I finally remembered myself and lurched backward, praying he hadn’t opened his eyes, hadn’t seen me staring.
Who was he? A brother? Were they not all at the lake, taking their leisure? A servant? He was too finely dressed for that. My heart was hammering in my chest. But why? Did I not have the right to look out my window? Was I not a Kensington? At least in name? Cora Kensington, I repeated in my head, trying to get used to the sound of it. Cora Kensington. Hello, I am Miss Cora Kensington.
I felt a pang of sorrow. All my life, I’d been Papa’s girl, Cora Diehl. Was I so easily purchased?
Still, I edged around the corner to steal another peek, chanting my new name as if it was the key to enter through a forbidden door.
But the young man was gone.
CHAPTER 8
William
She’d appeared as an angel in the window before him. Fair hair falling in golden waves across the shoulders of her dark gown. Wide, light eyes, somber in their steadiness. Lips pursed like a deep pink bow.
And then she was gone.
He waited for a moment, hoping she’d return, then looked away, knowing his uncle would be infuriated if he found him gazing toward their employer’s home like a leering toad. If there was one thing Will had learned after helping to escort three groups of the States’ well-to-do children about Europe, it was that the young women were off limits and the young men were only friends as long as he was in their father’s employ. It went best if he kept to his assigned role—as escort, guide, teacher, protector. Assistant to his uncle. Bear-in-training. He and his uncle were hired to illuminate their clients’ worlds, expand their minds, engage their imaginations. Nothing more.
“It’s enough,” his uncle always said, “is it not? They are the privileged class, and we are privileged to serve them in such a grand endeavor as the tour.”
Will wrenched away from the tree and strode toward the porch swing. But curiosity was getting the best of him. This was the first he’d seen of their group of young clients—other than his old schoolmate Felix Kensington. He hoped she would emerge down below, seeking more fresh air than her bedroom window allowed. Join them for supper. So he could get to know this Cora whom the servants whispered about incessantly. What was going on?
But neither of the Kensingtons joined them upon the porch, or for supper, nor in the map room, where they reviewed their plans for the journey—for the dozenth time—nor for breakfast the following day.
Will began to wonder if he had imagined that he’d seen Cora Kensington at all. He puzzled over the fact that she was not with her sisters, her brother, or the Morgans, the other family taking the tour. That she had tarried here, behind them all. From the study, as morning light poured through a wide bay window, his uncle and he looked up to see a maid go to the front door, greet a doctor, and then lead him up the wide, carpeted staircase.
They shared a concerned glance. Examinations were supposed to have been completed last month. Was she ill? That would be a poor way to begin. The Grand Tour was a lavish but taxing journey. Constantly on the move, constantly taking entertainment, viewing museums, meeting others, attending dances and dinners. They’d dealt with people becoming ill while touring; they did not wish to begin with anyone ill in their party.
Only a maid’s whispering to another, later in the day, relieved him of his concern. Miss Kensington was apparently off to a dressmaker and shopping for the day. If she wasn’t too ill to attend a fitting, then she was likely not ill at all. Cora, he said in his mind. Like coral. Would she find a dress in that color? It’d be a fine choice for her. Much better than the brown that made her look so pale.
“Will,” his uncle barked. “Pay attention. We are in Paris. Tell me of the principal delights of the World’s Fair of 1883.”
Will’s eyes narrowed. The old man was trying to trip him. “The Exposition Universelle of 1889 was a sight to behold.”
His uncle let a small smile tug at the corners of his mouth.
“The Eiffel Tower was built as an entrance to the fair,” Will said, “of puddled iron lattice, principally designed by Gustave Eiffel. In 1889 alone there were over two million visitors to the Tower.”
“Good,” said his uncle. “Go on.”
“Buffalo Bill hosted one of the most popular attractions, bringing in Annie Oakley for his ‘Wild West Show.’ There was an African village with over four hundred native occupants, which also proved popular.”
