Love on a Dime

by Cara Lynn James

  “He said he does.”

  “But?” Miranda asked.

  A cool breeze stirred the curtains and wrapped a chill around Lilly’s bare arms. “There ’s the problem of Jones and Jarman and Fannie Cole.”

  “Then maybe you should tell him the truth.”

  Lilly shook her head. “I can’t take the chance he ’ll insist I go public, in spite of my wishes.”

  Miranda remained silent. Apparently, she wasn’t sure Jack would curtail his ambition either.

  “But Lilly, you must tell Jack before he discovers the truth on his own.”

  EIGHTEEN

  The next morning Lilly looked for Harlan at breakfast. But he didn’t appear. She waited in the dining room until the food on the sideboard grew cold and everyone finished their meals and departed. She ’d catch him before he left for the casino. In the meantime, she ’d continue her research for her next series of dime novels.

  Lilly paused at the library door when she saw Jack inside. My, but he looks so devastated. “What’s the matter, Jack?”

  Slumped in a leather chair with his head buried in his hands, Jack glanced up and tried to smile, but then gave up the halfhearted attempt. “Mr. Jarman telephoned. Henry Reynolds, our best-selling and most prolific author of western dime novels, just suffered a stroke.”

  “How terribly sad. Is he expected to recover?” Lilly hurried inside and sat on the matching wing chair.

  “It’s too soon to tell. His family is understandably distraught. They promised to let us know how he’s progressing.”

  How unfortunate for Jack to lose such a successful writer so soon after he ’d purchased the publishing house. “I don’t suppose Mr. Reynolds will be able to write for quite some time.”

  Jack shook his head. “No, probably not. I’ll need to find a new author for the westerns right along with a new romance writer I might promote.”

  Lilly paused, then reached over to touch his hand. “I’m sure you will. There are bound to be many talented novelists in search of a publisher.”

  He gently pressed her fingers and smiled. “You’re right. I won’t be discouraged.”

  Lilly heard a booming voice as Harlan swooped in through the open doorway. “What is the meaning of this?”

  Jack dropped Lilly’s hands. “There ’s no meaning at all.”

  They both rose. Lilly stared at the red-faced, apoplectic Harlan as he raised his fists in front of his narrow chest. Was Harlan going to throw a punch?

  “Calm down, Santerre. I was just leaving.” Jack bowed and stepped out of his range, yet only a few feet from Lilly.

  Harlan glared. “Both of you owe me an explanation. I find you holding hands like lovers and you have nothing to say for yourselves. Well, I can’t tolerate that.”

  Lilly sighed with exaggerated patience. “I assure you, we were merely discussing one of Jack’s writers. He’s suffered a stroke. That’s all there is to it.” Lilly straightened to her full height and looked Harlan directly in the eye. “Stop snickering at Jack and stop questioning me. Your jealousy is unseemly.”

  Harlan blubbered, “How dare you accuse me of jealousy toward Jackson Grail. The very idea is preposterous.”

  Jack’s jaw tightened. Fists clenched at his side, he glanced toward the door but didn’t move.

  “Harlan, we must talk.” She spoke softly.

  Harlan jerked a nod. “Of course. You should leave, Grail. My fiancée and I need time alone.”

  Hesitating, Jack looked to Lilly for confirmation.

  “Yes, that’s a good idea.” She sent him a brave smile.

  Without muttering a protest, Jack departed.

  "YOU'RE NOT TAKEN by that man, are you?” Harlan sputtered, as if the question was truly beyond the realm of possibility.

  Lilly gulped. “Mr. Grail and I were merely discussing his challenges—”

  Harlan sneered. “Well, I’m not surprised he’s having a problem. He’s not accustomed to managing a business, coming from such humble circumstances. But he should’ve complained to George, not to you. I don’t like to see my fiancée alone with another man.” Harlan pulled at the waxed tips of his mustache, and Lilly squirmed under his appraising gaze. A satisfied smirk settled on his face. “I never really thought you had any interest in Jackson Grail, but I know he holds a torch for you.”

  She couldn’t deny it and wouldn’t try. Lilly perched on the edge of a chair and gestured to the settee next to it. “We need to talk.”

