Love on a Dime

by Cara Lynn James

  He’d find her and hash this out now. Rising, he spotted her with her maid on the front veranda. Jack tossed Dorothea’s Dilemma onto the cushion of the wicker chair and rushed across the lawn. He tipped his bowler and bowed. A frown flashed across Lilly’s face before smoothing into a faint smile.

  “Where are you off to?” He masked his guile behind a wide grin, or so he hoped. “I thought you’d just returned.” Unveiling Fannie would require tact and patience, two qualities he consistently lacked but needed to acquire in a hurry. “If you have a few minutes, I’d like to speak with you.”

  She glanced toward the stables, her mouth tightened with obvious anxiety. “I have a few errands to run in town.”

  “Coincidentally, so do I. May I join you?”

  She shook her head and the plume on her large hat fluttered. “I’m sorry, but I’m driving the runabout and there won’t be enough room.”

  There was enough space even with her maid and several packages. “All right. I’ll go alone. When you’re finished perhaps we can meet for tea or coffee.”

  “Thank you for the invitation, but I’m afraid I can’t.”

  “You mean you don’t wish to.” Exasperation swamped his chest.

  Lilly let out a sigh. “I’m afraid I’m too busy this afternoon.” She spoke with exaggerated patience he didn’t appreciate.

  Jack blew out a groan. “I need to discuss something important with you.”

  As the runabout turned onto the drive, Lilly flew down the veranda steps. “I’m sorry, but that’s impossible right now,” she called over her shoulder. “Maybe we can talk for a few moments when I return. I’ll not be long.”

  She and Annie scrambled aboard the small carriage. She flicked the reins. The roan trotted down the long driveway, turned onto Ocean Avenue, and vanished. Jack stepped inside Summerhill and found Mr. Ames near the door.

  “Did Miss Westbrook mention where she planned to go this afternoon?” Jack asked without preamble.

  “I heard her say something about Baxter and Dunne’s, the book shop on Bellevue Avenue.”

  Jack thanked the butler and raced to the stable where he requested a gig. Lilly couldn’t avoid him forever, try as she might.

  LILLY URGED THE horse around Ocean Drive, past the seventy-five or so cottages gracing Bellevue Avenue, and on to the small shopping district near the casino. She wished Miranda was with her, but her friend hadn’t yet returned from the library.

  As soon as they arrived at Baxter and Dunne’s Book Shop, Lilly’s breath escaped from her lungs in one long whoosh. What if she couldn’t find a copy of Mr. Walt Whitman’s Leaves of Grass? What if she was caught by someone she knew? Pausing before the store, she steadied her breathing while she pretended to examine the book titles in the window.

  She could send Annie to insert the note into the book, but Annie was a curious girl and might peek at the contents first. No, she ’d do the deed by herself.

  As she and Annie passed through the shop door, the soft tinkling of a bell announced their presence. A clerk who was shelving a stack of books glanced over to the door and asked if she required assistance. Lilly declined and he continued with his task. She strolled down the first aisle flanked by rows of religion and philosophy books. She easily found the poetry section and scanned the book spines for “W” and then for “Whitman.”

  It was there—a tall, brown tome with gold lettering on the spine. Relief slowed her heartbeat. Glancing around, she noticed the store bustled with customers she recognized. Fortunately, the poetry aisle remained empty, except for herself and her maid. She turned away from the main aisle, hoping no one would identify her.

  “Annie, would you please run over to the children’s shelves and try to find The Adventures of Tom Sawyer? If you can’t locate it, ask the proprietor.”

  “Yes, miss.” Annie hesitated. “Is this for your cousin, Mrs. Templeton’s boy?”

  Lilly nodded, anxious for her maid to disappear. Annie ambled down the row of books, scanning the titles. Though always respectful to the Westbrooks and their guests, her curiosity bordered on nosiness. Lilly’s mother often claimed the servants knew all about their employers, including their tastes and preferences. Often, even their secrets.

  Once the maid was out of sight, Lilly reached up to the top shelf for Leaves of Grass. Her fingers brushed the bottom of the spine, and she grabbed for it. But it stood too high. She rolled onto the balls of her feet but couldn’t get a grip on the book. In a final attempt, she leaped up and slapped it with the palm of her hand, dislodging the next volume. It tumbled to the wide pine floor with a crash.

