Journey's End (Gilded Promises) (24 page)

“Yes, perfectly.”

“Then you two better be on your way.” Richard all but physically pushed them into the empty hallway. The door slammed neatly behind them.

“Well,” Caroline said with a laugh. “That was certainly succinct.”

Yes, Richard had made himself perfectly clear. But Jackson wasn’t sure he was ready to listen to what the man had to say, least of all the words that hadn’t been spoken. “We should head out. We have a long day ahead of us.”

She pivoted to her left and paced toward the elevators once again. Jackson placed his hands on her shoulders and turned her in the opposite direction. “We have to stop by my office first.”

“Oh.”

“It’s that way.” He gestured to the left.

Without further objection, she set out. He felt his mouth kick up in a grin as his gaze landed on the back of her head. She’d twisted her hair in one of those complicated styles that made a man want to spend hours unraveling each and every knot. These were not the thoughts he should be having about this particular woman.

Treat her like any other ordinary employee.

Right. Good, solid advice. Except he didn’t have that much imagination. Caroline St. James was the least ordinary person of his acquaintance.

“Wait here,” he told her outside his office.

Now that he thought about it, Jackson decided that touring their properties first
was
the wisest course of action. The last thing he needed was time alone with this woman in his office, or any other confined space.

Even if Elizabeth wasn’t the woman for him—and he was fast accepting that foregone conclusion—that didn’t mean he was meant to be with Caroline, either. With her continued devotion to her mother, and her easy acceptance of her grandfather, she demonstrated a strength of character that left Jackson in awe.

Caroline St. James knew more about mercy and grace than Jackson ever would.

Somewhere, in the deepest, darkest recesses of his mind, he accepted that she deserved a far better man than him.

Chapter Twenty-Four

It wasn’t until they were a few blocks from Orchard Street that Caroline requested a change in their itinerary. Since Mary and her family would have already left for work, there didn’t seem much point in starting the day there.

“You know, Jackson, I’ve been thinking. I already have an intimate knowledge of the tenement houses.” She’d lived in one for two weeks, after all. “Perhaps we could tour the garment factory first.”

Jackson’s well-cut lips curved, his molten, sky-at-midday eyes lighting with interest at her request. “Any particular reason for the change?”

His presence filled the tiny confines of the motorcar. His scent, his voice, his intensity, and those eyes. Full of genuine curiosity, as if he truly cared to hear her answer.

Deciding honesty was the best route, Caroline lifted a shoulder. “Mary is employed as a seamstress at a competitor’s factory.” Remembering her friend’s sickly pallor, she tried to put a cool, carefree note in her voice but failed miserably. “I wish to see the sort of environment in which she works.”

More to the point, if Caroline discovered her grandfather ran a business like the one where Mary worked, then she would see to it that better conditions were put into place at once.

“You might be surprised by what you see.”

“I hope so.” She certainly didn’t want to discover that her grandfather took advantage of his employees, most of them immigrants like Mary and her family.

Seemingly satisfied with her answer, Jackson gave a brief nod. “Very well, then, as you wish.”

Hand on the partition, he leaned forward and redirected the chauffeur to take them to the garment factory he and Richard owned. Caroline kept her head lowered so neither man would see the flash of worry in her eyes, worry over what she would find.

Prepared to confront unhealthy working conditions, she was pleasantly surprised to discover quite the opposite inside the four-story building complex on Walker Street. Bypassing the store on the first floor, Jackson led Caroline into the factory.

“Due to the unbearable heat inside this building, we have our employees work on rotating shifts. The idea is for them to take alternating breaks every two hours.” He escorted her to the edge of the work floor. “We allow our workers to come and go, and we never lock the doors.”

Caroline looked around. Men and women worked in tandem, some sewing, some ironing, some pinning paper patterns atop fabric. A host of different languages filled the air. For the most part, everyone seemed rather . . . cheerful. “I was expecting—”

“Abysmal conditions?”

She lifted a shoulder.

“In other factories that might be true. But your grandfather and I have discovered that a lenient, comfortable work environment results in overall higher output.”

“I’m pleased.” Mary had told such a harrowing tale. That was it, then. Caroline would put Mary and her family to work in this factory as soon as humanly possible. She would make it her life’s mission to learn every facet of the garment industry and find ways to improve this factory.

With Jackson making the introductions, Caroline spoke to several workers, moving through the building at a slow yet systematic pace. At the end of the tour, she felt herself relax. The factory did, indeed, provide a clean, safe environment for the workers.

Back outside, Jackson took her hand as he directed her toward the motorcar. He held on casually, as if it was the most natural thing in the world to do. Her heart took a quick extra thump.