  He sat down, stiff and straight. “Yes, we most certainly do. Last night my mother made you—us—an extremely generous offer. She wishes to share her home after we ’re married.” His glacial eyes bore into Lilly’s. “I understand you refused.”

  “I thanked her for her kindness, but no, I couldn’t accept.”

  “Mother means well. She’s lonely with Father gone to the office all day. I believe she craves companionship. Shall we grant her this one small wish?” His voice was as smooth as ice and equally as cold.

  “Harlan, she ’s out and about in society. She doesn’t need me to keep her company.”

  “But she loves you, my dear. She’d like to keep you close by.”

  She’d like to control me. That’s not love or affection. How could Harlan be so blind?

  “When we live with Mother, she ’ll introduce you to everyone in her set. You won’t be stuck in a shabby old townhouse twiddling your thumbs.”

  What admirable qualities had she ever seen in Harlan? His distain for her family was becoming increasingly evident. Her parents’ home on Washington Square might be old and unfashionable, but it was certainly comfortable. She ’d like to wipe that smirk right off Harlan’s face.

  Clasping her hands at her waist, Lilly stared at him. “I enjoy the quiet life you disparage and I don’t envision myself changing my routine to suit society or your mother.”

  His eyes froze. “I won’t allow you to hole up in your room when you’re my wife. You’ll have social obligations to fulfill. I hope you’ll appreciate your new position and make the most of it.”

  He expected her to waste countless hours on small talk and tea parties when she could be writing.

  Lilly sighed. “Harlan, when we started keeping company last spring, did you think I was interested in constant socializing? While I’m not a recluse, I’m happiest at home with my family and friends. Surely you’ve noticed.”

  Harlan frowned. “I assumed you’d be anxious to join society if given the chance. But now I wonder if I misjudged you.”

  Lilly nodded. “Yes, perhaps you have. For me, dinners and parties and the opera are diversions, not everyday life. Harlan, tell me what attracted you to me in the beginning?”

  He paused, obviously not expecting such a question. “You’re a conventional, sensible woman, not like those flighty girls who think only of fashion and parties.”

  Just as she ’d assumed. “But you want me to become one of them, don’t you? Maybe not as silly and shallow as some, but just as social. Am I not right?”

  “I chose to marry a woman, not a girl, who would fit into my life. I thought you were that woman.”

  Past tense. His pale face registered shock. He must have recog nized their union would be a jigsaw puzzle with pieces cut to the wrong sizes and unable to lock together.

  He gave a conciliatory smile, reluctant to accept the inevitable. “You’ll adjust, Lilly. Mother thinks you’re anxious about the wedding. But you’ll overcome your nerves if you try harder and leave the important decisions to me.”

  Though Harlan’s words were full of conviction, Lilly saw doubt reflected in his eyes.

  “No, Harlan, I won’t adjust and I don’t wish to.”

  His eyes widened with disbelief. “What are you saying, Lilly?”

  She took his hands in hers. “I’m so sorry, but surely you know we’re not right for each other. We ’re too different. Our interests aren’t even the same.”

  “You’re ending our engagement.” He slid his hands out of he
r grasp.

  “Yes, I am. I’m so sorry, Harlan. But it will be better for both of us. You’ll make a wonderful husband for some young lady.”

  His face sagged with shock and he paused for several moments. “Well, I don’t suppose there ’s anything more to say. I best tell Mother.”

  Within an hour the Santerres departed for a visit with the Carstairses.

  After Mama returned home from the casino, Lilly gathered the family in the drawing room along with Jack and Miranda. “I have an announcement you might find difficult to hear.” She took a deep breath. This was every bit as hard as she feared it would be. “After much prayer and thought, I’ve ended my engagement to Harlan. I’m convinced we’d never bring each other happiness. He understands and perhaps even agrees. Anyway, he and his mother left Summerhill for Grassy Knoll.”

  “That’s quite a boon for Eloise Carstairs,” Irene said with a glint in her eye.

  “Oh dear.” Mama’s eyelashes fluttered as she stared at her daughter, obviously bewildered. “Are you sure you made the right decision, Lilly?”

