Romance Through the Ages

by Amy Harmon

  Gina tugged at her elbow. “Let’s go on deck.”

  Eliza linked her arm through Gina’s, and they walked up the ramp together, Gina’s parents following close behind. Other passengers surrounded them, waving to those on shore.

  “It’ll be another thirty minutes before we leave. Let’s go see our quarters,” Mr. Graydon said.

  Eliza and Gina followed them into the main lobby. Down a flight of stairs, they arrived on the first floor below deck, where their cabins were. Gina and Eliza shared one adjacent to Mr. and Mrs. Graydon. At first, Eliza was surprised to see how small the cabins were, but they were immaculately decorated.

  Two narrow beds were positioned against the sloping wall. A single dresser and a closet were the only places for their clothing. Their trunks had already been brought in.

  Gina plopped on one of the beds. “Which side do you want?”

  Eliza shrugged and crossed over to the porthole. It was hard to make out any details beyond a fuzzy image of the harbor.

  Mr. Graydon stepped into the doorway. “Ready, girls?”

  Gina rose. “Let’s go say goodbye to America.”

  Together they exited the cabin and followed the Graydons up the stairs to the deck.

  The number of passengers had increased. They moved through the crowds until they reached the rail, where Eliza stood by the family and waved to the people on shore. Many shouted their goodbyes around her, and she saw a few passengers had tears in their eyes.

  A small commotion on the ramp caught Eliza’s attention. A man was being turned away. Eliza squinted at the figure and caught a glimpse of the man’s profile. For an instant, she thought he resembled Jonathan Porter. She stared at the man, but then shook her head to rid the foolish assumption as he retreated down the ramp. After all, what would he be doing trying to board a ship bound for Europe?

  * * *

  Supper would be served at one o’clock. Gina had spread out her clothes on the bed, and for several minutes she deliberated what to wear. Eliza had decided to wear the same dress she had arrived in then change for the evening meal.

  “I thought your mother brought a lot of luggage,” Eliza said dryly.

  Gina frowned in concentration. “How long is this voyage?”

  “Fourteen days.”

  Gina pulled a cream colored dress from the pile and held it up. She turned toward the mirror hanging on the wall. “Why does the mirror have to be so small?”

  “I’ll be your mirror. You’d better get dressed, or we’ll be late and draw unwanted attention,” Eliza said.“Unless, of course, that’s what you wish.”

  Gina smiled.

  Once they were finally ready, they waited for the Graydons to join them before entering the dining hall. Eliza stared at the opulent dining room. Pale blue brocade drapes hung against the narrow windows. The wallpaper was blue and white in an Italian cherub pattern, and fine crystal glasses and china adorned the tables. The atmosphere was quiet as people politely milled about, greeting fellow passengers.

  Anytime Eliza saw a tall man with dark hair, she thought of Jon. But he’s in New York, not here. Don’t be foolish.

  The Graydons were led to their assigned table and found themselves joined by another family. A man and his wife were already seated. The man rose and made introductions. “I am Monsieur Bonne, and this is my wife, Madam Bonne. Our son will be joining us shortly.” He was plainly French, but unlike the man she’d met at the dance, Mr. Bonne’s English was excellent.

  Mr. Graydon introduced his wife and Gina, then their guest, Eliza. The waiter took their orders, and Mr. Bonne ordered for his absent son. He then turned to the Graydons. “What takes you to Europe?”

  “Pleasure,” Mr. Graydon said.

  Mr. Bonne flicked open a snuff box. “Ah, and where will you visit?”

  Eliza listened politely as Mr. Graydon outlined the cities and sites they planned to tour. Then her attention was diverted elsewhere. Approaching the table was a boy of fourteen or fifteen.

  Mr. Bonne turned his head and saw the young man. “Ah, here’s our son now. André, we’d like you to meet Mr. and Mrs. Graydon, their daughter Gina, and their family friend, Eliza.”

  André gave an adorable bow then greeted them in perfect English. “Pleased to meet you,” he said, then took his seat.

