Authors: Jill Morrow
“No,” Nicholas said suddenly. “I withdraw the protest.”
Even Adrian appeared surprised. “You do?”
“I do.” A jagged smile broke across his face. “Why continue? It appears I’m in the minority here, doesn’t it? Everyone—including those who no longer walk among us—seems to want a wedding. Very well. Let’s have one.” He approached the podium, arms opened wide. “Father,” he said, enveloping Bennett in a huge hug. “Miss Walsh . . .” He turned toward Catharine, who recoiled so sharply that it appeared she might be ill. “Ah, Catharine, is this any way to treat family? Of course not.” He lifted her limp hand to his lips and kissed it; she yanked it away as if burned. “Let’s begin the ceremony, shall we?”
“Is Elizabeth ready?” Bennett asked.
Amy nodded. “She’s quite eager to witness both the wedding and the execution of the will afterward.”
Nicholas backed toward his seat. “Of course. We mustn’t forget the execution of the will.”
“What do you make of it?” Jim whispered as Adrian sank down to the sofa beside him.
Adrian shook his head, lost in thought.
N
ever underestimate an adversary. That lesson had not been taught at Harvard Law School, but Adrian had learned it early in his career. Nicholas most certainly hadn’t capitulated out of a kind change of heart. There had to be a damn good reason he’d switched tactics and now welcomed a wedding. Unfortunately, a “good reason” for Nicholas could only mean trouble for everyone else.
“Let’s begin.” Judge Bourne cast one last awed glance toward the glow on the wall, then squared his shoulders to signal a return to the reason they’d assembled in the first place.
Amy wedged herself between Adrian and Jim on the sofa. Adrian unconsciously shifted to accommodate her, attention riveted on the scene unfolding before him. To his right across the aisle, Nicholas leaned back in his chair, arms crossed.
Judge Bourne looked down at his book on the podium. “As I said
earlier, we are gathered here to witness the union of Bennett Chapman and Catharine Walsh as man and wife. And I will cut to the quick, since we’ve already had enough excitement for one evening.”
Catharine and Bennett flanked the podium, stiff and ill at ease. There were no shy, excited glances exchanged; no trembling fingers intertwined in anticipation. Bennett rocked his weight from one foot to the other, one hand jiggling nervously in his pocket. Catharine stared at the floor.
Adrian’s thoughts drifted decades back to the overheated parlor of a sleepy justice of the peace on the edge of town. Cassie’s cheeks, rosy from the cold . . . her hand so confidently tucked in his . . . they’d looked so improperly mussed that surely any fool could tell they’d celebrated the honeymoon before the wedding.
Judge Bourne’s voice forced his mind back to the matters at hand. “Bennett William, do you take Catharine Mary to be your lawful wife, to love, honor, and protect her, forsaking all others?”
Set free after years of suppression, Adrian’s memories would not be denied. Cassie’s anxious half-smile as the justice of the peace paused for his response . . . the tug of his heart at her obvious concern that he might change his mind. “I do,” he’d said, so emphatically that the worried lines on her face had disappeared into a wide, happy beam.
“I do,” Bennett said now, shooting his cuffs like a man late to a board meeting.
“Catharine Mary, do you take Bennett William to be your lawful husband, to love, honor, and protect him, forsaking all others?”
Catharine kept her eyes averted from the man by her side. That hadn’t been the case twenty-three years ago. Then, the eager warmth of her gaze had almost melted her young groom on the spot.
“I do.” She whispered the expected words to the floorboards.
Adrian’s fingers drummed an even tattoo on the arm of the sofa. Cassie didn’t want to marry Bennett Chapman any more than she’d wanted to marry Peter Phillips.
“No best man?” Judge Bourne asked, apparently noticing for the first time that Bennett and Catharine stood alone.
“No.” Bennett withdrew a small box from his pocket. “I didn’t think it necessary. Mr. de la Noye and Mr. Reid will serve as witnesses, and I’ve got the ring right here.” He flipped open the box; diamonds glittered as he lifted the ring from its satin nest. It was clearly worth quite a bit, no matter how hastily it had been procured.
Adrian and Cassie had made do with rings they’d already owned, grinning at the cleverness of imbuing treasured possessions with entirely new meaning. “I, Adrian, take thee, Catharine . . .,” he’d intoned, watching the amethyst crest of his signet ring turn toward the floor as it dangled, too big, from her ring finger. She, for her part, had slid her own imitation ruby halfway down his pinkie before squeezing his hand and giving up.
But despite the haste with which that ceremony had been arranged, it had mattered to him, mattered deeply enough that it seemed almost a mockery to hear Bennett Chapman repeat the words he himself had once said to this same bride: “I take thee, Catharine, to be my wife, and pledge my love to you forever.”
