A Touch of Scarlet

by Renee Ryan

  Luke shoved aside the image. If he continued clinging to unpleasant memories, he would forever be tied to the past.

  The creak of an opening door jerked his attention to his right. A shadow flickered across the floor, elongated, and then formed into a man as Marcus St. James stepped into the corridor.

  His gaze locked with Luke’s.

  “My father and I were just speaking about you and your promising new venture.” Marcus joined him in the long, empty hallway. “He is waiting for you in his study.”

  “Thank you, sir. I know the way.”

  “Yes, yes, of course you do.”

  They had a brief discussion about the future of motorcars—clearly, the St. James men had done their homework—and then Luke continued on to his destination. He stopped before the gleaming ebony door Marcus St. James had left ajar.

  A rush of—something—skittered though him. This was the next step in breaking from his father once and for all.

  After a cursory knock on the doorjamb, Luke entered Richard St. James’s private sanctuary, fully prepared to leap over another hurdle standing between him and total freedom.

  Chapter Five

  Elizabeth instructed her grandfather’s chauffeur to drop her off two blocks from Hester’s building. She wanted to walk the remainder of the way, not only to clear her head after her recent interchange with Luke but to enjoy the cool spring air.

  The picturesque Riverside Drive always captured her imagination, as did the eclectic town houses. The beauty of the brownstones ranged from elegant to ornate. Elizabeth was grateful her grandfather had made sure Hester had the money to live in comfort now that she was retired from service.

  Eager to visit her old friend, Elizabeth rushed up the front steps leading into Hester’s building. One of the original brownstones in the area, the town house was separated into two units per each of the three floors. The interior of the structure was as impressive as the exterior.

  Sunlight spilling through the beveled windows provided enough illumination for her to see that the wallpaper was a pretty floral pattern. The wood banister gleamed from a new coat of lemon wax. This house suited Hester. Every time Elizabeth asked her beloved friend if she was happy here, Hester would speak of her friends, her church, and the life she’d built for herself.

  Elizabeth climbed to the second-floor landing and knocked on Hester’s door.

  A series of locks releasing and a knob turning filled the air moments before the door swung open. “My dear Elizabeth, what a treat it is to see you.”

  Hester’s cheery British accent matched the welcoming smile. The happy expression enhanced the older woman’s pleasing features. A beauty in her youth, Hester had golden-brown hair that was now streaked with threads of gray. Her face also held the signs of time passing in the spiderweb of wrinkles around her eyes and mouth.

  The woman was clearly pleased to see her, but on closer inspection she also appeared paler than usual. She was gaunt in the cheeks, and her shoulders were hunched. Even worse, her too-thin frame seemed almost emaciated this morning.

  Elizabeth felt a stab of panic.

  Was Hester ill?

  “I hope I’ve come at a good time.”

  Hester’s smile never faltered. “The very best.”

  Fighting off her apprehension, Elizabeth lifted the basket she’d filled with several of Hester’s favorite items before leaving St. James House. “For you.”

  “Look at those lovely flowers.” She lifted faded blue eyes that lacked their usual sparkle. “Yellow roses are my favorite.”

  “I remember.”

  “Where are my manners?” Hester opened the door wider. “Do come in.”

  Elizabeth stepped inside the tiny entryway.

  Hester’s movements were unnaturally stiff as she turned and led the way deeper into the apartment.

  The main living area was small but elegant. Everywhere Elizabeth looked, she saw Hester. In the brocade furniture, in the rose-patterned wallpaper, in the basket of unfinished knitting and the books perched on every available tabletop.

  The clutter added a lived-in feel. The smell of mint, jasmine, and lemon oil took Elizabeth back to her childhood, when she’d been as close to her governess as her own mother, perhaps even closer.

  It had been Hester who held her when she cried, Hester who taught her to love unconditionally while requiring nothing in return. Hester who told her she was smart and beautiful no matter what dress she wore or circle of friends she chose.

