Authors: Jill Morrow
February 1898
S
omehow the seating arrangement in the sleigh got jumbled for the ride back from Almy Pond. Adrian crossed his arms against his chest and glared straight ahead. From the seat directly opposite, Cassie met his eyes and narrowed her own in response. With a regal lift of her chin, she turned to study the passing scenery.
He’d expected her to sit beside him, just as she had during the ride out to Almy Pond earlier that day. Of course, he’d also expected her to remain in clear view while ice skating. It had never occurred to him that she might disappear with Peter into hidden coves and inlets, oblivious to both her reputation and his own sensibilities. And as for leaving the ice to spend time alone with Peter in the sleigh . . . a muscle tensed in Adrian’s jaw, sending an unpleasant
clicking pulse through his brain. Exactly how much had Peter paid his coachman to look the other way?
He couldn’t tell how long they’d been alone. It had felt like decades squiring Marjorie across the pond, smiling at her inane prattle until his face felt as frozen as the ice itself. He had no idea how much time had passed before he’d known—just known deep in his bones—that Cassie was no longer skating on Almy Pond.
Now Cassie and Peter sat side by side in the sleigh, but they did not touch. Cassie’s hands remained hidden in her muff, her profile as immobile as Egypt’s Sphinx. But Adrian recognized the expression on Peter’s face: no matter how hard his friend feigned nonchalance, he could not hide the smug grin that tugged at the corners of his mouth. He looked like a child who’d consumed most of the holiday sugarplums before the family guests were even invited in to the feast.
Adrian had never hated anyone so much.
“My goodness!” Marjorie slid a little closer to his side, her voice bright in the frigid air. “This is the bumpiest sleigh ride I can remember.” Predictably, her fingers tucked themselves beneath his arm.
“Do you think so?” he heard himself say. “Actually, I was just thinking that it was rather smooth. Peter, the trip to the pond was shorter than this. Is there a reason you’ve chosen a different route back?”
Peter caught the challenge in his voice. “Why, Adrian, you never miss a detail, do you? You’re right, of course. I wanted to ride along the sea. I thought that Kate should make the most of the little time she has in Newport, and the ocean is such a majestic sight.”
To Adrian’s surprise, it was Cassie who protested. “A lovely
thought, Peter, but I’m chilled straight through. Could we perhaps go home?”
Peter looked surprised. He moved as if to wrap an arm around her, but she’d managed to slide so far away from him that any attempt to touch her could only be perceived as gauche.
“Of course,” he said, and there was a note of pleading in his voice that Adrian had never heard before. “Anything for you, Kate . . .” His words faded as Cassie turned her attention back to the landscape.
Adrian barely concealed his snort. Peter could very well join the ranks of men who’d been baffled and insulted by Cassie Walsh.
He straightened under the weight of his own thoughts. Baffled? Maybe—most women were baffling. But—insulted? It dawned on him that he knew very little about Cassie Walsh’s romantic past. Why did it suddenly matter so much?
“I’m sorry I need to leave you,” Peter said, as if this could be the cause of Cassie’s coolness. “But I can’t help it. There’s much to do for the wedding tomorrow. You’ll come to the ceremony and luncheon, won’t you, Kate?”
Cassie turned toward him. “Do you truly want me to?”
“Yes,” Peter said, and the low undertone in his voice made Adrian bristle. “More than anything. More than—”
“What’s that?” Adrian interrupted, indicating the shell of a structure on a lot near the sea. Marjorie’s hand slipped to the seat as he lifted his arm to point.
Peter stopped trying to gaze into Cassie’s eyes and turned to follow the direction of Adrian’s finger. “It’s to be a summer cottage.” He shook his head. “What this neighborhood is coming to.”
“What do you mean?” Cassie asked as the massive “cottage” receded behind them.
Marjorie leapt in, clearly pleased to air her views. “Our new neighbors acquired their fortune fairly recently. They’re hardly genteel. Textiles.”
Adrian noticed the blood drain from Cassie’s face. She was ever ready to expound upon the arrogant attitude of society’s upper class, but to do so now would thoroughly destroy her masquerade.
“And who might they be?” she asked, and he caught the brittle edge to her words.
“Chapman. Bennett Chapman. The house is to be called Liriodendron.” The sleigh turned left onto Bellevue, but the swish of its blades did not conceal Marjorie’s unladylike huff. “Well, we shall see. They can build here if they like—there’s nothing we can do to prevent that. But that doesn’t make them one of us, does it?”
