Love on a Dime

by Cara Lynn James

  “Of course.” She stopped herself from pulling it from beneath her collar and showing him. She wasn’t sure why she wore it every day, other than it seemed to remind her of love, hope . . . if not here on Earth, in the hereafter. Her heart beat with the force of the sea pounding against the rocks. She pressed her hand to her silk bodice to stop the painful rhythm, but it continued. “Your gift meant so much to me. I kept it as a remembrance.”

  He gave a sad chuckle. “It was my Christmas present to the girl who charmed me and stole my heart. I was grateful for your many kindnesses.”

  “Perhaps it was more like infatuation.” The words slipped out. She ’d admitted too much. If she weren’t careful he ’d capture her in his spell all over again. “I must go. I’ll be late for tea.”

  “No, stay with me and talk awhile. We still have so much to say.” He reached for her hand, but she snatched it away.

  “I can’t.”

  “Lilly, please stop running away from me. I thought we were still friends.”

  But she rushed back to the cottage, panting for breath. Her head ached, but so much less than her heart. She was already lost and so afraid the past would soon repeat itself if she weren’t more careful.

  As she passed the billiard room, she heard the click of wooden balls and smelled the stench of cigar smoke wafting through the open door. Curious, she peeked inside and saw her brother racking the balls, a smelly cigar protruding from his mouth.

  “Do come in, Lilly. I’d like to have a word with you, if you don’t mind.”

  SIXTEEN

  She hesitated. He looked so miserable with his long face. Dispirited herself, she felt unprepared to cheer him up. “You look despondent, George. Is it Irene? I couldn’t help but hear your argument.”

  He jerked a nod. “Irene and I don’t agree about anything.” Bending over the carved table, George took aim with his cue stick and broke open the pack of billiard balls.

  “I’m sorry I overheard. I didn’t mean to listen.”

  George shrugged. “Everyone heard us, I’m sure. Irene and I disagree about finances, as usual.” He stood up straight. “I’m sorry to burden you with my troubles, but I do have a favor to ask.”

  She stepped away from the stink of the cigar and fanned the smoke. “What is it, George?” Lilly braced herself for the worst, knowing her brother’s propensity toward asking for assistance.

  He bit his lip. “I need to pay off Irene ’s gambling debts as soon as possible, before Mama gets wind of it.”

  “Then ask Papa to loan you the money.”

  “I told Irene I would, but I reconsidered.” George gave a mournful shake of his head. “You know how Mama opposes gambling. She ’d never allow Papa to loan me the funds. And he wouldn’t hand over a penny without her approval. So there ’s no point in asking.”

  Lilly nodded. “Yes, I’m sure you’re right about that.”

  He cocked an eyebrow. “I have a better plan.”

  “Go on.”

  Extinguishing his cigar, he leaned toward Lilly, but not close enough to subject her to his tobacco breath. “Since you’re going to marry Harlan, I thought you might ask him for a loan—which I’ll repay as soon as I begin working. In September, right after your wedding.”

  “Why don’t you ask him yourself?”

  He pulled on the point of his goatee. “Because he might not want an employee who can’t manage his finances—or his wife.” He raised his eyebrows. “But he loves you, so he ’s more apt to agree to a request from you than from me.”

  The sag of George ’s jaw and downturned mouth drew out her sympathy. Even in his late twenties he was as vulnerable as a little boy. And that was the problem. She ’d often provided the cushion to soften the blows George would otherwise receive.

  “Please, Lilly.” He clasped his hands in mock supplication.

  “Oh, all right, but please don’t ask any more favors. I hate to be indebted to anyone.” Especially Harlan.

  Relief spread across his long face and his tight shoulders relaxed. “You’re the perfect sister.”

  Lilly flicked a wry smile. “Of course I am. I’ve always done what you’ve asked. But from now on, you must take care of your own problems.”

  Just as she had to.

  THAT NIGHT HARLAN whirled Lilly around the dance floor to the strains of a lively march. She brushed aside a few carefully arranged bangs that stuck to her forehead in a small mass of frizz. Her new champagne-colored gown felt cumbersome and her white kid gloves clung to her fingers like a second skin. The humidity from a light drizzle seeped beneath the Palladian windows and permeated the crowded dance floor.

