1
St. Louis, Missouri
September 1877
“I’m sorry to have to ask you again, Sis, but, as I said in my letter, I need money.”
“Good heavens, Georgie,” Helen Jameson replied, glaring at her brother. “What have you done?”
“Helen? Call me George. I’m too old for Georgie.”
She smoothed her russet-colored skirts as she sat in the parlor of their family home. “Until you show me some measure of maturity, you will remain Georgie. Tell me what happened.”
He paced the floor, tugging at his shirt collar nervously the whole time. “I’m not quite sure where to begin.”
“From the beginning is usually a good place.”
He grimaced. “I drank too much and lost everything playing cards.”
“What do you mean by everything? Be specific, and to whom?”
“Oh, damn, you’re not going to be happy to hear this.”
She sighed. “I suppose I won’t, but you did write to me and ask me to travel over a thousand miles to help you.”
“I’ve lost what little I had left of my inheritance to Elliott Falconer. Even if I hadn’t, it wasn’t enough to cover the debt. Which is why I’m asking you for help.”
Helen placed her fingers against the racing pulse in her neck. “My Elliott?”
He nodded. “Well, your once upon a time Elliott.”
Heat seeped into the core of her as she thought about her ex-fiancé; thought about his tall, dark good looks, his charm. Oh, yes, Elliott could charm a woman. But he was also one of the worst pranksters she’d ever met. Helen thought of the tricks he and her brother played on her over the years. As a boy, Elliott could brew up a barrel of trouble, and her brother happily followed in the older boy’s footsteps. To have to face him again would be difficult, but she had no choice.
She’d come to help George, even giving up her teaching position at Aimes Academy for Young Ladies in Upstate New York, intent upon finding suitable employment near her brother. Nothing had changed; she’d always made sacrifices for him. He was her baby brother, whom she adored, yet she knew it was long past time he grew up. At twenty-four, he should be mature. Heavens, he should be married by now with children in his nursery. Now who’s calling the kettle black? I should be married as well.
“Well, there’s nothing we can do but pay him a visit and see if we can arrange some sort of repayment schedule,” she said sensibly.
George pulled out his pocket watch and frowned. “Let me see if I can catch up with him tonight.” As he headed for the door, he said over his shoulder, “Thank you, Sis. I’ll be forever in your debt.”
Didn’t she know it!
After he left, she rose from the divan and moved to one of the many windows in the parlor. Staring blindly into the night, memories flooded her, particularly those of her and Elliott’s courtship and subsequent engagement eight years ago. They’d been so in love…until she’d heard accusations that Elliott had impregnated a past sweetheart, Virginia Pettigrew—one of St. Louis’s wealthiest heiresses. Helen found herself convinced the gossip-mongers were to be believed instead of Elliott, and she broke off their engagement. Only later had she discovered the mistake she’d made in not believing him.
She’d fled St. Louis and moved to New York. There she’d used her inheritance to put herself through school at Wells Women’s College, earning a teaching degree. After graduation, she’d secured a teaching position in Upstate New York. Much of her remaining inheritance she’d contributed to George’s education to become a lawyer. She managed to live modestly on her teacher’s pay and had little in savings.
Elliott had appeared at her school several times in the first few months after she’d left home, begging her to reconsider and marry him, explaining how it had all been a terrible mistake. Each time she’d informed him she never wanted to see him again.
Several months later, George contacted her and told her how Elliott had been wrongly accused. The true father had stepped forward to claim Virginia’s child as his own. Elliott had been socially and legally exonerated. After that, he’d appeared on her doorstep each summer during his travels to New York on business, but she’d been too humiliated to receive him. It was all her own doing, she knew. If she couldn’t believe in him before they married, how could she afterwards?
At twenty-eight, she was a spinster-schoolteacher, living a lonely existence. After Elliott, she hadn’t sought to be courted, though she’d had invitations. She was convinced she’d never find a love like theirs again.
She chewed on her lower lip as she swept away from the window and paced back and forth across the red and gold-patterned carpeting, growing more agitated by the minute when she thought about her brother’s irresponsible behavior. She’d helped him out far too many times. This would be the last.
The following evening, Helen stood stock-still on one of the wharfs along the Mississippi River, staring at the magnificent steamboats. She shook her head in dismay. It was a cool autumn evening yet the cold seeping into her spine wasn’t from the weather.
George reached for her hand, but she stepped back and folded her arms across her chest.
“Elliott’s waiting. As it is, he had to make time this evening for us.”
Her voice trembled. “Why are we meeting him on a boat?”
“He owns The Lucky Lady. Isn’t she a beauty?”
She had to admit the boat shimmered and glittered in its white and gold magnificence due to the multitude of lights that lit its surfaces. She also heard lively piano music and raucous laughter. There appeared to be three levels on the boat, all filled with people dressed quite finely and partaking of food and wine.
“I assume The Lucky Lady is the place where Elliott offers temptations to stupid young men such as you?”
He grimaced. “I know I had that coming, but, yes, this is the place.”
“Well, I suppose if we must go aboard, we must.”
