THE NEXT MORNING Jack leaned over the balcony of the Newport Casino, the clubhouse and gathering place of the elite summer crowd. He gazed down upon the grass tennis courts, not particularly interested in the match between two fellows he knew only slightly from Yale. Mingling with society appealed to him less and less. On close inspection, these people seemed surprisingly ordinary, bored by their idle lives and, actually, just plain boring.
“Would you rather be alone or may I join you?”
Jack recognized Irene ’s feathery voice tickling his ear. He tensed. “You can stay, if you’d like. That’s entirely up to you. Where ’s George? I’d think you’d be together.”
Irene shrugged as she lowered her yellow parasol that matched her frilly outfit. “I don’t know, but I imagine he ’s watching the tennis match. I’ll go search for him in a little while. But tell me Jack, why are you alone and looking so glum? Is it because of Lilly’s engagement?” Her eyes mocked him with their gleam.
Jack bristled. “You get right to the heart of the matter, don’t you?”
Irene flashed a grin, showing her pearl white teeth. She seemed to think he was paying her a compliment. “I do indeed get straight to the point. There ’s no use in beating around the bush.”
“I wish Lilly and Harlan all the happiness in the world.” He tried to muster some enthusiasm, but his voice sounded false and flat.
She cocked a thin blonde eyebrow. “Come now, Jack. I can tell when a man’s in love. Do tell,” she prodded. “I’ll wager you and Lilly were once lovers—quite respectable lovers, of course.”
Jack clutched the balcony rail. “We ’re old friends. It’s not a secret.” Their true relationship was a secret, however, unless Lilly had confided in others. But he doubted the very private Lilly would advertise an engagement that ended so abruptly, except possibly to Miranda.
Irene rolled her eyes. “It’s a shame she’s chosen to marry Harlan. I’m sure she still fancies you.”
Jack stiffened. “I doubt it—not that it matters.”
“You’re right.” Her voice thickened with sarcasm. “Lilly is engaged to Harlan and that’s that.” She cast a cynical eye at him as one corner of her mouth curled in a smirk. “I’m disappointed in you, Jackson. I mistook you for a man determined to win at all cost. Now I see I was mistaken.”
“When it comes to business, I’m in the game to win. But love isn’t a sport with an enemy to vanquish.” He glowered at this woman who apparently enjoyed another’s misery.
“Hmm. To me, love is a game. Winner take all.”
And that’s what she’d done—taken all of George ’s money and boundless love, giving little in return. “You’re heartless, Irene.”
She tossed back her head and laughed until tears glistened in her eyes. “No, you misunderstand me. I’d never marry without love. My point is: there ’s more to marriage than mere emotion.”
“Marriage shouldn’t be as calculating as a business proposition.”
“Where I come from, a woman has to watch out for her own welfare,” she said.
“Quentin Kirby’s niece shouldn’t fret about fending for herself,” Jack snapped back.
Irene frowned and all the beauty drained from her face. “I didn’t become his ward until after my parents died.”
He suspected they shared a common ailment. “Did you grow up poor?”
Irene ’s eyes widened. “Yes, I was raised on a pig farm, if you must know. I don’t take my privileged life for granted, not for a second. And neither do you.”
Jack nodded, not surprised she tagged him as a fellow with nouveau riche credentials. “I count every blessing the good Lord gives me.” He stepped farther away from Irene as several cottagers joined them on the balcony. “Didn’t your Uncle Quentin help your family when times were hard?”
Irene smoothed her gloved fingers, her eyes averted. “No. He and my mother were never close. I—I didn’t meet him until my parents died from diphtheria. But that’s in the past—a very sad one, to be sure. I only think of the future.” She leaned so close he was surrounded by her cloying scent.
“Odd. I can’t imagine Mr. Kirby abandoning anyone in his family. He has more than enough money to lift countless relatives out of poverty.” Known for showering his mistresses with lavish gifts, Jack wondered why he neglected kin.
“How do you know my uncle?”
“Everyone in San Francisco knows Quentin Kirby. I met him once or twice when I lived in San Francisco, just before I headed for the Alaskan gold mines.”
“I see. Perhaps I ought to be going. Good day, Mr. Grail.” Jutting out her chin, Irene hurried down the stairs without glancing back.