“Where to next?” she asked, her voice a bit shakier than usual.

“The Duchess Illustrated Magazine of Fashion.”

“My grandfather owns a women’s fashion magazine?”

Jackson nodded. “It is one of the many joint ventures our families own together.”

How absolutely fascinating. Caroline hadn’t come across that piece of information in her research. She knew the periodical well. Sally had bullied her into poring over several issues, as well as a few
McCall’s
.

“Around 1876 our individual grandmothers founded the magazine together,” Jackson explained. “They saw it as a way to promote their fledgling dress-pattern business.”

“My grandmother was friends with Granny?”

Jackson helped her into the car. “The best.”

Why hadn’t Granny told Caroline this? She would have to ask her when she returned home that evening.

Since they both seemed lost in thought, the ride to West Thirty-Seventh Street was accomplished in relative silence. Neither Caroline nor Jackson made any attempt at conversation. After being so in tune with one another earlier in the day, the strained atmosphere left her uneasy.

Perhaps
strained
was a bit overly dramatic. Caroline wouldn’t call the mood between them uncomfortable, precisely, just—maybe—perhaps—a bit—melancholy.

Where had this change come from?

Setting aside the question, she allowed her excitement to build as she exited the car outside a nondescript building and waited for Jackson to lead the way. The wind kicked up, ruffling the dark hair around his ridiculously handsome face. A single, shuddering breath escaped her lungs.

He guided her into the building with a hand at the small of her back. “The printing facilities are on the main floor, the pattern-division offices and mail-order department one below.” He urged her toward a stairwell. “We’ll begin our tour at the top this time and work our way down.”

“What’s on the top floor?” she asked, beginning the climb with Jackson by her side.

His smile turned indulgent. “It’s where the staff artists create the drawings for the magazine’s current fashion spreads. The same artwork is then translated into patterns, as well as prototypes of the individual dresses.”

Caroline drew to a stop. “You seem to know a lot about the daily operations of this magazine.”

“I know a lot about the daily operations of all our businesses.”

His answer didn’t surprise her. “Why is the art department on the top floor?”

“It gets the best light. Or so I’ve been told.” He pressed his palm flat on the metal door and swung it open. “After you.”

Caroline entered the long, narrow room and immediately noticed the wall of windows on either side. Slanted desks, or easels as they were called, were lined up in two rows twenty deep. Mostly men worked at the desks, with the rare woman peppered throughout. The employees all wore neckties. Their shirtsleeves were rolled past their elbows, as if to avoid getting them smudged. Seemingly focused on their work, they concentrated on adding color to their drawings.

At the end of the room, two men studied a handful of the finished drawings.

Caroline watched the work, enraptured by the process.

“Come.” Jackson took her hand. “Let me introduce you to the art director.”

Hand still clasped with hers, Jackson pulled her to the back of the room. “Monsieur Lappet, this is Caroline St. James, Richard’s granddaughter from London. She only recently arrived in America and has come to tour our magazine.”

Lappet proceeded to circle Caroline slowly. “But you are dressed all wrong.” He came back around to face her directly. “You must never wear that hideous shade of green. It is worse than gray and makes you look matronly.”

Caroline tried not to be insulted.

“You are too beautiful for such a dour color. You will come with me. We have much work to do.” He took her hand and dragged her through the room. He stopped at a shut door and turned to frown at Jackson. “You will leave us now.”

Jackson shrugged at the dismissal. “I want her back in an hour.”

“Oui. Oui.”

Still holding her hand, Lappet pulled Caroline into a large, airy room with high ceilings and open rafters and shut the door behind them. Jackson’s chuckle wafted through the layers of veneer and wood, the sound making Caroline smile.

She glanced around her and gasped. On display were beautiful gowns of varying shapes, styles, and colors, draped over tables, hanging on the wall, placed over dress mannequins. A woman’s dream come true, especially a woman who’d spent most of her life scraping for food and barely surviving.

Rendered speechless, Caroline moved through the room, then stopped at a pink-and-white concoction. She touched the intricate collar, circling around the mannequin in a similar fashion as Monsieur Lappet had done with her.

“Not that one.” Lappet directed her to the middle of the room. “This one.”

Caroline gasped again. The dress before her was made of a rich, silky blue material the color of Jackson’s eyes. “It’s . . . I have no words.”

Lappet beamed at her. “Shall we try it on?”

Understanding that
we
meant
her
, Caroline hesitated. It didn’t seem right to do anything but look at the lovely creation. The garment was a work of art. She was a survivor of the mean streets of London. They didn’t belong together, she and this beautiful dress.

