by Renee Ryan
“I . . . wait. What?” Elizabeth pressed a hand to her heart and spun to face her cousin head-on. “You know about my plans to go to England?”
“Luke told Jackson and”—she gave Elizabeth an apologetic tilt of her head—“Jackson told me.”
Luke, Caroline, and Jackson. The three of them had been discussing her situation without her knowledge. Elizabeth didn’t like knowing that, not one bit. Some of her annoyance sounded in her voice. “You don’t approve.”
Caroline didn’t deny the accusation.
“For selfish reasons, I want you to stay in America. However”—she lifted a hand to prevent Elizabeth from interrupting—“it’s your choice. The future is yours for the taking, and yours to control.”
Having a choice wasn’t the same as having control. Elizabeth was coming to understand that in ways she never had before. “My decision isn’t final.”
“I’m glad to hear it. Now brace yourself, because I’m about to add my advice to all the rest.”
Irritation rose, the emotion clogging in her throat. Elizabeth was growing weary of all the people in her life offering her advice, no matter how well meant. There was too much noise in her head.
“Do what makes you happy.” Gaze growing earnest, Caroline leaned slightly forward. “You, Elizabeth. Not the family, not Luke, not even me.”
What a generous piece of advice. How she would miss her cousin if she journeyed to England. If. Elizabeth was no longer certain she would go. She wasn’t certain she would stay, either.
She had family here in America, a handful of close friends, but what else? Her future held few options. She would eventually have to marry. Becoming a wife and running a large household was what she’d been trained to do. Even the banishment of her mother hadn’t been solely to punish the woman but also to enhance Elizabeth’s chances at making a suitable match. If her reputation was put into question, her prospects would diminish.
Would that be so awful? She was momentarily lost for an answer.
“Is it so terrible to lose the approval of your peers?” Elizabeth spoke without thinking. The moment the words left her mouth, she realized how they must sound to her cousin. Caroline had been judged wanting by the good people of New York, while Elizabeth continued to enjoy their favor. “I can’t bear the idea of you and Jackson being shunned from society.”
“My dear, sweet cousin.” Caroline took her hands and squeezed gently. “Do not grieve for us. Jackson and I are quite happy with the way things turned out.”
“You have no regrets?”
“Not one.” The truth shimmered in her eyes, in the secret smile that slid across her lips. Caroline’s reaction to life’s disappointments was an inspiration, something to emulate.
“Oh, Caro, I’m so glad to have you home. You truly are the sister of my heart.”
“And you are mine.”
Still holding hands, they stood smiling at each other.
“I’m going to do a bit of meddling,” Caroline warned as she straightened the shawl on Elizabeth’s shoulders. “You’ve been too unselfish for far too long. From this moment on, you will take your governess’s advice. You will be bold and seize the full, rich life you deserve.”
Elizabeth gave herself a moment to let her cousin’s words sink in. She couldn’t deny the excitement that came upon her. Her breathing quickened in her lungs. One small step.
One tiny rebellion.
“I will take your suggestion under consideration.” Elizabeth couldn’t keep the smile from her lips, then sobered as she remembered her duty.
“Caro, would you do me a favor?”
“Of course. Anything.”
“Will you return to the drawing room and inform the other guests I’ll be there shortly?”
“It would be my pleasure.” Caroline pressed a kiss to Elizabeth’s cheek. And then she was gone.
Alone once again, Elizabeth turned back to the mirror. Eyes lit with conviction, she gave her reflection a knowing smile. “Here we go.”
Impatient for Elizabeth’s return, Luke stood apart from the growing crowd and took in the occupants of the drawing room.
Nearly all the guests had arrived. A fire in the large marble hearth had been lit to offset the evening chill. For his sister’s sake, he should be mingling. This was Penelope and Simon’s first event as an official couple since their engagement ball.
Luke couldn’t drum up the enthusiasm. This was a friendly setting, and by all appearances his sister seemed to be having a splendid time. Simon stood by her side, smiling broadly. He looked relaxed, comfortable even.
The man’s easy demeanor surprised Luke, and it wasn’t the only surprise. He’d accepted an invitation to a party for a couple unwelcome in most New York homes. Had he done so because Penelope had asked it of him?
Of course, few declined an event held in Richard St. James’s home. That didn’t fully explain why Simon was here tonight. Luke narrowed his eyes. His future brother-in-law seemed exceptionally pleased with himself, as if he knew something the rest of them didn’t. What game was he playing?
He presented the picture of a man besotted with his fiancée. Therein lay the problem. The picture was too flawless. Luke found it far too easy to distrust the man, for all his smooth-faced perfection.
“You’re brooding, son.”
Luke turned his head and confronted his father’s icy disapproval. “I’m not brooding. I’m thinking.”
“That’s what you call it?”
His father was baiting him, but to what end? There was no cause for it, not at a private dinner party for a close family friend.
Lips pressed in a grim line, Luke shifted his attention to his mother. She sat perched on the edge of a small sofa, sharing the space with Jackson’s mother, Lucille Montgomery. The long-suffering wife commiserating with the bitter, betrayed one.