  “May I help you, Lilly?”

  Lilly gasped and she turned. “Oh my, you startled me, Jack. I didn’t hear you sneaking up on me.” She paused. She planted her hands on her hips. “What are you doing here? Are you following me?”

  “I confess I am. I’m hoping you’ll lead me to Fannie Cole.”

  “Don’t be absurd.” Flustered, Lilly bent forward to retrieve the book. Jack leaned over at the same time and they nearly bumped heads. His face came so close he could have kissed her. Why had that image suddenly popped into her head? Lilly thought she might faint.

  “Are you feeling well? You look flushed.”

  She inhaled the fragrance of his woodsy cologne, then stood up with the errant volume. “Yes, I’m perfectly fine. Only I can’t reach the book I want. Perhaps you can get it for me. It’s called Leaves of Grass by Mr. Walt Whitman.”

  An easy reach for him, he handed Lilly the only copy and returned the other book to the shelf. “Do you enjoy Mr. Whitman’s poetry?”

  Lilly let out an uncharacteristic giggle. “I haven’t read any of his poems, but I’m open-minded. I’ll let you know what I think after I read it.” What was she babbling about? There was only one copy of the book and it wasn’t coming home with her. She’d have to borrow the volume from the library in case Jack asked her opinion of it.

  “I understand Leaves of Grass might not be suitable for young ladies,” he said.

  His hearty chuckle pushed her off stride. “Dear me, I hope not. But maybe I should choose something else . . .” She pretended to peruse the shelves.

  She waited for him to leave so she could reclaim her dignity and finish her task. But Jack didn’t move, as if he was seeing right through her. And now he expected her to choose another title or head for the counter and purchase the book. Irritatingly, he perused the shelves beside her, pulling out one book after another.

  “Would you mind checking up on my maid? I sent her over to the children’s section to find a book for my cousin’s son. She ’s taking quite a long time.”

  His eyebrows shot upward toward his thick black hair. “At your service.” His lopsided grin set her teeth on edge. What was wrong with him? Why was he acting so peculiar?

  As soon as Jack left, Lilly dug into her reticule and pulled out her note to Colonel MacIntyre. Drawing in a deep breath, she slid the envelope into the center of the pages. It stuck up beyond the top edge of the book. She grimaced as she reached to return the volume. She jumped and flailed to shove it back, but even stretching her arm nearly out of its socket, she couldn’t touch the shelf.

  “Oh, dear,” she muttered, panting from her efforts.

  Afraid that Annie and Jack might return at any moment, she compromised and pushed the volume into an empty space one shelf below the W’s. The recipient of the letter would just have to search for the book.

  Jack rejoined her. “The shop is all out of Tom Sawyer. It’s very popular.”

  That was a blessing since she hadn’t brought enough money to purchase it. “Thank you for looking.”

  “You’re not buying the Leaves of Grass?” Jack looked down at her empty hands.

  “No, I decided against it. I’ll pick a more appropriate work some other time.”

  “An excellent decision, I’m sure.”

  He nodded as Lilly stepped away from the stacks. She passed him when she noticed his long arm snake
around her to the misplaced copy of Whitman. She spun about and watched in horror as Jack grasped the book. He reached to the top shelf. The pages fanned out and the letter dropped to the floor.

  “What do we have here?” He grabbed the envelope before Lilly could snatch it away. His sardonic grin infuriated her.

  She rubbed her forehead and tried to hide her fiery hot and, no doubt, scarlet face.

  He leaned against the bookcase. “Well, Miss Westbrook, are you going to explain or must I guess what this is all about? Your choice.”

  Lilly tensed. She met his mocking appraisal with a defiant stare. “I don’t owe you an explanation. This is strictly my business.”

  “I’m sorry to have to do this,” he said as he moved to open the envelope, “but I have no other option.”

  Lilly grabbed for the letter and missed. “Return it at once.”

  He held the letter above his head. Pulling on his arm with all her strength, she found hard muscle beneath his navy blue jacket. She jumped and swatted to no avail.

  “Stop this ridiculous game, Jack. You’re making fools of us both.”