“Indulge me.”

Caroline gave in to temptation.

Lappet disappeared from the room while two of his attendants worked silently, their hands fast and skilled as they helped Caroline out of one set of garments and into another.

They soon stepped back and studied their handiwork. A few more pokes and pulls and then . . .

They sighed in unison.

“It is a perfect fit,” one of them whispered, while the other called out to Monsieur Lappet.

The art director sailed into the room and slid his narrowed gaze up and down. He said nothing for several long moments.

When she could stand the suspense no longer, Caroline broke the silence. “Well?”

A slow smile slipped past his lips. “
I
am a genius. And
you
are utterly flawless.”

“May I see?”

“But of course.” He escorted her to a freestanding mirror.

Caroline blinked at her reflection. And blinked. And blinked. She’d been transformed.

“You must have that dress,” Lappet declared.

She’d come to America to seek justice for her mother, not to take advantage of her birthright. “I . . . thank you, Monsieur, but I cannot possibly accept your generous offer. This dress belongs to the magazine.”

He brushed her argument aside with a sniff. “And your family owns this magazine. The dress is already yours.”

She dropped her head and sighed. Of its own volition, her hand slid across the smooth silk. Maybe . . . just this once . . .

Lappet placed his hands on her shoulders. “Miss St. James, all of New York knows your family owns this magazine. When you are at the opera or the theater or perhaps a private dinner party, you will be expected to dress in the latest fashion.”

As she turned back to stare at her reflection, Caroline remembered what Elizabeth had said the other day about her clothes coming from Paris. Whatever was the girl thinking, when such talented craftsmanship lay so close at hand? “Why do you not have Elizabeth wear your creations?”

Lappet’s gaze darkened. “She allows her mother to choose her clothing.” Head lowered, he smoothed a nonexistent wrinkle from the skirt. “You will do this for me, yes? You will wear my creations around town?”

Oh, he was good.
Very good.
Putting this on her as though she were the one doing him the favor. “You make a compelling argument, Monsieur Lappet.”

He patted her hand in a fatherly manner. “Then say yes.”

“You have convinced me.” She withdrew her hand and patted him on the cheek. “I will wear this dress tonight at a private party I am scheduled to attend with my grandfather. However, I walk out of here today in my original ensemble.”

“But of course.” Lappet’s eyes turned sharp and measuring, his gaze narrowed in calculation. “On one condition.”

She lifted a single eyebrow.

“You must promise to burn that ghastly green monstrosity the moment you arrive home today.”

Chapter Twenty-Five

Jackson escorted Caroline off the elevator. “I don’t understand why you won’t tell me what you and Monsieur Lappet discussed during your time together.”

She tried not to smile at his annoyed tone. He sounded almost jealous. Wasn’t that something?

“I told you, Jackson, it’s a secret.”

His mouth curved downward, making him look far too boyish and appealing. “Secret, indeed,” he muttered. “I can only imagine what sort of secrets you two shared.”

Now he really sounded jealous.

She started to take pity on him and tell him about the new dress she was to wear that night but was interrupted by the sound of footsteps heading their way.

Her uncle came around the corner, caught sight of her, and quickly turned back around without breaking stride.

Oh, no. No, no.
He was not getting away that easily.

“Uncle Marcus, wait.” Caroline trotted after him. “I would like a word with you, if you don’t mind.”

“Sorry, my dear, no time at the present.” He kept his head down, his feet pumping, his tone curt. “Important meeting and all that.”

“But surely you could spare a few minutes.”

“No, not even one.” He brushed aside her request with a flick of his wrist. “As it is, I’m already late for my meeting.”

Yet he was heading in the opposite direction of the elevators. Caroline was no fool. No question, her uncle was avoiding her and walking so fast she would have to break into a run very soon if she wanted to keep up with him.

Giving in to defeat, for now, she stopped her pursuit. “Another time, then.”

“Certainly, my dear, another time. Most certainly. Most certainly.” He shut his office door with a bang. Had she managed to keep pace with him, she would be fishing wood out of her teeth this very minute.

Furious and frustrated and . . . and . . .
furious
, Caroline waited until Jackson joined her in the hallway, then spun around to face him. “Did you catch all that?”

“Every word.” He took her arm and drew her down the hallway, away from her uncle’s office.

Although her uncle’s avoidance of her didn’t necessarily make him guilty of anything, it certainly made him appear suspicious. She glanced at Jackson, saw that his mind was working as quickly as hers. “That was quite the telling encounter, wouldn’t you agree?”