“And who came to see such a marvel on the Champ de Mars?” his uncle asked, quietly reminding him of another fact he wanted worked in.
“Many, but the Prince of Wales, Paul Gauguin, Vincent van Gogh, Henry James, and Thomas Edison were among them.”
“Very good,” his uncle said with begrudging admiration. Will had learned more than his uncle gave him credit for. It helped, too, that Will was mesmerized by the Tower. He couldn’t wait to see it again.
Uncle Stuart walked to the maps pinned to the wall, with notes tacked to it at appropriate junctures, outlining their excursions, their lessons, their entertainment. “Now tell me of the Kensington and Morgan family connections on which we shall rely.”
Will knew it was imperative that he remember these relationships, given that it would be his uncle or him who would introduce the young people to long-lost relatives, friends, and business associates of their fathers’. Will was puzzling over Count Montague and his connection to Mr. Kensington when the Kensingtons appeared in the map room doorway.
“Come now,” his uncle chided. “Count Montague,” he said, as if just repeating his name would jog Will’s memory. Inwardly, Will winced, knowing the tone made him appear as a chastised child before the Kensingtons. He couldn’t bear to look their way.
“He is a cousin via a great-uncle by marriage,” Mr. Kensington filled in for Will. Will smiled his thanks, barely glancing in Cora’s direction.
“Not that he’ll know that,” Mr. Kensington went on. “He’ll only be interested in housing my children in exchange for trying to purchase ten shares of the Montana Copper Mine,” he said with a grin, clapping Will’s shoulder. “Gentlemen, I’d like you to meet my daughter Miss Cora Kensington. Miss Cora, this is Sir Stuart McCabe, your bear, and his nephew, William McCabe.”
Stuart gave her a stately bow and then took her hand and kissed it. Will did the same afterward, ignoring the unseemly blush climbing her neck and cheeks. It was almost as if she’d never been formally introduced to a man before, so uncomfortable was she. Will backed away quickly, admiring how beautiful she was in her gown. He’d seen similar fashions on women in the papers out of Paris—such a fashion statement would be exclaimed over by their hosts. And her eyes were the same striking glacial blue as her father’s, ringed in long light-brown lashes, tinged with blonde. With her hair done up and the color high in her cheeks, she’d have no shortage of dance partners as they made their way through the various balls of the tour. Her embarrassed glance told him he’d been staring too long. Will offered her a smile, then forced himself to look away.
“Is this our route?” she asked, moving between them to the maps on the wall.
Will’s uncle nodded at him, giving him permission. “Indeed,” Will said, stepping to her side. He reached up to point at the map. “We shall take a train to New York, and a steamship directly to England. Shortly thereafter, we shall cross the Channel to France. Your father told us that you all have spent more than enough time in England.”
She paused, glancing downward, not at all the response he’d expected. Had something bad happened to her there? He pressed on. “We shall sail up the Seine to Paris. It’s a grand way to come upon the city for the first time. After some time in the city and a visit to Versailles, we’ll then journey south, to Provence.”
Her eyes were already scanning ahead of where he gestured. “We end in Italy?”
“Indeed,” he said, frowning over the wonderment in her tone. Had her father told her nothing of what lay ahead? It was best if the group began with a certain am
ount of preparation, knowledge. “After Austria, we shall spend a great deal of time in Italia, from the top of the boot to the bottom of the heel, as my uncle likes to say. Torino, Verona, Venezia, Firenze, Siena, Roma, and beyond.”
“It’s the cradle of the Renaissance, the heart of our trip,” his uncle said, leaning in front of Will to smile at the heiress.
“And the best place to spend concentrated time,” Will said wistfully. It made him long for Italia, speaking of the place. There, of any place in the world—and he’d seen much of it in the family business—he felt a call to return, as often as possible. But it would be months before they reached her borders.
“It’s very far from here,” she said, so softly Will barely made out her words.
“Indeed,” he said, trying to soothe her anxiety with an encouraging smile. “But that is part of its draw. It’s like nothing you’ve known before.”