  “If you don’t wish me to rip this open and read it out loud, tell me what it’s about.” His eyes glared with exasperation. “Are you sending a love note to someone?”

  “Don’t be ludicrous.”

  “Exactly the point.” Jack stuck his index finger into the air. “But then, you must have something else in mind. Does this concern Miss Fannie Cole?”

  “Please stop badgering me.” Lilly glanced about and noticed a friend of her mother’s at the end of the aisle examining the religion books. “And do keep your voice low.”

  Jack swept a finger to his lips and whispered, “I won’t say a word about Miss Cole if you tell me the truth about her.”

  Smoldering anger quickly flared. “Jackson Grail, you’ve exhausted every bit of my patience. If you continue, I shall call the clerk and have you thrown out of this book shop on your ear.”

  His raised his arms in mock fear as Mrs. Leontina Radcliffe, staring openly at Jack’s antics, hurried toward them.

  “If you answer a few questions I have about my most popular authoress, I won’t tell Mrs. Radcliffe who you really are.”

  His stage whisper could easily reach the lovely and stylishly dressed woman.

  “Do stop talking or I’ll scream.”

  “Then are you coming with me to the tea shop?”

  Through gritted teeth, she hissed, “Yes, if you insist.”

  Jack bowed. “I do, indeed.”

  Annie appeared without a book. “There ’s no Tom Sawyer in stock, miss.”

  Lilly steadied her nerves. “Then look for Adventures of Huckleberry Finn. Surely they have some books by Mark Twain. Take your time. I’ll be back in a short while.”

  After greeting Mrs. Radcliffe, Lilly marched out of the shop and followed Jack to a deserted café a short way down the street where he ordered tea and petit fours. As they waited to be served, their silence thickened.

  “That was quite a show you put on.” Lilly flared.

  Jack chuckled and poked his head around the vase of roses in the center of the table. He moved them off to the side. “I thought I was quite effective.”

  “You would,” she conceded with a rueful twist of her mouth. “Out with it. I don’t have all day to spar with you.”

  The formally attired waiter laid their dessert on the white damask tablecloth and poured tea into thin china cups rimmed in gold. When he departed, Jack leaned closer to Lilly, his full attention riveted on her. Instinctively she edged away. Folding her hands in her lap, she clasped them tightly.

  “Lilly, I know you are Fannie Cole.”

  His firmness shattered her resolve to do battle. “Why do you believe that?”

  He leaned across the small square table, his dark eyes probing. “Because you’re the only writer who could have known about our tryst at Cooper’s Pond.”

  Perspiration beaded her forehead as she met his gaze. “What does that have to do with Miss Cole?”

  Jack shook his head and the merriment in his eyes faded. “You aren’t going to make this easy, are you? All right, if you don’t remember what you wrote, I’ll refresh your memory.”

  TWENTY-ONE

  Lilly tensed as Jack continued. “In Dorothea’s Dilemma, a young lady is saved from falling through the ice by her beloved.” He continued, reciting her favorite scene in her favorite book. He leaned closer. “Ice skating, upstate New York, stealing time away from the rest of the group. Does any of this sound familiar?” All traces of humor left his face.

  Lilly trembled, but she managed a dry smile. “Your story is a bit melodramatic.”

  “That’s how I remember it—melodramatic, terrifying. I like to picture myself as your Sir Galahad—without the white steed, of course.”

  Despite herself, Lilly laughed nervously. “You’re outrageous, Jackson Grail.”

  “Perhaps, but I’m also serious. Lilly, please listen. I can help you deal with MacIntyre. He ’s in the midst of blackmailing you, right?” His eyes narrowed and he glowered. “Is that what your note is all about?”

  She took a sip of tea and ignored his question.

  “I can see that it is.” He paused for several seconds. “Now that I’ve discovered your identity, I hope you’ll reconsider.” His voice was gentle, but his eyes sparked with determination.

  “You’ve established nothing, except that life is fraught with coincidences.” Lilly pushed back the heavy gilded chair and rose. “If you’ll excuse me, I must leave. Good day.”

  “Lilly, stop denying the truth. Admit you’re Fannie Cole.”