  As the Bonnes talked about their homeland, Eliza’s thoughts wandered again to Jon. Had he received her letter yet? What did he think of her dream?

  “Have you young ladies been to France before?” Mrs. Bonne asked, paying particular attention to Gina.

  “I’ve been once,” Gina answered. “But Eliza hasn’t yet.”

  Eliza smiled politely and let the two of them discuss various sites and people that they knew. She thought again of Jon and whether it could have possibly been him trying to get on the ship.

  “Are you ready?” Gina was saying to her.

  Snapping back into focus, Eliza looked down at her barely touched dinner. “Yes.”

  They excused themselves from the table, and on the way back to their cabin, Gina linked arms with Eliza. “What’s wrong? You hardly said a word in there.”

  Eliza glanced over at Gina. She really had been a good friend. Perhaps she could share part of her worries. “I didn’t tell you the whole story of what happened at the masquerade ball. Meeting the French family reminded me of the Frenchman who asked me to dance.”

  “I remember.”

  “But I didn’t tell you about the next man who asked me to dance—Thomas. He accused me of planning to bring a suit against him. We argued, and I escaped the dance floor.”

  They’d reached the cabin door, and Gina opened it, ushering Eliza inside. The women sat on their beds, facing each other.

  “I walked down a corridor,” Eliza said, “but someone followed me. Jonathan Porter.”

  Gina’s eyes widened. “The man you met in Maybrook?”

  “He’s Thomas’s lawyer now.” Eliza exhaled. “Why do I have to keep running into vile men?”

  Later that night, Eliza lay in bed listening to Gina’s even breathing. It had been nice to confess to Gina, but Eliza still hadn’t told her everything. Gina would think her mad if she knew about the voice. Eliza closed her eyes and tried to sleep, but she couldn’t stop wondering what Jon had thought her letter describing her nightmares about his mother. Thankfully, last night she hadn’t dreamed at all. She hoped that tonight she wouldn’t either. Maybe Helena was pacified now that the truth of her death was in her son’s hands. Maybe crossing the ocean was the answer.

  Eliza finally fell asleep to the gentle rocking of the great ship.

  Jon stood before her. “Eliza? It’s Jon.”

  “I know who you are,” she said, glancing at his Shake-spearean costume. She lowered her mask.

  But she knew that the darkness couldn’t conceal her tear-brimmed eyes.

  He knelt before her, as he had once before. “Eliza,” he whispered, “Please trust me.” He pulled her into his arms.

  She didn’t resist him. She couldn’t. Her body felt powerless as he kissed her. It was the kiss she’d been yearning for. The words she’d been hoping for.

  Eliza opened her eyes. Her body was completely warm and relaxed, as if the dream had continued into reality. She pulled her pillow from behind her head and squeezed it tightly against her chest. The kiss was still hot on her mouth. Then her mind began to focus—Jon was not holding her in his arms. She was in bed, on a ship, heading for Europe. But the contentment from the dream would not leave, no matter how much she scolded herself.

  Finally drifting off to sleep again, Eliza realized that in running to Europe, she was doing what Helena had tried to do—and lost her life over—all those years ago.

  Chapter Twenty-four

  Jon read the letter from Eliza for the umpteenth time. Her words chilled him. He couldn’t explain it, but he believed her—his mother had been somehow communicating with the girl.

  It was late in the morning when he had first opened
his correspondence and read the letter. At first he was angry at the presumption Eliza had taken, assuming intimate details about his mother. What right had she?

  He had gone to her home immediately, only to find that she had departed for Europe. The ship was still in the harbor when he’d leapt from the carriage and ran up the loading ramp. “No ticket, no entrance,” he was told. He turned away, deflated, not knowing what he was going to say to her, but also not ready to see the last link to his mother disappear.

  It was with dejection that he headed home and spent the next several hours in seclusion, reading and rereading the letter Eliza wrote about her dreams.

  When Thomas Beesley arrived at four, Jon had nearly forgotten they had an appointment. As the man was led into the library by Mr. Richards, Jon stood and cordially greeted Thomas. “You’ve gone over my notes on the contract, I presume?”