How was it that the woman who’d first inspired him to stand up for himself had been the very one to cut him to the quick?
Judge Bourne waited until Bennett had slid the ring onto Catharine’s finger before continuing the ceremony. “Catharine and Bennett, insomuch as the two of you have agreed to live together in matrimony . . .”
Adrian had meant every word of the vows he’d uttered before the justice of the peace that night twenty-three years ago. He’d have loved Cassie forever had she let him. And, had Cassie been able to trust that, perhaps it might have been enough. How could she have doubted that he would stand by her, no matter what?
“. . . and have promised your love for each other by these vows . . .” Judge Bourne went on.
Catharine slowly exhaled, her color high. Adrian straightened. He couldn’t save her now any more than he’d been able to save her then. But, as if of their own accord, his thoughts caressed another bride, a small blond stenographer of lively intelligence who fearlessly countered his legal arguments at the office, yet quaked with visible nerves as she stood beside him at the altar.
“I thought every woman longed for marriage,” he’d teased when he and Constance had finally walked down the church aisle as husband and wife. “I’m supposed to be your savior, Constance, not the greatest terror of your life.”
Constance had managed a crooked smile. “Oh, I love you, Adrian . . . although not as a savior, you poor fool. But, marriage! What I’ve just promised you . . . my God. How can anyone on earth entertain such vulnerability without experiencing waves of nausea?”
“. . . I now declare you to be man and wife.”
Catharine’s long exhalation echoed his own. He sensed invisible walls rise quickly around her, caught the determined set of her jaw as she reached for Bennett’s hand.
Catharine Walsh could never let down her guard enough to fully trust anyone other than herself. Constance had been right: loving
another person left one entirely unprotected, and Catharine was fundamentally fashioned to survive.
With a jolt, Adrian realized that she had never needed saving at all.
A movement from across the aisle caught his attention. Nicholas leaned forward, poised at the edge of his seat. He was too eager, and that expectant look on his face could only bode ill.
“Congratulations,” Judge Bourne said. “You may kiss the bride.”
And, as Bennett bent forward to plant an awkward smack on Catharine’s lips, Adrian knew the answer in a flash. Of course! It was so obvious—only the distraction of past memories had prevented him from anticipating Nicholas’s most effective moment to attack.
Judge Bourne closed his book with an authoritative slap. “My friends, allow me to present Mr. and Mrs. Bennett William Chapman.”
“My congratulations,” Nicholas said, rising to his feet before anyone could even think to applaud. “And my sympathies as well. Judge Bourne, I assume bigamy is still an offense in the state of Rhode Island?”
Catharine stepped forward, fists clenched. “Enough,” she said. “Keep him out of it. He doesn’t deserve it.”
“Why, Catharine. Are you begging me?”
Cold fury drained Catharine’s face of the little color it had left. “I would
never
beg you,” she spat. A collective gasp arose as she lunged toward him, fingernails raking across his vested torso as if she thought she could draw blood through the silk.
Adrian shot from his seat, pulling her against him in a straitjacket hold. “Don’t, Catharine,” he murmured. She stared at him
for a moment, her clenched fist resting against the soft skin above her lace neckline. Adrian waited until her fingers relaxed before releasing her from the safety of his arms.
Nicholas adjusted his vest and lapels, cold eyes glittering like glass. “Don’t be such a killjoy. I’m finally starting to enjoy this dismal visit.” With an exaggerated clearing of his throat, he turned to face Bennett.
“Father, I’m sorry to cause you grief, but I’m afraid your bride will be spending the honeymoon in jail. It seems the new Mrs. Chapman and your lawyer are already married . . . to each other.”
J
im leapt to his feet as Bennett Chapman swayed backward, but Adrian was already there, supporting the older man with a strong hand beneath his elbow.
“I don’t understand,” Bennett said, slumping against his attorney.
“It’s not difficult.” Nicholas advanced until he and Catharine stood nearly toe-to-toe. She pulled herself up to her full height, the hatred in her eyes as sharp as any weapon. “Catharine Walsh and Adrian de la Noye were married here in Newport in February 1898,” Nicholas said, plowing through Chloe’s gasp. “Do either of you deny this?”
Catharine’s questioning gaze flickered across Adrian’s face; he nodded.
“No,” she said. “I don’t deny it.”
“And neither do I.” Adrian’s steadiness seemed to bolster Catharine’s nerve. Her expression remained serene, her figure a study in regal fortitude.
Nicholas paused, obviously expecting more, but it was Bennett who filled the gaping silence.
“I don’t understand,” he repeated, and this time, his words came out in little more than a croak. Jim leaned across the aisle to grab Nicholas’s chair, dragging it across the rug just in time. Bennett gratefully sank into it as if every year of his age had finally caught up with a vengeance.