She gave him the tiniest of smiles in return. “You make it sound magical.”
“Indeed,” his uncle said. “Clearly our favorite,” he added, giving Will a look, telling him to fall silent. “Though we strive not to prejudice you before your arrival. This journey is about discovery, Miss Kensington. Of yourself, of others, of the world.”
Her smile grew a little larger. As if she were thinking, You have no idea. It made Will curious, but he held his tongue. His uncle saw it too. He glimpsed the question in the older man’s eyes, but both remained silent. In time, they’d know more of Miss Kensington and her siblings, as well as the Morgans. As guides, it was part of their journey of discovery too. Nothing brought people together, nor allowed such intimacies, as swiftly as traveling in a group.
But when, over supper, it was clear that Miss Kensington had not known that another family would be joining their party, nor that her father would not be with them the entire way, Will was fairly burning with curiosity.
Cora’s knife clattered to her fine china plate and stared at her father. “You…you are not coming with us?”
Mr. Kensington slowly wiped his mouth and then gave them all a merry smile, meant to cover the embarrassment of the moment. “Why no, Cora. Surely you know that the Grand Tour is for young people alone. It is part of your coming of age. That is difficult to accomplish if your parents are hovering nearby. But please don’t fret… Sir Stuart and his nephew, as your guides, will see to your safety. Along with a troop of servants. You’ll find yourself more than adequately cared for.” He looked as though he wanted to reach across the massive table and pat her arm. But even if he could have, her stiff demeanor and the distant look in her eyes revealed that she didn’t want anything of the kind. What had transpired between them? Did she not wish to go? Was that why she was belatedly joining the others? Why she seemed to know nothing of their plans?
She sat straight, and Will admired the slight shadow beneath her clavicle, the long stretch of her graceful neck—then he cursed himself for noticing. He glanced at his uncle at the end of the table, but he was industriously chewing on a piece of bread, staring at his soup as if trying to ascertain its ingredients. But Will knew he was chewing over Cora’s words as much as the bread.
“Mr. Kensington,” she mumbled, glancing down at the table. “I fear I am most dreadfully weary. May I be excused?”
Mr. Kensington? How odd that his daughter would call him that.
“Certainly,” he said, rising. Will and his uncle did the same.
“Good evening, gentlemen,” she said with a courtly nod.
“Good evening, Miss Kensington,” they said in unison. Only her father called her by her given name.
When he was sure she was safely upstairs, Uncle said, “Mr. Kensington, if the girl is sickly, perhaps—”
Mr. Kensington let out a snort. “The girl’s as healthy as a horse. Had the doctor check her out this morning. She’s merely suffered a great deal of change in the last weeks, which has left her…at odds.” He cleared his throat and glanced down at his plate.
From there, he proceeded to tell them the full story—that Cora was the product of an illicit affair with a maid. Mr. Kensington had only recently met her, after the only father she’d ever known was stricken by ill health.
“I had no choice,” he said, as if he needed to justify himself. “They were on the verge of losing the farm—and this shall not be a winning year for farmers. There would be no opportunity for her to return to Normal School. And when I heard her father was ailing…” He shrugged, took a bite, chewed, swallowed. “I went to collect her. It was best for her. And my responsibility to act.”
Will sat back, dumbfounded.
Cora, wearing that drab brown dress, fretting over the only father she’d ever known, adjusting to the idea of being the illegitimate child of a copper king—
It took everything in Will not to shake his head and groan. They’d negotiated difficult family dynamics before on tour, but this situation was so laden with dynamite powder, they’d likely explode before they even left Montana.
CHAPTER 9
Wallace
A heavy silence fell on the table after Wallace Kensington finished speaking. Only he continued to dine, cutting apart his tender slice of roast. He knew he was acting as if he’d just shared the current price of copper and his projected profits, rather than the devastating truth that would challenge them all ahead, but he didn’t want them to back out of the tour. He had to make them believe they could do this task, despite the poor odds. If he failed, his children and the Morgans would forever blame him—and Cora—for ruining their trip.