She picked up her skirts, started across the narrow planking and followed George. She slowed her steps and stared in horror at the water between the shoreline and boat. Finally, she stopped completely. Horrible memories enveloped her as she imagined licking flames aboard another steamboat, following a massive explosion. She shuddered.
George stared at her over his shoulder. “What is it?”
“I can’t go aboard, George. Please, you go on and I’ll wait in the carriage.” She started backing away.
Impatient now, George said, “But Elliott’s set supper for us. There’s nothing to worry about. I’ve a feeling the outcome of this meeting will be a good one. You know how sensible Elliott has always been.”
“I just can’t!” She turned and fled.
2
Elliott sat on a chair before a resplendently set table in his cabin’s berth, a copy of Emerson’s Society and Solitude in his hands. A cool autumn breeze wafted through the open window. The only thing spoiling the setting was the pervasive, persistent stench of rotting fish.
The gentle swaying motion of The Lucky Lady relaxed him. He’d dressed formally to meet George and Helen and had set the table for supper. Succulent roasted chicken, rice, carrots and crusty bread sat on a sideboard against one wall. He’d selected several bottles of fine wine but now had second thoughts. Helen had rarely imbibed in liquor. George had a tendency to overdo it. Quickly, he moved to the sideboard and tucked all but one bottle of wine out of sight.
He could have entertained them in one of the many salons on his boat, but it would have been difficult escaping the noise from the music and the guests. His cabin was large enough to set a table for three and yet small enough to exude intimacy. He wanted to make a good impression on the woman he’d loved for years—the woman he’d never stopped loving. The woman who refused to meet with him—until now.
Elliott heard his first mate Rory’s particular knock and rose. Yanking down his gray waistcoat and brushing the shoulders of his charcoal-colored frock coat, he called out, “Enter!”
George Jam
eson peered inside. “You alone?” he asked, casting a covert glance around his quarters.
Elliott’s grin widened. “At the moment. You’re late.” He leaned sideways and tried to look around George, his grin diminishing. “Where’s your sister?”
“She’s in the carriage, and none too happy with me at the moment.”
“Or me, I would imagine,” Elliott replied, thinking of Helen’s magnificent temper. She’d always been slow to anger, but when she did a man would do well to stay out of her way.
“So, is she coming in?”
“I’m afraid she can’t,” George said.
“Why not?” Elliott tried concealing the growing impatience in his voice. He was anxious to see the woman he hadn’t seen in years, not for lack of trying, though. Once a year, each time he traveled to New York for business, he made it a point to seek her out. She was never home for him.
“We should have chosen a different place to meet,” George said.
“I see. I guess I can’t blame her for not wanting to come aboard since this is the place where you lost all your money.”
“That’s not the reason. Our parents died aboard a boat similar to this one. Insensitive idiot that I am, I hadn’t realized being on a boat would bother her so.”
Elliott groaned. “Damn. I hadn’t thought about it either, but it makes sense. Of course, I knew about the fire and their deaths, but it never occurred to me how difficult it would be for Helen to come aboard. Let’s eat and discuss the debt on land.”
“Yes, that would be best,” George said.
Elliott left the cabin and moved down the stairs to the main deck, greeting guests along the way. He stopped beside his first mate with George behind him. “I’ll be gone a few hours, Rory.”
“No problem, boss.”
Upon reaching the carriage, George and Elliott stood side by side and stared in at Helen through the window thrown wide open. Her eyes were closed. Elliott groaned when the light from a street lamp caught the shimmering tears on her cheeks, and he yanked open the door.
Helen blinked and straightened on her seat. Their eyes locked. Elliott felt as though he’d gone back in time. She hadn’t changed a bit. She was still tiny, still red-haired and green-eyed, still heartbreakingly beautiful. And, upon seeing her again, he realized he forgave her for breaking off their engagement. He’d been so bitter for so long, but his feelings hadn’t prevented him from trying to see her every year. Perhaps the passing of time did heal things.
“Elliott,” she whispered.
His heart clamored inside his chest as he felt the pull between them all over again. It had always been that way. To this day, Elliott couldn’t fathom how she’d possessed the strength to break away from their love.
“Helen,” he murmured. Reaching inside, he took her small gloved hand in his and eased her from the carriage until she stood directly in front of him. He was gladdened to see that her pretty eyes were wide and filled with joy and—was it possible?—longing. He felt the same way but didn’t dare show her for fear he’d frighten her away.
He was unable to tell the color of her gown due to the dark but had no problem seeing how the fit of the gown enhanced her womanly shape. She wore a veiled hat atop her upswept hair. His hand itched to pull the silly thing off. He’d pull every pin from every curl once he got rid of the ridiculous hat. He remembered how, when they’d picnic together with George as chaperone, he’d tease her by pulling out the pins, ignoring her protests. Then he’d sink back on the blanket and watch her red hair cascade down around her shoulders. He gulped down the lump in his throat, recalling how she’d give him a mock scowl and scold him as she pinned her tresses up again.
He shook himself to escape the memories, tucked her arm through his and started walking down the wharf. “Allow me to apologize for my insensitivity. Mandy’s café is right across the street. That alright, George?”