Adrian restrained himself from mentioning that although Marjorie and Peter had been born and bred in Newport, they weren’t necessarily deemed part of the elite either. But now his attention was drawn toward Cassie. An unnaturally rosy blush broke the monochromatic pallor of her cheeks. Her breaths came short and fast, heralds of a bitter diatribe just longing to escape her lips. Adrian slipped his foot beneath the fur throw draped across her lap and pressed hard upon her toes. Her eyes met his, so blank that he longed for a blindfold to hide their emptiness. It lasted but a moment. A flash of comprehension crossed Cassie’s face, followed by a brisk shrug.
“Imagine that,” she said.
Adrian fumed as she inhaled deeply and settled deliberately against Peter’s side. Why had he bothered to save her? Who cared if her duplicity was revealed, if Kate Weld was peeled away to reveal a stammering, scheming Cassie Walsh?
The answer to his own question raced unbidden through his mind. He cared. He’d given his word, and keeping it was about the only ounce of integrity he still had left, whether or not Cassie was worthy of it.
“Please take us home, Peter,” Cassie said. “I’m sorry to be such a ninny this afternoon, but I’m cold and tired and won’t be very good company tomorrow if I don’t rest now.”
“You’re hardly a ninny.” Peter’s voice dripped with such intimacy that it was all Adrian could do not to lunge across the space between them to throttle him. “Of course I’ll take you home if it means we’ll see each other tomorrow.”
“Yes, Peter,” she said, and Adrian allowed himself to stoke his anger into a blazing orange flame.
Peter half rose as the sleigh slowed before the cottage walk, but Adrian bested him, jumping lightly to the ground before the last hoofbeat could fade away.
“Allow me,” he said, extending one gloved hand to help Cassie alight.
“Thank you . . .” Cassie began, but he enclosed her hand so firmly in his that anything else she meant to say got trapped in her throat.
“You’re not her warden, old man,” Peter growled, but Adrian ignored him, turning toward the house with Cassie in tow. He vaguely registered the “Thanks ever so much” she flung over her shoulder, hardly noticed the wistful disappointment that echoed through Marjorie’s forlorn “Goodbye, Adrian!” Instead he proceeded steadily down the newly shoveled walk, glancing at the gray sky with hopes that the thickening clouds might suddenly open to deposit a blizzard’s worth of snow.
Cassie waited until they were inside the cottage before wrenching her hand from his. “Fine show that was, Adrian Delano,” she said between clenched teeth. “Would you care to explain yourself?”
“I’m not the one who needs to explain.” Adrian slammed the front door, turning its lock with a savage twist. “What did you think you were doing out there?”
“You know quite well what I was doing. And I’m so close to—”
“To what?” He yanked the scarf from around his neck. “To making Peter Phillips declare his eternal love for you? I hate to disappoint you, but do you know how many women Peter has promised to die for?”
She jerked the fur muff from her hand and flung it to the sofa, not even noticing when it rolled off the cushion and bounced to the floor. “This is different.”
Her voice was a low-pitched warning, but Adrian didn’t heed it. He unbuttoned his coat with such ferocity that it was a wonder the buttons stayed attached. “Different from what, Cassie? Do you honestly think you’re different from every other woman Peter has seduced? How long were you alone with him in the sleigh? What happened?”
She turned away from him, pegging her cloak on the coat rack as she sailed down the hallway to her room. “I’m tired,” she said. “I think I’ll lie down for a bit. You needn’t wake me for supper.”
His hands balled into fists as he watched her retreat down the hall. Peter was nothing more than a libertine, which should have been obvious to Miss Cassie Walsh, with all her fine allusions to hours spent observing the upper class. Clearly, she’d neglected to
pack pride and common sense when slipping her filmy white gown and his sister’s pearls into his trunk back in Poughkeepsie.
Hardly aware of his own actions, he advanced toward her.
She stopped at the door to her room, surprised by his approach. “I believe we’ve ended this conversation.”
“Please, Cassie. Tell me you didn’t allow Peter to—”
“Of course not,” she snapped. “I’m not stupid. I know that if Peter gets what he wants without consequence, then I’ve lost everything.”
He stopped before her, at a momentary loss for words.
“Very well, Adrian.” Although she aimed for authority, her voice sounded small. “Let’s talk about tomorrow. I’m running out of time, you see, so we can’t afford to bungle it. Peter says there is a luncheon at the bride’s home following the wedding ceremony.”
Adrian nodded dumbly.