“So,” Stuart said carefully, “Miss Kensington was not aware of her parentage until this past week?”
Wallace considered that, squinting, as if he had to count back, then nodded with a grin. “Heavy load to drop on someone, isn’t it?”
The older man stared back at him. “Surely you understand what a tremendous task is before her, Mr. Kensington. She shall be meeting not only her family for the first time, but some of the world’s finest citizens. And if it gets out that she is…that she is of…”
“That she is my illegitimate daughter,” Wallace said sadly. He knew he was casting her into a vast net that would be nearly impossible to escape—but it was part of her journey of discovery. Part of what would prove to him that she was a Kensington by blood as well as by name. It was best for her, this path of challenge. And if there happened to be copper on the Diehl property he’d just purchased, she’d benefit further, down the road. Better to sweat out the profits from the rock, than that meager topsoil…
“It shall haunt her, sir,” the old bear said. “And cast a pall over the entire party, I’m afraid. We may not get half the invitations we’d hoped for. Some families might turn us away outright.”
“So be it,” Wallace said gruffly, waving a hand of dismissal in their direction. “There are more than enough funds for you to rent a chateau or villa or mansion here and there, if the distant kin see fit to shun you. But, gentlemen, remember who I am.” He placed his hands on the table and leveled a gaze in their direction. “You know as well as I that they may whisper behind closed doors, but they will be more than gracious to your face. They shall be eager to learn everything they can of me and mine. If for no other reason than opening a door for future commercial relations or potential strategic marriages.” At that he held up his finger and lowered his brow. “You are to see to it that the girls get their fill of flirtation but no proposals, understood?”
“Understood, sir,” Stuart said. “A common request from fathers stateside.”
Wallace shook his head. He’d heard all about the European dandies with their fancy titles and rambling mansions, desperate for cash. More than one of his friends had shipped off a daughter to find love as well as title. But not him. He wanted his daughters to return. All of them.
He let out a dismissive sound. “They’ll be curious about this latest batch of nouveaux riche from America. How they are dressed. How they conduct themselves. Fodder for their circles of gossip.”
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Will and Stuart straightened, taken aback. But Wallace cocked his head and raised his fork. “Oh, don’t look so surprised, gentlemen. I know how they are. Some will open their doors to the children. I’m confident of it.”
The guide took a deep breath and let it out slowly, pinching the bridge of his nose as if he had a sudden headache. “You might be surprised how provincial the Europeans may be,” Stuart said at last. He paused a moment, then, “But sir, would it not be easiest if we simply introduced Miss Cora as a second cousin? None would bat an eye at—”
“No,” Wallace growled, hitting the table, then remembering to keep his voice down. “Absolutely not. I spent twenty years ignoring that child,” he said, pointing upward, “and I’ll do nothing but right by her now. Her birth certificate testifies that she is a Kensington. It is time that the world knew I am father to four children, each of whom I recognize as my own. It may be more comfortable for us to call her something else”—he paused, shaking his head—“but we shall not. We shall not. We will face the truth and get beyond it.”
The men were silent for a moment. Then the bear said, “But you will not be with us, Mr. Kensington. We will be the ones who bear the brunt of this coming storm.”
Wallace let out a dismissive snort. “All of these young people are far too absorbed in themselves to care one whit about Cora.”
The bear paused. “In our experience, sir, the younger generations of privileged families tend to spend an exorbitant amount of time considering social standing and such.”
Wallace stared at him. The guide dared to contradict him? His first impulse was to excuse them from his employ. But deep down, he knew the bear was absolutely correct.
Both Morgan and he had concocted this plan to send them on the tour because they saw their children for what they were. In need of culture and refinement, yes. Spoiled. Used to things going their way. Each given to their own weakness. But good at the core, each and every one of them. Facing Cora would help transform them into the adults he knew they could be—or plunge them headlong into their deepest weaknesses.
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