A Rumored Fortune

by Joanna Davidson Politano

  A tiny smile returned to her lips. “Whatever you ask, Mr. Vance. I always knew a worthy man would come for her.”

  “She might not have me.”

  She rocked back on the heels of her worn black shoes. “Oh, she will. She might not know it yet, but she’ll have you, sure as I stand here. And you have me on your side.”

  “Good. Because we have to overcome a great deal.” Not least of which would be the class barrier.

  Yet this girl did not travel the track laid out for her as so many of her set seemed to do. No, Tressa Harlowe had jumped the tracks long ago to run about as she would. Even her art poured out all over those gray walls when no one thought to give her a proper canvas for it. It was as if she couldn’t help herself, so full of color and beauty she was, and that notion intrigued him to distraction.

  Perhaps she’d disregard the bounds of society for one more reason.

  Him.

  I almost wished to remain at home when the day came for us to leave for the gallery opening. Neville’s eyes sparkled in a dangerous way that worried me. Ellen even exuded a chilling calm. But when Dr. Caine appeared in the courtyard with those boarding the waiting carriages, my tension eased considerably.

  Three carriages traveled to the Armitage estate in Bristol, for the Langfords would not fit in ours and Andrew insisted on taking his own. He might be called away at any time to attend to his father’s urgent business matters. Neville and Ellen rode in their carriage with our two lady’s maids and Mother and I rode with Dr. Caine in ours.

  As Mother slept, her head lolling at an unladylike angle against the side of the carriage, I found myself clinging to the window with my face out in the breeze so I could watch the majestic woods as we rolled through them. The power of the huffing horses matched the grandeur of the towering pines and beeches bordering our path. Who needed a formal display of art when there were windows in carriages? When I finally eased myself back into my seat, Dr. Caine watched me with a sparkle of amusement.

  I smiled awkwardly. “At times I forget I’m a grown woman.”

  “That’s in your favor, Miss Harlowe. There’s nothing in adulthood that outvalues the freshness of childhood.”

  I studied this man who had so recently come into our lives with such a large impact. Mother’s cheeks shone with rosy good health, even in sleep, and it was all because of this man. “You know, I should resent you, but I’m finding it more and more impossible to do so.”

  His eyebrows rose. “Resent me?”

  I merely nodded toward my mother. “There’s something between you, is there not?”

  With a crooked smile, he shrugged. “That something may soon dwindle to nothing. It is not for a poor sheep to possess a diamond.”

  “There are worse creatures than sheep, Dr. Caine, and things more valuable than mere diamonds.”

  We shared a smile across the carriage as it bounced over the rutted coastal road.

  “Officially, I’m traveling with your party as her physician. Unofficially, I thought perhaps I might offer a little companionship and support while she’s away from home. I won’t attend the events, but I shall be present in the background in case she has need of me.”

  “You’ve nearly taken over my role.” When his face formed the lines of apology, I hastened to add, “And I eagerly hand it over to you. I’ve been carrying the burden for years, and it’s nice to have a small break.”

  He relaxed into his seat and my attention again drifted to the window. The sound of the sea gushed over my senses, making everything else pleasant in its own way. We spoke easily and freely on that ride, and the emptiness created by my distracted father filled just a little by this stranger who somehow fit that role better than Josiah Harlowe himself.

  When our carriage rolled up to the magnificent entrance of the Armitage estate, lit with five gaslights and a glow from every window, a gentleman, tall and handsome, waited for us beneath the archway. Upon closer inspection, I saw in the man a familiar posture and stature. It was Andrew.

  While the groom climbed down from his perch, Andrew stepped forward and reached for me with one gloved hand to help me down. What a handsome figure he cut, especially with the quietly confident smile tinged with boyish charm.

  Suddenly his words echoed in my mind. “I should not have given up so easily before. I can promise you, I won’t make that mistake again.” It was only the challenge that drove him now, wasn’t it? No matter how attractive he looked, how heartbreakingly familiar and dear, I must never forget that. What I saw now was not real. Not real. The way he looked at me, devoted himself to my care, it would all end the minute he no longer felt the draw of a challenge. Or when he’d acquired my fortune.

