Grave Consequences (Grand Tour Series #2)

by Lisa T. Bergren

  Anna appeared immediately, slightly out of breath. “Anna, can you help her out of her gown and into something a little lighter?” Will asked. “She just fainted.”

  “Of course, sir,” she said with a bob. She closed the door behind the men and quickly helped me out of the rose gown I’d been so anxious to wear, and into a loose-fitting day dress. She poured me a cup of water and forced me to drink it as I spread out the magazine on the chest of drawers and turned the pages. Six pages of postcards—literally postcards of our trip, photographs that Art had taken all along—with captions such as “Castle Diving with the Bear-in-Training,” a photograph of me and Will about to leap into the Rhône. “A Quiet Moment Post-Rescue,” a photograph of Will hovering over me, pale and wet, in my bathing costume…in my bed. Interspersed was titillating copy about our pasts, our recent meeting, and much about our rich, rich fathers. I groaned and shut my eyes.

  “Oh, dear,” Anna said, looking over my shoulder. She edged closer. “Oh dear,” she said again.

  After I’d scanned all six pages, I went back to the first and found his name. I knew it before I saw it, of course, but here, in the pages of Life, Art was known as A. W. Stapleton. This was why Vivian had recognized his name. Listed in the front, he appeared to be a regular society reporter for the magazine, a monthly I’d seen her read. Beneath the headline, a line read, “Part One of Three.” I turned to the cover. It had been published a week prior. What other photographs had he taken since he’d sent this off? It could only mean that for the next two months, we’d await more horrifyingly intimate invasions of our privacy.

  My eyes narrowed, and I fought the urge to track him down here and now. How could he use us in this manner? Travel with us, befriend us, then betray us?

  With a trembling hand, I pinched my temples between my thumb and middle finger, now able to breathe but with a headache building into a rage. “All right,” I said, mostly to myself. “We must see it through. Let’s get on with it.”

  “Another sip of water, miss,” Anna said. “I won’t have you fainting again on my watch.”

  I forced down another swallow and then strode toward the door. Outside, the men straightened. “Come in,” I said, gesturing toward the couch and two sitting chairs that flanked a wide, short table. As Will passed, I flashed the first spread of the magazine to him so he was warned of what was to come.

  He hovered over my shoulder and slowly brought a hand to his mouth. I thought I heard him groan, as if barely holding back a cry of outrage.

  “Let me see it,” my father said, lifting a hand.

  I hesitated a moment, as if I were but a small girl holding on to a stolen toy. But it was no use. Even if I refused, he’d find another copy shortly. I lifted my chin, took a breath, and passed it over.

  He studied me a moment, pulled on a pair of spectacles, and then spread the magazine open on the table, so that both he and Mr. Morgan could see it.

  “Oh, my,” Mr. Morgan said, as my father’s face became deadly still.

  A vein in my father’s temple bulged. His skin became red, making his gray beard appear all the more white. He turned the page, paused a moment, and then turned another. Slowly, ever so slowly, he looked up at Will. “How…how could you allow this?”

  Will shook his head. “A terrible error, sir,” he said, splaying out his hands. “Art met up with us on the train…he was staying with Pierre’s sister on the Rhône….” He cast a desperate look over to Pierre. I knew he wasn’t trying to cast blame, only explain why we’d trusted Art.

  Pierre shrugged. “Arthur’s family has a vineyard. My brother-in-law has worked with them for years. I knew he was a writer, but he seemed to be on the Continent for family business, not as a journalist. A grave mistake,” he said, bringing a slender hand to his chest and bowing toward the elder men. “But surely, your family is accustomed to such attention, no?” He shrugged. “At home in Paris, my family and friends are often photographed and written about.”

  “Bah,” said my father. “Reports of parties and balls and meetings. That is acceptable. Expected. But not anything like this.” He lifted the magazine and shook it. “This is an invasion of privacy. And he makes our children appear as nothing more than drunks and loose women. And you…you, our young bear, have much to explain.”