“It most certainly was, my dear.” Jackson lowered his voice to a growl. “Most certainly.
Most certainly.
”

Jackson arrived at the VanDercreek home early, precisely as he’d planned. Although he would like nothing better than to confront Marcus St. James about his odd behavior this afternoon, Jackson had a more important task to accomplish first. To do that, he needed to be inside this house before any of the other guests. If by chance someone spoke ill of Caroline or Richard or any of the St. James family, Jackson would hear and be better able to stop the gossip before it spread.

Giving himself a moment to organize his thoughts, he looked up at the mansion. He wished Granny would have come with him tonight, if for no other reason than to provide another ally for Caroline. But the old girl had been fighting the sniffles—her word—and Jackson hadn’t pushed.

Much rode on this evening. More, perhaps, than Caroline realized. One person. All it would take was one person to decide she wasn’t who she seemed, and the gossip would begin.

This need to protect her good name was familiar territory for Jackson, a role he’d played since the day his father had sailed for Europe with his wife’s sister on his arm. And his pockets full of Warren Griffin’s money.

Jackson braced for the familiar rage that came with thoughts of his father. Nothing came. No rage. No shame. No desire to confront the man who had made his life nearly impossible to bear at times. He felt no more animosity toward his father. And he knew the reason why.

Caroline St. James.

Her influence had left a mark on him. Knowing her, spending time with her, had changed him at his core. His anger, his attitude, even his heart had begun to soften. What had started as a desire to live a life above reproach had nearly turned him into an unforgiving, judgmental man. In his attempt to avoid becoming his father, he’d almost become a bitter, hard-hearted person like his mother.

Jackson had never longed to experience the thrill of the unknown. He’d preferred the comfortable rhythm of a scheduled, mapped-out existence. But now, he wanted more than routine. He wanted surprises. Spontaneity. In short, he wanted Caroline. In his life. For the next seventy-five years, for a start.

He planned to tell her just that.
After
he had a long-overdue conversation with Elizabeth.

Accepting what he must do, he entered the VanDercreek home. Tonight every St. James would be in one room together. It would be the perfect time to watch them interact and maybe—God willing—Jackson would uncover which member of the family had wanted to harm Caroline’s mother and, by default, Caroline.

After being directed to the drawing room on the second floor, Jackson stopped cold at the threshold. Despite his early arrival, several of the VanDercreeks’ guests were already in attendance, including Marcus, Katherine, and Elizabeth. All three were in conversation with their hosts.

The elderly couple was as elegant and poised as Jackson remembered, dressed impeccably in complementary black and gold. Their position as pillars of New York society had made them the perfect dinner hosts for Caroline’s unofficial introduction into society.

As if sensing his arrival, Elizabeth shifted slightly toward the doorway, caught sight of him, and released a sweet smile, the same one she’d always given him. Tonight, as he had at the Griffin ball, he noticed the blandness in the gesture, the almost vacant look in her eyes. No, not vacant, just distant, cool, uninterested. In him. Elizabeth was completely uninterested in him. As he was in her.

Had that lack of connection always been there between them? Had Elizabeth’s blue eyes always incited only a mild reaction in him? In comparison, Caroline’s direct, unwavering gaze had a way of accelerating his heartbeat, giving him glimpses of what could be—what
should
be—between a man and woman planning to spend the rest of their lives together.

Elizabeth was no different tonight than she’d ever been. Jackson was the one who’d changed. He still adored the girl, as a man might adore his sister. Looking at her with new eyes, he realized she was as pretty as she’d always been, in a girlish sort of way, and perfectly respectable, which were some of the reasons he’d chosen her for his bride.

A mistake he had to rectify tonight.

Now.

He started toward her. “Ah, Jackson, there you are.” Marcus gestured him over. “We were just discussing
Figaro
, one of your favorites, I understand.”

“It is,” he agreed, taking note that Elizabeth looked everywhere but at him.

Luke had been right. She hated
Figaro
.

For the next few moments, Jackson suffered the usual pleasantries, then—
finally
—once a lull occurred in the conversation, he focused his full attention on Elizabeth.

“You are looking especially pretty this evening.”

“Thank you, Jackson. That is very kind of you to say.”

More tedious pleasantries ensued before their hosts wandered off to greet a handful of new arrivals. Marcus and Katherine joined them, leaving Jackson alone with Elizabeth.

This was by no means the first time the two of them had been left on their own. Yet tonight Jackson found himself at a complete loss for words. If Caroline had been the one standing beside him, he would have come up with any number of topics to discuss. Unfortunately, he had so little in common with Elizabeth there was simply nothing to say now that the usual topics had been exhausted.

Who was this young woman standing before him?