  “Of course she is,” George said shifting his weight on a chair too small and delicate for his long-limbed body. “Lilly is hardly impulsive. She knows her own mind.”

  She gave her brother a grateful smile and focused on Mama. But out of the corner of her eye she saw Jack’s relief.

  Mama pursed her lips. “I wish you’d consulted me first, but since it’s probably too late to reconsider, I hope and pray you thought this through carefully.”

  “For goodness’ sake, Nessie, our daughter knows her own mind.”

  Lilly smiled at Papa, then frowned. “But what about the tip Harlan gave you yesterday—about land for sale. I’m sorry if this ruins your plans.”

  “I bought the land first thing this morning.”

  Irene cocked an eyebrow. “Lilly, Harlan is a generous man and I believe you’ve made a dreadful mistake sending him into the arms of some other silly girl. But I’m sure you had your reasons.” Her leer slid from Lilly to Jack.

  “You did the right thing,” Miranda said quietly.

  Lilly knew she had. She should never have agreed to marry Harlan in the first place, but at least she ’d finally ended it before things had gotten out of control.

  Thank you, Lord, for giving me courage. Now if only she could summon the courage to tell them about her writing.

  JACK WANTED TO speak to Lilly about her broken engagement, but she disappeared into her bedroom and remained secluded all day. He read a few manuscripts Lewis Jarman had sent him, but he couldn’t concentrate on anything but Lilly. Now that she ’d ended her relationship with Harlan, would she turn to him? Or was it too presumptuous to even hope?

  Jack slipped the pages back into a large envelope and placed it on the wicker end table beside a pot of ferns that bobbed in the late afternoon breeze. With a sigh, he rose. A brisk walk might improve his mood.

  As he clattered down the veranda steps, he heard Lilly’s voice. Glancing over his shoulder, he spotted her emerging from inside the cottage.

  “Jack. If you’re not too busy, could we talk for a bit?” Her voice sounded weary.

  He waited for her to join him on the stairs. “Of course.”

  Together they strolled down the pebbled path toward the rose garden set behind high stone walls on the far side of the lawn. Jack opened the wrought iron gate and they made their way into the garden. Silently they passed beneath the arbor. He inhaled the fragrance of roses tumbling over trellises in wild abundance; none were half as sweet or intoxicating as Lilly herself.

  She lowered to a bench, smoothed her ivory skirt, and laced her fingers on her lap. A shiny blue sash accentuated her tiny waist. It took all his self-control not to wrap his hand around it—or lean over and kiss her satin-smooth lips. Dropping down beside her, he kept a respectable distance between them. He waited for her to begin, but she seemed to hesitate. He ’d wait forever if he had to.

  He noticed a pair of cardinals splashing and dipping their beaks into a nearby birdbath, shaded by the branches of a sugar maple. From the overhead limbs several birds he couldn’t identify warbled and sang on and on like a long sequence of arias. And still Lilly stared down at her hands. Finally she looked up and spoke.

  “Jack, I ended my engagement because I realized I didn’t love Harlan enough to marry him. I was truly fond of him, but that’s not enough for a marriage to be happy.”

  He nodded. “I agree.” Should he ask if she ’d decided in his favor, or would that be pushing her too far, too fast? He clamped his mouth shut.

  Lilly reached for his hand. “I thought about your proposal all afternoon. I believe that you love me—”

  When her voice broke, he thought his heart would stop. “I do love you with every fiber of my being.”

  “Yes, but sometimes love isn’t enough.”

  “What’s keeping you from me, Lilly? I’ve felt your love— and I still feel it.”

  She looked away.

  “Tell me you don’t care and I’ll leave you alone.” He knew she couldn’t say that with any conviction. “Is it Fannie Cole? Is she the problem?”

  Lilly’s eyes blazed. “Please stop bringing her into every conversation.”

  “I’m sorry. Let’s forget I ever mentioned her name.” When would she tell him the truth about Fannie? Why did she hold back, even now?

  She stood and glanced toward the gate. “Jack, I need more time. I’m deeply honored by your proposal, but I can’t give you my answer now.”

  Before he could respond, Lilly was gone.