  “Yes,” Thomas said, settling into the opposite chair. “But I have another concern I’d like to discuss with you. It has to do with Mr. Robinson’s daughter. I’ve heard through reliable sources that she is planning to sue me for slander,” Thomas said.

  Jon almost choked. He couldn’t imagine Eliza suing this man. “On what basis?”

  “That I fed malicious gossip to the newspapers.”

  Jon stared at the heavy jowls on Thomas’s face. “Are the allegations true?”

  Thomas chuckled. “Spoken like a true lawyer. Perhaps there’s an inkling of truth to them, but there’s no evidence or witnesses.”

  Fed up with the man, Jon decided to get straight to the point. “I can no longer represent you.”

  Thomas’s face reddened. “Why in the hell not?”

  Jon pushed a piece of paper across his desk. “Here are two references you might look up.”

  Thomas ignored the paper.

  “I cannot represent a case in which I do not believe.”

  “You’ve grown soft,” Thomas spat out.

  “I know both sides of the case, yes, and perhaps I am biased because of recent events.”

  Thomas clenched his hands together.“I saw you follow her.”

  Jon’s heart jolted. “You what?”

  “At the masquerade ball. You followed Eliza out.”

  Jon leaned forward. “What’s your point?”

  “That you are interested in the girl—”

  Jon stood and pointed his finger at Thomas. “Don’t you dare say what I think you—”

  “You’re a philandering scoundrel who’s not good enough for Apryl!” He stood and faced Jon, his face scarlet. “I’ll see that she never marries you.” He grabbed his hat from the end table and tugged it onto his head. Seconds later, he was across the room, making his exit.

  It was several seconds before Jon realized what had transpired. He sank heavily into his chair and pressed his palms against his temples, squeezing his eyes shut. A voice inside his head kept saying Thomas is right, but he couldn’t allow the thought to progress any further.

  A sickening feeling rose inside him, and the grisly events began to play before his eyes: Thomas arriving at Apryl’s with lavish gifts, convincing her that her fiancé was in love with another woman, spreading gossip throughout the city until all chance of him running for public office was ruined.

  It was well into the night before Jon climbed the stairs to his bedroom. And even then, lying in bed, he couldn’t sleep. He knew that Thomas had nothing to base his implications on, but the words had struck Jon dead center. As he finally fell asleep, a single question haunted his mind.

  How could he marry one woman when he was in love with another?

  * * *

  When the dull gray morning light woke him, Jon rose and dressed. Looking in the mirror, he saw a gaunt face staring back at him. He’d lost weight, and his features had taken on a gray tinge. Something Ruth had said once to him came back to his mind. If you really want something, you’ll find a way to get it. She had encouraged him to leave Maybrook and take the money from his father for college. Education was everything, she had told him.

  The dark eyes reflected in the mirror were haunted, confused and lonely. It was time to make up his mind—to leave his parents in the past and look to the future. He needed to begin the steps to achieve his goals. Marrying Apryl would introduce him to the proper circle of society to jump into the political confidences. Letting Eliza crowd his thoughts was a dangerous deterrent. She was in Europe, and according to his newest resolve, she may as well no longer exist.

  Yet less than an hour later, Jon found himself drafting a letter to Mr. Robinson, father of the non-existent Eliza. He explained that he was no longer representing the opposing party and wished the man the best of luck. Reading over the letter, Jon shook his head at his own foolishness. Then he shredded the page and dropped it into the fire. All ties needed to be broken with the Robinsons—even ones that might provide some recompense.

  That same morning, Jon received a note from Mr. Doughty. His father’s estate was now in order, and he was required to sign the paperwork. Jon breathed a sigh of relief. It was a sign. Time to move forward with the wedding plans and begin his life as a gentleman and politician.

  With anticipating steps, he made his way to the solicitor’s office. Entering, he brushed past the oily-haired clerk and bounded up the stairs two at a time.

  Mr. Doughty raised his head in surprise as Jon entered. “Good morning, Mr. Porter. I see you received my note.”