Instinct raised his suspicions. Perhaps Irene Westbrook was not all she seemed. It wouldn’t take much to set a reporter on her tail and find out what she was hiding.
As soon as he got back to New York, he’d make sure his old friend hadn’t made a tragic mistake in his choice for a bride.
FOURTEEN
Seated on a chair by the edge of the well-tended grass court, Lilly watched the tennis players languidly bat a ball back and forth across the net. Dressed impeccably in white from head to toe, their peaked caps protected them from the glare of the scorching sunshine. Several rows of seats and bleachers lining the court held Newport’s prominent cottagers. Beneath ruffled parasols, the ladies displayed fine summer wardrobes, light colored and lacy, and the men, white trousers, dark jackets, and straw boaters.
Squeezed between Nan Holloway and her younger sister, Eloise, Lilly caught little of their silly prattle until Nan slipped a copy of Talk of the Town from her reticule. She spread the latest issue across her sage green lap. Lilly leaned over to catch a better look.
Her back tensed as she skimmed the text. At the top of the column she spotted the name Fannie Cole. With her hand shaking, Lilly pulled her spectacles from her reticule and slipped them on. The letters swam on the page. She took the news sheet from Nan and blinked until her eyes focused. Miss Fannie Cole, will you please come forward and identify yourself to your Newport friends and acquaintances? Or are you fearful of criticism from a certain young man’s family, along with your own? Don’t hesitate to satisfy society’s curiosity, because for the sake of your readers, your true name will soon be revealed.
Lilly gaped at the threatening words. Would Talk of the Town actually print her name? The paper had divulged secrets countless times before and damaged many a member of good, respectable families. She couldn’t think of any reason why they’d protect her reputation. She ’d heard rumors it was possible to stop the colonel from disclosing personal information, but she didn’t know how, short of boldly walking up to him and demanding an end to this nonsense. But the colonel was undoubtedly in New York writing his scandalous rag for the next outrageous edition, not here in Newport—not that she’d find the nerve to confront him in person.
Lilly dragged her gaze from the offensive sheet, unable to banish the man from her mind. Would he demand hush money and chain her to years of blackmail? She wiped her upper lip with her lace-trimmed handkerchief.
Nan brightened. “Mother and I tried to guess Fannie ’s true identity, but we can’t imagine who among us would have the temerity to write such books.”
“Hmm.” Lilly opened her fan and peered at the hand-painted images of exotic birds without really seeing them.
Nan lowered her voice. “I shouldn’t admit it, but I do find Miss Cole’s dime novels immensely entertaining. Truth be told, everyone adores her books, your sister-in-law included. They’re not just for maids and factory workers, you know. Though they are rather down-to-earth stories, they’re not nearly as racy as Mother claims.”
The flutter of Lilly’s fan stirred a mild breeze. “It’s rather hot today,” she mumbled, trying to change the subject.
Nan’s mouth twisted in a vindictive grin, undeterred. “If Fannie Cole has a young man, I presume she’s young herself. Do we know any writers with a sweetheart?” Her eyes widened. “Lilly, yo
u’re the only one who writes. But come to think of it, you’re a poet, aren’t you? That’s not quite the same as a renowned novelist.”
Lilly gulped. “No, it’s certainly not. And I’m not a terribly gifted poet, at that.”
Why did Mama brag to everyone about her sophomoric verses? Couldn’t her enthusiastic mother employ some discretion and curb her pride? Of course, with a son like George who couldn’t find his place in the world, Mama couldn’t resist boasting of even the minor accomplishments of her daughter. Lilly loved George ’s mild manner and kind heart, but he hadn’t achieved anything during his twenty-nine years that Mama could crow about.
Nan closed her eyes and shook her head. “Goodness gracious, can you imagine what your mother would say if she thought you were actually Miss Cole? And Mr. Santerre too?” She gazed down with envy at Lilly’s engagement ring. “Old Mrs. Santerre wouldn’t stand for that.”
Lilly twisted her diamond ring around her finger and then replaced her glove. “No need to worry.”
Harlan slid into the empty seat next to Nan. “Good morning, ladies. Lilly, is that Talk of the Town?” His lips pursed.
He sounded so scandalized Lilly had to muffle a laugh. “It’s Mrs. Holloway’s copy.”