“He’ll drink, of course—he seems to do that so awfully well—and then, well, when we are quite alone”—at least she blushed—“I’ll allow myself to be compromised.”
He thought he might be sick. “Are you naïve enough to believe that once Peter has taken you, he’ll propose?”
“No.” A tremor ran down her left arm. “That won’t happen until my enraged cousin Adrian demands that my honor be restored.”
The angry flame he’d kindled in the sleigh glowed hot and white as he absorbed her words. He took in her dark eyes and quivering lower lip, the way she thrust her chin into the air while trying to stand her ground. Revulsion for her plan nearly robbed him of breath.
He turned his back on her, heading for the parlor where, hopefully,
the room would stop spinning. “Pack your things,” he said. “It’s well past time you left.”
Her footsteps skittered across the floor behind him. “Adrian!”
“You idiot. What made you think I’d help you sell yourself?”
Small fists pounded against his back. “Because you care about me!” she cried. “Because you’re the only one who’s ever seen me as anything more than a servant to the Delanos!”
He winced as her blows grew harder. “Then here’s a pretty pickle for you: I also see you as more than a toy for Peter Phillips.”
He turned to grab her wrists. Tears streamed down her face as she struggled to free herself from his grip. “Please, Adrian. You can turn over a new leaf and become the most righteous man on the face of the earth after you help me just a little longer!”
The tears startled him. He peered into her face, searching for an answer to the riddle that was Cassie Walsh. “Why are you doing this to yourself?” he demanded, genuinely puzzled.
She went limp in his grasp, suddenly drained. “Do you know what it’s like to hate the hand you’ve been dealt?” she whispered.
He slowly lowered her arms until their hands were clasped between them. “Yes,” he said fiercely. “You know I do.”
A cloud crossed her face. “Oh, don’t even pretend that your situation is anything like mine. You can change your destiny, Adrian. You’re a man of means. Only cowardice keeps you from doing whatever you want in this world. Me . . . I’ve got to break every rule I know if I want to change a thing. But make no mistake about it: I
will
change it.”
He wanted to protest that she knew nothing whatsoever about his life. With his parents at the helm of it, his destiny was etched in stone. He had no more choices on this earth than she did. But as he
studied the desperation on her face, he suddenly understood that she was right. He’d been born a man of privilege. While his parents may have planned his future thoroughly, he was under no obligation to fulfill their ambitions.
Cassie loosened her hands from his grip to swipe away her tears. She was rapidly regaining control, pulling herself back behind the fortress walls she maintained so expertly. Her voice was cool. “The difference between us, Adrian, is that I know what I want and you do not.”
But he did know. In fact, it felt as if he’d known for a very long time.
He pulled Cassie Walsh toward him, enclosing her tightly in his arms as his lips crushed hers.
T
he light on Amy’s nightstand cast a rosy glow across the bed, illuminating her sleeping form. Jim studied the delicate skin of her closed eyelids, the way her lashes shadowed her cheeks in fringed crescents. Golden curls fanned across the pillow as her clasped hands rose and fell with the rhythm of her gentle breathing. No doubt about it, she was lovely. If he ever planned to paint an angel, Miss Amy Walsh would be the perfect model.
Of course, he couldn’t draw to save his life. And Amy had proved to be about as angelic as Mata Hari.
He slid deeper in his armchair, mired in thought. Amy was beautiful all right. Were he any less a gentleman, he’d be mooning over that bed this very moment with his lips poised above hers, ready to play Prince Charming for all he was worth. She brought out the
best and worst instincts in him, all at the same time. He grimaced. Where Amy was concerned, he was well beyond what his parish priest called “impure thoughts.” He’d moved on to impure hopes, impure dreams, and impure plans.
But the main reason she made his heart beat double-time was the very reason he had to watch his step: there was a brain inside that pretty blond head, one every bit as reasoned as his own.
Even if he believed that the spirit of Elizabeth Chapman was no ruse, he couldn’t put it past Amy to use Mrs. C’s bizarre arrival to her own advantage. He’d lost track: was he currently angrier with little Miss Walsh for the public betrayal about his eyesight, or was she angrier at him for manipulating her into speaking for Mrs. C at the wedding? Either way, there was plenty of reason to keep his distance, no matter how adorable Amy was.
