“Perhaps I can have the next dance.”
Mama gave him a tentative nod and then resumed her conversation with Mrs. Darrington.
Elena turned and whispered to Parker. “How are you?”
“Rotten is the first word that comes to my mind.”
“I’m sorry, Parker.”
“Mother said she left your house.”
“She didn’t want to leave.”
He glanced quickly on both sides of him. “Do you know where she is?”
“Yes, she’s—”
Elena’s gaze wandered over Parker’s shoulder, and her heart flipped at the sight of Chase across the room. She hadn’t wanted to see him, but now…now she couldn’t seem to look away. Instead of wearing his work clothes, Chase was dressed in a black evening suit, his hair combed neatly behind his ears. He didn’t look like a regular hotel employee. Perhaps he was the maître d’hôtel.
“Where is she?” Parker repeated.
She took a deep breath, trying to concentrate.
Parker turned to see who she was looking at. “I’ve lost your attention, haven’t I?”
“No, I—” She tried to focus on Parker, even as her whole body trembled. Her heart warred with itself, wanting to see Chase tonight and yet wanting to run. “Jillian’s up at the fort.”
“Thank you,” Parker said. “Apparently I’ll be asking someone else for the next dance.”
She gave a slight nod, her gaze stolen by the man across the room. As Chase strolled toward her, she blinked in disbelief. This was the same man she’d met at the lighthouse, and yet he seemed to be only a shell, a ghost of the man she knew. There was no easy smile on his lips nor the light in his eyes that had become so familiar, so comfortable to her.
In that moment she realized—Chase wasn’t looking at her.
“Oh, finally.” Mrs. Darrington waved her hand, motioning Chase toward them.
Chase kissed her cheek. “Hello, Mother.”
Elena stared in horror at Chase…and his mother.
It wasn’t possible.
She grasped for Mama’s arm, her legs teetering under her gown. If she weren’t wearing this blasted corset, she would run—out of the hotel, back to their cottage, all the way home to Chicago.
“I want to introduce you to my new friends,” Mrs. Darrington said.
Elena dropped her gaze to the marble floor.
How could he—how dare he lie to her? He had said his name was Chase, that he worked at the hotel. He liked stars and art and talking about things that mattered.
She was going to faint, right here in the ballroom, in front of every society member who was important to her mother. And the man who was most important to her.
“This is Mrs. Bissette,” Mrs. Darrington said.
“It’s nice to see you again,” she heard Chase say.
Elena didn’t dare look at him. What would he say when he saw her? Would he pretend he didn’t know her?
Oh, how could they pretend?
“And this is her daughter, Miss Elena Bissette.”
“It’s a pleasure to meet you.” The way he said it sounded so smooth, so like the society men who frequented her circle. She’d thought he was different, but this man…he was just like the others.
The music played behind them and people were dancing and drinking, but she couldn’t move. She stood as frozen as the swan on the dining table, and she didn’t want to thaw until she could fly away.
“Elena,” her mother prompted, nudging her elbow.
Elena tugged on the fingers of her glove.
“Elena!” This time it was a command.
She took a deep breath and willed herself to lift her hand to shake his. And then she slowly lifted her head.
His gaze collided with hers like an asteroid hitting earth. Admiration flickered in them for an instant, and then came the shock.
“I—” His voice was so low she barely heard him. “Andy?”
“My name is Elena.”
The transformation in his eyes frightened her. The hardness of his voice matched the realization on his face. “You don’t look a bit like a governess.”
“I’m sorry,” Elena said, standing a bit taller. “You must have mistaken me for someone else.”
“Your name is—Elena,” he repeated. “Elena Bissette from Chicago.”
“And you are Chester Darrington from Detroit.”
“Brush Park,” he muttered. “It’s outside of Detroit.”
“Chester Darrington from Brush Park,” she stated, like she was a judge reading a guilty verdict.
“My friends call me Chase.”
Mama broke the awkward pause that followed with a nervous laugh. “Does that mean we’re all friends now?”
Elena didn’t return the laugh. “Why do they call you Chase?”
When he didn’t answer, his mother spoke. “When he was young, he was always running after something. Instead of calling him Chester, Samson began to call him Chase.”
Even as she spoke to Mrs. Darrington, Elena’s eyes remained on the man in front of her. “Did he ever catch what he was chasing?”
Mrs. Darrington hesitated. “I don’t suppose I know.”
Elena could feel the tears coming, disappointment and frustration and hurt at how this man had tricked her, but she had to be strong for just a little longer. “What is it that you do, Mr. Darrington?”
“My name is Chase.”
“He’s a financier,” Mrs. Darrington began to explain.
Chase interrupted her. “I do my work at the hotel.”
Mrs. Darrington was not to be deterred from bragging about her son. “He invests in all sorts of wonderful ideas and inventions for the future, just like his father.”
“I’ve heard you are a fine artist, Miss Bissette,” Chase said, searching her face.
Tears brimmed in her eyes, her gaze dropping back to the floor. “I’m not quite sure what you mean.”
“Or was it actress?”