George was ambling along behind them. “Anywhere is fine with me. I’m starving.”
“It’ll be more comfortable than my boat.”
She gave him a small, dimpled smile. “Thank you.”
His nether regions started aching. It was the same reaction he’d always felt around her. As they strolled down the street, Elliott kept her close beside him. They reached a café which served a small selection of exquisite entrées and were seated in a private corner. The serving girl recognized Elliott. The proprietor also stopped by to greet them.
In between bites of food, Helen and Elliott talked while George ate heartily and listened. After they finished eating, George looked at Helen. “We may as well get the worst part of the evening taken care of.”
“I suppose,” Helen said.
Elliott sank back in his chair and smiled. “There’s no rush to pay off the debt. Affordable, monthly payments will be fine.”
“Wonderful!” George said. “That’s mighty generous of you.”
“Generous?” Helen said, her voice, in Elliott’s opinion, stating otherwise.
He sat forward and planted his elbows on the table. “We can come up with another more agreeable arrangement if you like.”
He’d thought he was being exceedingly magnanimous until he caught the warning glint of steel in Helen’s eyes.
“Excuse me, Mr. Falconer. If not for you and that floating den of iniquity, George wouldn’t have gambled away all of his money.”
George groaned. “It’s not Elliott’s fault. It’s my own.”
Elliott laughed.
Helen glared at him.
“Pardon me,” Elliott drawled, “but I love it. It seems nothing has changed over the years. The two of us vexing your sister and driving her into a magnificent fury.”
Helen scraped her chair across the wooden floor and rose. Both Elliott and George scrambled up, watching and waiting to see what she’d do next. Her scowl softened, her lips started curving into a smile.
Elliott thought, Oh, to hear the sound of her sweet laughter again. Then she obliged him. Her laughter was contagious, and Elliott and George followed suit as they all sank down into their chairs.
“I should have taken a stick to the two of you when you were younger,” she grumbled, rearranging her skirts.
“I don’t know if that would have helped us any,” Elliott replied. He looked up and waved his hand. “More wine and another brandy here, Sally Mae!”
The server soon returned to the table with their beverages. After a while, George came to his feet. He gave Elliott a sheepish look and jammed his hands into his pockets. “Uh, you know I’d pay my share but I’m broke.”
“This was my idea to come here. I’ve got it.”
Helen arched an eyebrow and stared at George. “Where are you going?”
“I’ve a previous engagement. There’s no need to worry; I’ve learned my lesson well and won’t be gambling again. I promise.” He turned to Elliott. “Will you see Helen home?”
“Of course. I’d planned on it.”
“Good night then,” George said.
Elliott sank back in his chair, swirling his glass of brandy. “I’d like to ask you something, Helen.”
“All right,” she said hesitantly.
“Have you missed home?”
“Initially, I was dreadfully lonely. But I wanted to be a teacher and Wells was an excellent college. After I’d lived there two years, it had become home to me. After graduating, I stayed and found a teaching position at Aimes Academy. And you?” she said. “What have you been doing with your life? George has told me little.”
“After you left, I…I left as well, for a while.”
He’d stayed in St. Louis but had drowned himself in drinking, gambling, and in whatever fair delights women offered him.
“Then my father died, and I took over The Sentinel News, got married, had children.” He shrugged. “Guess you could say I’ve lived a very normal existence.”
He saw all color drain from Helen’s face, and he frowned. “Helen? What’s wrong?”
“You…yo
u’re married?”
3
“Up until three years ago.”
Helen recalled George’s words—how Elliott hadn’t married Virginia Pettigrew, how her accusations had all been lies. So, who had he married?
“Tell me about your wife,” she asked in a decidedly choked voice.
“Emily died while birthing our daughter. The babe died as well.”
Her heart broke at his words, but she listened intently as he told her about his satisfying years with his sweet Emily. She heard the joy in his voice when he spoke of her and their life together, and then the sadness when he told of her death. Jealousy tore through Helen when she thought about him being happily married, making love with his wife, having babies together. Then she chastised herself. He’d had every right to be happy, even if she hadn’t been. But then, she’d been the one to break off their engagement even though Elliott had meant everything to her. Oh, why hadn’t she listened to her inner soul about him? Why hadn’t she trusted him?
Elliott reached out and took one of her hands in his. “I suppose you wouldn’t have known since George was away at school and not living here at the time.”
“True.” She bit her lower lip a moment before adding, “I owe you an apology for not believing you all those years ago about Virginia.”
He released her and sank back in his seat.
She grew uncomfortable under his long, intent stare and had no idea how to proceed.
Elliott raised a challenging eyebrow. “Yes, I believe you do need to set things right. Truthfully, you have no idea how many times I planned on taking you over my knee if I ever met up with you. Lucky for you we never did. It hurt, Helen, really hurt that you believed I’d stray from you.” He raked his fingers through his hair and scowled at her. “To this day, I still wonder why you’d believe town gossip over my word. We were engaged, for God’s sake, and had courted for over two years. Why would I have even thought to take up with another woman?”
Kiss or Kill Under the Northern Lights Page 24
