Glittering Promises (5 page)

“Come, let us leave them to patch things up,” my father said, lifting his hands and shooing us all from the room. Numbly, I turned and walked out to the hallway, waiting for him. But my father didn’t look at me as he turned toward the stairs, probably intent on going to the salon and fetching himself a drink. I glanced toward Antonio, wondering if I had imagined what I’d heard, but all he did was give me a tiny rueful shrug.

There was only one man who could put a stop to this charade, this madness. I turned and hurried after my father, ignoring Lil’s whispered warning to leave him be, that he wasn’t in any mood for further discourse.

He was turning into the salon when I reached the bottom of the stairs, and I rushed in after him, pausing at the doorway to see him unstop a crystal decanter and pour a small glass half full. He took a sip, staring out a window that looked over a tiny garden.

“She doesn’t love him, you know,” I said quietly, walking toward him. He didn’t startle. He’d known I was there, or expected me.

“She loves him enough. She’s always loved him.”

“Not as she ought a husband. Nor
should
she. He’s a brute.”

That brought him partially around. “Stay out of this, Cora. It is not your affair.”

“Father, Will and Pascal had to break down the door. And did you see the bruises on her arms?”

He blew out a quick breath and turned back to the window, taking another sip, holding it in his mouth a moment before swallowing. “Andrew Morgan is…passionate. Spirited. He feels things…intensely. Always has. Even as a little boy. I can remember his face, beet red, furious because another child had gotten a finer toy top than he had received that very day from the mercantile.”

He seemed amused by this memory. I looked around the room, wondering where Mr. Morgan was. I wished he were here. Perhaps if he’d been here, seen what transpired, he might’ve taken my side on this. Or at least seen the need for a private word with Andrew. I sighed and gathered myself. This was up to me.

“Has it ever occurred to you that Andrew is angry because he feels forced into this marriage?” I asked quietly. “I truly believe they care for each other. But over the course of this tour, Andrew has become more the dutiful beau than any sort of man in love.” I knew I was right. The differences between Will and Andrew were marked.

My father leaned against the desk and stared at me mutely for a moment, looking confused at such a thought, then angry. “Any man would consider himself beyond fortunate to marry
any
of my daughters,” he said. He lifted his glass in a gesture of dismissal. As if that said it all.

I swallowed hard, my mouth suddenly dry. Because he was clearly including me in that grouping. But was he also thinking of Will? Or Pierre, still?

I tried a different tack, stepping forward to stand beside him and then leaning against the desk too. The cavernous salon, crowned with a massive crystal chandelier and bedecked with luxurious furniture covered in tufted silk, stretched before us. I tried to gather my thoughts into one cogent argument.

“Granted, Andrew would be blessed to marry Vivian,” I said. “But wouldn’t they both be blessed to marry someone they love, someone God brought into their lives, who is uniquely right for them? Not simply the best choice from a business standpoint?”

My father was still for several moments. “Do you speak of Vivian and Andrew? Or yourself and Richelieu?”

I looked at him, beside me. He seemed older, more weary. Smaller, somehow. “Vivian and Andrew,” I said.

My father took another long sip of his whiskey and crossed his feet at the ankle. “Cora, my dear, there is much you do not yet know, no matter how wise you believe yourself to be. Love, passion, those things fade in time. What remains is family. Honor. Loyalty.”

I banished thoughts of him sending my mother away, swollen with child. Of him choosing “honor” by hiding us away. Pawning us off to another man, who thankfully became my papa and my mother’s husband. “Is it not possible to have it all?” I asked softly. “Passionate loyalty? Honorable love?”

He blew out a scoffing breath. “Rarely.” He took a sip and considered me, gesturing to me with his glass. “With their combined fortunes, Andrew and Vivian will never want for a thing. That is the most I can hope for my children.”