Red blotches colored Nan’s skin. “It’s a pleasure to see you, Mr. Santerre. Congratulations on your engagement.” She looked like she ’d swallowed a sour pickle. “As for Talk of the Town, a friend gave it to me because it contained some fascinating tidbits.” She pointed to the Fannie Cole item. “Read that.”
He bent over the page and scanned the article. “So the woman is a cottager, I take it. Do you know who she is?”
“No, we don’t have a clue,” Nan replied.
Lilly despised herself for remaining silent; it felt like a lie. Lord, please forgive me.
Nan leaned across her, pushing the brim of her hat into the corner of Lilly’s eye. “Mr. Santerre, there ’s only one writer I know in all of Newport. Can you guess who?”
“No, I don’t know.” A net of fine lines wrinkled his high forehead.
Nan clapped her hands. “This writer is a poet. Perhaps you can name her now.”
“Lilly?” His mouth fell open.
“None other.” Nan dissolved in peals of laughter.
Lilly rapped Nan on the arm with her fan. “That’s ridiculous.”
Nan glared back. “You’re the only one I know who could possibly be the mysterious Fannie Cole, unlikely as that may seem.”
“Then you don’t know young society ladies as well as you think you do. Many keep diaries and write poetry for their own enjoyment. It’s quite common.”
Lilly glanced at Harlan, who didn’t look convinced. His steel-gray eyes still demanded a denial. She turned away and frowned at Nan. “Stop your silly speculation. It’s unbecoming to gossip.”
Harlan rose stiffly. “Please excuse me, ladies. I’m going sailing this afternoon and I’ll be late if I don’t leave now.” He bowed then strutted off without stopping to speak to anyone.
Nan sniffed as he vanished into the crowd. “Your fiancé doesn’t have a sense of humor.”
Lilly rose. “I don’t find your humor any more endearing than Mr. Santerre ’s. I must be leaving as well.”
“Well, I never . . .” Nan said, her wily fox-face drooping with surprise.
“Good day.” Lilly didn’t want her name connected to Fannie Cole, even in jest. After a while the busybodies might start believing she was Fannie and then nothing would quell the gossip. Unfortunately, Nan was the best purveyor of innuendo and rumor in Newport.
Lilly headed for the casino entrance and wove through the crowd of well-dressed spectators. She saw another copy of Talk of the Town sitting on a bench as if forgotten, and quietly pulled it into the folds of her dress. Many cottagers craned their necks to see the game over and around the hats, while others ignored it altogether for a chat with their friends. Thankfully, none paid any attention to her. She passed the lawn tennis courts and continued down the path near the clock tower until Jack’s voice stopped her.
“What’s wrong, Lilly? You’re white as a ghost.”
She stifled a groan. He was the last person she wanted to see. “I’m perfectly fine, thank you. If you’ll excuse me, I’m on my way home.”
She brushed by, but Jack caught up with her before she ’d taken half a dozen steps. Before she could stop him, he grabbed Talk of the Town.
“I didn’t realize you enjoyed gossip.” As he glanced down the columns, his eyes gleamed with merriment. “What’s this about Fannie Cole?” As he read the item, his face lost its cheer. “She ’s being threatened.” He thumped the paper with his knuckles. “Look at me, Lilly.” He reached over and lifted her chin.
She pulled away. “Please don’t touch me, Jack.” Fortunately the walkway was deserted so they weren’t in danger of being seen or heard.
He dropped his hand to his side. “I’m sorry. But if you know Fannie Cole, and I believe you do, you need to understand she ’s in serious trouble. I can help her.” Slipping her arm into his, he led her toward the wide tunnel which led out to Bellevue Avenue. “Who is she, Lilly?”
“Listen, Jack, I know you need to know who Fannie is. But I am not at liberty to disclose her identity.”
Jack groaned. “I understand why you don’t wish to divulge a friend’s name, but Colonel MacIntyre is a ruthless man. Don’t underestimate him. He ’ll defeat her thoroughly.”
Lilly flinched. “Fannie can look out for herself.”
“But she need not. As her publisher I have a duty to protect her from predators like MacIntyre.”
Lilly squeezed his hand. “You’re very kind, Jack, but I think you worry far too much about Fannie. I’m sure she ’ll contact you if she needs assistance.” She strode down the walkway, wishing Jack would leave her alone to sort out her problem.
