by Renee Ryan
Would Elizabeth water it? Or would she let it die in the ground, swallowed up by choices borne from duty and obligation?
She had much to think about in the weeks ahead. And possibly, if she was bold enough, a few chances to take.
Luke arrived at the Harvard Club twenty minutes past noon. His meeting with Richard St. James had gone better than planned. There were details yet to be worked out, and further research to be done, but he was confident he had his first significant investor, possibly the only one he needed. Soon, he would be ready to launch his automobile company.
Flush with success, he hesitated outside the club. The building was constructed in the neo-Georgian style, made exclusively from Harvard brick—of course—and Indiana limestone. Not that Luke was an expert on such things. He was aware of this obscure architectural fact because all members were required to know the club’s history before joining.
The building’s façade was reminiscent of the ones on Harvard’s campus. It was as if he’d been dropped into a slice of Cambridge in the middle of New York City. There were plans to add a second library, another billiard room, and two additional floors of guest rooms. There was even talk of adding a swimming pool one day.
The amenities were top notch, but Luke was a member solely for the contacts. Some of the most powerful and influential businessmen in New York belonged to the Harvard Club, men who were building America one railroad, one oil line, one electric power plant at a time. Luke planned to join their ranks once he launched his latest venture.
But today wasn’t about his financial independence. He wasn’t here to make business contacts but to ensure Penelope’s future was secure. Luke would discover any secrets Simon Burrows hid beneath his virtuous, haughty veneer.
As he stepped beneath the awning of the most exclusive club in the city, resolve spread through him. Luke would not rest until he was convinced his sister was marrying a good man who would treat her with the love and respect she deserved.
The doorman greeted him by name. “Good afternoon, Mr. Griffin.”
Luke nodded. “Winslow.”
The short, barrel-chested man had thinning hair and a smiling mouth full of crooked teeth. He was dressed in crimson-and-gold livery. Harvard colors. After twenty years on the job, Winslow was as much a part of the club as the scarlet drapery. He knew every member, their various routines and individual connections to one another. He was a plethora of information.
“Is my father inside?”
“He left ten minutes ago, after taking an early lunch with your future brother-in-law.”
Wasn’t that interesting?
“And Mr. Burrows?”
“He left as well.” The doorman pulled open the gold-plated door and stepped aside.
“Thank you.”
Luke climbed the long flight of stairs that led to the main gathering area, touted as an oasis of calm in the midst of hectic New York. The smell of expensive tobacco and freshly polished wood mingled with the scent of leather, books, and old New York money.
The décor was similar to all the great mansions in the city—ridiculously high ceilings, chandeliers made from imported crystal, and dark wood-paneled walls.
Making his way through the cavernous hall, Luke nodded to familiar faces, including a few from his days at the prestigious university. Not surprising, since election for membership, with only a few exceptions, was limited to Harvard graduates and tenured faculty.
Luke sauntered into the dining room and took a quick inventory of the men gathered for lunch. Any number of them could give him the information he sought about Simon. The trick was choosing the right fellow and asking the proper questions, nothing too obvious.
“Luke, my good man.” A hand clasped his shoulder. “I had a feeling I’d find you here.”
Smiling, Luke twisted around to face his oldest and most trusted friend. Dressed impeccably in a black business suit and crisp linen shirt, Jackson Montgomery was the quintessential picture of a successful man of means. His face was clean shaven, his black-as-midnight hair perfectly cropped.
“I wasn’t expecting to see you until Thursday evening at your welcome-home party.”
“That was the plan. However, we arrived back in New York a day early. Normally I would be enjoying time spent with my new wife, but she kicked me out of the house.” The deadpan delivery didn’t fool Luke.
He laughed. “Comes as no surprise. I’m only amazed it took her this long to see the error of her ways.”
“Shows how much you know. I was sent away while Caroline unpacks our trunks. Apparently”—he gave a self-satisfied grin—“I’m a distraction.”
Luke heard the affection in his friend’s casually spoken words, and the happiness. The change in Jackson was astounding. Where once his posture had been stiff and unbending, he now held himself with easy assurance. His stance was more relaxed, and his guarded gaze was less, well, guarded.
Marriage obviously suited him.
“So you’re a free man.”
“For a few hours, at any rate.”
They were interrupted by the club’s venerable maître d’hôtel. “A table for two?”
As they were led to their table, Luke noticed several heads turning in their direction, making eye contact without actually making eye contact. There was never a stare more blatant than the one that didn’t quite meet its target. Jackson had been a favorite among their peers, but clearly no more. It wouldn’t make a difference in his business dealings with these men, but socially he’d become an outcast. He would no longer be invited into their homes or to their parties.
Much had changed in a mere handful of months. Jackson had once been consumed with restoring respectability to his family name. Part of his plan had been to marry a woman with an impeccable standing in society. He and Elizabeth St. James, the most sought-after debutante in the city, had been pledged to marry by their families.
Luke had been against the match from the start. Elizabeth deserved more than marriage to a man who wanted her good name and little else. He thought of her going to London to find a husband.
Blood roared in his ears. What was she thinking?
