The American Heiress Brides Collection

by Carter, Lisa; Davis, Mary; Dietze, Susanne

  Mother grinned at him, her glance sliding sideways toward Maggie, who took her seat on the settee and snatched up her books with care.

  “Mr. Livingston, you know me too well.”

  Maggie shifted on the cushioned seat and tried to find her place in the book she’d put aside moments earlier.

  Instead, her mind swirled with news of the break-in and robbery. Would anyone come after their valuables as well? Who would do such a thing?

  Upon arriving in Newport, her first order of business would be to speak with one of her best friends, Elizabeth Morris. She hadn’t seen Elizabeth since Easter time and missed her. What had it been like to know that someone, possibly a stranger, had been in their home going through their belongings?

  Or perhaps it was one of the Morrises’ household staff. Yet the Morrises paid their staff well. Maggie’s mother had hired one of the Morrises’ former cooks, and Maggie had overhead two of the cooks discussing what the new woman had been paid at the other house.

  However, being well paid wouldn’t overcome some failures of human nature, like greed. The words on the page in front of her blurred as she thought over the break-in.

  She hoped and prayed no one else would fall prey to the thief and that if the thief was someone in need, their need would be discovered and met.

  James Blankenship settled into the chair across the desk from his editor at the New York Empire News. He already knew what was coming next. He also wasn’t sure his editor’s idea would work.

  “So, Blankenship, you ready to rub shoulders again with the upper-crust set from whence you came?” William Burrows steepled his fingers under his chin.

  “What exactly do you need me to do?”

  “Look into the recent burglary and theft at the Benjamin Morris residence. They’re not going public with it, but I hear it’s happened more than once this year among the gilded bunch. I’d like you to head to Newport and follow the summer social season, see what turns up.”

  James nodded slowly, trying to school his features at the idea of returning to Newport, even temporarily. “My family won’t exactly be happy to see me.” Perhaps Mother would; but her tears would cut him to the core and remind him of where he’d fallen short in her estimation.

  “You’re not there to make them happy; you’re there to find the story.” Burrows picked up a cigar on a nearby ashtray, tapped it, then put out the smoldering tip. “Tell ’em whatever you want, that you’re the prodigal son come home, whatever comes to mind. But find the story.”

  “I’ll find the story. It’s … it’s about time I visit them, anyhow. I’ve been too busy to consider it.”

  “Until now.” Burrows handed him an envelope. “There’s enough in here for a train ticket and money for essentials. Your family will let you stay with them?”

  “I imagine they will.” And they’ll be after me, once again, to return to that fishbowl of a life. As he picked up the envelope and tucked it into his jacket pocket, the echoes of the last argument he’d had with his father echoed in his mind.

  “Stay until the story is over.” Burrows waved him away. “Pay a visit to the Morrises and see what they’ll tell you. Sit on the story, but not too long. We don’t want the Times to scoop us. Something tells me this could be a big one.”

  James stood, tugging the hem of his jacket. “I understand. I’ll keep you informed.”

  “Call me on Fridays, let me know what’s going on, and we’ll go from there.”

  “I’ll call you a week from tomorrow unless I find something significant.”

  “I’ll be waiting for that call.”

  He left Burrows’s office, closing the door behind him as he did so. The newsroom buzzed with the familiar click-clack of typewriter keys and the murmured and sometimes shouted conversations on telephones.

  This was his place he’d grown to know, doing the work he loved. Making discoveries, breaking the news, following history in the making.

  Father never understood his fascination with the printed word, especially news, James mused as he headed into the sunny afternoon. The leftover puddles from today’s rain at lunchtime made the air thick and heavy. Some time at the Rhode Island coast would be the thing, to breathe in some fresh, salty air.

  After a streetcar ride to his walk-up apartment, James paused at his mailbox. A letter waited for him. He pulled out the envelope and immediately recognized his mother’s elegant penmanship. While standing at the mailbox, he opened the envelope, pulled out a single page, and read:

  My dear James,

  I hope and pray this finds you well. Christmas seems like a long time ago—nearly six months! Afar too long time to go without seeing my youngest son.