If she dared to look back up, dared to look at him, there would be a flood. Her mother would be horrified at her tears, and Chase—she didn’t know if he would gloat or feel sorry for her. She thought she knew this man, but she didn’t know him at all.
She stepped back. “I must go.”
Mama stopped her. “I’m sure Mr. Darrington would like to dance with you.”
He shook his head. “I don’t want to dance.”
“Chase!” Mrs. Darrington exclaimed.
Mortified, Elena spun around. Gathering up her gown, she rushed across the room.
“Elena,” her mother called—but she didn’t stop.
She didn’t care what her mother said. She never wanted to see Chase—Chester Darrington—or any of his family again.
March 22, 1813
The snow has protected our home from friends and foe alike this winter. Nickolas stopped coming weeks ago, after I insisted he give me an answer about his allegiance to the British. He never answered my question, nor did he return. In reflection, I almost wonder if someone else sent him to visit us, to see if we were all right.
The lake remains frozen, and the deer cross over from the mainland. I killed a doe last night with Jonah’s bow and arrow, and the children and I feasted on her. Even though my stomach was full, my heart ached. Jonah was with us the last time we ate venison.
I should assume my husband is dead now, but I cannot do so, not until I know what happened. Someone must be able to tell me the truth.
I spend my days making clothes, playing with the children, and reading the Bible from Jonah’s family. We sing, and we pray for Jonah.
Would the British kill him for refusing his allegiance?
If only they would send someone from the fort to tell me. If I don’t have an answer by spring, I will go and demand it.
Chapter Twenty-Four
Voices chattered in the ballroom behind Chase, the orchestra’s music blaring, but Elena’s exit silenced everyone around him. Or maybe it was his refusal to dan
ce with her.
He didn’t call out to her, nor did he run after her. How was he supposed to talk or dance with the woman who’d tried to seduce Sarah’s husband—the woman who’d determined to become his wife?
The woman who had stolen his heart?
When he met his mother’s eyes, she looked at him as if he’d gone mad.
The Andy he knew was a young woman who smiled at the stars and spoke in awe about God and His creation. Andy was different than the other women he’d known, caring for him instead of his money or position or status in society.
But the Andy he’d loved was only a mirage. The woman who’d raced from the room was really Elena Bissette, a woman scheming to marry him.
He’d trusted her with his secrets, but she’d deceived him. All along she knew exactly who he was.
His stomach rolled, and he thought he might be sick.
Forget taking Andy to Chicago with him one day. Forget meeting with her at the lighthouse one last time. She had tried to trap him, but he refused to be caught.
Mrs. Bissette stepped forward. “You—you just insulted my daughter.”
He dug his hands into the pockets of his jacket. “I suppose I did.”
“How dare you—” She lifted her hand, and for a moment he thought she might slap him. He welcomed the pain. But instead of hitting him, she waved for her husband to join them.
Chase moved past his mother. “I’ve got to get some air.”
His mother shoved him forward. “Quickly.”
The air was muggy tonight on the long porch. Most of the people were inside dancing, and Chase was glad of it. He needed to think.
Ever since he’d been of marrying age, young women had pursued him. The mothers of these debutantes hinted, manipulated, and even stalked him. If he thought for a moment that their intentions were pure, he might be complimented at their persistence, but he knew they wanted to marry him for his family’s money, as Edward had done with his sister.
Never before had a woman so completely and utterly deceived him. He’d trusted Andy, even thought she might care for him as he did for her, but it was all a ruse, a sleight of hand by a ruthless actress.
He walked the length of the porch, his emotions churning like the lake water after a storm. He’d prided himself on being nice but yet aloof with most women, offering no expectations for the future. He hadn’t promised Andy anything for the future either, but in his heart, he’d hoped that she might become his wife.
She’d fooled him like no other. Even tonight, even when he’d called her bluff, she’d still tried to pretend that she didn’t know who he was.
What an idiot he’d been.
He wouldn’t be manipulated into marrying, not by his sister or Elena or Elena’s mother.
He blinked, and ahead of him he saw Elena, the blue of her gown shimmering in the glow of the electric lights. When she turned, he saw tears streaming down her face—disappointment, he assumed, at having her plans dashed.
What had she thought would happen when he found out the truth? She couldn’t hide forever behind the anonymity of Andy.
Perhaps she thought his heart would be so entangled with hers that he wouldn’t care about the deceit. Perhaps she thought he would still marry her.
She started to walk away, but he moved quickly toward her. With the absence of an audience, there were some questions he wanted her to answer.
* * * * *
Elena stopped, her back to Chase. She didn’t want to face him, couldn’t face him, but she couldn’t walk another step, either. Her chest burned as she tried to stop her tears and breathe stunted breaths inside her corset.
She could see his shadow on the rail in front of her, but she didn’t turn around.
“You tricked me.”
She shook her head. “I never tried to trick you.”
The music from the orchestra spilled onto the porch, but she and Chase were alone out here, like they’d been at the lighthouse. Except that everything had changed.
His voice was barely a whisper. “You can stop the pretending.”
