Journey's End (Gilded Promises) (25 page)

“Oh, thank you.” Elizabeth pulled her hand free, lifted her gaze to the heavens, and breathed a heartfelt sigh. “Thank you, Lord.”

“You are not upset?”

She let out a tinkling laugh. “You have no idea how much I don’t want to marry you.”

He should have felt insulted, and maybe he did a little. No man wanted to be told he was an undesirable mate, even by a woman he had no desire to marry.

His face must have shown a portion of what he was feeling, because Elizabeth placed her hand on his arm and laughed again. “You should see your face. I didn’t mean to be so blunt. I suppose my cousin has worn off on me.”

“So it would seem.”

Frowning, Elizabeth pulled her hand back into her lap. “It’s not that you won’t make someone a good husband, but that someone is not me. We are very ill suited, you know.”

He did know. It had been a mistake to think otherwise.

Now that she’d gotten a taste of speaking her mind, words tumbled out of Elizabeth’s mouth at breakneck speed. “We will always be friends, Jackson, you believe that, yes?”

“Yes. Always.”

“And you know that I love you very much.” She lifted her hand to keep him from interrupting. “As a brother, of course.”

“Of course.”

She continued speaking, barely taking a breath. “I only wish for you to be happy.”

“I wish the same for you.”

“We will never speak of marriage between us again.”

“Never.” Free. He was
free
. He hadn’t felt so light, so awake, so completely himself in a very long time. Maybe ever.

Elizabeth continued talking, asking questions at a rapid-fire rate that required an occasional one-word answer from him.

Only half listening now, Jackson became acutely aware of his surroundings; every sound, every scent, made him feel more alive than before.

“Jackson, did you hear what I said?”

“I . . . no.”

“I said”—her hand clasped his arm and squeezed—“you have been looking for a wife in the wrong place, in the
safe
place.”

Her words jolted him because they were completely, unexpectedly, irrevocably true.

Dropping her hand, she continued. “I think we both know whom you should marry.”

“We . . .” He swallowed. “We do?”

Looking very pleased with herself, Elizabeth nodded sagely. “It’s Caroline, naturally. Oh, Jackson, you must marry my cousin, Caroline.”

Chapter Twenty-Six

Caroline arrived at the VanDercreek dinner party in the best possible way, on her grandfather’s arm. He looked very handsome in his elegant evening attire, the white bow tie a perfect foil for his thick silver head of hair.

After a bit of a debate with Sally, Caroline had chosen to wear the blue silk creation Monsieur Lappet had delivered personally to Granny’s an hour earlier. Not because the color was Jackson’s favorite, but . . .

Oh, all right, yes, she was willing to admit, if only in the secret recesses of her mind, that turning Jackson’s head had been the main reason she’d donned the exquisite gown. She’d never felt more confident and beautiful than at this moment.

As if her grandfather had planned a spectacular entrance, they were the last to arrive at the party. They entered the drawing room where the other guests had already assembled for the evening. She knew most of the people in the room—family, friends, with only a smattering of strangers.

A second glance told her there were two people conspicuously absent from the room. Her heart stalled in her chest, clenching in a brief moment of pain. Where were Jackson and Elizabeth?

Was tonight the night? Would he declare himself to her cousin at last?

No, he wouldn’t do such a thing, not here. Not at a dinner party given in Caroline’s honor. That would be a serious breach of etiquette, something he would never do.

For once, she was grateful for the man’s rigid adherence to society’s rules. It would be hard enough to watch him openly court her cousin, twice as wretched if he started tonight, after they’d shared such a wonderful day together.

She knew she would have to face the inevitability of his marriage to Elizabeth. But not yet. Not tonight.

Misreading her slight tremble, her grandfather patted her hand encouragingly. “Think of tonight as a game of chance.” He pulled her closer to his side. “And you have an unbeatable hand.”

The analogy did nothing to soothe her nerves but rather served as a reminder of how she’d gotten here, the sins she’d committed and could never take back.

“Breathe, Caroline, you have gone quite pale.”

“Have I?” She tried to appear surprised by the comment. “It’s a bit hot in here, don’t you think?”

“I’m sure that must be it. Come.” He directed her to their left. “Allow me to introduce you around.”

They made their way through the room, stopping every so often to trade meaningless conversation with various members of the dinner party. When they arrived at her aunt and uncle, she reminded herself why she’d traveled to America in the first place.

