A Touch of Scarlet

by Renee Ryan

  Elizabeth had the presence of mind to sit before her legs collapsed beneath her. “Oh, Hester, why did you not tell me you were so ill?”

  She forced herself to read the remaining few lines.

  I have so little to show for my life. I find comfort knowing I played a small role in yours. You are my greatest achievement. I give you this shawl with the hope that you will live the life I never did.

  Do not be like me, Elizabeth. Live with boldness and joy and, most of all, passion.

  I pray your regrets are few and your adventures abundant.

  Yours, most humbly,

  Hester

  Tears sprang to Elizabeth’s eyes. She dashed them away with an impatient swipe and read the letter again. Her vision blurred halfway through, and the tears returned. This time, she let them come. They trailed down her cheeks.

  She must find a way to get to Hester.

  You will be turned away.

  She must try.

  Placing the letter atop the tissue paper, Elizabeth picked up the box and hugged the treasured shawl tightly to her. She hurried forward, then came to an abrupt stop.

  “Luke.” The breath roared out of her in a furious rush. “You are finished with your meeting?”

  “Yes.” Two strong hands wrapped around her shoulders. “Something has upset you.”

  Willing her panic under control, she shook her head in denial. Her agony was too raw to put into words.

  “Elizabeth.” He pulled her closer, searching her face with those intense, all-seeing eyes. “Tell me what’s happened.”

  As much as she wanted to soak up his strength, there was no time to explain, not if she wished to get to Hester. “It is nothing.”

  “It’s something. You’re shaking and”—he pulled her an inch closer, his gaze locked with hers—“you’re crying.”

  She recognized the futility of denying his claim when the signs of her grief were still trailing down her cheeks. “I have had some distressing news.”

  Everything in him softened, his face, his mouth, even his stance. “Is it your mother?”

  The question was so far off the mark and yet so very close to the truth. Hester had always been a sort of mother to Elizabeth. A sob slipped out of her.

  Luke’s arms instantly went around her.

  Elizabeth desperately wanted to cling to him, but if she gave in and let him comfort her, she feared she would never stop crying. With enormous strength of will, she stepped out of his embrace.

  He placed a finger under her chin and applied gentle pressure until their eyes met. “Talk to me.”

  This was the Luke that appeared in her dreams, tall and commanding, a portrait of masculine strength. A woman could count on a man like this.

  Sighing, Elizabeth lowered her head, clutching the package in her arms as if it were a physical shield between her and this vibrant man. “It is not my mother. It is my former governess. She has taken ill.”

  “We’ll go to her now.”

  Yes, take me to her.

  She nearly said the words aloud. But what good could Elizabeth do for her friend?

  “She has been refused visitors.” She heard the tremor in her voice, the defeat. “I can’t even sit by her bedside and hold her hand.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  His sincerity served to upset her further. The breath in her lungs grew cold as ice. Her heart was breaking, and she didn’t know what to do to stop the pain. She adjusted the package in her grip, lifted her eyes to meet Luke’s.

  The quiet comfort staring back at her was nearly her undoing. The sting of fresh tears threatened.

  Hester needed her, and Elizabeth could not go to her. She’d never felt more helpless, or more useless. She had family, money, and every luxury at her fingertips. What did Hester have?

  Regrets. And a beautiful shawl she’d never worn.

  It was all so tragic.

  Voices drifted up from the foyer. Elizabeth recoiled, one hand flying to her wet cheek. She couldn’t be seen in this state. People would ask questions, questions she wasn’t feeling strong enough to answer.

  Luke instantly took charge. “I’ll see to your guests.”

  “No, Luke.” She instinctively balked at the suggestion. “I cannot abandon you to a task that is my responsibility.”

  “Go, Elizabeth. Take a few moments to compose yourself.”

  Without waiting for her to respond, he took her shoulders once again and gently guided her toward the hallway.

  “But the guests—”

  “Will survive under my care.” He leaned over her right ear. “I’ll entertain them with my renowned charm and outrageous stories.”