“No, I can’t, Chase—Mr. Darrington.” She spun on the heels of her slippers, the hem of her gown floating with her. “Don’t you know we’re on stage, performing for an audience that’s always watching, always criticizing? The lighthouse is the only place I can stop pretending.”
He slapped his hand on the railing. “You’re no different—no different from the rest of the women.”
“I’m very different.”
“You were trying to marry me—”
She shook her head. “I wasn’t.”
“Marry me for my money.”
She swallowed hard, the reality of his words crashing down on her. It was true. She had been trying to marry him for his money. Marry Chester Darrington, at least, the man her mother wanted her to marry. But that’s not why she had fallen for Chase—and she had fallen hard—for a man she thought she knew.
She stepped away from the railing. “I don’t know what game you’re trying to play, Mr. Darrington, but I’m not playing along.”
“Game?” he choked. “I’m not the one playing.”
“Did you follow me to the lighthouse?”
His voice grew stronger. “Most certainly not.”
“Did my mother convince you to marry me?”
“I’ve barely spoken three sentences to your mother,” he huffed.
“Because I can assure you, marrying you is the last thing I want to do.”
“You said you were going to marry a man you didn’t love.”
She crossed her arms over her chest. “I’m certainly not going to marry the man I do love.”
He stepped closer. “Did your father send you to the lighthouse?”
Her heart beat harder. “What?”
“Back at the dance last week,” he pressed, “your father asked me what I was working on.”
“He always asks people what they’re working on.”
“Did he send you to check on me…or did your mother send you to lure me into marriage?”
She felt like a child, defending herself when she’d done nothing wrong. “No one sent me.”
“How did you know where to find me?”
Fury bubbled within her, and she felt like she was about to explode. “You found me, Chase. That lighthouse has been my refuge for six years.”
He didn’t stop. “Do you know Henry?”
She glanced around her, wondering if anyone was listening to their conversation, but no one seemed to notice. “I know plenty of men named Henry.”
“He’s a carriage driver at the Grand.”
“What does this have to do with—”
“Maybe you or someone in your family paid him to take me to the lighthouse.”
She put one hand on her hip, leaning toward him. “You are so full of your own importance, Mr. Darrington, that you can’t fathom that someone might actually love you for who you are instead of for your money.”
Even as the words escaped her mouth, she wished she could swallow them. She didn’t want to talk about love, not with him.
A firework went off in the air, showering the night sky with blue and yellow. Elena’s heart leaped with the explosion.
People flooded out of the hotel to watch the display and crowded around her and Chase, pressing them together.
He whispered in her ear, “Do you love me, Elena?”
Another firework colored the sky green and yellow. People clapped around them.
She pushed away from him. “I don’t know who you are.”
* * * * *
He didn’t believe Elena, couldn’t believe her. He knew that she had set her sights on marrying him. He knew that Mr. Bissette was interested in investing. He just didn’t know how exactly they’d accomplished the feat of trapping him.
How did they know he would be intrigued by her artwork? How did they even know he might go to the lighthouse?
Perhaps Parker Randolph had set him up, when he pointed out the lig
hthouse on the bluff.
He left Elena standing on the porch with her mother beside her. This time Mrs. Bissette told him to leave.
At least she wouldn’t be pushing him to marry her daughter anymore.
He rushed through the lobby and up the steps. His room was three doors down the hallway.
“Chester, wait!”
He turned to see Gracie Frederick holding up the folds of her yellow gown as she rushed after him. The last thing he wanted to do was talk to her—the woman who’d told him about Elena’s intentions.
He pointed toward the tall windows. “You’re missing the festivities, Miss Frederick.”
“I don’t care one bit about fireworks.”
Galileo barked from his room.
“You’ll have to excuse me.” He stepped toward the door. “I’m going to retire for the night.”
She eyed the door slyly. “Do you want company?”
He cringed at the blatancy of her offer. “I’d rather be alone.”
“I saw you with Elena Bissette.” She drew closer to him, a mischievous smile playing on her lips. “She’s no good for you.”
He shook his head. “Please don’t presume to know what is good for me.”
Her smile grew bigger. “Oh, but I do know.”
“I’m going to take my leave—” He put his key into the door.
She stepped closer. “Elena is a master at manipulating people, just like her mother.”
“And I am a master at sorting out the truth.”
She leaned against his door, and it was clear in her eyes, in the tilt of her hips, that she desired more than conversation on the other side. He pushed open the door over her shoulder and scooted around her without a word.
“Chester,” she started, stepping into his room. Galileo growled at her, and she eyed the dog as if she were trying to determine whether he would bite her. Apparently she thought Galileo was serious in his intent, because she slowly backed out into the hall.
Chase locked the door without another word to her. Then he sank into a chair.
What was it with the society women on this island? When they vacated the city for the summer, they seemed to lose all sense of protocol and propriety. Not that he approved of all the intricacies of society’s rules, but downstairs was one woman sneaking to a lighthouse in the middle of the night without a chaperone, and in the hallway was another woman, proposing to escort him into the privacy of his bedchamber.
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