As Jack meandered about the grounds, his gaze swept the emerald lawn sloping down to the shore in gentle hillocks. It suggested the name of the cottage, Grassy Knoll. Yet there was nothing bucolic about the mansion, a pile of limestone formed into the most hideous, ornate, rococo palace he ’d ever seen. Still, the Carstairses served a grand spread of sandwiches and cakes which easily redeemed their taste in architecture.
He watched Mrs. Beatrice Carstairs, Eloise and Nan Holloway’s sharp-nosed and sharp-eyed mother, flit from guest to guest, ensuring everyone took pleasure in her lavish gala. The Westbrooks chatted with their oldest and dearest friends, leaving him to his own devices. With George at the dessert table, Irene flirted with the young bucks and old codgers who trailed after her like courtiers in the footsteps of their queen. Jack kept his distance.
Wandering over to one of the many enormous umbrella tents scattered across the grass, Jack felt a shadow move behind him. He glanced over his shoulder and nodded politely to Eloise, Nan’s younger sister. He judged Eloise to be about twenty and, from the desperate look in her hooded eyes, in search of companionship or possibly more. Husband hunting was an obsession with her age group.
He wished he could reassure her with frank words. You’re young, you’re rich. Don’t worry. You’re in no danger of becoming an old maid.
He thought how nice it’d be to see every worry line disappear from the flat planes of her rectangular face. Taller and plumper than her mother and sister, Miss Carstairs lumbered as she came toward him. The slight hunch to her back ruined the effect of her pink-and-white gown, striped like a candy cane. Yet her vulnerability endowed her with a certain charm.
“Good afternoon, Mr. Grail,” she said hesitantly.
“Good afternoon to you too, Miss Carstairs.” He stopped until she caught up. Holding a glass of iced fruit drink and a plate piled high with cucumber sandwiches and vanilla layer cake, he couldn’t offer to carry her dish of strawberries dipped in cream. They passed an open-sided tent where a five-piece orchestra played soothing music for an elderly group. He noticed how the older folks shuffled across the polished dance floor and flirted as if they were forty or fifty years younger. When he and Miss Carstairs reached the only umbrella tent still unoccupied, they sat on chairs nestled around a small table. The bright blue canvas shaded them from the late afternoon sunshine, curtailing the sea breeze but not the briny scent of the sea.
“Lovely party.” Jack nodded. “And lovely weather.” Jack tried not to gobble his food as she nibbled morsels of her own. Nearby, conversations rose and fell and laughter rang out above the hum.
“Yes, it is a beautiful day.” She grinned, showing a fine set of even teeth but too much gum. “My mother wouldn’t stand for it any other way.”
“Then she must have remarkable powers.”
Miss Carstairs giggled until tears spilled from her little round eyes and rolled down her florid cheeks. “Indeed, she has. Well, at the very least, she always gets what she wants.”
Jack nodded. Most of these grande dames could purchase anything they wished, including a husband for their daughters. Some even bought European noblemen as sons-in-law to boost their family’s status and evoke the envy of their friends. The impoverished duke or earl received an enormous financial settlement, and the American heiress, an illustrious title. When he examined Eloise ’s eager face he realized beyond a doubt that he was the object of her desire—or her mother’s marital scheme. What had taken him so long to notice?
Yet, a bachelor on the fringe of society hardly qualified for the hand of a wealthy young lady—even if she weren’t pretty or poised. He must be mistaken about Eloise Carstairs’s designs. Come on, Jackson. Since when have you become the fool? But perspiration seeped through his pores and his crisp white shirt began to wilt beneath his black jacket.
With his back to the mansion, he gazed over the lawn to the Atlantic Ocean. He watched the small boats cut into choppy water. How he wished he were out there working the sails and feeling the spray splash against his face and clothes. To be anywhere but here. He ’d listened to Miss Carstairs’s prattle for quite awhile before allowing his mind to drift toward the sea and the sailboat he might never own.
“Don’t you think so, Mr. Grail?”
“Excuse me. I didn’t quite hear you,” he apologized.
“You’re staring at the sea. Do you like the water?”
“I love to sail.”