  She held out her hand. “Return my letter or I shall tell the waiter you stole it from me. I’ll ask him to fetch a policeman.” She glared at the envelope he clutched tightly.

  “You wouldn’t dare.”

  “Don’t force me, Jack. Just give me back what’s mine.”

  Grimacing, he thrust the letter into her hand. “You win—for now.”

  Leaving behind a plate of sweets, she strode into the bright afternoon sunlight. Her neck ached, her temples throbbed. If only Jack understood she couldn’t possibly introduce herself to Fannie’s readers—even if she were so inclined.

  Without her family’s approval, she ’d never divulge her secret. And even if the world turned inside out and her parents bestowed their blessing, she refused to relinquish her privacy and take on a role for which she was so ill suited. Accommodating Jack was impossible. He ’d have to accept no as her final answer and find another way to build his business.

  He looked so forlorn she pitied him and wished he didn’t depend so completely upon her cooperation. Yet, she couldn’t do as he asked.

  Glancing up, she watched Jack board the gig and head south down Bellevue Avenue toward Summerhill. Quickly, she returned to the book shop and asked the clerk for a step stool. She placed the note into Leaves of Grass.

  Too bad she hadn’t thought of a step stool earlier.

  SNAPPING THE REINS, Jack let the horse fly around the twists and turns of Ocean Drive. Her chestnut back glistened with sweat as her legs stretched into a gallop. The carriage careened to one side and threatened to overturn and smash into the stone wall bordering the long perimeter of Summerhill. He pulled back on the reins, slowing the horse to a more manageable canter.

  Careful, Jack. No point in breaking your neck over the fate of a publishing house or Lilly’s intransigence.

  He’d driven around for over an hour in the sea breeze and sunshine, hoping to ease his frustration. But his financial worries spun through this mind. With every dollar he had now invested in his three enterprises, he felt curiously at the mercy of the world again—much like when he had nothing at all. He ’d thought wealth would provide security and a sense of well-being. And to a certain degree it had, yet along with the benefits came the fear of losing it all. A frequent roiling in the pit of his stomach proved just how vulnerable he felt.

  He’d
opened his soul to Lilly and she ’d still refused to help him. Not that he really faulted her for her stubbornness. He’d treated her so shabbily six years ago, he deserved punishment. But it would be generous of her to forget the past and finally forgive him. And to trust him to treat her fairly.

  He turned onto Summerhill’s drive and forced Lilly from his thoughts. Back to business concerns he could control, at least for the time being.

  Jones and Jarman needed Fannie Cole more than ever. But he had little chance of changing Lilly’s mind about a publicity campaign. Jack grunted. Lilly Westbrook writing as Fannie Cole. What bad luck. He’d never really considered her courageous enough to buck society and churn out popular novels, though he ’d had his suspicions. Of course, she actually hadn’t crossed society. She’d sidestepped and concealed her profession. She ’d hidden her light under a bushel and it was undoubtedly torturing her.

  But if he were a good Christian he ’d leave Lilly alone and not compound her problems. He undoubtedly was adding to her misery just like Colonel MacIntyre. Well no, perhaps he wasn’t quite that despicable. At any rate, he ’d treat her with more kindness from now on and handle Talk of the Town on his own. Somehow.

  THE NEXT MORNING Jack waited for the coachman to drive the carriage up to the veranda. After a late night at yet another fancy ball, most of the household were probably still curled up in their soft feather beds, too exhausted for Sunday service, Jack assumed.

  The front door flew open and Lilly stepped outside, adjusting a flowery hat that dipped becomingly over her forehead. Her maid trailed at her heels. Jack bowed low to Lilly and let his face stretch into a broad grin. A lovely sight in pale blue and white lace, she stopped short at the threshold and fussed with the bow at her neck.

  “Good morning, Jack. I’m afraid I’m late. I thought the carriage might be gone by now.” As she spoke, the open landau arrived with a coachman sitting straight and tall in his box. She pulled on a white glove, carefully fitting her fingers into the kid. “I suppose we’re the only ones going to church this morning. I checked with my friend Miranda and I’m afraid she ’s a bit under the weather and won’t be able to join us.” Her voice sounded a little too bright and high pitched.