  She nearly smiled.

  Luke’s relaxed manner made her feel less alone.

  Before she realized what she was doing, she was in the hallway, facing the direction of her room and promising Luke, “I’ll only be a moment.”

  “Take all the time you need.”

  At the sound of his deep, soothing tone, the agony Elizabeth felt became a tad more bearable. She hadn’t expected to receive so much comfort from a man’s voice. Then again, the voice didn’t belong to just any man.

  Luke watched Elizabeth cross to the other side of the corridor, the success of his brief meeting with Richard St. James all but forgotten. Her steps were slow and carefully measured. She looked small and alone. He was sorely tempted to call her back and offer her further comfort. He didn’t, of course.

  She needed a moment to gather herself.

  He needed one as well.

  Her tears had nearly brought him to his knees. Though Luke had faced down more than his share of female wretchedness, he’d never gotten used to the powerlessness that came with the experience. He’d wanted to erase Elizabeth’s sadness.

  He’d sent her away instead. It had been the right thing to do.

  Luke had never seen her that openly upset before. Elizabeth was not a woman ruled by emotion. She was serene, calm, perfectly well behaved.

  But as Luke silently reviewed each of his recent encounters with Elizabeth, he realized there had been something else in her manner, something he’d ignored, something not so serene or controlled as she spoke of her desire to rebel. And that desire was growing stronger in her. Luke dreaded what she might do next.

  A memory flashed.

  Elizabeth standing before him, in this very room, less than an hour ago . . . her rising up on her toes, him leaning closer.

  He resisted the image, as he had all other inappropriate thoughts pertaining to the charming young woman.

  Elizabeth was steady and predictable, her manners impeccable. She was not bold or impulsive. She was not a magnet pulling at his own rebellious nature. She was also . . .

  Upset. And that slew him.

  Perhaps he should see if she was all right.

  He started down the hallway.

  “Luke, I see you have arrived ahead of us.”

  Welcoming the interruption, Luke shifted his stance, and his attention, to his friend. “Jackson.”

  As they shook hands, Luke caught a movement on his left.

  “Caroline.” He released Jackson’s hand and cupped hers. “You are even more beautiful than I remember.”

  “What a lovely thing to say.” The smile she gave him was reminiscent of her cousin. Though Caroline had dark hair and startling green eyes, there were many similarities she shared with Elizabeth—the exotic tilt of their eyes; the creamy, flawless skin; the petite frame.

  The cousins had met only a handful of months ago, as they’d been separated by an ocean and tragic events out of their control. The two could have easily become enemies. Instead, they’d become friends, closer than most sisters.

  If anyone could help Elizabeth through her grief, this woman could.

  “You are the exact woman I need.”

  “How very intriguing.” The cultured British accent was the perfect accompaniment to Caroline’s sculpted, elegant beauty. “Do explain.”

  “Yes, Gri
ffin. Explain.” Luke recognized the low growl in Jackson’s request as a warning. It would seem the man was a protective husband.

  He ignored his friend and pressed on. “I require your help with a rather delicate matter.”

  Two perfectly arched eyebrows lifted.

  “It’s to do with your cousin.”

  Alarm filled Caroline’s gaze. “Is Elizabeth ill? Hurt?”

  The worry in her tone was real, as real as the concern tearing through Luke.

  “She isn’t hurt.” Not in the strictest sense of the word. She was, however, in pain.

  He gave a brief overview of what he knew about Elizabeth’s former governess, expanding on her recent illness and the hospital directive that prevented Elizabeth from going to her. “I believe your cousin could use another woman’s—”

  He was talking to Caroline’s back.

  Jackson moved in beside him. “I say, my good man, your way with women never ceases to amaze me.”

  The dry comment had Luke thrusting one hand through his hair. “I’m worried about Elizabeth. She’s had a difficult time of it these past few months.”

  Jackson’s entire demeanor sobered. “Has something else happened I don’t know about?”