That, Luke decided, was what happened when one partner in a marriage cared more deeply than the other. Both women had married knowing their feelings for their husbands were not returned. And they weren’t alone in their lopsided display of sentiment. Marriages among New York’s social set rarely brought happiness. Most produced misery and pain.
Luke frowned. When had he become so scornful of marriage?
How could he not be?
The examples of disastrous unions abounded everywhere. He didn’t want his sister entering into the same trap as their mother.
There was still the possibility that Simon’s affection for Penny was true. She could be entering the kind of marriage Jackson had with Caroline—the only example of a true love match Luke could call to mind.
Were his friends an exception?
Possibly. Probably.
“People are watching you.” His father muttered the words under his breath. “At least try to look pleased when you glance at your sister and her fiancé.”
Luke had nearly forgotten his father was still standing beside him.
“You know I have reservations about the match.” He kept his voice low, his words cryptic, in the event people were doing more than merely watching him.
“You’re being overprotective when there is no cause for it.” His father kept his voice equally low. “Simon is a good man. He comes from one of the oldest and finest families in New York.”
“Social standing does not guarantee a good marriage.”
“Your sister is happy with the match.”
Penny did look happy. At the moment, she and Simon were conversing with Jackson’s grandmother, one of Luke’s favorite people. A smile tugged at his lips.
Hattie Montgomery was eccentric, and had a big, booming voice to match her personality. She insisted everyone call her Granny. No one watching her animated conversation with the newly engaged couple would guess she’d recently celebrated her eighty-eighth birthday.
Granny’s fondness for speaking her mind and her affection for Penny had endeared her to Luke years ago. She was one of the most powerful matriarchs of New York and an excellent judge of chara
cter. Luke watched her interacting with Simon and Penny, taking in the scene as objectively as possible. Granny didn’t seem as enamored with Penny’s fiancé as she was with Penny. Something to ponder.
“I don’t trust him.”
If Simon proved unreliable or a danger to Penny, Luke would do what was necessary to put an end to their engagement.
“I know you’ve been asking around about your future brother-in-law. I’m warning you. Stop it now, before word gets back to Simon.”
The gaze his father settled on him was that of a man used to issuing orders and having them followed. His eyes were harder than usual. Luke had seen that inflexible look once before, when he’d confronted his father about the paternity of Esmeralda’s daughter.
They’d nearly come to blows. Luke had never brought up the subject again. The night of Penny’s engagement ball had been the first time he and his father had spoken of the matter since that initial argument.
“You will do nothing to jeopardize the engagement. I want your word.”
If anyone was going to jeopardize Penny’s future happiness, it would be Warren. Only a select few knew his secret. Once Esmeralda and her daughter returned to America, the risk of exposure would increase dramatically.
What was his father thinking? Inviting his former paramour to perform in his private opera house was courting disaster. Did he think he was above the rules?
Obviously unaware of the direction of Luke’s thoughts, his father proceeded to extol Simon’s endless virtues and explain why he was the best possible match for Penny. Tuning out the litany, Luke continued watching his sister and her fiancé. He nearly relaxed, until he heard his father say, “He has a passion for the opera. In that we are alike.”
Luke snapped his gaze to the other man. “How else are you two . . . alike?”
His father let out a hard, low hiss. “Watch yourself, boy. You are not without faults. You have no right to judge me.”
“I won’t deny I have an unsavory past.” Luke’s mind went to another place, another time, the memory of his actions a haunting reminder that his youthful indiscretions had come at a cost. “The question is, does Simon?”
“What does it matter?”
“I don’t want Penny entering into a marriage that will cause her undue pain.”
“The only pain she’ll suffer is if Simon finds out about—” Warren pulled up short. Glancing around, probably to determine if anyone was listening, he stood tall. “I will not discuss this matter here.”
Clearly finished having his say, his father walked off without uttering another word.
Luke returned his attention to his sister. Her smile seemed genuine. To be fair, Simon’s solicitous consideration of her appeared equally sincere.
Perhaps, as his father suggested, Luke was being overprotective. There’d been a time when he’d had to be. Penny’s childhood had been riddled with difficulty, her once stammering speech a source of much condemnation from her peers.
Luke was spared further contemplation when Caroline entered the drawing room. Alone.
Where was Elizabeth?
Annoyance with his father gave way to concern for his friend. He met Caroline in the center of the room. “Tell me she’s all right.”
“She is . . . melancholy. She will join us shortly.”
The remark did nothing to erase Luke’s unease. There was one sure way to settle his mind. “If you’ll excuse me.”
Caroline stepped in his path. “You are not thinking of going to her.”
He lifted a questioning brow. “You believe such a move unwise?”
“I believe it’s not necessary. She is only a few moments behind me.” She glanced to her left, smiled. “Ah, there she is now.”
Luke followed the direction of her gaze. His mind emptied of all thought.
Elizabeth stood poised in the doorway, her eyes scanning the crowd from one end of the room to the other. She was clearly looking for someone in particular. Him?
His chest contracted, squeezing the air out of his lungs.