She lowered her voice. “A sailboat would make a man quite a nice wedding present, don’t you agree?”
He jerked his head around to meet Miss Carstairs’s hesitant gaze. Was this merely an awkward attempt at flirting? Her eyes betrayed such a yearning for love and romance that she evoked his sympathy along with a sudden urge to run.
He fumbled for words. “Yes, but certainly a sailboat is too extravagant a gift.”
“Not if one is in love.” Her smoldering eyes made him squirm. Sweat poured in rivulets down his spine.
Out of the corner of his eye he noticed Mrs. Carstairs and Mrs. Westbrook glancing his way and communing behind their open fans. Conspiratorial smiles clung to their faces. Were they plotting his marital future or was he reading far too much into an innocent conversation? Surely, Mrs. Carstairs would focus her eye on someone better heeled; he lacked nearly every attribute elite society prized. Still, he reluctantly admitted to himself that he ’d come to find out the “top drawer” considered him newly “minted,” a gentleman with a fortune, a thriving publishing empire, and a future.
Why wasn’t he happier? After all, he ’d achieved his goal.
Jack looked into Eloise’s eager eyes. “I was recently in New York, and I saw more poverty than I ever thought possible. For the cost of a sailboat, you could feed hundreds of hungry people at the Christian Settlement House for months, if not a whole year.”
Eloise tilted her head. “Are you implying I should donate funds to charity?”
“Yes, I suppose I am. Excuse me for being so audacious.” Would she take umbrage at his little sermon?
She nodded slowly. “I appreciate your honesty. And I’d be delighted to contribute.”
“Thank you. They’ll certainly appreciate your generosity.” He saw Lilly approach and recognized his means of escape. “Miss Westbrook will be pleased to give you the details. If you’ll excuse me, Miss Carstairs, I’d like to try a piece of that chocolate cake I saw on the tea table.” He rose and glanced toward the veranda and the dining room inside the open French doors.
She gripped his arm. “Do stay. Please. I’ll send one of the footmen to fetch it for you.”
Jack sunk back into the wooden chair, trapped, but feeling sorry for a young lady forced to resort to physical restraint in order to hold a potential suitor. A sad sign of desperation. Eloise signaled a footman carrying a silver tray laden with breads and sweets. As luck would have it, the tray held chocolate cake. Jack chose a piece, which he didn’t actually want, and took a bite. Toying with the rich dessert, he watched Lilly slip into a chair on the opposite side of the table.
“So, you’ve met Miss Carstairs, I see.” Lilly beamed like a search light. He detested her artificial smile.
Eloise nodded. “We ’ve met on several occasions—at the opera, at a reception last spring, at a house party in the Adirondacks. Isn’t that right, Mr. Grail?”
“You have a keen memory.” From her deep blush, Jack realized he ’d made a faux pas and hurt her feelings. “Of course, I remember meeting you, but I’m amazed you recall meeting me.”
These situations often drew a man into a verbal minefield where one misstep could send him flying into the air like an exploding bomb. Pleasant bantering held hidden meanings beyond his comprehension.
“Miss Carstairs has decided to contribute to the Settlement House. Isn’t that wonderful, Lilly?”
“I am so thrilled, Eloise.” Lilly beamed.
Eloise giggled. “Mr. Grail is terribly persuasive.”
“On behalf of the Settlement House,
I’d like to thank both of you,” Lilly said.
George and Irene sauntered over to the table. “How about a game of croquet? The footmen are setting up the wickets now.” George gestured toward the side lawn.
The ladies rose all together followed by a reluctant Jack. He’d jump at the suggestion of tennis, but croquet was about as appealing as scrubbing a floor. Lingering, he found himself last in the starting order, far from Eloise who was lured away by the sight of another bachelor. Jack stood right behind Lilly. This might not be so bad after all. Though at second glance she didn’t look overly friendly.
“Are you enjoying yourself?” Lilly asked, her plaster-of-Paris mask still firmly in place.
They strolled side by side to the first wicket. “It’s a grand party and the food is exceptional,” he said.
Jack’s heart thudded. Did he still have a chance to win her back? Lilly’s pull on his heart never eased up. Consumed with thoughts of her, he couldn’t concentrate on anyone or anything else.