Dressed in a white gown, she wore some sort of a mesh shawl artfully wrapped around her shoulders. The gauzy effect was spectacular, the perfect frame for her flawless face and deep blue eyes. She looked utterly untouchable, a living, breathing work of art.

And Jackson found himself completely unmoved.

It was time to set things right. He took her hand and guided her to a settee.

“Tell me about your day,” he said, hoping to ease into the topic for her sake. A man didn’t tell a woman he didn’t want to marry her without some sort of preamble.

Elizabeth simply blinked at him, owl-eyed, as if he’d asked her to mentally calculate a complicated mathematics equation. “I . . .” Her face fell. “I don’t know how to answer your question.”

Remorse squeezed his heart, and he gentled his tone, redirecting the question. “What did you do with your time today?”

“Well, I . . .” She stopped and thought a moment, her lips pulling together in a frown. “Are you sure you care to hear?”

“Most definitely.”

“I, that is, I—” She cut herself off and shook her head. “Honestly, I didn’t do anything worth mentioning.”

Sensing her anguish, he took her gloved fingers in his hand and squeezed gently. “Surely that can’t be true.”

“But it is.” Despite her obvious despair, her expression changed to chagrin, which quickly turned to irritation. “I”—she jumped up—“need to walk.”

“I’ll accompany you.”

“Fine.” The irritation in her eyes settled in her voice. “Come along, then, if that is what you want.”

He took her arm and guided her to a plant-filled balcony just off the drawing room, but still in sight of the other guests.

Elizabeth’s agitation grew with each step. Once they were out of earshot of the rest of the party, he urged her to sit again, this time on a brocade-covered settee. “Elizabeth, I apologize. My question about your day was not meant to upset you.”

“Oh, Jackson, you haven’t upset me.”

He raised an eyebrow.

“Well, yes, I suppose you did. But not in the way you might imagine.” Looking even more disturbed than before, she rubbed her palms together in an absent manner. “This conversation has been coming on for some time.”

Everything in him stilled. “Has it?”

Gaze darting around the room, Elizabeth avoided direct eye contact with him. “The realization that my life is meaningless is only part of the problem.”

“Your life isn’t meaningless.”

“Don’t patronize me, Jackson. We both know my days have no real purpose.” A sheen of tears filled her eyes. “I spend most of my time at teas, luncheons, parties, or getting ready for one of the former. I do nothing of consequence.”

“I thought you liked attending teas and luncheons and—”

She glared at him, effectively stopping the flow of his argument. “Did you know Grandfather has asked Caroline to work with him and learn the family business?”

“Yes.”

A choked sob slipped past her lips. “He’s never asked me to come to the office with him, not once.”

There was a reason for that, of course, one Jackson needed to gently point out without hurting her feelings in the process.

“Elizabeth.” He placed his hand over hers, effectively stilling their agitated wringing. “Would you have gone to the office if your grandfather had asked it of you?”

“I . . .” She released a humorless laugh. “No, I don’t suppose I would have. But now, I am rethinking . . . everything.” She pulled her bottom lip between her teeth. “Maybe I should go with him to work. Maybe I should at least try to be interested in what you men do all day long.”

“Elizabeth. Where is all this coming from?”

Looking at him with a pained expression, she drew in a shaky breath. “My mother reminded me that
I
was the one Grandfather adored before Caroline showed up. It’s not fair that she should be given favored treatment over me.”

Jackson’s left eye twitched at the words, words that didn’t sound anything like Elizabeth. Her mother had been influencing her opinions, her thoughts, urging the poor girl to view her cousin as a rival, in a way she wouldn’t have done on her own. Until this turn of events, Jackson had suspected Marcus of ruining his own sister’s life. Had it been Katherine all along? Or had the two worked in tandem?

“Do you resent Caroline?”

“No. Oh, Jackson, that’s the strangest part of all.” She pulled her hand free and clapped it to her heart, shaking her head vigorously. “No matter what Mother says, I like my cousin. Very much. I think we could be great friends.”

“I believe so, too.”

A look of gratitude filled her gaze. “Thank you for saying that.”

“I mean it. You two would be good for each other.” It was true. Caroline would teach Elizabeth the value of knowing her own mind. And Elizabeth would help Caroline enjoy the simpler, less serious things in life: teas, parties, perhaps a shopping trip or two.

Wishing to communicate his sincerity, he took Elizabeth’s hand in his and felt . . . nothing. He loved Elizabeth too much to continue allowing her to think there was more in his heart for her than affection. He had to tell her the truth.

“Elizabeth, you should know, I won’t be asking you to marry me.”

The relief that came with the words staggered him.