  An ache started deep in Luke’s chest, moved to his throat. “Nothing specific that I’m aware of. She puts on a brave face, but the business with her mother has left her reeling. On top of that shock, to be confronted with her governess’s illness . . .”

  For several seconds, Jackson stared down the empty corridor. “You mentioned her mother. Did Katherine attempt to contact Elizabeth while Caroline and I were away?”

  “No, I don’t believe so.” She would have told him. Luke was sure of it.

  “That’s something, I suppose.”

  He wasn’t nearly as certain as his friend. “Although I believe sending Elizabeth’s mother to Florida was for the best”—banishment was a fitting punishment for a woman who valued her position among New York’s social elite—“for all intents and purposes, Elizabeth lost an influential woman in her life. I fear she’s about to lose another.”

  On top of that, the men in her life wanted to ship her off to England. While their wish might be to protect her and give her the fresh start she claimed she wanted, Luke thought Elizabeth had endured enough change in the past three months. She didn’t need more. Not so soon.

  “Relax, my friend.” Jackson clasped his shoulder in a gesture of support. “Elizabeth is in good hands with my wife.”

  Luke took a stabilizing breath. Though he would like to go to Elizabeth, he settled for cooling his heels in the drawing room with Jackson.

  Chapter Eight

  By the time Elizabeth reached her room, she was almost composed. As she crossed to her writing desk with the keepsake box firmly in her grip, she experienced a moment of profound grief. The sensation was powerful enough that she had to pause momentarily or risk stumbling.

  Some instinct warned her she would never see Hester again. She feared that her recent trip to the brownstone on Riverside Drive had been her last.

  Oh, Hester, I cannot lose you.

  Elizabeth’s heart felt as if it were ripping in two. Helplessness and sorrow warred within her. She set the box on the spot where her lists had been earlier and looked down at her hands. They were shaking.

  Lips pressed in a determined line, she formed two white-knuckled fists, then relaxed her fingers. She repeated the process twice over before she felt calm enough to trace her finger along the top edge of the box.

  Hot tears pricked at the backs of her eyes. Elizabeth refused to let them form. She’d done enough crying for one evening.

  Later, when the party was over and her guests were gone, she would indulge in her grief. But for the next four hours, she would pretend all was well in her world, dry-eyed and poised. It would not be easy, but she would set aside her sadness for Jackson and Caroline’s sake.

  Without thinking too hard about what she was doing, Elizabeth opened the box and gathered up the shawl. She pressed the garment to her face. The scent of jasmine and mint clung to the fabric. The familiar aroma reminded her of Hester.

  Exhaling slowly, Elizabeth draped the garment over her shoulders and moved to the full-length mirror. Her stomach executed a long, slow roll.

  “What a beautiful shawl.”

  Embarrassed to be caught admiring herself, every muscle in her body tensed. Just as quickly, peace invaded her heart, followed by a rush of pleasure.

  “Caro.” Elizabeth spun around. She dashed to her cousin, practically flinging herself into the other woman’s arms. “It’s so good to see you.”

  They hugged for several long seconds.

  “Oh, how I’ve missed you, dear Elizabeth.”

  The delight in Caroline’s voice brought a fresh bout of tears. At least these were full of joy. “I’ve missed you, too.”

  Elizabeth hadn’t realized how much until this very moment. Although she’d known her cousin only a short while, Caroline had become one of her most treasured friends.

  As she gazed into the joy-filled face, Elizabeth found her own smile. Caroline had always been beautiful, but now . . . she glowed. “Jackson has made you a happy woman.”

  “He has. Oh, indeed he has. I am blissfully happy. But you, sweet girl”—her smile dropped—“are sad.”

  Elizabeth tried not to look as gloomy as she felt. “I’ve had some upsetting news.”

  Sympathy softened Caroline’s features. “I’m so sorry about your governess. As I recall, she’s a relatively young woman. Her illness must come as quite a shock.”