  Three hundred and fifty costumed guests chattered in the gold and white ballroom of Rocky Ridge, unable to spill into the courtyard where the storm had washed the stone slick. Lilly had come as Elizabeth Bennet, one of her favorite literary characters. Her costume paled in comparison to some of the more elaborate getups. Eighteenth-century French courtiers and Renaissance nobility were among the most popular choices.

  “Would you care for some supper?” Harlan called over the roar of voices as soon as the music ended. He glanced toward the dining room where half a dozen servants scurried around, preparing the tables for the famished dancers.

  The aroma of the midnight supper drifted in from the dining room. It mixed with the pungent odor of the sea and the fragrance of corsages.

  “Yes, I’m rather hungry,” Lilly said.

  This might be the ideal opportunity to mention her need for fourteen hundred dollars. As they strolled together through the tangle of guests, her heart skittered. How would she tactfully broach the topic of money? And how would she convince him to loan it to her? She hated to cajole or flirt, the usual feminine weapons, though she doubted the straightforward approach would work. She had tried that with the Settlement House . . .

  They passed a gilded mirror and Lilly caught sight of her reflection. With her mouth pinched and eyes drawn together, she looked terrified, like a trapped rabbit. So much for the self assurance she tried to project.

  Harlan led her to a small round table bathed in the softness of candlelight and decorated with puffy blue hydrangeas, one of Newport’s favorite flowers. Since the late-night supper would be served continually for three hours, most of the guests lingered on the dance floor. Only a few trickled into the immense, high-ceiling dining room transported piece by piece from a French chateau, like so many other salons in Newport.

  While Harlan delved into the Lobster à la Newberg, Lilly sat stiff and silent staring into her clear terrapin soup. Her appetite vanished when she considered her task.

  She tried to smile. “Harlan, I have something to ask you. A favor, actually.” Her voice emerged like a croak.

  Starting on the tomato aspic, he glanced up from his gold rimmed plate. “Anything at all, my dear. What would you like? My grandmother’s pearls or perhaps one of her ruby rings?”

  Lilly winced. How could he be so crude? “I’d never think of requesting a piece of family jewelry. That’s for you to give me as you see fit.”

  “Well then?” He laid his fork on the dinner plate and gave her his full attention.

  A formally dressed waiter refilled Harlan’s glass.

  Lilly sipped water to sooth her parched throat. “Something has come up and I need a large amount of money. My monthly income won’t cover it all, or even most of it. I was hoping you’d loan me the funds, if you don’t mind. Of course I’ll repay you as soon as I can.” She inhaled a deep breath and held it.

  Harlan folded his arms across his chest. His eyelids dropped to half mast like the visor on a knight’s steel helmet. “You haven’t lost money on bridge, have you? I certainly hope I’m not about to marry a gambler.” He chuckled at his attempted humor and then gave the ends of his waxed mustache a nervous twist.

  “I don’t play cards, Harlan. You know that.”

  “Naturally I know you abstain from such things. It was just my little joke.”

 
“Of course.” She waited for his answer that wasn’t forthcoming. “I would greatly appreciate a loan, if you wouldn’t mind.” She wished she could have added, “a small loan” to minimize its importance.

  Harlan paused for several seconds. Why couldn’t he say yes without pursing his lips and scrunching up his face?

  He stroked her hand with his clammy fingers. “If it’s money for your trousseau or even for the wedding, I’ll be glad to speak to your father. The ceremony is to be rather intimate and informal, so I’m sure he can afford it. But if he ’s short of cash, I’d be delighted to help.”

  The music emanating from the ballroom faded into the background as the drone of conversations grew louder. Couples and small groups wandered into the supper area and found places at the empty tables. If anyone joined them, Lilly knew their discussion would immediately end.

  She glanced around, careful to avoid eye contact with anyone searching for a table and a friendly chat. “No, that’s not it. Please, don’t ask me to explain. It’s a personal situation I’d like to resolve soon, before we ’re married.”

  Harlan tapped her hand and smiled condescendingly. “You must tell me. As your future husband I have a right to know how my fiancée plans to spend my money.”

  “Yes, of course you do. But I’m not at liberty to say.”

