diminished Jack’s single-minded ambition and need for material success and recognition, though she did respect his determination. And perseverance. It wasn’t easy to make a fortune out of nothing except a good education.
But she wished he ’d stayed away. How could she bear to see him day after day and pretend he was merely a casual acquaintance? Already their conversation dredged up memories of the good times they’d had together, her dreams of becoming his wife, and the children they might have had.
No, having him at their summer cottage, running into him in the hallways and sitting with him at meals would be anything but what she needed right now.
Yet what choice did she have?
She shoved the hurt deep inside and watched Harlan strut forward with his hand outstretched. “Jackson Grail, isn’t it? Don’t I know you from St. Luke ’s? We were in the same class, but you were a day student, as I recall.” Harlan reached for his palm and Jack shook it firmly.
Slight of build, Harlan looked small and hardly robust. He tilted his head back, appraising Jack with frosty eyes. “I never forget a face.” His nostrils flared, as if his memory of Jack reeked with an unpleasant odor.
“That’s right,” Jack said steadily. “I worked in the dining hall as a busboy at Yale, so you probably remember me from there as well.” Jack straightened to his full height—well over six feet, half a head taller than Harlan.
Lilly tensed. Hostility soaked the air. She felt a slight headache coming on.
“Shall we return to the cottage? It must be time for luncheon.” She pulled her mouth into a smile so tight and so bright, her jaw began to ache.
It seemed that the charmed days of her golden summer in Newport had drawn to an abrupt close.
THROUGHOUT THE MEAL Jack and Harlan glared at each other, yet they maintained a façade of congeniality that frayed Lilly’s nerves. She said little while the others gossiped about yesterday’s yacht race, the latest tennis match, and the van Patten’s upcoming ball. She nibbled at her salad and sipped only a spoonful of consommé.
Jack captured her thoughts although she tried not to glance in his direction. His sudden appearance threw her off center, thrust her buried memories into her consciousness, and worse, exposed emotions she thought she ’d conquered. She tried hard to focus on Harlan, but with warmth rising past her tight collar into her neck and cheeks, she knew she must look flustered. Harlan tilted his head, obviously bewildered, but continued to chatter politely.
Deeply buried feelings for Jack were surfacing against her will, bubbling like a hot spring. But I’m practically engaged to Harlan. I can’t allow myself to think of Jack. Not now, not ever again. Yet a seed of doubt broke through the scarred surface of her heart. She had to tamp it down before it grew and spread. She couldn’t allow Jack’s s
udden return to so profoundly affect her.
Three years ago she ’d finally swept him to the far corner of her mind and let his memory turn to dust. Until then she ’d held out the foolish hope that he ’d return and offer his hand in marriage. But she never heard one word from him.
To recover from Jack she began to dabble in poetry and short stories. When she learned the Settlement House needed additional support, she scribbled dime novels hoping for a few extra dollars to contribute. Much to her surprise, the popularity of her stories grew until Fannie Cole became a sensation. Writing reawakened her interest in life until she gradually pulled herself from the quicksand of despondency caused by Jack’s desertion. The Lord gave her a purpose and saved her from despair. He was right beside her when she needed help.
She settled back in the chair and tried to refocus on the conversation which had turned to tomorrow’s yachting party she had no desire to attend.
Luncheon dragged on until Lilly thought she ’d faint from the strain—not that she’d ever succumbed to a gesture as dramatic as fainting. Her life was normally quiet and she wanted to keep it that way. Unlike many of her more outgoing friends, she hated to draw attention to herself. An incurable introvert, she enjoyed her privacy and solitude away from the bustle of society.
After they all finished their fruit course, footmen pulled back the heavy chairs for the ladies, and the group finally dispersed for the afternoon. Hoping to steal an hour for writing, Lilly headed for the doorway, but Harlan blocked her exit.
“May I speak to you for a moment?” His expression looked grim. But Harlan was a serious man, so his countenance might not signify displeasure. He lightly touched her forearm.
“Yes, of course.”
Lilly followed him down the hall and into the empty drawing room. She paused before the marble fireplace, her face stiff from smiling. He appraised her and she squirmed beneath his scrutiny.
“Is there something wrong?” she asked.
He looked more puzzled than angry, but the set of his features, hard as a plaster mask, left her with a sense of foreboding. He dismissed her question with a shake of his head. “There ’s nothing wrong with me, I can assure you.”
Love on a Dime Page 3