Exasperation filled me, yet I dared not let it show. He was listening to me even if he didn’t yet hear me; I didn’t want to endanger that. “I disagree. There is so much more for a couple to aspire to… And don’t you see? With
one
of their fortunes, they would not want for a thing.” I shook my head and shoved off the desk, pacing. “And sometimes,
sometimes
, wanting things, wishing for, working for them, is a good thing. Otherwise, we become nothing but spoiled boys and girls frustrated that we don’t get every new toy we see.”

He was quiet for a breath, then two. “Leave me now, Cora,” he said, taking the last long sip from his glass. “It is enough for today. Is it not?” He turned his dark blue eyes on me, and I stared back at him. Then I nodded and shoved away from the desk and moved out of the room, feeling his gaze on my back with every step.

~William~

Resting on the edge of a vast chair, elbows on his knees, face in his hands, Will waited for Cora to finish talking to her father. When she turned the corner and spied him, her whole demeanor seemed to lift. She slowed her pace. He rose and went to her, took her hands, then turned to lead her down the hall. “So?” he whispered, glancing back at the empty hall to the salon, then to her again. “Any luck in getting him to see what needs to be done about Andrew and Vivian?”

Cora shook her head and grimaced. “Perhaps a little. I fear I overstepped my bounds.” She squeezed his arm and gave him a pained smile. “Sooner or later my father may well rue the day he ever brought me into the fold.”

“I doubt that.” They walked a bit in silence. “Perhaps that’s what Vivian and Andrew are supposed to discover on this journey—how disastrous a union theirs would be. Nothing like the tour to show people how poorly they fit together.”

“Or how well they do,” she said, smiling up at him.

He grinned at her and led her to two matching chairs tucked together in an alcove, a tiny table between them. He gestured to one and she took it, and he the other. “Cora, before we leave Venezia,” he said, reaching out to take her hand in his, “I must know. Forgive me, but I must know.”

“What?”

“What transpired between you and Pierre?” He shook his head, frustrated with himself. “I mean, I needn’t know all that was said. Just this: can you truly choose me over him without looking back? There are many battles ahead for me…
us
,” he amended, “if you are on my arm. Life with Pierre…it’d be far easier for you, in some ways.”

She leaned forward and covered his hand with hers. There was no grander feeling than to be touched by her. Her small fingers seemed to ignite his every cell, and he had to bodily resist the urge to lift her to her feet, to hold her, to kiss her. He concentrated on her beautiful blue eyes instead, willing her to say the words he longed to hear.

“Will, it is you I love. You. I don’t care what we must face to be together. But we shall do it together. What we have is something so much more
true
than what Vivian and Andrew have,” she said, dropping her tone and eying the empty hallway. “What we have is a gift from God Himself. I’m convinced it is right. Aren’t you?”

He hated the glimpse of concern he saw in her eyes, and he shook his head vehemently, hoping to send her fear scurrying. “Oh, yes. Cora, I adore you. You’ve honored me far more than I could ever imagine, choosing me…” He glanced away, embarrassed by the sudden lump in his throat. He swallowed hard and then looked back to her. “I aim to do all I can to be worthy of that choice. But Cora, you know you have my heart. Everything I have and am is yours to do with what you wish. I only ask one thing.”

“And that is?”

“If you ever have second thoughts. If you ever wonder—”

“I won’t,” she said, shaking her head.

“But if you do, I ask you…Cora, it’s important to me that I not be the last one to find out. That I not become the goat in this group instead of the bear. Please. Come to me first if you have any desire to end our courtship. I’ll try to win you back, of course,” he said with a smile. “But it’s important to me. That we be forthright. Honest with each other. Always and forever.”

She laughed then, holding his hands. “Oh, Will. We’ve barely begun our courtship, and now you think we must work out the rules for ending it? Can we not simply move forward together, trusting the One that brought us together? Trusting each other?”

“Yes, of course,” he said, wondering why it was so important to him that he’d nearly botched things before they’d truly begun.

She squeezed his hands. “I’m with you and for you, William McCabe. You are the one that has my heart.”