  “We’ll sit in here.” Hester directed her to a tiny parlor where two identical chairs were positioned on either side of a small round table.

  Taking the basket, the older woman tilted her head at a curious angle. “To what do I owe this unexpected visit?”

  “Would you believe me if I said I was in the neighborhood?”

  “I would not.”

  “It’s the truth. I was not more than two blocks away.” She smiled innocently. “Once Grandfather’s chauffeur let me out of the motorcar.”

  “Oh, well then, I stand corrected.” Hester’s soft laughter served to relieve Elizabeth’s mind.

  But then the older woman broke off abruptly and gave in to a fit of coughing that threw her off balance. Elizabeth was immediately by her side, holding her steady until she was breathing easy once again.

  When their eyes met, Elizabeth’s throat closed up tight. She had to swallow several times before she could speak. “Hester, are you unwell?”

  “Of course not.” The answer came quickly, too quickly.

  “If you were sick, you would tell me?”

  “Absolutely, I would.”

  Elizabeth almost believed her. But Hester’s weakened physical state was impossible to ignore. Something was wrong with her.

  “Stop fretting over me.” Hester brushed her away and buried her nose in the basket, rummaging around with concentrated focus. “I merely slept poorly last evening.”

  “You are sure that’s the whole of it?” Elizabeth reached out and touched the very edge of Hester’s shoulder. “I don’t mind sending Dr. Miller over to examine you.”

  “Please don’t do that.” The woman made a soft sound of protest, barely audible. “All I need is a good night’s sleep, and then I’ll be right as rain.”

  Short of calling the woman a liar, Elizabeth was forced to take Hester at her word. Though it scared her to think her former governess was ill, there wasn’t much she could do but pray for her health and happiness.

  She smiled fondly at Hester’s bent head. “I’m glad I stopped by this morning.”

  At last, the woman looked up from the basket. “You never did reveal the reason for your visit.”

  No, she’d been too distracted by the obvious signs of Hester’s physical decline. “I came to tell you I have decided to go to England as my father and grandfather have requested.”

  “Ah.” Understanding filled the older woman’s eyes. “I’ll make tea, and we’ll have a good, long talk.”

  “I can help with the tea.”

  “No need, you’ll only be in the way.”

  Elizabeth wanted to protest, but Hester had already disappeared around the corner. While her friend puttered in the kitchen, Elizabeth took the opportunity to shed her coat and gloves. When the older woman returned, she’d just picked up the open book on a nearby footstool.

  “You are reading Pride and Prejudice again.” She returned the book to its original spot. “This must be the . . . what? Tenth time you’ve read the story?”

  “Closer to twenty.” Laughing softly, Hester set down the tray and poured the tea. “I do love a happy ending.”

  So did Elizabeth.

  Would her own story end happily?

  Her mother had taught her how to dress in the latest fashions, how to run a large household, and how to plan a dinner party. These were important skills in her privileged world. So why did her life feel shallow and frivolous, perhaps even a little empty?

  Hester settled back in her chair and p
icked up a teacup.

  Elizabeth followed suit.

  “Now tell me, dear. Does your decision to leave the country have anything to do with the return of your cousin and her husband from their honeymoon?”

  “No. No.” She answered with more emotion than she’d meant, but it was important Hester understood her decision had nothing to do with Caroline and Jackson.

  “You are not a bit . . . jealous?”

  “Not even a little.” Well, maybe a little, but not because she wanted Jackson for herself. What she wanted was a love like Jackson had with Caroline. “I’m happy they found each other.”

  “Even though he was to be your husband?”

  “We weren’t engaged.” The agreement between their mothers didn’t signify. “And we certainly didn’t suit one another.”

  Hester studied her over the rim of her teacup. “Everyone thought you did.”

  Elizabeth couldn’t argue the point. Like her, Jackson had been a favored member of New York society, welcome in every home because of his sterling reputation.