  Your father’s health is adequate at the moment, yet I believe he is not feeling quite as well as he puts out to others. He is grooming Frank for the business. I am quite certain, however, he would welcome another Blankenship son back to the fold.

  I do understand your compulsion to follow the news and the written word, but I must be honest that your father still does not understand, nor is he pleased. But I believe he would not be at all unhappy to see you should you come to a visit.

  Happy news! No one else knows at this time, but your brother is soon to be engaged to the young Miss Margaret Livingston, of Livingston Shipping and Manufacturing.

  She makes her debut in Newport very soon, during which the announcement shall be made. How glad I will be to have a daughter!

  Please write to me as you are able. A visit from my James would be even better.

  Your devoted, loving

  Mother

  James stood holding the letter in the apartment entryway. Margaret—Maggie—Livingston. Now that was a name he hadn’t heard in a long time. Last time he’d seen her, she’d been ten or eleven years old with an impish grin at a supper party that the Livingstons and Blankenships had attended here in Manhattan. He’d been full of himself, thinking that night mostly of the college days that lay ahead of him, all while a pesky little girl with big brown eyes peppered him with questions about the book he’d been reading in a corner because he was bored.

  “I like books,” he recalled her saying. “Adventure books are the best of all.”

  He’d been reading Robinson Crusoe and was surprised at the time to hear she’d read it, too.

  Her precocious nature surprised him. Then the entire party laughed when she promptly announced to everyone that one day she was going to go on a safari, or perhaps to India, all by herself.

  She’d fought off tears then, he could see, but her slim, young jaw had been stiff.

  He remembered thinking then he liked her pluck, how she didn’t want to bend to what “they” expected of her.

  He wondered if her nature had tempered over the years. Otherwise, he imagined his older brother, Frank, might soon be tied to a handful.

  Chapter 2

  Maggie inhaled the salty air as she and Elizabeth Morris walked arm in arm along Newport’s beach walk. They’d stolen an hour or so from the demands that came with a summer by the sea, forgoing an afternoon of boating with other friends.

  Of course, Maggie brought up the break-in, and Elizabeth immediately expressed her doubts as to whether it was a break-in after all.

  “You’re certain it wasn’t a break-in?” Maggie squinted out at the waves pounding a gentle rhythm on the shore.

  “Yes. Father seemed to think it appeared as though someone had tried to pick the lock to the front door on that Wednesday afternoon. But I was home that day and I can clearly see the entry from the street. I was … I was waiting for someone.” At her last words, Elizabeth’s cheeks colored.

  Maggie stood stock-still on the walkway, causing Elizabeth to skid to a stop as well. “What? Who? You look as flush as if you’ve been out all day without your hat.”

  “Someone.” Elizabeth glanced back toward the edge of the walkway. “You will not tell?”

  “I promise.”

  Her friend swallowed hard. “Henry Blankenship, a
cousin of the New York Blankenships. He’s entirely unsuitable to my parents, but he asked if he could call, and so I said it would be … nice.”

  “Oh, Elizabeth. But you haven’t had your debut yet.”

  Elizabeth squared her shoulders. “I am eighteen, and I am prepared to speak to my parents about an arrangement between Henry and me. He is not as well-off as his cousins, Frank and James, but that doesn’t matter to me. He has good prospects. All we did was have conversations on the porch. If things do not go well, I have another plan in mind.”

  They continued walking, further out of earshot of the maids who accompanied them for propriety’s sake. All the better. Maggie’s own cheeks burned.

  “Good prospects—perhaps. But will your family approve?”

  “I can only pray they will. Otherwise I have no idea who they might choose for me. I simply cannot abide the idea of anyone else but Henry.”

  Maggie nodded slowly and said no more.