He smiled at her and kissed her then. But try as he might, he could not still the small, stubborn voice in his mind telling him he might hold her for now, but he would never keep her.

CHAPTER 5

~Cora~

We left Venice in the wee hours of the following morning, riding in several long skiffs powered by steam engines, their quiet
tutt-tutt-tutt
sounds the only noise on the canal as we slid by the curving line of palazzos, boats, and gondolas tied for the night against their tall spiral-painted poles, as they had been for centuries. We were bleary-eyed as we silently said good-bye to the magical city, but I felt my pulse quicken at the thought of leaving Nathan Hawke behind forever. It made me smile, thinking of him awaking to find our palazzo empty, to discover that the servants knew only that we’d left for Firenze in the dark watches of the night.

As we’d explicitly told them.

There’d be no reason for Hawke to doubt their story, even if he might wonder at our secretive middle-of-the-night exit. A traditional Grand Tour route would normally track through Florence and Rome, but we were now on our own reimagined tour. We’d do as Will had outlined, staying outside of the cities and slipping carefully in and out, all the while keeping an eye out for our potential nemesis and hopefully evading him all the way to Rome. In the spirit of staying out of the limelight, we made our way not to a grand hotel or palazzo but to a tidy two-story villa situated on a hilltop outside of Turin and owned by an older couple that Antonio knew.

They took one look at us and ushered us in as graciously and warmly as if we were penniless orphans, a thought that amused me, what with all our servants and our mountains of luggage piled on their doorstep that morning. We were exhausted from our sleepless night, so we decided to rest for the day in our spartan but clean rooms, not even venturing out to sup. Instead, we forced down bread and cheese and grapes, sitting about in silence. I was so weary I felt ill, as if my very bones were brittle and under threat of shattering if I taxed them too much. We retired before dark and rose late the next morning. It was only then that I started to feel the spark of life in my soul again.

Hope. It made me think of what I’d heard in the basilica in Venice.
Wait and trust. I remember, Lord. But for how long?

I entered the small dining room and saw that my father, Mr. Morgan, Will, and two other men were sitting at the table. As usual, none of the other younger people were yet up. I paused, not wishing to interrupt but curious about what they were discussing, when my father caught sight of me and waved me in. “Cora,” he said. “Please, come and join us.”

“Are you certain?” I said, hovering in the doorway, my eyes moving to Will’s. He had an odd expression on his face, as if he were stunned, confused. “I can simply take a cup of coffee in my room,” I said weakly, now wanting to dodge what was to come, more than ever. If it unnerved Will—

“No, no. This pertains to you. Please. Join us,” my father said, pulling out an empty chair.

The other men were rising, and I saw that there were stacks of paper on the table. My father introduced me to the men, an attorney and a banker from Turin. Each shook my hand, bowing and smiling. Clearly, neither of them spoke English. Perhaps that was why Will was there, to translate. I couldn’t imagine another reason why my father would invite him into one of his meetings. But I was glad he was here since my father’s words—“this pertains to you”—had set me on edge.

I sat down, and a maid poured a cup of coffee and set down a basket of rolls in front of me. Distantly, I knew they smelled heavenly, just pulled from an oven, but my stomach roiled. I forced myself to pretend to take a sip of coffee, to appear calm, regardless of what I felt inside.

“I arranged for these men to meet us here, Cora,” my father said, picking up his own white cup, steam dancing before his face. “They have drawn up papers to formally bequeath you and the Diehls controlling interest in the Dunnigan mine. Sign those papers, and you will be the wealthiest woman in America.”

I stared at him a moment and then set down my cup, grimacing as I allowed it to clatter. But there was nothing for it; my hands were shaking. I glanced at Will, saw his nearly imperceptible nod and raise of eyebrows as if to assure me that this was on the up-and-up. Then I looked back to my father. “So…truly? No more arguments? No more games? You simply intend to
give
us the mine?”