  That had changed when his relationship with Caroline became known. Because of her notorious beginnings, she’d been shunned from society. No proper New York hostess wanted a “filthy street urchin” in her home. Jackson had stood by the woman he loved, and had been shunned as well.

  Oh, to be loved like that.

  Though he’d forfeited his place among the New York elite, the man Jackson had become was far better than the one he’d been before meeting Caroline.

  Pondering the change, Elizabeth wondered about her own future. Would her choices make her a better woman? That was the real question she’d been grappling with since her mother’s departure.

  “If I am to be completely honest”—she took a sip of tea out of reflex rather than desire, then set down the cup—“I have decided to go to London primarily because I wish for a fresh start.”

  “This is what you truly want?”

  Elizabeth thought of Luke and their recent encounter. He’d claimed she would be a success in England, and that the British would find her pleasing. She hoped she would discover what she was missing in her life there.

  “I cannot go on as before,” she admitted.

  “Is running away the answer?”

  Words of denial were there in her mind, struggling up her throat and onto her tongue. She wanted—needed—to defend her decision. But the argument wouldn’t form. She’d come for advice.

  Why couldn’t she ask for it?

  Sweeping an unsteady hand over her dress, Elizabeth smoothed out a nonexistent wrinkle. The dress she wore was like all the others in her closet, made especially for her by expert hands in Parisian couture houses.

  “And I would hate for you to make a similar mistake.”

  Elizabeth blinked. While she’d been mounting a defense for her decision, Hester had continued speaking. Elizabeth filed through the woman’s words, trying to capture what she’d missed.

  “There comes a time when we have to accept things cannot go back to the way they once were.”

  Elizabeth cocked her head in confusion. Was Hester speaking about herself or Elizabeth? The woman had a faraway look in her eyes, as if caught in a distant memory.

  “Regret is a terrible bedfellow.”

  “You have regrets?”

  “Far too many, I’m afraid.” Hester’s hands reached for each other, twisted in her lap.

  “You’ve always been so steady.”

  She didn’t look steady now. She looked sad. So very, very sad. Maybe even a bit broken.

  “Life is all about choices, Elizabeth. A series of bad decisions, no matter how small at the time, can add up and eventually lead to a lifetime of regret.”

  Elizabeth took two, three shallow breaths. What terrible act had Hester committed that caused such remorse? She took the older woman’s hand and squeezed gently. “Whatever you’ve done, you may tell me. I won’t hold it against you.”

  “Oh, dear, dear girl, I do not regret what I’ve done.”

  “No?”

  Hester shook her head. “I grieve for all that I didn’t do, the chances I never took, the roads I never traveled. Missed opportunities, those are what haunt me and keep me awake at night.”

  For several heartbeats, Elizabeth could do nothing but blink at the woman she thought she’d known so well. Hester had always been so sure of herself, so ready to guide Elizabeth when she faltered. Her words of wisdom had spoken of a life well lived.

  To discover that hadn’t been the case was a shock.

  “I have something to show you.” Hester stood.

  Elizabeth attempted to stand as well, but the woman motioned her back into the chair. “Wait here. I won’t be a moment.”

  Watching her steady, practical governess leave the room, Elizabeth felt a crack of uncertainty split through her heart. Hester claimed she agonized over the roads not taken and chances not seized. Was Elizabeth headed down a similar path?

  Hester soon returned with a small rectangular box. The wood looked old and worn. The wildflowers and ivy swirls painted on the lid were all but faded away.

  After smoothing a hand across the top of the box, Hester carefully removed the lid. Elizabeth leaned in close and peered at the contents inside.

  There wasn’t much to see, just a nest of tissue. Anything could be hidden beneath the paper—a pair of shoes, a journal, something else entirely. “What is it?”

  “Patience, dear.”