Amy Walsh was a mystery, but she wasn’t the only one. There were enough secrets around Liriodendron to keep even Harry Houdini scratching his head in an effort to sort them all out. Why had Elizabeth Chapman shown up in the first place? Why was she so insistent that her widower remarry? And, even if life were dull enough on the “other side” to induce Mrs. C to float around playing Cupid just for the heck of it, why choose Catharine Walsh? Not only was Catharine about half Bennett’s age, she hailed from clear across the continent. Surely there was some nice eligible matron available here on the East Coast.
Jim templed his fingers above his vested middle and reviewed the facts of the matter at hand. He was no expert on the spirit world, but Granny Cullen had always said that folks never strayed outside the golden gates of heaven without a darned good reason for doing
so. As dictated through his grandmother, his grandfather’s “darned good reason” had usually involved lessons or advice for Jim and his siblings. Mrs. C, on the other hand, had a propensity to talk a great deal about people she’d never even known during her sojourn here on earth. In fact, much of what she had to say concerned the young woman named Cassie, whose story had unfolded decades after Elizabeth Chapman’s death. Cassie—Catharine Walsh—held the missing key, and it didn’t take Jim’s Harvard sheepskin to figure out that her story somehow involved Adrian de la Noye.
Amy stirred, shifting to her side to rest with one hand tucked beneath her cheek. Jim braced his hands on the arms of his chair and raised himself to take a closer look. Her eyelids flickered as a fleeting smile crossed her lips; he mentally kicked himself for hoping she was dreaming about him. Her sleep seemed lighter now. Perhaps she’d wake up soon.
He settled back in his chair to wait.
There was apparently a great deal he didn’t know about Adrian. Thanks to his father, he could picture the brave soldier who’d nearly sacrificed his life in battle. Courtesy of Constance, he knew all about the dedicated lawyer who’d spent long hours bent over his desk, working hard to build a successful practice. There were even stories from Grace and Ted, who were fond enough of their father to tease him, yet forever longed to make him proud. Adrian himself, however, seldom offered any autobiographical tidbits beyond the necessary professional and educational statistics. Why had that never seemed odd before?
Jim closed his eyes, suddenly tired. What could induce a man to distance himself from his history?
Noise from outside the open window jolted him from his reverie.
Rapid footsteps clattered across the flagstone terrace. Jim jumped to his feet, reaching the window just in time to see Catharine Walsh leave the terrace and hurry across the lawn. She cast a glance over her shoulder, and he quickly saw why. Adrian followed close behind. Jim squinted. He could just make out Adrian’s balled fists and tensed arms beneath rolled shirtsleeves.
Catharine stopped to kick her high-heeled shoes from her feet, then broke into a full run toward the sea. Adrian was faster. He caught her at the edge of the grass, swinging her by the shoulders to face him so that she lost her balance and stumbled into his arms. She struggled for a moment, finally collapsing against him. Jim leaned as far as he could out the window, but it was impossible to hear whether or not they were even speaking, much less what was being said. Adrian pushed Catharine to arm’s length for a moment, then pulled her back against his chest in a long, fierce hug. They stood that way for quite some time, as still as new topiary on Liriodendron’s lawn.
What could a display such as this possibly mean? Adrian’s actions were usually so measured, so . . . careful. What
was
this?
“Well.” A low voice sounded from Jim’s right. He looked down to see Amy beside him, blinking rapidly to clear the sleep from her eyes. “Are we going to let them get away?”
He took in her rumpled gossamer dinner gown and bare feet. She looked as unlikely a partner as any, and he still wasn’t even sure he trusted her. But she was smart and as anxious to solve the riddle as he was. Most important, she was willing.
“Get your shoes.” He turned back to the scene on the lawn, trying to maximize his fuzzy vision. “Hurry.”
She dashed to the side of the bed to slide her feet into flat slippers,
but it wasn’t fast enough. Adrian and Catharine slipped through the low hedges that bordered the property and disappeared from sight.
J
IM HELD ON
tightly to Amy’s hand as they flew noiselessly down the stairs and out Liriodendron’s front door. By now he knew the way to the sea as well as she did, but there was no time to waste in adjusting his faulty night vision. It was best to let her lead as they quickly rounded the corner of the house.
They slowed to a trot, feet sinking into the plushy grass of the lawn. “I’m betting they’ve gone to the rocks,” Jim said.
Amy nodded. “I wouldn’t bet against you. Slow down. We don’t want to get caught following them.”
“Why not? I like the idea of a grand confrontation.”
“Pity I forgot my boulders for the stoning,” Amy said acidly. “A confrontation about what? No, we’ll get more information if we stay out of sight and observe.”
“Forgive me.” Jim pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose. “I forgot that you’re the resident expert on stealth.”