To seek justice. For her mother.

Caroline had allowed herself to become distracted by a hope for a future that could never be hers until she settled the past.

Schooling her expression into a serene smile, she focused on the likely culprit. Her uncle. His suspicious behavior that afternoon had left little doubt.

Her uncle’s returning smile seemed genuine tonight, as did her aunt’s. But one of them—or perhaps both—had betrayed her mother in a most horrible manner.

As if to add to her anxiety, the hair on her neck prickled. Out of the corner of her eye she noted Jackson’s return to the center of the room. Elizabeth clung to his arm, smiling warmly, placidly, as if she hadn’t a care in the world. Why would she? She had Jackson by her side.

A white-hot surge of jealousy rose so suddenly, so vividly, Caroline was afraid it must show on her face. Ashamed at her reaction, at the ugly emotion running through her, she reminded herself that she had not come to America to find love, or a place to call home, or anything that felt soft and warm and permanent.

Knowing that her mind needed to be on her goal, Caroline was unable to stop herself from glancing at Jackson again. Their gazes locked, and even from this distance it felt like a physical blow. Her breathing deepened; her stomach dipped.

But, really, he shouldn’t look at her like . . . that.

And yet,
and yet
 . . . nothing. Caroline forcibly returned her attention to her aunt and uncle.

In the same moment, the dining room doors were thrown open in a dramatic fashion.

“That’s our cue,” her grandfather whispered in her ear with the tenderness and affection she’d craved all her life.

She lowered her gaze and sighed. Home. Permanence. Both were within her grasp, she realized, not in the form of a physical structure, or even a city, but in her grandfather, in her own flesh and blood.

Her mother had always claimed Caroline was very much like Richard St. James. Caroline had thought that a great insult, a reminder that she was a sinful, naughty child who refused to listen. Now, she realized, her mother had been giving her a compliment.

Once inside the dining room, when it became evident they weren’t sitting beside one another, Caroline went in search of her place.

Her uncle came up beside her, took her arm, and directed her to the opposite side of the table. “It would appear,” he said, indicating the placard with her name on it and the one next to it, “that we have been placed beside one another.”

“What a happy coincidence,” she said. An invisible fist squeezed her lungs, but she pasted a smile on her lips. “Now we may most certainly get to know one another better.”

More to the point, this was her opportunity to see if he would reveal his hand. The office would have provided more privacy, but that hadn’t worked out well for her.

While the first course was served, they spoke of inconsequential things. Several times Caroline caught Jackson watching her from the other side of the table. He sat several chairs down, next to her aunt, his gaze tracking in Caroline’s direction far more often than was polite.

He was different tonight. Or rather, the way he watched her was different—bolder, less inhibited, as if he didn’t care if anyone noticed that he couldn’t keep his eyes off her.

Her breath caught in her throat.

Caroline wasn’t making much of an effort to avoid his gaze, until she looked directly at her cousin. Her stomach knotted. Elizabeth simply smiled at her, a silent message in her eyes.

What was she trying to tell Caroline?

Her gaze drifted back to Jackson. Still smiling, Elizabeth looked from one to the other. And then, to Caroline’s complete and utter shock, her cousin winked at her.

Caroline looked quickly away, wondering what
that
had been about.

“With all the chaos of the last few days,” Marcus said, “I haven’t told you how sorry I am about your mother.”

Caroline wanted honesty, not contrition.

“I’m sorry for the way she died.”

At the sound of Marcus’s voice breaking over the words, she turned her head to look at him directly. His face held no signs of emotion. None she could decipher, at any rate, and that concerned her. She could read a total stranger’s motives within minutes. Her uncle was proving a different matter entirely. Was she looking too hard? Had she lost her objectivity?

Terrifying thought.

“Thank you. I admit, I miss her. So very much.” For some reason, she was unable to hide her sorrow from this man. “More so with each passing day.”

“I . . .” He pulled in a hard breath. “I miss her, too.”

Caroline swallowed audibly. She heard the pain in her uncle’s voice, and the regret, and believed his sincerity. “Were you two . . . close?”

“Very.” His eyes closed a moment. “When she ran off, the loss was unbearable at first. With time, it became less so. Never easy, but tolerable.”

She could sense his agony.