  Carefully peeling away the paper, Hester revealed a scarlet-colored shawl. The rich, vibrant color was too red, too scandalous, and yet the shawl was the most beautiful creation Elizabeth had ever seen. Such a garment could never be worn in polite society, at least not by a young, innocent woman seeking a proper husband. An unmarried woman should wear only subdued colors, mostly pastels. Nothing too bold, nothing too bright, and, most definitely, nothing that would draw unnecessary attention. Other than in the subtlest of embellishments, red was out of the question.

  Which was utterly ridiculous. This was 1901. A new, modern era had begun. One red shawl couldn’t harm a reputation. It could, however, throw it into question. Compelled by the beautiful color, Elizabeth reached out to touch the fabric. The smooth silk was cool beneath her fingers.

  “It’s lovely,” she whispered, the word so inadequate. She looked up and found Hester staring at the shawl with something that could be described only as longing. “Where did it come from?”

  “It doesn’t matter.” Hester sounded even more tired than before. Each word she spoke seemed to drain her energy. “I purchased the shawl years ago with the idea of wearing it on my first real adventure.”

  The idea of her staid, perfectly upright governess embarking on an adventure made Elizabeth smile.

  “I have never worn it, not once.”

  Elizabeth’s smile vanished. She placed a hand to her forehead and shoved aside a stray lock of hair.

  Hester sighed heavily. “Now you know my biggest regret.”

  Lowering her gaze to the box, Elizabeth didn’t have to feign confusion. “You regret having never worn this gorgeous shawl?”

  “Yes and no.” Hester sighed again. “I regret not living a life that would have afforded me the opportunity to wear this shawl. At my age, it should be in tatters from constant use.”

  With great care, Hester folded the tissue paper over the garment, then closed the lid and set the box on the table. “You are still young, Elizabeth, with a full life ahead of you. I urge you not to make the same mistake I did.”

  “You’re telling me to go to England.”

  “I’m saying no such thing.” Hester closed her eyes a moment. “I merely want you to think carefully about your decision. Go for the right reasons or not at all.”

  Good advice. But what were the right reasons?

  Duty and obligation were noble pursuits. Or so Elizabeth had convinced herself. After presenting her decision to her father and grandfather, she’d attempted to tuck away her doubts in a
quiet corner of her heart, along with her desire to marry for love and her wish to experience passion.

  Her misgivings had refused to stay put. That’s why she’d come here, seeking advice from the most trusted person in her life. Instead of finding certainty, Elizabeth was more confused than ever.

  Going to London was supposed to be an adventure, wasn’t it? Or was it simply relinquishing her hopes and dreams for the sake of duty?

  As if reading her mind, Hester took her hands, her grip surprisingly strong. “I tell you this because I love you. Think hard about your decision. Make sure it’s what you want.”

  Elizabeth nodded, her head spinning with too many thoughts to sort through at once. One thing was certain. From the drawn look on Hester’s face, this visit had caused her governess pain.

  “I’ve stayed too long.” Elizabeth pulled her hands free. “I should let you rest.”

  The older woman didn’t argue, which only confirmed Elizabeth’s suspicions. Standing, she quickly donned her coat and gloves.

  “I’ll see you out.” At the door, Hester paused. “Whether you go to London or choose to stay home, do not be afraid to take chances.”

  This was the advice Elizabeth had come for, though not in the form she’d expected. She started to respond, but Hester wasn’t through.

  “Be bold, Elizabeth, and never settle for a life half lived.”

  There was a note of finality in Hester’s voice that cut a swath of fear straight through the remaining shreds of Elizabeth’s composure.

  “I love you, Hester.” She leaned over and kissed her weathered cheek. Trying her best to keep the panic out of her voice, she added, “Please take care of yourself.”

  “I always do.” She patted Elizabeth’s arm, then opened the door.

  Elizabeth left the town house full of worry. Outside, she lifted up a fervent prayer.

  Lord, I fear Hester is in dire need of You. Take care of her. Give her healing and the comfort of Your presence. May Your peace be with her now and always.

  Elizabeth owed so much to her former governess, more than she could ever repay. And today Hester had done more than given Elizabeth advice. She’d planted a seed.