He moved into her line of vision. After a moment, her gaze settled on him. She relaxed into a smile.
The impact was like a punch to his gut.
Compelled by some invisible tug, Luke took a step forward. A slash of red dragged his attention to her tiny waist, where she’d tied a thick silk ribbon. She hadn’t been wearing that accessory earlier. The bold color matched the thin line of trim on her dress. Luke didn’t know much about women’s fashion, but she looked very pretty. The belt added a certain something.
At the same moment he entertained the thought, he overheard Mrs. Constance Newbury sniff in a very unladylike fashion.
“What is that girl thinking?” She directed the question at the stately older woman beside her. Luke couldn’t remember her name. “Red is entirely inappropriate for an innocent young woman to wear, even if it is only a splash of color around her waist.”
“Shocking,” replied her compatriot. “Her mother would be horrified if she were here.”
Luke’s stomach rolled, as he understood all too well why Elizabeth had added the red sash. She’d taken another step away from her mother’s oppressive influence, bolder than her previous ones, but nothing too scandalous and still relegated to her clothing. Unfortunately, this time a pair of nosy women had noticed.
Was this a precursor to continued defiance on Elizabeth’s part, or a final show before she returned to her former, obedient self? Luke wasn’t sure which was worse.
She was treading into territory fraught with unpredictable outcomes. And yet, there was something about this bolder Elizabeth that called to him. She was special, had always been so, but now he felt a tug of affection for her, one he absolutely did not want to feel.
He looked away, looked back again. Barely a handful of seconds had passed since she’d arrived in the doorway. Each one had felt like a lifetime.
There was something new in her eyes, a look that didn’t belong to a young, naïve woman of twenty. Instinct warned him to put distance between himself and the enticing Elizabeth St. James.
Still smiling, she began moving in his direction, a disaster in the making.
Luke predicted a long, torturous evening ahead.
Chapter Nine
Elizabeth advanced on Luke, the red sash making her feel stronger, willing to take a chance. He watched her approach from beneath hooded eyes, his expression impossible to read. She was only partially aware of the other occupants in the room. The air pulsed with the din of a dozen different conversations.
Or was the drumming in her ears the sound of her own heartbeat?
She forced herself to look around, though her mind remained on Luke. She barely noticed the array of fashions worn by the other women, the fitted bodices and sleeves, the high lace collars. She hardly smelled the way feminine perfumes mingled with the scent of masculine colognes.
Luke had her full concentration.
A quick glance to her right told her that her grandfather stood on the opposite end of the room, conversing with his cousin Matilda. Aunt Tilly, as she insisted Elizabeth call her, had been one of the first American heiresses to journey to England.
Within a few months, the older woman had married the second son of a duke and by all accounts had gone on to enjoy a satisfying marriage. Now a respectable widow, she loved sponsoring young American women in the hope that they would follow in her footsteps.
The two looked caught up in a serious conversation. Were they discussing Elizabeth? Surely not. Surely they wouldn’t make plans without her.
But of course they would. They already had.
Concealing her annoyance behind a bright smile, Elizabeth put them out of her mind and continued in Luke’s direction. The way he was looking at her, it was . . .
Oh, my.
What was it she saw in his eyes? Interest, perhaps masculine appreciation? Or was that a silent warning?
Her steps slowed to a crawl, then stopped altogether when he broke eye contact and
melted into a group that included Jackson and Caroline. Undeterred, Elizabeth began moving again.
A friend of her mother’s stepped in her way.
“Elizabeth.” The woman dropped a glance to the red sash encircling her waist. Disapproval flared in her eyes, just a flicker but very real, before she hid it behind a bland smile. “Don’t you look lovely this evening?”
“Thank you, Mrs. Newbury. I was thinking the same of you.” Though conservative in cut and style, the light-green satin and cream lace were made of the finest fabrics.
A long pause ensued, which included a thorough head-to-toe once-over. Well aware of her role in this particular drama, Elizabeth held perfectly still under the rude assessment.
Finally, the woman lifted her gaze. “That color is simply divine with your skin tone.”
Elizabeth didn’t ask whether she meant the color of her dress or the twisted sash she’d fashioned out of Hester’s shawl. “Thank you for saying so.”
Another pause, followed by another, quicker appraisal. “It must have been difficult planning a dinner party without your mother’s guidance.”
Not so difficult, no. Wonderful, actually.
She nearly said the words aloud but caught herself.
“It was indeed a challenge.” She spoke without inflection.
“I know you must miss her dreadfully.”
Not even a little.
No, that wasn’t entirely true. Elizabeth missed the loving, caring woman Katherine St. James had pretended to be. She missed the mother she’d once admired, the one she’d relied on to guide her through life. How naïve and trusting she’d been, how blindly loyal.
“I console myself knowing that Mother is having a grand time redecorating the family home in Florida.” This time the words were harder to push past her lips and brought an odd sort of pang.
Elizabeth caught her bottom lip between her teeth before it trembled. If she continued embellishing the truth, she would hardly know what was real and what was false.
Guilt seared in her heart. Familiar resentment clogged in her throat.