  I winced over his words. It was an overstatement, but I knew what he meant. The photographs were largely of our time in the south of France. A photograph of Hugh and Felix in the cabaret, clearly inebriated, each with arms around women. Me in my swimsuit, from behind, on the edge of the wall. Will, far too close, in my bedroom, after the accident, making it appear that we were all alone. There were other photographs too, far more sedate. The ones we’d known Art was taking. Posing at famous monuments. Dancing at a ball. Picnicking. Dining at a fantastic table suitable for kings and queens. All in all, it painted a rather comprehensive picture of the first part of our journey. But it also made us look spoiled, careless, wanton.

  “At least he wasn’t with us in England or Paris,” I tried.

  “Why? What horrifying things transpired there?” my father bit out, rising. “What is yet to come? What will we see in the coming months, from the time he was traveling with you, taking photograph after photograph?” He turned to face Will and tapped him on the chest. He was a foot shorter than Will, and yet he was as intimidating as any giant. “I trusted you, boy. I trusted you.”

  Will winced. “The photographs are skewed, sir,” Will tried. “Far worse than reality.”

  “Are they? Were you not in my daughter’s bedroom? Look at that photograph!” he said, gesturing toward the magazine on the table. “See for yourself! And in others, too. It’s as plain as day that you think the sun rises and sets around Cora.” He sighed and fell heavily into his chair. “It’s completely inappropriate.”

  Will’s face blazed with heat. “It’s only inappropriate if I fail to admit it’s true.” He glanced toward me and then back to my father. “I’ve fallen in love with your daughter, sir. And she with me.”

  Wallace stared up at him, clearly infuriated. “You dare to admit it!”

  “Yes. I’ve yearned to speak to you plainly about it, particularly when Pierre made his attentions known.”

  “But you didn’t.”

  “No. I didn’t.”

  “Because you knew I’d fire you in an instant.”

  I held my breath. Was this truly happening?

  “Yes, sir,” Will said, clamping his lips shut. “Because I knew you would.”

  “You were right,” Wallace said slowly, seeming to regain some control. He took a long, slow breath and pinched the bridge of his nose.

  For a moment, I hoped, hoped he’d see—

  “Pack your bags, William. You are not welcome near me or mine again.”

  Will wavered, almost as if he didn’t believe what Wallace had said. “You can’t do that, sir.”

  “Father, I—” I began.

  “I cannot? Why not? Have you not made untoward advances toward my daughter?”

  Will looked to me and then back again. “Nothing that Pierre de Richelieu has not done himself. And I assure you that—”

  “Pierre de Richelieu is not my employee. He is not the man I entrusted with the safety of my daughters and son, as well as my friend’s children. You are.” He stared up at Will.

  Will paused.

  “Have you kissed her?” Wallace went on.

  “Father, really—” I tried.

  “I have kissed her,” Will said, then turned to me. “I love her. I want to marry her.”

  I sucked in my breath. He wanted to marry me? My heart leaped.

  “Well, you can bury that dream right now. You are on your way out of her life. This instant.”

  It was Will’s turn to take a breath. He gathered himself, straightening his shoulders and facing him again. “I believe that is up to Cora to decide,” he said slowly. “Since I am no longer your employee.”

  “Do not challenge me further,”
Wallace said, pointing a finger at him and shaking his head. “You will regret it.”

  “I’m afraid I must. I love her, sir. I love her. Surely you understand it. Were you not in love with Cora’s mother?”

  Vivian gasped.

  “Get out!” Wallace said, his voice shaking. He rose and pointed to the door. “Get out.”

  “Not unless Cora comes with me.”

  “Cora is not coming with you.”

  “I’m not?” I asked, almost to myself. It wasn’t until all eyes were on me that I realized I’d spoken aloud. I swallowed, wishing I could take another drink of water to ease my suddenly dry mouth. I looked around to each of them, hesitating over Pierre, over my father, but then resting my gaze on Will. William…it had always been Will. “I love him, too.”

  My eyes found Wallace Kensington’s again. Eyes so like mine. But pain edged them. “Oh, my dear. This is a sorry turn of events. But you cannot follow where your heart leads you. Not here. Not now.”

  “I cannot?” I was beginning to gain strength as my anger grew. Who was he to dictate such things? He could control my summer, but not my life….

  “No. Not this time.” He took a seat again, appearing older.