“Where ’s Harlan this afternoon?” He fought to keep his tone genial.
“He’s not feeling well, so he left early.”
It didn’t surprise him that she didn’t appear to mind his absence. When she and Harlan were together their expressions looked stilted, their voices overly polite. A typical society couple. Jack groaned inwardly. He could offer Lilly unending love and devotion. Instead, she ’d choose the approval of her parents— wouldn’t she?
Lilly tilted her head topped with a flower-laden hat. “I’ve noticed you’re quite popular with the ladies and their mothers. I’ve heard you’re the ‘catch of the season.’”
Jack grunted his displeasure as he looked toward Eloise, flirting with a young swain while they waited for their turn to play. “I’m hardly a catch. I’m still the same small-town boy I’ve always been.”
His limp shirt continued to lose its starch.
“You are a good catch, Jack. You’re just too modest.” Lilly’s steady gaze didn’t mock and she didn’t seem to take pleasure in his discomfort.
He chuckled with more ease than he felt. “No, I’m not a suitable match.” If he were really acceptable, why didn’t Lilly respond to him?
Lilly persisted. “Mama says all the mothers are eyeing you for their daughters. Surely you’re aware of their interest.”
He grimaced. From the flurry of invitations he ’d received in the last several months, his social status had soared upward. Perhaps Lilly was right and he was now acceptable, though certainly not truly desirable. And apparently, he was still too little, too late, in the Westbrooks’ minds. If only he ’d arrived six months earlier, before Harlan Santerre entered the picture . . .
With a mallet and wooden ball in hand, Lilly waited beside a blue hydrangea bush as her brother made the first hit. Each player took a turn, leaving Jack alone again with Lilly at the first wicket.
“Eloise Carstairs is quite fond of you, Jack. I’m sure she ’s donating to the Settlement House because of you.” Though the other players ambled out of earshot, Lilly kept her voice low. “People say she ’s set her cap for you.”
“If you were teasing me, I’d laugh it off. But you’re not, are you?” His chest knotted.
“I’m serious. I don’t joke about important matters. She flirts now, with that one, solely to make you jealous.”
His jaw clenched. He didn’t like the link between Miss Carstairs and himself. Eloise wasn’t his type, but apparently Lilly wished to match them up.
“So, what’s your opinion? Should I court her?” Jack sent her a sardonic grin.
“Of course you must get to know her before you begin to court her. I don’t believe in love at first sight.”
Jack stifled a chuckle. He ’d fallen in love the moment he’d seen Lilly stride across the quadrangle of St. Luke ’s on a crisp fall day during his senior year. Though she was only about fourteen or fifteen, scarcely older than a child, he remembered how she attracted him with her straightforward manner and natural laugh. She treated him like an older brother, one to share jokes with and even tease. Smitten, he ’d waited impatiently for her to grow up.
“In my experience, Lilly, love can strike instantly.” He tightened his grip on the mallet.
She raised an eyebrow. “Then you must be a romantic.”
“Once maybe, but no longer.” He moved toward the stake. “I’m more of a cynic than a romantic.” Yet he stubbornly clung to his dreams, impossible as they were.
“I thought perhaps you might be charmed by Miss Carstairs. She’s so taken with you. Eloise is delightful.” Lilly’s voice gathered speed. “She ’ll make someone a splendid wife.”
“No doubt she will. I hope she finds the right gentleman.”
“But you’re not the one?”
“Definitely not.”
“I dare say she ’ll be disappointed.”
He couldn’t tell from her bland expression if Lilly felt let down or relieved. He hoped relieved. He listened closely to see where she ’d lead the conversation and fought to keep his disappointment from showing.
“I’m sorry if Miss Carstairs will be disappointed, but I doubt her heart will break. I never led her to believe I was a prospective suitor. We ’re barely acquainted.” He ’d danced with Eloise a few times, but that was the extent of their acquaintance.
Lilly moved closer and he felt the warmth of her compassion. “Jack, I know you’d be happier if you fell in love and married.”
Stunned, he stared at her. “Other than Miss Carstairs, do you have someone in mind?” He tried to smile, but his face froze in a grimace.