“I don’t blame you for feeling poorly, Father,” Nicholas said. “You’ve been hoodwinked twice, haven’t you? First by the charming Miss Walsh and then by Mr. de la Noye . . . or is it Mr. Delano? Did he ever tell you that was his family name? But, of course, knowing what we all know now, it makes perfect sense that he would want to change it. It’s so much easier to keep the past a mystery if you leave your old identity behind.”
Judge Bourne opened his mouth to interject, but Adrian stayed his words with a polite wave of his hand.
Amy cleared her throat. “I’m sorry, but Mrs. Chapman . . . the first Mrs. Chapman . . . would like to speak.”
“Oh, I’m sure she would,” Nicholas said, “because you’re as deep into this scheme as your mother and . . . dare I say it . . . your father.”
“That’s not true!” Catharine and Adrian both said at the same time, but Amy’s voice floated above their protests. “Mrs. Chapman says you are mistaken,” she said. “Adrian de la Noye is not my father.” She froze, momentarily stunned by her own words. “Jim . . .” she began, confusion clear on her face, “he’s not my father!”
Jim swiftly returned to her side, steadying her with an arm around her waist.
Adrian placed a firm hand on his client’s shoulder. “Bennett . . . I owe you an apology as well as an explanation. Perhaps I should
have been more forthcoming about my past relationship with Miss Walsh. But the fact is, I’ve never even shared this information with Constance, and I was caught entirely off guard when I saw Miss Walsh again after all these years. Twenty-three years, Bennett. It’s been that long since I had any contact with—”
“—your wife.” Nicholas’s words landed like a boulder in the midst of them all.
Adrian shook his head. “She’s not my wife, Mr. Chapman. My wife is at home in Brookline with our children.” He reached inside his coat pocket. “Judge Bourne, now would be a good time to give this back to you, I think. This seems the right moment to open it.”
The judge cleared his throat as he accepted the proffered envelope. “Bennett, let me be clear: I carried this envelope with me from Boston today. Constance de la Noye had it delivered to my home before I left for Newport. I don’t know what it is, but she requested that I give it to her husband, so I did.”
“Why would you do that?” Nicholas demanded. “Are you in the habit of providing courier services?”
The judge’s face softened. “Sir, have you ever met Constance de la Noye?”
“No.”
“Obviously, or you wouldn’t be questioning me. It’s hard to refuse Constance anything. An utterly charming woman . . . and my goddaughter to boot.”
For the first time, Nicholas looked a bit nonplussed. “Adrian de la Noye’s wife is your goddaughter?”
Judge Bourne nodded as he unsealed the envelope in his hand. “I
think the world of her. Which means, Adrian, that you’d best have a very good explanation for all of this.”
“Your Honor, I believe you’ll find that all is in order,” Adrian said quietly.
The room grew still as the judge withdrew a thin piece of paper from the envelope. He unfolded it and read silently, taking a moment to absorb the words before looking up. “It would appear that the marriage between Catharine Walsh and Adrian Delano was annulled in September 1901,” he said.
“Let me see that.” Nicholas lifted the paper from the judge’s hand. “Annulled on what grounds?”
Adrian hesitated as Catharine bowed her head. “Does it matter?” he asked. “The fact is that an annulment is a judicial declaration that no marriage ever existed between the parties. In the eyes of the law, Mr. Chapman, Catharine Walsh and I were never married. Not only is there no bigamy involved, but one could even argue that there was no need to address this youthful folly at all.”
“Where was this filed?” Nicholas’s voice trailed. “I did considerable research on you, Mr. de la Noye . . . you know that. Rhode Island, Massachusetts . . .”
“New York,” Adrian said. “The information is in your hand. Read the document. I suppose you assumed that when I changed my name, I cut off all contact with my family. You were mistaken. My father was delighted to use his influence to help me bury an embarrassing mistake. I was forgiven that particular indiscretion.” He managed a small smile. “What he hasn’t quite accepted these days is the fact that I married my stenographer.”
Nicholas slowly lowered the paper in his hand. “So this decree . . .”
“Let’s just say that it isn’t easy to find.”
“Then Catharine Walsh couldn’t have known about it either.” Nicholas stared into his father’s stony face. “She’d have married you, Father, whether her first marriage had been annulled or not.”
Catharine’s composure finally cracked. “I knew Adrian would take care of it somehow,” she whispered, staring at the floor. “It’s his nature to put things to right. What happened twenty-three years ago was my fault, not his. He’s a good man and deserves no censure from anyone here.” She rounded the chair to kneel before her husband. “Bennett, I have not knowingly duped you. I will stand by this marriage no matter what, even if you choose not to execute your new will.”