  “What is to stop me?” I said, taking Will’s arm. “So my tour comes to an end. So you will not fund my return to Normal School. I shall work for a time and fund my own schooling. I am grateful for this opportunity, but my life is my own.”

  Wallace shook his head and rubbed his face with both hands. “No, it is not,” he said gently. “Nor is William’s. His uncle died, severely indebted, leaving Will liable for those debts. Some of them are to me. But I can call them in tomorrow.”

  I stilled. “You would leave him penniless? On the streets?”

  “I would. If you force my hand.”

  I glanced up at Will, wanting to be sure he was as certain as I. He gave me a grim look of helplessness, clearly not wanting to drag me into such dire straits. “Then I shall be penniless with him. Together, we’ll find our way.”

  Wallace laughed. Then laughed again, his amusement gaining steam. “No, my dear. You’d be far worse than penniless.”

  I frowned in confusion. What could be worse?

  “You’d be a millionaire who chose poverty,” he said.

  “I…I beg your pardon?”

  “Your farm in Dunnigan. The mines beneath the hills on the western edge…you read it for yourself. We struck both gold and copper. You are rich beyond your dreams.”

  “You mean you are rich. You hold the title.”

  “We hold it together. Along with your mama and papa,” he said, casting out a hand in dismissal and leaning back in the chair, crossing one foot over his other knee. “I did not rob it from you, as you supposed. I included you in the wealth.” He tapped a finger against his lips. “But you see, dear daughter, I took some precautions in adding you three to the title. You have access to a fair amount of the funds for the next two years, enough to keep you all very comfortable. But people new to money should never have too much access. I am the controlling partner, able to buy you each out for a dollar if I decide to. And rest assured,” he said, leveling his gaze on mine, “I will buy the three of you out if you displease me.”

  My mind spun. I was rich. Rich beyond my dreams. And so were my parents, after all these years. But only if I agreed to be one of my father’s puppets. “That is…monstrous. You attempt to control my life by threatening my…my parents?”

  “That is insurance. All with the desire to do right by all three of you. Given time, maturity, you will see it from my perspective.”

  I repositioned my hand on Will’s arm, drawing strength from him even as I felt my argument losing steam. After these last weeks with my siblings and the Morgans, I knew how money could corrupt, but I also knew that it was a gift. And my parents…after all these years, the thought of them comfortable, at ease, with more than enough in the bank… “You knew I might walk away from it,” I said softly, looking to my father, “if it was only me.”

  “I knew you’d be passionate enough to do such a thing, yes. But I knew you wouldn’t be selfish. Or in the end, foolish. I pray I was right.”

  “You were,” Will said. He turned to me and took my hands. “I love you, Cora. But you cannot walk away from this.” He shook his head, miserable. “Not this. Not when I have nothing at all to offer you. Not when it affects your folks, too.”

  My cheeks instantly flamed with anger, even as my heart sank to my stomach. “So that’s it, then? Once again, I have no choice but to do exactly as Wallace Kensington dictates?”

  My father remained silent, as did Will. The others shifted nervously. I dropped Will’s hands and wrapped my arms around myself, feeling abandoned, lost, as confused as the day I learned I was a Kensington.

  Wallace stood up, and Mr. Morgan followed. “We leave in the morning,” my father said. “I will secure transit to Venezia and beyond. After reaching Rome, we’ll board an ocean liner taking us directly home. Our time in Italy will be cursory, but at least the tour won’t be entirely over,” he said. “But it will be over before another Life magazine goes to press.”

  And with that, it was done.

  As ugly and yet as beautifully complete as the day I’d met Wallace.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

  William

  “A word, McCabe,” Wallace called as Will strode down the hall to his room. The older man said something to Morgan, and his partner scurried off, leaving them alone.

  “Please,” Wallace said, reaching him and gesturing into a small salon.

  “Have we not said all there is to say?” Will asked.

  “Indeed we have not.”

  Will frowned and followed after him. Wallace took a seat, but Will chose to remain standing by the fireplace.

  Wallace sat back and studied him a moment. “I know that you must find all this devastating, but it had to be done.”