  Elizabeth nudged her. “But what about you? Your debut is coming. Have your parents hinted at a match?”

  “Not at all.” The idea of being attached to someone as if she were an extra appendage made her stomach roil. Her parents loved each other, but their love had come before the family’s wealth, before she was born. Add on the fact she had money now, well, she questioned the motivation of any who might come calling—no matter how precarious their situation may or may not be.

  “Has anyone in particular caught your attention?” Elizabeth gave her a pointed look.

  “No.” Maggie hadn’t really looked or paid attention to any eligible men. “Some of the eligible men are old as Methuselah. Anyway, I can’t picture being married anytime soon.”

  “Well, I’d prepare myself for it, if I were you. We’re not quite Vanderbilts, so we need to be grateful for what comes our way.”

  Maggie wasn’t so sure about that. She cleared her throat. “So, about the robbery. If you don’t believe someone broke in, who do you think might have done it?”

  “I would hate to venture a guess.” Elizabeth’s forehead wrinkled. “I’ve known most of our staff since I was a young girl. The new ones, well, they came highly recommended, and as best I know, all have impeccable employment records, without a hint of anything improper.”

  “And all of your mother’s jewelry was taken?”

  “Yes. Mine as well. Except for one piece.”

  “That is a curious detail. Why would a thief take everything but one item? What was it?”

  “It was a carved ivory brooch that was my grandmother’s that my mother gave to me on my sixteenth birthday.”

  “Curious,” Maggie repeated to herself. “It must be worth something. Not as much as diamonds or gemstones.”

  Elizabeth shrugged, causing her parasol to bobble as she did so. “No, but it is a distinctive piece, and they might not have been able to sell it without gathering questions.”

  “Perhaps not. What about the other items that were stolen?”

  Shouts came from the head of the walkway.

  “Miss Maggie, come quickly!” Her maid, Gertrude, waved a handkerchief. “It is most urgent.”

  Maggie gave Elizabeth a glance. “I must go.”

  “I’ll come with you.”

  They hurried along, catching up their skirt hems—it wouldn’t do to end up on one’s face along the beach walk—and soon met the maids at the edge of the way.

  “I apologize for shouting so.” Gertrude’s cheeks flamed redder than usual in her ruddy face. “You are needed right away at the tennis club. Mrs. Livingston presumed you were there with Miss Morris.” She bowed her head toward Elizabeth, who nodded in return.

  Oh dear. If Mother had sent for her, who knew what had happened?

  “Did she say I must go home straightaway?”

  “She did not, only that she sent someone to inquire of you at the club.”

  A short three-minute walk and Maggie, perspiring profusely, entered the tennis club. What a good thing a cold glass of lemonade would be at the moment. She lacked a fan, and she could sense the heat radiating from her head beneath her summer hat.

  Mr. Webster stood at the reception area. He looked cool and unruffled as ever, but his face wore a concerned expression.

  “Miss Livingston. I apologize for the interruption, but your presence is required at the house.”

  “Of course.” Her heart fluttered inside her chest. “What has happened?”

  “I’m afraid there has been a break-in.”

  At the word break-in, James flipped his newspaper down so he could stare across the lounge at the tennis club.

  Stared at the young woman whom he’d once encountered when she was but a precocious little sprite. Maggie Livingston—she had to be at least eighteen now, or older—had grown into an elegant young woman, it seemed, although she perspired like she’d been walking about town for hours.

  She glanced in his direction.

  Was that a flicker of recognition in her eyes? Whatever it was, it vanished almost as quickly as he’d glimpsed it.

  He folded the paper, set it on a nearby table, and crossed the lounge.

  “Good afternoon, Miss Livingston and Miss…?” He glanced at the blond with round blue eyes who stood next to Maggie.

  “Morris.” She nodded to him. “Miss Elizabeth Morris.”

  “James Blankenship.” He extended his hand to the older man. “Mr., ah, your face is familiar but your name escapes me.”