  He scoffed. “No? And why not?”

  “Because—it’s private and somewhat embarrassing. Doesn’t a girl have the privilege of keeping a secret or two?” Her words emerged more like a challenge than a request. She was so horribly inept at employing charm, let alone womanly wiles. She should drop her chin and look up flirtatiously like a coquette, but her jaw jutted and her gaze locked on his. “I wish I could explain since you do have every right to know the details, but unfortunately . . .”

  Harlan tossed his serviette on the table. “In any case, I’m afraid I must decline.”

  Lilly held up her hand. “Then I withdraw my request. It was impertinent of me to ask. No need for you to worry.” I will not beg. Her cheeks flamed, but she kept her voice low and soft.

  For a moment he looked surprised she ’d given in so easily. She asked, “You’re not angry with me, are you?”

  A long-suffering sigh answered her question. “I thought we would always be honest with each other. But I can see you’re secretive. I hope you’ll be more forthcoming after we marry. Or am I to be disappointed about that too?”

  “Harlan, can’t you trust me? I promise you’ll get your funds back.”

  “How can I fully trust you when you won’t confide in me? A husband should be privy to each and every financial transaction his wife wishes to make. We must not keep anything from each other, financial or otherwise. I expect you to share all your concerns and always seek my advice.”

  “And follow it, too, no doubt,” Lilly muttered.

  “Naturally.” His eyes narrowed. “Do I detect a note of sarcasm in your voice?”

  Lilly stared at him. This wasn’t love, this thing between them. It was a business arrangement. How could she marry for reasons she would never allow her own characters to marry for? How could she accept anything less than love?

  A CROWD SWEPT into the supper room and headed their way. Others soon followed. The noise level rose and all their privacy ended.

  Harlan bowed low and offered his arm to escort her back to the ballroom. Lilly accepted and retreated to a vacant chair beside her mother. With curiosity etched in every crease of her round face, Mama opened her mouth as if to pry then slammed it shut. For once she didn’t ask any questions, though from the flutter of her eyelids Lilly knew she was tempted.

  Thank you for leaving me alone. Too tired from the stress of the day and Harlan’s intransigence, Lilly pushed into the stiff back of the gilt ball chair, glad it hugged the far wall by the screened-off orchestra. No one could converse with the beat of the polka pounding in her ears. She felt invisible and glad of it. As the dancers twirled around the herringbone floor, Lilly closed her eyes.

  She’d hoped Harlan would lend her the money without demanding specifics, but she hadn’t really expected it. Still, worry shifted down her spine. What other disappointments were in store for her? Not too long ago she ’d thought his attentiveness suggested a thoughtful spirit, not a calculating mind. This new side of his personality chilled her.

  Lilly opened her eyes and focused on the gentlemen in knee britches, satin waistcoats, and white powered wigs, King Louis the XIV, XV, and XVI look-alikes dancing with their ladies. Even in Little Bo Peep and Alice in Wonderland costumes, the cottagers sparkled with jewels.

  She noticed Queen Elizabeth marching toward her, her head weighed down by a crown, a scepter in hand. No doubt as intimidating as the original monarch, Dolly Santerre could cause knees to quake. Dressed in purple velvet, Harlan’s mother stared at her without a polite smile. Lilly braced herself. Unfortunately the seat to her left was empty. Mrs. Santerre brushed past her and descended onto her throne.

  “My son tells me you need money, but you won’t explain why.” Mrs. Santerre ’s nostrils constricted as if she smelled horse dung. “Why don’t you ask your parents for help? That would be the proper thing to do.” She glanced over at Mama, who smiled beatifically since she couldn’t hear a word above the music.

  Lilly gulped for fresh air, breathing in the overpowering sweetness of Dolly’s perfume. It hadn’t taken Harlan long to tattle to his mother. “I regret that I can’t explain.”

  Dolly’s thin lips tightened. “Then you must have done something shameful. Tell me what it was so I can judge for myself. Out with it, my girl.”

  Lilly clutched her hands in her lap, pressing on her knuckles until they hurt. No one had ever spoken to her in that tone of voice. She was the “good daughter” who brought credit to her parents and never caused them a moment of concern.