“I know many eligible young ladies who would enjoy your attention.”
Obviously she didn’t include herself on the list. His harsh laugh rang out, drowning the background music of a string quartet. “If I need a matchmaker, I’ll be sure to call on you.” He tipped his silk top hat as his world collapsed.
Lilly drew out a long sigh. “I’m only trying to help.”
“I need no assistance with matters of the heart.” He could ruin that all on his own. “But I would appreciate assistance in locating Fannie Cole.” His eyes narrowed as he waited for her reaction. If she wanted to be all business, so could he.
Lilly spun away. “I believe it’s my turn.” She swung the mallet like a golf club. The ball flew through the wicket and well past the next one.
Jack tapped his ball through the curved wire. Then with one powerful stroke his ball followed hers across the lawn. “You can’t evade me that easily,” he muttered.
He followed Lilly until they reached their croquet balls. She faced him, her forehead crinkled in a frown. “I don’t understand why you’re so opposed to marriage,” she said softly, avoiding the topic of Fannie Cole.
How did their conversation become so personal? He exhaled a breath rising from the depth of his lungs. Lilly bit down on her lower lip.
He regarded her, drinking in her beauty. Bathed in the gold of the late afternoon light, her flawless skin glowed. The pink satin of her gown shone like a brilliant sunset. Her white hat trimmed with carnations lent her a becoming femininity she rarely exhibited in her tailored skirts and shirtwaists. He wanted to take her in his arms and kiss away everything that kept them apart. But she ’d never let him. Not now, not ever.
He tapped his ball through the next wicket. They were far behind the other players and well out of earshot. “I’m not opposed to marriage, per se. But it’s not for me, and it never will be.”
Her voice quivered. “Surely the right lady will come along and change your mind.”
Jack shook his head. “No. She won’t.” His lips tightened. He wouldn’t marry anyone other than Lilly. And clearly, she wasn’t interested in him.
While they waited for the others to take their turns, Jack leaned against a copper beech tree and propped his elbow against the rough bark. He chipped a piece and rolled it between his fingers. He scrutinized her lovely face to see if she truly meant the message she was sending. She fl
inched beneath his steady gaze, but her eyes radiated sincerity he didn’t wish to acknowledge. So he really had no hope of winning her back.
“I can’t believe you’re set on remaining single.” Lilly cocked her head at a most becoming angle.
He shivered in the afternoon warmth and then pulled away from the force of his longing to take her into his arms and kiss her until she remembered. “My whole adult life, I’ve tried to gain admission to the upper echelon—but now that I’m here—I know it’s not where I belong. I’d make a miserable husband for any of these women here.”
Her voice shook. “Why do you say that?”
He stared at her, wishing he could read her mind. Why did she tremble? Because he offended her? Because she honestly hoped he’d pursue Eloise? He shook his head. “After seeing all those poor people at the Settlement House I realized I want to spend my earnings on helping others less fortunate. Do I sound like a dogooder? If so, I’m not ashamed of it. For a long time I managed to forget my roots and everything I used to believe in.” The truth had nagged the edges of his conscience since his visit to New York.
“I’m glad,” she murmured, gazing toward the breakers crashing over the cliff.
“Truly?”
“Truly. And no, I consider your intentions admirable.”
He paused, wondering if she had just opened a door to him. “Lilly, are you going to marry Harlan?”
“Yes, if he asks me I shall.” Her voice rang strong and clear, though without enthusiasm.
“I see.” He swallowed hard. So it was done. “My time at Summerhill is soon over. But before I go . . . I must beg your forgiveness for all the pain I put you through.”
Lilly spoke softly, her eyes sparkling with what? Tears? “You have my forgiveness.”
“Thank you.”
She turned and walked toward Miranda, her shoulders slumped, her head down.
He let out a low groan. So that was that.
Even as his heart tore apart—releasing all the hopes and dreams he’d cherished over the years in a painful rush that left him breathless—he wondered why he wished for her to turn and glance his direction once more. Give me something, Lilly. Some reason to cling to this idea of us . . . together.
Love on a Dime Page 12