  “Webster. I am the houseman for the Livingston family. You have business with the Livingstons?”

  “No. I am merely an old family friend of Miss Livingston and her family, here for the summer, or at least the week. Is there something I can do to help?”

  “Help?” Maggie asked, darting a look at Mr. Webster. “You seem familiar to me, but as I can’t place your name either, I think we will not require your assistance. Unless, of course, you are with the local authorities.”

  “No.” He shook his head. He was a fool for speaking with her under such circumstances. He’d been thinking of the story, not thinking of how his question would appear.

  “I remember you.” Webster’s voice held a warm tone. “You’re the younger Blankenship son, gone off to see the world and chase his own fortune. Always full of questions, you were.”

  James nodded. “I’m a newspaper reporter in New York. My job is to notice things and ask questions.”

  “Well, as you are a newsman, I am not so sure the family would want you on the property at the moment, son of a family friend or no,” Webster said.

  “It’s quite all right, Mr. Webster.” Maggie, her face full of recognition and a hint of a smile on her lips, touched James’s arm with one of her gloved hands. She pulled it back swiftly. “Please, come with us. If you are as observant as I think you must be, you might be of some help.”

  She remembers me.

  James didn’t know whether that was a good idea at the moment, but he reminded himself he was following his boss’s orders. This was a big development, and he needed to be there.

  “I will, gladly.”

  “I’ve brought the carriage.” Webster’s eyes narrowed ever so slightly as he gazed at James. “Mr. Blankenship can ride outside with the driver.”

  They left the tennis club, where a carriage waited for them. Maggie bade her friend farewell, then Webster held the carriage door open for both her and a young maid. He nudged James toward the front seat.

  As they headed along to the row of magnificent homes along the waterfront, James could scarcely hide the wonder he felt at seeing them in person. There was Marble House—or its gates, rather. He could glimpse the “cottage” behind the fences and only guess at the opulence inside. Green, green lawns stretched toward the ocean water that lay beyond the yards.

  There was Tranquility, the residence of the Wallingford family, if he remembered correctly. His own family’s mansion came next, almost modest looking compared to the others but still a stately residence in its own right.
/>
  “You have been gone a long time, Mr. Blankenship,” Mr. Webster observed.

  “Yes, sir, that I have.”

  “Not in the family business, either, are you?”

  “No, sir, I am not. Unless my father were to purchase the newspaper, which I don’t believe is something he would do.” As he said the words aloud, he wondered if his father would actually make such a business decision.

  “You’re not interested in the family business, then?”

  “No. I preferred to make my own way, which I have done since ending my education.”

  “I see.” They rumbled along, with the women seated behind them making a low conversation.

  The “I see” held faint tones of disapproval, much as his father’s welcome had when James had arrived at Fairwinds doorstep the other evening, satchel in hand.

  “I’m sure it was a disappointment to your family.”

  “I’m sure of that, too.”

  Mr. Webster had plenty of nerve, speaking to the son of a Blankenship in such a way. But it didn’t really bother James, although his younger self might have considered it mildly rude. The older man was a fixture in the Livingston house. He was older, grayer than James recalled when last seeing him, but his eyes were bright and perceptive.

  James truly hoped Webster didn’t see right through him. Besides working on his story, James had the inclination to get to see what kind of woman young Maggie Livingston had become.

  Not that it mattered. Not if she was going to become his sister-in-law, he reminded himself.

  Chapter 3

  As she lived and breathed! James Blankenship stood in the entry of Maggie’s family home. Stood in the full force of her parents’ gaze. No, he definitely wasn’t who they expected to have come calling on them—especially not by hitching a ride back from town with her and Gertrude.

  In the midst of the discovery of the break-in, no one seemed to mind that Mr. Blankenship had come calling, unannounced.

  “What happened?” both Maggie and James asked at once. She didn’t miss the slight twitch at the corners of his mouth as they did so.