  Still, I tucked my hand into his arm in that old way I once had and allowed him to escort me up the stone steps to the grand front entrance.

  “You’re a vision.” He breathed the words so that only I could hear, his breath warm on my ear.

  I dared not speak. With my free hand I fluffed the compressed fabric of my traveling suit and focused on walking as elegantly as my stiff legs would allow.

  Soon Mother and I and our two maids met together in a lavish guest suite filled with large walnut furniture and the light scent of lilacs. We rubbed, brushed, and cleansed away the evidence of our travel and donned wonderfully fresh gowns in preparation of the evening. Now I touched the elaborate design of my hair sprinkled with tiny pink flowers to offset my sweeping dark-blue gown, wondering at the artistry of my maid. A woven choker dotted with pink roses rested against the pale skin of my neck, heightening the elegance of my appearance.

  Dinner would be at eight, and the hours before then would be filled with walking among the fabled artwork I had glimpsed on the way in with delightful surprise. Much as I enjoyed great expanses of natural beauty in our vineyard, there was something awe-inspiring about seeing the work of legendary painters, men whose minds created images so amazing and full of life that they portrayed both the reality of their subject and the fanciful creativity of the artist’s interpretation. How I longed to be downstairs among the color and artistry that would be merely a casual pastime for most other guests.

  When I descended the gently curving stairs, the soft velvet gown brushing against my ankles, Andrew smiled up at me from the bottom, ready to escort me into the rest of the evening. How handsome he looked—tall and strong with a ready smile toward me. He would be hard to resist.

  20

  I find it difficult to prune flowers from the vines, but I must, or I will have nothing but a vineyard full of fading beauty in the end.

  —Notebook of a viticulturist

  The evening passed in a blur of well-dressed people floating about, while I studied the work of geniuses, wishing I could match their skill. An English flag stood proudly in each corner, and the royal Hanover family coat of arms was displayed at the head of the gallery.

  Andrew elbowed me gently out of my haze of admiration. “The press is here.”

  “What? Who is here?”

  “The press. The bald man there with the gold chain timepiece and spectacles is from the Bristol Post. We need to make a favorable impression on him, since most of my future constituency read the Post. One good word in that paper could do wonders for my career.”

  I looked over the sharp-eyed man who pointed at the paintings to his left with a cup of punch as he spoke with our host. Squinting, I assessed how I’d re-create such a face on canvas, with light gray shadows to bring out the wrinkles lining a neck that resembled a turtle’s. I’d give his long mouth the little curve of a dubious smirk. Perhaps I should have learned to paint portraits—or at least paint on canvas—so that I might do something respectable with my art, as these other artists had done.

  “I shall do my best to place you in a favorable light to him.”

  Drifting away from Andrew, I lost myself in a long alcove lined with paintings, daring to touch a few textured pieces when no one looked my direction. What sort of paint had created such a rich—r />
  “Pardon, miss. You are Josiah Harlowe’s daughter, are you not?”

  I spun to face the newspaperman, his wrinkled face now in close view. He stood just outside the alcove, and I walked to meet him, filling my head with as many positive adjectives about Andrew as one could muster about a former suitor. “I am, sir. I believe Father had spoken to you a time or two about his harvest.”

  “That he has. I’ve always been fascinated by the man. Perhaps it’s the legends of his hidden fortune that amuse this old man so. I’m quite happy to have run into you, although I must admit, I’m rather surprised to see you here tonight.”

  “I was on the guest list, I believe.” I glanced about the large open ballroom filled with people, but Andrew was not in sight.

  “Yes, of course you were.” He adjusted his spectacles in the folds of his face and scrutinized me from head to dress hem. “I hardly expected you to accept, after all the . . .”

  “We are not officially in mourning yet.”

  “Well, yes, but . . . I hear you’ve been in a spot of trouble.” When I frowned, he filled in the missing pieces for me. “That fire at the Prescott estate that caused hundreds of pounds in damage and nearly killed two of his maids. Are you not the prime suspect in that case?”