  But spilling the tale of Irene ’s gambling debt wouldn’t endear the Santerres to either George or Irene, and they were counting on a job for her brother.

  “I told Harlan I regretted asking for assistance. Please forgive my boldness.” Her apology nearly strangled in her throat.

  Dolly wagged a finger in Lilly’s direction. “One word of caution: don’t ever try to take advantage of my son again or you will have to deal directly with me. Is that understood?”

  Lilly dared to stare back into her eyes. “Yes, you’re perfectly clear.”

  Dolly snapped her head in a nod. “Then that’s settled. I’ll overlook your disgraceful behavior this time. In the future, remember who you are and who you’re marrying.” Her eyes glinted. “You’ll be grateful to know I do have a solution to your problem.”

  Tensing, Lilly swallowed hard. “Yes?”

  “I’d be pleased if you and Harlan would share my residence on Fifth Avenue. If you agree, I will advance the money tomorrow. Harlan hopes we can all live together rather than waste funds building a smaller place out in the middle of nowhere, as you seem to prefer.”

  Lilly grimaced. Harlan had promised her a home on the outskirts of fashionable New York, not in the hub of the city. Sharing the Santerre mansion with Dolly and dozens of servants would bode poorly for the success of her marriage—that is, if she really went through with a marriage. Their Renaissance chateau had all the warmth of a bank.

  Lilly stood and stared at her future mother-in-law. “Your generosity overwhelms me, but I’m afraid I must refuse. As a new bride I’d like my own home, even a modest one.” Her voice rang with strength and firmness she didn’t realize she had. “Thank you kindly for your offer, but I must decline.”

  Dolly’s face turned almost as purple as her gown. Lilly bit the inside of her cheek to keep from laughing. Relief rippled through her. She hadn’t secured the funds she sought, but she ’d cut the strings that bound her to Dolly Santerre—and perhaps her son.

  Lilly rose and looked for George. Unable to find him, she wove through the clusters of guests until she located Irene in the secluded picture gallery near the foyer. Irene was m
urmuring in Theo Nottingham’s ear. Sweet nothings, no doubt. Lilly’s satin slippers pounded across the marble floor.

  “If you’ll excuse us, Mr. Nottingham, I’d like to speak to my sister-in-law.” She didn’t care that her voice carried censure.

  He slipped away, leaving Lilly with the open-mouthed Irene. Her face, hard as her emerald necklace, glared with indignation. She smoothed her taffeta skirt, a brilliant green, and thrust out her chin.

  “Why did you send Mr. Nottingham scurrying away when we were merely having a pleasant conversation?”

  “It’s inappropriate for a married woman—”

  Irene cut her off with a disdainful wave. “It’s also inappropriate for an engaged woman to allow another man to follow her around like a lovesick puppy. Don’t look so shocked, Lilly. It’s very apparent Jack is in love with you.” Irene laughed as humiliation sent a blast of heat to Lilly’s face. “It’s also very apparent you’re in love with him.”

  Lilly fought the urge to escape. She swallowed hard and said in her most controlled voice, “Please tell George that Harlan refused to give me a loan. You’ll have to find someone else to pay your bills.”

  Irene ’s smirk dissolved. “Did you mention the money was for George and me—for personal expenses?”

  “I did not. I thought it best to keep your names out of it.”

  “Hmm.” Irene flicked a sly smile. “You do love your little secrets. Anyhow, George will find another way to pay our debts.”

  As Irene stepped away, Lilly touched her arm. “You must stop gambling at once. If this becomes common knowledge, you’ll bring disgrace upon my entire family.”

  Irene ’s eyebrow arched. “I’m surprised you’re so concerned about propriety.” Her mocking laugh echoed through the dark, deserted gallery as she strode back toward the ballroom.

  SEVENTEEN

  On the ride home Lilly stared into the foggy night sky from the back seat of the crowded carriage. She tried not to think of Irene ’s cutting remarks about her relationship with Jack. Was it really obvious he held a torch for her—and she for him? Or had Irene exaggerated to make her worry? She couldn’t help but wonder if others had noticed. She ’d hate to be the object of gossip and innuendo. Her cheeks warmed with heat though a chill had cooled the night air. She was grateful for the shroud of darkness.