Bennett Chapman pierced her with a searching look. “You will?”
“Yes. I will.”
The clock on the mantel exploded in frantic ringing, its chimes slicing the air like a series of small, sharp slaps. Brightness splashed across the wall as the ball of light pulsed and sparked with indignation.
“Oh, my God,” Chloe moaned, eyes wide. “What does Mother want? Amy, tell us.”
“I’d rather not,” Amy said. “You and your brother already think badly enough of me . . . oh!” She doubled over, arms wrapped around her stomach. Jim reached for her hand, but she waved him away, struggling to pull in a deep breath. “All right! All right, I’ll say it. Mrs. Chapman wants the new will executed. Immediately.”
Bennett stared from his bride to the vivid glow. His brows lowered as his face contorted into a scowl: apparently his romance with his first wife had reached the same bump in death that it had experienced
during their time together on earth. Catharine quickly rose to her feet to retreat to the relative safety of Adrian’s side.
“Why does this matter, Elizabeth?” Bennett demanded, every inch the intimidating magnate he’d been in the prime of his life.
Amy spoke, but all eyes remained glued to the light, which now seemed to protrude as if someone had attached a shimmering bas-relief to the wall. “Mrs. Chapman says that she will answer all your questions once you’ve done as she requests.”
“That’s insane!” Nicholas shouted. “He’s supposed to officially change his will before knowing why it even matters? This situation has gotten entirely out of hand—Judge Bourne, surely you can see that my father has lost his mind if he even considers . . .”
“You’ve already lost that battle, Nicky,” Bennett said flatly. “No more. I am of sound mind and body, entirely capable of making this decision without your intervention.”
But whether or not Nicholas heard a word his father said was irrelevant. The glow had left the wall to become a floating ball of light. It hovered in the space between sofa and wall, close to Amy’s blond head. Jim felt her shudder against him as an involuntary grimace crossed her face.
“Mr. Chapman,” he said, “with all due respect, you’ll need to make your decision quickly. I’m not sure Amy can hold this communication for much longer.”
“Elizabeth says to sign the will now, Bennett,” Amy said faintly. “She says to do it for redemption, as a way to gain her forgiveness for all the pain you caused during your life together.”
“Pain? What is Mother talking about?” Chloe turned to her father for an explanation.
“Who cares, Chloe?” Nicholas said, a fine mist of sweat beading his brow.
A tremor raced through Bennett Chapman’s frame. “No, Elizabeth, don’t . . .”
“She says she would be happy to enlighten those gathered here unless you comply.” Amy’s eyes were closed now, the motion of her eyelids reflecting the jumble of thoughts behind them.
Jim’s eyebrows rose at the thought of a blackmailing ghost. It didn’t quite jibe with expectations of a rosy afterlife. But there was no time to ponder eternal truths: he was nearly carrying Amy now, and the weaker she became, the stronger the angry ball of light blazed.
“Mr. Chapman,” he said, trying hard to keep his voice steady, “suppose you execute the will so that we can hear Mrs. Chapman’s rationale. If the answer is unsatisfactory to you, Mr. de la Noye and I can immediately draft whatever new will you’d like. Ultimately, sir, you are still our client, and we won’t leave Liriodendron until you’re content.”
“Yes,” Adrian echoed as Catharine nodded her agreement. “Excellent plan, Mr. Reid. Bennett, will that do?”
“I can’t deny that some unexplainable force is at work here,” Bennett murmured. “Bring me the will. I’ll see this through for Elizabeth’s sake . . . and, apparently, for my own.”
Adrian crossed to an end table, where the document lay waiting atop a lap desk. Only Nicholas’s harsh breathing broke the silence in the room as he carried both will and lap desk to Bennett, who sat up tall in his chair.
“Judge Bourne, Mr. Reid, would you serve as witnesses, please?” Adrian asked, pressing his Waterman into Bennett’s waiting hand.
The flap of paper broke the stillness. Bennett skimmed each page, initialing it before turning to the next. Finally he came to the end. The nib of the pen paused above his signature line for a moment, then landed in a series of loops and dashes as Bennett William Chapman signed his name. Catharine let out a long breath; Nicholas swore and retreated to the window to stare out at the front yard.
“There,” Bennett said, handing the will to Judge Bourne. “Sign it and be done. And now, Elizabeth . . . are you satisfied? Will you tell me why this was so important to you?”
The light roiled in and about itself, bright and clear. Eyes closed, Amy stepped toward it, right hand still enfolded in Jim’s. She frowned, listening hard to something nobody else could hear.
Suddenly her eyes flew open. Her left hand flew to her mouth. “Oh!” she cried, mouth curled in disgust. “Oh, no!”