  My neck heated painfully as several well-dressed guests behind the man paused to eavesdrop with all the stealth of Guernsey cows. “Who has told you such a thing?”

  “Why, I’ve heard it everywhere. I assumed it was general knowledge.”

  Panic washed over me, but he continued to watch me expectantly. It must be inherent in the nature of these men of the press to be relentless in their obtrusiveness. “I assure you, the truth will come to light and it will be proven that I was not involved in the fire.”

  “May I ask then how you explain the letter that was found?”

  “Letter?”

  “The one threatening him into releasing your family from the debt. The official word from the constable is that it was signed by you.”

  “M-me?” Fear piled over me in rapid waves. How could anyone believe such a thing?

  He finally had the grace to appear uncomfortable. “My apologies, Miss Harlowe. I thought you’d already been informed. The Post has been following the story closely. It isn’t every day a young woman, an heiress, is an arson suspect.”

  In the haze of my vision, I glanced around again for Andrew to come to my aid, but only strangers moved about. “I assure you, no officials have questioned me on the matter, and I’d tell them they were wrong if they did.”

  The newspaperman’s eyes glittered with intrigue. “You’re saying you have an explanation for it all, then?” His long fingers flexed at his side as if itching to pull forth his notebook and take down my words.

  “Absolutely not. None is needed.”

  “I assume you can account for your whereabouts that night then, can you? That’ll be the only proof that will convince anyone at this point.”

  “Why, of course.” My mind spun. What had I been doing that night? Had I been among the family? No, I’d retired early. Briefly spoken to Donegan Vance in my room.

  At last the familiar figure of Andrew materialized just ahead in my hazy vision, and in that instant it struck me what I’d been doing the evening of the fire, and who had been with me.

  I straightened, looking the newspaperman firmly in the eye, speaking loud enough for Andrew to hear too. “I was out walking that night with a gentleman. Surely my companion could vouch for my presence.” It had been the night he’d made that ridiculous excuse about the dog and the flower. I met Andrew’s gaze and beckoned him into the conversation, but he returned my look with a severe one of warning, his blue eyes snapping in desperate communication. What was he saying?

  “Which gentleman was out with you? I wasn’t aware you’d attached yourself to anyone.”

  At these words from the newspaperman, my heart sank, for I knew what Andrew had been communicating. “One good word in that newspaper could do wonders for my career.”

  And any hint of impropriety could end it. Which was the thing he worried about—having his name attached to a lady of lesser heritage or being associated with an arson suspect? Memories pricked me then of hiding our attachment, of dropping hands when certain people looked our way, of him pretending he barely knew the girl he’d claimed to love. The insecurity and hurt from those times swirled around me now and thickened in the air until I felt they’d strangle me.

  I lifted my gaze to Andrew’s once more, searching for some sign that he would withdraw his silent request and help me, but the look had only intensified. Fear darkened the blue of his eyes. I looked between these two men, the eager news gatherer and the man I had once loved. This mess had grown like thick vines around me until I was trapped in its tangled branches.

  “I cannot remember the details at the moment.” Something delicate crumbled inside me and my heart ached.

  Pulse throbbing, I excused myself and brushed past the man. Despite the plethora of artwork, the room had taken on a bitter aura and I needed to escape. Just outside the doors of the ballroom, Andrew burst upon me and spun me around by the arms in the empty hall. Breathing hard, I backed up and looked from his neatly tucked cravat to the clean-shaven face watching me earnestly.

  “Tressa, I almost feel I owe you an apology.”

  “Almost?” Hurt poured over me anew.

  “You behaved admirably, though. Sensational performance. I knew all along you’d make a fine wife to this government man.” He took my hands and smiled down at me with warmth that made me sick. “I’ve never loved you more.”

  “I’m not an actress, Andrew.”