  “You know about Hester’s decline?”

  “Luke told us just now, when Jackson and I first arrived.” Caroline rested her hand on Elizabeth’s arm. “He’s worried about you. We all are.”

  Telling herself she should be grateful she had so many people in her life who cared, Elizabeth let out an unsteady sigh. The move sent the shawl slipping off her shoulders. She caught the garment. Tenderly refolding the delicate silk, she placed it back in the keepsake box.

  “I wish you wouldn’t put that away.” Caroline joined her at the writing desk. “That color suits you.”

  “But it’s so . . . red.”

  “It’s lovely.” Caroline touched the thin fabric with her fingertips. “The rich tone enhances your complexion. You should wear red more often.”

  Elizabeth wished she had the courage to wear such a bold color in public. Rearranging the shawl in its nest of tissue paper, she let her hand linger over the cool silk. “Such a shame.”

  “Do you want to talk about your governess?”

  Elizabeth snatched a quick breath.

  Though she didn’t have the time for an in-depth conversation—obligations awaited her in the drawing room—she found herself telling Caroline about her last visit with Hester. Elizabeth ended the story with “Her final words of advice were ‘Be bold and never settle for a life half lived.’”

  “Sounds as if your governess is a very wise woman.”

  There was no judgment in Caroline’s voice, only vast amounts of compassion. Elizabeth thought of her cousin’s childhood, of the things she’d been forced to do to survive.

  Never once had Caroline complained about those difficult years, at least not in relation to herself. She did, however, lament over the life stolen from her mother. Rightfully so. “I’m sorry, Caro, for what my mother did to yours. I—”

  “Stop right there.” Caroline pressed a fingertip to Elizabeth’s lips, her expression full of tender affection. “As I told you before, you are not to blame. I will not let you apologize for your mother’s actions.”

  “Surely, when you look at me, you must see her.”

  “You are not your mother.” With one seamless move, she pulled Elizabeth into another fast, fierce hug. When she stepped back, her expression was still warm. “I won’t have you feeling guilty for something you had no more control over than I did.”

  “You are a good person, Carol
ine Montgomery.”

  “What a sweet thing to say, but we both know I’m not always good. In fact, I’m quite the challenge. Just ask my husband.”

  The twinkle in her eyes spoke of great affection and love for the man she’d married.

  “I adore hearing you call Jackson your husband.”

  “Not as much as I love calling him that. Now.” Her smile widened. “About this gorgeous shawl . . .”

  She reached inside the keepsake box and, with a flourish more suitable for the theater, arranged the red silk over Elizabeth’s shoulders. “Beautiful.”

  Unable to stop herself, Elizabeth returned to the mirror. Caroline moved in behind her and set her chin atop Elizabeth’s shoulder.

  “What a pair we make,” she said on a sigh. “My dark hair to your light, my green eyes to your blue. We’re practically polar opposites. Yet I see the family resemblance.”

  All Elizabeth saw was Caroline’s vibrant beauty next to her predictable prettiness. The icy numbness of uncertainty that had plagued her for days returned with renewed force.

  Caroline had been raised in poverty, scraping for every morsel of food on the streets of London. Such a childhood should have made her coarse and hard. Instead, she was a woman with natural grace, full of substance, goodness, and integrity.

  In contrast, Elizabeth had been raised in luxury, with every advantage. She had a reputation for being good and kind.

  Obedience did not make a person good or kind.

  Who am I beneath the pretty outer shell?

  A pale version of her cousin, at best.

  Even their mutual grandfather recognized their differences. From nearly their first meeting, Richard St. James had seen Caroline as more than a beautiful face. He respected her brain and was already teaching her the family business from the ground up.

  Whereas he was sending Elizabeth to England to find a husband.

  “I believe”—Caroline lifted her chin off Elizabeth’s shoulder—“that you are the most beautiful woman in New York, nay, all of America. Some man will be very fortunate to win your heart. I only pray he lives in New York.”