He exhaled a groan. “There’s one more thing.”
“Yes, what is it?”
“Tell me why Fannie is not at liberty to come forward.”
Lilly returned his level gaze. “If Fannie Cole is a society woman, she’s breaking the code she ’s bound to live by. She cannot write dime novels or earn a living. If she ’s discovered, she and her family will be ruined. Think of her untenable situation.”
“I understand.” But he sounded unconvinced. “When you see her please convey my offer to help.”
Lilly nodded as she opened her parasol against the glare of the sun and Jack’s steady gaze. He sincerely wanted to protect her. Involuntarily, she shuddered at the possibility he was right about the colonel.
Jack looked her squarely in the eye before she glanced away. “Lilly, tell me the truth. Please. Are you Fannie Cole?”
“What gives you that idea?” She dared to give him a disdainful look, but her voice trembled.
“Many small things point to it.” His skeptical stare bore into her eyes.
Lilly turned to leave before he asked her to plainly deny his suspicions. He knew the truth, but she wasn’t about to confirm it. Then her attention fell upon her sister-in-law, walking arm-in-arm with the man with the fringe of reddish curls curving around his bowler. “Look. There ’s Irene and the gentleman she flirted with behind the potted palms! At the van Patten’s ball. Do you remember?” Although they weren’t doing anything entirely inappropriate, they looked oddly intimate, engrossed in conversation.
Jack grimaced at the duo. “I do remember. I’ve since learned his name is Theo Nottingham.”
Lilly frowned. “You don’t think he ’s trying to woo Irene away from George, do you?”
Jack seemed unsure. “By the looks of it, I’d say that’s certainly possible. But we don’t know.”
“True.” Lilly brightened. “We ’re merely speculating and not giving them the benefit of the doubt—which is quite unfair.”
He eyed her carefully. “Is that what you’re asking me to do? Give you the benefit of the doubt?”
“It would be nice,” she said.
Lilly looked up at him with pleading eyes.
“All right, Lilly,” he said. “But know I’m here, ready to assist you, in any way you need.”
As he tore himself away and walked back to the tennis courts with sloped shoulders, Lilly wondered if he spoke merely as a publisher . . . or as a spurned lover too.
LATER IN THE afternoon, Jack entered Mr. Westbrook's quiet office and lifted the telephone receiver. The operator soon connected him to the Manhattan Sentinel, the newspaper he’d purchased when he’d first returned from out West. He drummed his fingers against the desktop and waited for the editor to come on the line.
“Mr. Hayes, I’d like one of the reporters to check up on a gentleman named Theodore Nottingham from the city. It’s not an investigation. The man hasn’t done anything wrong. It’s just a hunch I have about him.”
“What kind of information are you looking for?”
“News about his family, financial status, anything unusual or odd.”
“Got it, boss. I’ll get back to you as soon as I can.”
“Thank you.”
If Irene were involved with Nottingham, Jack wanted to know before George got wind of it. He ’d try to soften the blow for his friend—not that anyone could dull the pain of rejection or infidelity.
He had one more important call to make. His chest constricted when he thought of the harm Rufus MacIntyre could cause Fannie Cole and indirectly, Jones and Jarman. He soon had Talk of the Town’s secretary on the line.
“I’m sorry, Mr. Grail. The colonel left for Newport yesterday.”
“Newport? Do you know where he’s staying?” He never expected MacIntyre had the gall to come here when half the town despised him.
“I’m not allowed to divulge that information.”
Jack bit back a sharp retort. It wasn’t the hireling’s fault. “Thank you, ma’am.” He’d find the old scoundrel all on his own.
He spent the rest of the afternoon searching. But the wily rogue evaded his best efforts. Tomorrow he’d scour the town until he ’d located MacIntyre.
Steering the horses down Summerhill’s driveway, Jack noticed an older woman climb down from the Westbrooks’ gleaming black carriage parked in front of the veranda. Even from a distance, he recognized the lady. She motioned the coachmen toward the steamer trunks secured in the carryall. Jerking her head up and down, she pantomimed how carefully she wanted the luggage to be handled. Mrs. Dolly Santerre, Harlan’s formidable mother, in action.
Love on a Dime Page 14