Jackson chuckled softly as he sat and glanced around the room. “It would appear our roles have been reversed.”
Luke didn’t pretend to misunderstand what his friend meant. By marrying Caroline, Jackson had given up all hope of restoring his family’s good name. Luke was now the more respectable of the two.
Ironic, when his transgressions were far worse than his friend’s. “For my sister’s sake, I have made it my mission to garner society’s good opinion.”
“I don’t give a fig what they think of me. Marrying Caroline was the wisest decision I’ve ever made.”
The man had been laid low by love. Luke couldn’t help but envy the poor sap. “How did you enjoy Europe?”
“I expected to hate touring half a continent. However—”
Jackson broke off when their waiter appeared. They gave their orders, and the man slipped away again.
“However,” Jackson repeated, smiling broadly. “I found touring museums and cathedrals, while in the company of a beautiful woman, gratifying in ways I never imagined.”
The pleasure in Jackson’s face told its own story.
The man was smitten with his wife. Not for the first time, Luke was glad Jackson had married Caroline instead of her cousin.
A vision flashed of Elizabeth in the sunny parlor, pretty and fresh, smiling up at him. The image had him clearing his throat. “You are a changed man, Jackson Montgomery.”
“I am, indeed.” He leaned forward. “I highly recommend taking the marital plunge.”
Luke remembered the last time the two of them met at this club. They’d spoken of marriage back then as well, but the conversation had been vastly different. At the time, Jackson had been close to offering for Elizabeth’s hand.
Jackson was better off for making the break.
Was Elizabeth?
Luke stretched ou
t his legs, needing the movement to sort through his thoughts. Until recently, Elizabeth had belonged to the man sitting across from him. Part of Luke still considered her off limits, a friend of the family, nothing more. And yet, somehow, friendship didn’t accurately describe their connection. The term was entirely too tepid. He couldn’t imagine standing by and watching her marry a British lord for the sake of acquiring a title for her family. She deserved better. The thought was becoming something of a mantra.
“You’re frowning, my friend.”
No doubt he was. Elizabeth’s wish to abandon everything and everyone she knew concerned him. Jackson was her family now. Where Luke had failed, perhaps his friend would succeed. In a precise, emotionless cadence, Luke told Jackson about Elizabeth’s plan to journey to England and why.
“That’s absurd.”
Luke’s sentiments exactly. “She claims it’s her way of contributing to the family.”
Jackson’s eyes narrowed. “You have spoken with her about this matter?”
“Just this morning.”
“What counsel did you offer?”
“It’s not my place to tell her what to do.” Except, somehow, Luke felt that it was his place. “Elizabeth’s future is hers to do with as she wishes.”
“That hasn’t stopped you in the past.”
Luke winced at the reminder. By insisting Jackson be completely honest about his intentions, or rather his change of heart, he’d already interfered in Elizabeth’s life. Jackson had railed against the unsolicited advice in the beginning. But in the end, he’d admitted Luke was right.
Luke was right about Elizabeth’s current situation as well.
She didn’t need to travel to England to find a husband. Her family didn’t need a title. Someone should tell her those things.
That someone would not be Luke. It wasn’t his place.
He hoped if he told himself that often enough, he’d refrain from interfering in her life again.
Chapter Six
Late Thursday afternoon, Elizabeth studied her closet with a critical eye. The custom-made gowns that had once held such appeal were now a physical reminder she’d allowed her mother to control her decisions for entirely too long. Though beautiful and exquisitely made, the respectable pale colors and conservative cuts were also unremarkable and lacked glamour.
Yet, even now, Elizabeth fought the reflex to choose the unworn blue silk for tonight’s dinner party.
The woman wears the dress. The dress does not wear the woman. More advice from her mother Elizabeth wished to disregard. Why could she not get Katherine’s voice out of her head?
Because not all her advice was wrong, nor were all her intentions evil.
Frowning, Elizabeth glided her fingertips along the pleated skirt. Indecision kept her from handing the gown over to Sally, who stood beside her in the closet.
“Which one is it to be?”
Elizabeth took a breath. “I don’t know.”
Sally turned her head to look at her directly. There was enough light in the tiny space to illuminate the maid’s patient expression. Elizabeth appreciated the other woman not pushing her to make a decision, especially since Elizabeth didn’t have an endless supply of time. There were at least half a dozen details to review before the guests were due to arrive.
A dress caught her eye.
Elizabeth took a step forward for a better look. The gold taffeta was of the finest quality, but what stood out about the dress was the barest trace of scarlet ribbon lining the bodice, neckline, and sleeves. The color was similar to that of Hester’s shawl. The one the former governess had never worn and that now represented a lifetime of regret.
Tears gathered in Elizabeth’s eyes. Hester had seemed so defeated. She’d gazed at the shawl with such longing . . .
Elizabeth reached for the dress, paused a beat, then ran her finger along the scarlet trim.
Was there more to Hester’s story? Surely there had to be a reason for the choices she’d made and the ones she hadn’t. Elizabeth would ask her when next they met.
For now, tonight, she would pay homage to her friend in the only way she knew how. “This one.”