  Will took a deep breath. “I stand behind my words, sir. I might never gain your blessing, but I intend to court your daughter. Just as soon as I settle my uncle’s debts, you can expect me.”

  “No. You are to exit her life right now and never return. For her sake. Her parents’. And yours, too.”

  Will shook his head. “I can’t promise that.”

  “She’ll lose everything, McCabe, as will her parents. You would do that to her?” Wallace coughed and looked to the door and then back to him. “You and Cora both know I loved her mother. I did. And while it ripped out my heart to see her married to another, to send her off on that train, I did it because it was best for her and our child. Alma would never have been accepted in society as my bride, even if I’d chosen to divorce my wife and leave my children. I could not continue to subject her to a role as mistress. Not when I loved her. Do you love Cora in such a manner, William? In a way that compels you to sacrifice for her?”

  “Well, of course, but I hardly see how my relationship with Cora compares with your relationship with her mother.”

  “Truly?” Wallace said calmly. “Was not your love forbidden? Illicit? Explicitly against the contract written between me and your uncle?”

  Will’s face burned. Well he knew the rules. Stuart had driven them into his head time and time again. “That was a contract signed by my uncle, not by me.”

  “And yet assumed by you after his death, correct?”

  “In a sense, yes,” Will said dimly, knowing he had little ground on which to stand.

  Wallace pulled a packet from his jacket pocket. “I am giving you enough to get home to the States. Find a job. Pay your debts. Get back to the university if you can. But stay out of Cora’s life.” He paused, his blue eyes searching Will’s. “Come,” he said, more gently. “You know it’s the right thing. Do it, Will. If you love her, do it for her.”

  Wallace pressed the envelope toward Will, and Will considered his options, one wild thought after another shifting through his mind. As much as he loathed it, he could see no way forward wit
hout a dollar to his name, and Wallace Kensington knew it. “I’ll pay you back, sir,” Will said, his fingers closing around the envelope. “Every cent of it.”

  Wallace smiled, victory etched in the lines of his face, and Will quickly turned away, resisting the powerful urge to strike the older man. But as he left the mansion, his every thought turned to Cora.

  And how he must somehow, some way, find his way back to her.

  Cora

  “Is he gone, then?” I whispered to Antonio, taking his arm as we left the baroness’s home for the last time. I felt as if I were stumbling forward in the dark, even though bright morning light flooded the front entry. How could we be separating? After so much time spent together, it felt impossible, like it would tear me in two.

  “William might not be with us, but he is only as far from your heart as you choose.” He turned sad brown eyes toward me as my heart sank. “In time, it will make sense again, my young friend.”

  “You’re certain?”

  “I believe so, yes.”

  “I do wish I had a bit of your confidence.” After a restless night’s sleep, I awakened feeling more dizzy and bleary-eyed than I had before. Had everything I thought happened really transpired? It seemed impossible. But still, I kept hoping against reason that he’d appear as we all said farewell to the baroness and drove to the train station. Did he understand why I had to do this? For my parents? To protect him? Or did he think me weak, giving up on him, us…walking away? Did he think I feared poverty? After all we’d shared?

  We boarded a private train car, as dutifully polite and quiet as schoolchildren on an expedition headed by a stalwart headmaster, my father. Antonio was the only man my father chose to keep on, given his knowledge of Italy and her language. The rest had been dismissed and sent home, replaced with four new guards. Their unfamiliar faces only increased my sense of isolation.

  I dodged as Pierre approached—clearly wishing to speak to me—with a shake of my head and mouthing the words not yet. It was too soon. I was too raw, and I feared I’d say things I’d regret. Gracious as ever, he gave me a little bow, pain in his pretty green eyes, and I retreated to the small cabin that I was to share with Vivian. I closed the door, sat down on one of the two berths, and with a shaking hand, withdrew the copy of Life from my valise. For the first time, I read every word. Art Stapleton had taken numerous quotes from all of us out of context, reporting them truthfully but skewing them to make them all the more entertaining for his readers. He set me up as a rags-to-riches heroine, drawn at one time to our young bear, then to the “Prince of Paris,” and back again. It was not entirely untrue. I knew it. But he’d made me out as mindless. Heartless, even. And the photographs were damning evidence to support his case.