She gave him a withering glance but did not remove her hand from his as they silently approached the hedges at the edge of the yard.
Adrian and Catharine sat facing each other on a large rock overlooking the sea. Amy tugged Jim down until they were camouflaged by the bushes, but he doubted that it mattered: the two seemed lost in their conversation . . . a conversation that, try as he might, he couldn’t quite hear.
“Blast,” he muttered, peering through a bare spot in the bushes. “I can’t make out a word they’re saying.”
“Shhh.” Amy raised a finger to her lips.
The cadence of Catharine’s voice rose and fell on the breeze from the ocean as she stared down at her hands in her lap. Adrian did not interrupt. He merely shifted position to face straight ahead, practically motionless as he looked across the waves.
“What do you make of it, Sherlock?” Jim whispered, gaze fixed on the tableau before them.
Amy moved closer to get a better view. “I’ve never seen my . . . Catharine . . . sit quite so still or talk so much to anyone. She trusts him, that’s for sure.”
Adrian’s white shirt contrasted against the dark sky, making it easier for Jim to catch the sag of his shoulders as Catharine’s voice trailed away. Silence descended between them, so dense and complete that they might have been sitting miles apart. Catharine reached out, her fingers floating on the air for a moment as if they couldn’t decide whether or not to land. Finally she rested a hand on Adrian’s shoulder.
Adrian slowly raised his hand to cover hers. Then he turned and drew her near, rocking her so closely against him that there was no longer any glimpse of ocean between them. He murmured into her hair, his words obscured, but even the poorest eyesight could make out the way his hand stroked Catharine’s back.
Jim lurched forward, suddenly nauseated. Amy gripped his arm.
“You don’t understand,” he said, staring wildly at her. “I have to stop them. There’s Constance to think of, and Grace and Ted . . .”
She held on tight. “No,
you
don’t understand. You can’t stop anything here.”
She was right. He was powerless to alter whatever secret Adrian and Catharine shared, could do nothing to change the emotions that fueled their actions tonight.
He wanted to wail as Adrian planted a gentle kiss on Catharine’s cheek.
“I have just as many questions as you do,” Amy whispered. “But we won’t get the answers now. We’ll have to stow this away until its proper time.”
Proper time? Could there ever be a proper time to watch a man destroy not only his life but the lives of those who loved him? A lump caught in Jim’s throat as Adrian’s arm encircled Catharine’s waist. Her head dropped to his shoulder; together they faced the sea.
“Let’s go,” Jim said harshly, turning back toward Liriodendron. “I don’t need to see what happens next.”
Amy hesitated, obviously tempted to stay. Then she slid her hand against his cold palm and allowed him to lead her toward the house. “You can’t leave Liriodendron yet,” she said, and his head snapped toward her. How had she known that he wanted nothing more than to pack his bags and escape to a hotel in town?
“I’m not leaving,” he said.
“Good. First of all, Mr. de la Noye is your friend, and you don’t know the whole story.”
“I don’t want to know the whole story.”
“Yes, you do. Secondly, I can’t go through this wedding tomorrow without you. Thank you for saving me tonight.”
He stopped, not even caring that they stood in clear view at the center of the lawn. “You’re welcome,” he said. “Amy, I won’t hold you to your promise. You don’t have to let Mrs. C speak through
you at the wedding. You have every right to refuse after what happened in the dining room tonight.”
“I know, and you’re a peach to say it, but I’ve got to do it. I hate to admit it, but we’ve got to find out why she’s come, what she wants. She might have the answers we need. Jim . . . has it crossed your mind that Mr. de la Noye could be my father?”
It seemed almost illegal to utter the words out loud. “Yes, damn it,” he said, staring at the ground. “Of course it has.”
“Then you see why I’ve got to finish this. I’ve got to find out, and I don’t think we’re going to get the whole story from those two down on the rocks, do you?”
He jammed his hands into his pockets. “You’re sure you’ll be okay?”
She hesitated. “No. What I’m sure of is that you’ll do everything possible to protect me.”
Jim cleared his throat. “I’ll do the best I can.”
“That’s saying quite a lot,” she said softly. “You’re a good man, Jim Reid. Now, I need a drink. Join me?”
Surely Adrian would stride through that gap in the hedge, virtuously alone. But the leaves of the bushes fluttered in the breeze, almost teasing in their silence.
“Come,” Amy said, extending her hand.
Casting one last futile glance toward the rocks, Jim followed her to the house.