  Jack leaned against a tree and pulled off a piece of bark. How stupid and insensitive could he be? Of course she was Fannie Cole. But she refused to admit it because she couldn’t trust him yet. Maybe if he let her write anonymously as she always had and he relinquished his dream of building Jones and Jarman into a major publishing enterprise, she ’d agree to marry him.

  He sat alone in the garden for quite a while before giving in to the distraction of locating Colonel MacIntryre. He borrowed the Westbrooks’ gig, a light two-wheeled carriage, and drove uptown where several small inns, guest-, and boardinghouses were located. Most of the summer people built their own cottages and eschewed hotels, leaving few establishments exclusive enough for the rich or nearly rich. He doubted whether one of the nicer establishments such as the Coastal Inn would allow the likes of an infamous publisher/ extortionist even inside their door.

  At his last stop, a respectable gray clapboard house with a “Rooms for Rent” sign, he expected the proprietor to repeat what he ’d heard several times before. “I’m sorry. Colonel Rufus MacIntyre isn’t registered here.” But this innkeeper confirmed the man was indeed a guest. Unfortunately, he ’d gone out without mentioning his destination or time of return.

  Disappointed, Jack climbed into the buggy and headed across town toward the harbor where he suspected he might find the blackguard. Jack had heard all the stories from his reporters. After extorting money from the millionaires to suppress their secrets, Rufus MacIntyre could hardly show his hated face around Bellevue Avenue, Newport’s fashionable section of mansions and exclusive shops. And yet he constantly needed new fodder from among their circles to feed his paper.

  Jack soon reached Thames Street, a thoroughfare far too narrow for all the bustling traffic along the waterfront, he decided. Behind the row of stores that blocked a clear view of the water, he glimpsed long wharfs, a ferry steaming toward its landing, and the masts of tall ships rolling in the breeze. As he jumped down from the carriage, he sniffed the tang of seaweed at low tide. And he remembered the last time he ’d been on this street—when he had spied Lilly at Elna Price ’s book signing. He clenched his teeth. It was for her, first and foremost, that he must see through this task.

  He looked around, unsure where to begin. Would MacIntyre go to a restaurant, tavern, clothing store, apothecary, or bakery? He didn’t know him and he couldn’t guess the man’s tastes or habits. Peering through the plat
e glass windows of each successive business, Jack slowly progressed down one side of the street then up the other. He strode beneath the storefront awnings and through the mist. A foghorn moaned as the clouds thickened to a gray mass and swirled to the ground.

  The glorious day had gradually turned dreary, darkening the windows of the shops and making it difficult to see inside. After nearly half an hour he ’d glimpsed only sailors and housewives, but no one who could be the colonel. Though ready to return to Summerhill before a downpour soaked his new pin-striped suit, he was drawn inside Celeste ’s Patisserie by the smell of freshly baked cookies and pies. He spotted a batch of jelly donuts displayed among the éclairs, rolls, tarts, and tortes. Unable to resist, he bought a cup of black coffee and half a dozen of his favorite treats before glancing around for an empty table. Four lined the wall; three were occupied. As Jack took the only vacant spot, a lone man at the back table looked up at him.

  Big and bulky, he wore a plaid sack suit. The yellow and black fabric stretched to the limit across his belly and looked ready to rip apart at the seams. A plate piled high with petit fours lay before him. A cigar stub burned in his ashtray, sending spirals of smoke up to the ceiling. Fanning the stinking air, Jack took a closer look. A red carnation in the fat man’s lapel caught his eye. This was Colonel Rufus MacIntyre, the bloodsucker himself, sporting his signature flower. With his appetite gone, Jack abandoned the donuts and coffee and eased over to the colonel’s table.

  MacIntyre reared back, then continued to shove cake into his mouth. He patted his lips and double chin with a napkin. “May I help you with something, sir? Have we met?” His voice, smooth as oil, oozed with phony charm.

  “I’m Jackson Grail, the publisher of Jones and Jarman. I know who you are, so there ’s no need to introduce yourself.”

  The colonel stuck out his hand, but when Jack didn’t offer to shake, MacIntyre frowned and folded the sausage-like digits on his rounded lap. “Is there something I can do for you?”

  “I want you to stop harassing one of my authors—Miss Fannie Cole.”