  “Indeed.” Jon sat in the nearest chair and looked about the office with pleasure. It was now organized, removed of excess books.

  Mr. Doughty slid a folder across his desk. “I trust you’ll find everything in order.”

  Grabbing the folder, Jon leafed through the pages. Then he returned to the first and swallowed hard.

  “You’re a wealthy man,” Mr. Doughty said softly.

  Jon looked at the lawyer, a slow smile spread across his face. “It’s more than I expected… I thought there would be debt to pay, my half-sister’s family to support—”

  “The number you see is the amount after all business obligations have been settled.”

  Jon blinked and refocused on the page before him. He was a millionaire many times over.

  “There are three places for you to sign,” Mr. Doughty said, handing over a pen.

  “What happens next?” Jon took the pen.

  “In two to three months the money will be funded to your bank. After the bank receives the funds and these documents, estate taxes will be paid, the property consolidated. And then the holdings will be transferred to your name. From there it’s up to you. You may choose to visit England or decide to sell the property right away, or a portion of it.” At the surprised look he received from Jon, he chuckled.“Who knows? Maybe you’ll fall in love with the place and decide to become a citizen.”

  “I doubt that, sir,” Jon said with a smile. He leafed through the pages again, and with an unwavering hand, he signed his name three times. Returning to the first page, he stared at the numbers again until they went out of focus. He closed the folder and passed it back to Mr. Doughty.

  The solicitor came around the desk and extended his hand. “Congratulations, Mr. Porter. I hope we can do business again in the future.”

  In a sudden movement, Jon embraced the man and clapped him on the back. “Thank you,” he said in a thick voice. His future was about to change.

  The walk back to his home was not quick and light as it had been on the way over. Now it was the slow, deliberate steps of a man who had the weight of power and fortune upon his shoulders, and many questions about the future.

  * * *

  In bed that night, Jon lay awake for a long time thinking about whether or not he should make a trip to England. By viewing his newly acquired property, he’d be able to make responsible decisions about them. Explaining the matter to Apryl might prove quite difficult. Undoubtedly she already knew from her father that Jon’s holdings were supposedly insignificant. In the quiet darkness, he decided to invite her t
o travel with him. It would be good for their relationship to get out from under the scrutiny of her parents and the ever-present Thomas Beesley. She could bring one of her aunts or a friend as a chaperone.

  Then in England, after showing her the estate, he’d reveal the true amount of his inheritance. It would be a surprise she’d never forget.

  The following evening, Jon arrived at the Maughan household as a guest for yet another dinner. He was relieved, but not surprised, to discover that Mr. Beesley and his sister would not be in attendance. After dinner, Jon had a chance to speak to Mr. Maughan in the library about the possibility of taking Apryl to England.

  “Her mother would never allow her to accompany you un-chaperoned,” Mr. Maughan said, lighting a cigar for Jon.

  Jon accepted it. “Of course Apryl will bring along one of her aunts or a friend. I can assure you, sir, that she will be well taken care of.”

  Mr. Maughan nodded. “I trust you, Jon. But Apryl can be overcome with flights of fancy from time to time.”

  “What do you mean?” Jon asked.

  Hesitating, Mr. Maughan finally said, “I probably shouldn’t mention this, but when you were in Massachusetts, both Mrs. Maughan and I grew quite concerned about her.” He rushed on. “Nothing to worry about now, though. She’s seemed to come back to herself since your return.”

  “Did it have anything to do with Thomas Beesley?” Jon asked.

  Mr. Maughan’s face remained impassive. “Looking back, it all seems quite ridiculous to have ever worried, doesn’t it?”

  “Worried about what exactly?”

  “Oh, just that Apryl can have flights of fancy.”

  Jon took another puff on his cigar. Were her flights of fancy over with now?

  It was another hour before the guests went home, and Jon had a secluded moment with Apryl. He found her in the drawing room, gazing absently at a painting. “Tired, my dear?”

  She looked at him, her eyes unusually dull. “Yes. Has everyone left?”