  “It’ll only be around other people, don’t you worry. At home you can be your own dear self. We shall be so happy, Tressa. Of course, we’ll have to wait until I’ve gained the vote and this whole scandal blows over before we make any public announcement, but then nothing will stand in our way.”

  “This is only for the Post, right? When the constable comes to question me, you will tell him what happened that night, won’t you?”

  Andrew’s face blanched. After a moment of horrible silence, he uttered a false, awkward laugh. “Tressa, I thought you understood. I couldn’t possibly have my name tangled in any . . .”

  I placed a trembling hand on his chest. “Andrew, you have chosen the wrong woman. I could never spend my days proving my integrity to others by lying. Do what you must to achieve your ambitions, but pray, do not include me.”

  With powerful steps beneath swishing skirts, I hurried down the hall echoing with merry voices and away from that face. When the tears threatened, I stepped into a quiet window bay in the grand entrance hall, secluded from the rest of the world. I slipped behind the heavy gold-trimmed curtain, tucked myself up on the curved bench, and closed my eyes. What a foolish, senseless girl I’d been. Knees to my chest, I curled around the ache inside and out of desperation connected my heart to the only One left to me in this moment.

  Lord, please. Won’t you close this wretched wound so it can finally begin to heal?

  But it was more than Andrew’s actions that had caused this hollow space, for loneliness had traipsed after me most of my life, only being shooed away for moments at a time.

  When footsteps plinked on the tile near me, I had collected myself and blanketed the hollow space with poise and determination to endure the remainder of the night with dignity.

  “There you are, my lady. You’re one for hiding, you are.”

  The friendly voice of Lucy lighted on my tender ears and drew me out from the bay. “One can only handle a roomful of strangers for a certain time before she must escape.” I offered the girl a smile.

  She tugged me out and poked at my hair critically. Her own frizzy hair and serviceable black gown remained unblemished. “They’re about to unveil the princess’s portrait, and then the dancing begins. Your partner cannot dance without you.”

  Dancing. The thought of being that near to Andrew m
ade my stomach lurch. “I’m not certain I feel up to dancing tonight. Perhaps you can make my excuses and I’ll simply retire to a guest suite.”

  “I’ll not hear of it, my lady. What ever is troubling you on such a grand night?”

  I released a sigh and looked at my maid, the closest thing I had to a friend. “I cannot abide the sight of Andrew just now. He’s done something despicable, and I’d rather not speak to him just yet.”

  Her face brightened, delight smoothing its pale contours. “Good. Because he isn’t the partner I mean.”

  21

  Appearances can be deceiving, but in the end, fruit does not lie. They make it abundantly clear the sort of plant from which they have sprung.

  —Notebook of a viticulturist

  My eyes roamed about the crowded ballroom for Andrew despite my desire to avoid him. They were a magnet for the man when I knew him to be in the room. Yet his figure did not appear. Perhaps he had retired early. Then I looked about for the man Lucy deemed my partner, but I saw no one who fit. Violins drew out long notes in preparation for the waltzes and polkas to come, and a tickle of anticipation climbed my skin. Then the room fell silent.

  Lord Armitage stood on a small platform addressing his guests, the curtained portrait behind him. Grand gestures accompanied the words I could not hear from the doorway, and after a long-winded speech he stepped to the side. Violins sang to accompany the sweeping movement of two servants drawing back the curtain, and there it was—the portrait of Princess Helena, the new bride, captured with elegant beauty in an off-shoulder gown with white roses. Exquisite beading looped about her hair among its chestnut strands. Oh to be in her place today, married and finished with the pain of the unknown, connected to someone forever.

  Applause cascaded over the crowd, along with clinking glasses and “Here, here!” As the band swelled into “God Save the Queen,” the room quieted. When the music ended, Lucy leaned close to whisper. “He’s waiting for you.” She tugged my arm and pointed. My roaming gaze passed over the people in the room and lingered idly on a man looking directly at me, through the crowd and chaos, before passing on. Then realization jerked my gaze back and locked onto his familiar form across the room. He remained still as a rock amid the waves of gowns and strangers, those dark, penetrating eyes focused firmly on my face.