She plucked the gold taffeta dress free from its place among the others and passed it over to Sally. The maid gave a murmur of approval.
Forty minutes later, Elizabeth stood before the mirror in the dress, her hair arranged in a complicated twist atop her head. Sally tugged and pulled at the glittering material, ensuring it fell evenly to the floor from every angle, while Elizabeth stared at her reflection.
A thrill slipped along her spine. The modern cut of the gown set off her trim figure. The gold taffeta worked well with her skin tone. But it was the scarlet trim that drew her eye.
Never settle for a life half lived.
Elizabeth had a long way to go if she wished to follow Hester’s advice.
“There.” Sally stepped back and studied the result of her efforts. She circled Elizabeth one more time, stopping at a spot directly behind Elizabeth’s right shoulder.
Their gazes met in the mirror. “You are ready.”
“I believe I am.”
“What’s next?” Sally moved to the writing desk, where Elizabeth had laid out her lists—all five of them—for tonight’s party.
She joined the maid and silently reviewed each piece of paper, top to bottom, left to right. “I can’t help thinking I’ve forgotten something.”
The statement earned her a soft laugh. “You never miss a detail.”
Then why this nagging sense of worry nipping at her?
Nerves, she told herself, certainly understandable. In the months since her mother had moved to Florida, Elizabeth had taken over running her grandfather’s household. She’d turned an already efficient staff into a well-honed machine. But tonight’s party was the first party she’d planned without her mother’s input.
Elizabeth glanced at the clock on the mantelpiece. She had a little more than an hour before the guests began arriving. Plenty of time for her to look in on the kitchen staff and check the dining room, if she didn’t dawdle.
She dismissed Sally with a smile. “I’ll take care of the rest.” At the young woman’s protest, she added, “You still have to dress for the party.”
A horrified look crossed the maid’s face. “You know I cannot attend.”
“Of course you can.”
Sally looked positively stricken with . . . fear? No, that couldn’t be right. Why would she fear going to a private dinner party with only family and close friends in attendance?
“It is not appropriate,” Sally argued.
Probably not, Elizabeth silently agreed, if her mother were still living in St. James House. But she wasn’t, and Elizabeth was in charge of the evening’s festivities. She had full say over the guest list. One small step.
One tiny rebellion.
“We’ve been through this already. You’re Caroline’s closest friend. She’ll be hurt if you don’t attend a party in her honor.”
“She will understand.”
“I won’t hear another word of protest.” Elizabeth took the young woman’s hand and pulled her toward the adjoining room. “I expect to see you in the drawing room no later than seven o’clock.”
“You’re very persistent once you get an idea in your head.”
“I am.” Elizabeth gave the maid a toothy grin. “Now go.”
She gave Sally a little push past the threshold, then shut the door behind her.
Pleased she’d won the argument, Elizabeth decided to go forth with confidence from that point forward. For Hester’s sake, she would enjoy every bit of the evening. She would even look for opportunities to be bolder.
Flush with anticipation, she gathered up her lists, rushed out of the room, and then sped down the back stairwell.
The noise level increased with each step she conquered. Under Mrs. Crawford’s efficient leadership, the kitchen was a hive of activity. A sea of staff dressed in formal black moved with purpos
e and efficiency.
Leaving them to their work, Elizabeth entered the dining room next. She pressed the switch on a raised panel. The recently installed Maria Theresa chandelier came alive with light. Airy and delicate, the handblown glass and crystal ornaments twisted around the gilded frame, giving the illusion of a floating waterfall.
Elizabeth’s decision to go with a blue-and-gold palette to match the St. James china pattern had been a good one. The flower arrangement in the middle of the table, with its array of blue dahlias, was the final touch that pulled everything together.
Pleased by the overall effect, Elizabeth practically floated through the room. She checked each place card and then, satisfied, moved on to the drawing room, where the guests would gather before being called in to dinner.
The stillness in the air was disconcerting. This was her favorite room, but only when it was filled with voices and laughter. She fluffed a pillow, then another, then took note of the placement of the flower arrangements throughout the room.
Each was a smaller, identical version of the ones she and Sally had put on the dining table.
“Perfect,” she whispered.
“Yes, you are indeed a vision of perfection.”
Pulse racing, Elizabeth took a moment to gather herself before facing Luke directly. With slow, careful movements, she pivoted on her toes.
Their gazes met, held, held. Held.
Her heart took a fast, hard dip.
To the average observer, Luke would appear every inch the easygoing, wealthy gentleman with nothing but unlimited time on his hands. One shoulder propped against the wall, arms crossed over his chest, he watched Elizabeth with eyes lowered to half-mast.
A sense of déjà vu shook her to the core. He’d looked at her like this once before, only a few days ago, under the moon and stars in the sunken gardens of Griffin Manor. There was nothing casual about his deceptively relaxed manner then or now.
Elizabeth scanned his face, seeing something quite wonderful in his eyes, something soft and approachable and solely for her. She was staring, she knew, but couldn’t seem to stop herself. Luke was spectacular dressed in black formal attire. He’d never looked more handsome, or more accessible.