“Even when it seemed she wanted nothing to do with us, I still insisted we name Elizabeth after her. Did you know that?”

Caroline had assumed it had been her grandfather’s idea to name her cousin after Libby. Now, Marcus claimed it was his.

Was her uncle speaking from his heart or his guilt? Suspicion crowded into her thoughts, but for the moment, she pushed it aside.

She was here to uncover the truth, not offer absolution. Why could she not remember that? What was it about this man’s evident pain that made her want to give him comfort?

“It must have been devastating to think your sister had abandoned her own family for a life in London.” She spoke in generalities, in case someone at the table deigned to eavesdrop on their conversation.

Shoulders slumped, Marcus pushed his plate slightly forward, the gesture a clear indication he couldn’t stomach food right now. “It never made any sense to me, her staying behind when she loved her life here.”

His sincerity only added to Caroline’s confusion. She felt the first stirrings of doubt, and her instincts told her to believe her uncle. She knew better, of course. But still . . .

“I knew about the man she chose to love, but what of it?” Sad, baffled eyes turned to Caroline and, like her, Marcus kept his voice low. “We would have weathered the scandal if she’d wanted to come home.”

Caroline filled her lungs, the effort a challenge. She didn’t want to speak of this anymore. But she’d started them down this path. “I . . . It’s hard to be here,” she admitted, lowering her voice to such a soft level he had to bend his head to hear. “Walking in the world where she once lived, wondering what she would have been like had she been allowed . . . had she returned.”

“You look like her, you know.” There was a ragged edge to his words now. “It’s very unsettling.”

Understanding dawned at last. “Is that why you have avoided me, because I remind you of her?”

“Yes. I’m sorry for this afternoon, my dear. My behavior was rather . . . cowardly.”

The honest answer made her bolder. She’d caught her uncle at a vulnerable moment. What better time to ask the inevitable question. “Are you the one who intercepted my mother’s letters, the ones she wrote to your father?”

Taken aback, eyes blinking rapidly, Marcus looked at her, confused, angry, and maybe a little lost. “Libby wrote home?”

Never taking her eyes off his, Caroline nodded. “She penned over three dozen letters through the years. All of them were sent back, unopened.”

His gaze hard and unforgiving, Marcus narrowed his eyes. “Who would do such a thing?”

Who, indeed?

There was only one possibility left. As if drawn by some invisible force, Caroline’s gaze met her aunt’s from across the table. A momentary flicker of hatred swept into the other woman’s eyes, so venomous Caroline nearly gasped aloud.

In the next instant, she felt a flood of fury. By her own admission, Katherine and Libby had been friends. Why had her aunt intercepted her mother’s letters? Why?

What had she hoped to gain?

The moment Jackson saw Caroline’s gaze lock with Katherine’s he knew she’d discovered the truth. She’d been mere seconds behind him. Katherine had given herself away with a seemingly innocuous observation.
Libby made the ultimate mistake of choosing love over position.
When Jackson had asked her to explain what she meant, she’d hesitated a fraction of a second, then muttered beneath her breath that Libby had gotten what she deserved.

The rest had fallen into place from there.

Angered on Caroline’s behalf, wanting to react, to lash out, to right this terrible wrong, Jackson swallowed hard and clamped his back teeth together.

This was not the time or place to exact justice.

Katherine St. James would answer for her sins. Jackson would see to it.

But not here. Not tonight.

Tonight belonged to Caroline. This was her official debut into society as a St. James. Nothing could be allowed to compromise her success this evening. Caroline deserved her moment of triumph, for all the hardships she’d endured as a child. His heart bled for the frightened street urchin she’d been, courageous enough to band with others like herself, doing whatever was necessary to survive.

He admired the woman she’d become. Believed in her. Loved her.

He
loved
Caroline St. James.

The realization hit him hard at first, then settled into an all-consuming need to protect her. Her aunt had better have a good explanation for what she’d done.

The rest of dinner proved endless. The food, as expected, was of the first order. The conversation maddening, thanks to the seating arrangement. He listened to Katherine St. James with cold, hard restraint, nodding when appropriate, wanting nothing more than to see her pay for what she’d done to Caroline and her mother.

A portion of his restraint slipped.

Clearly unaware of his internal battle, Katherine smiled at him benignly. No guilt in her eyes, no remorse. The woman had nerve.

“Did you and Elizabeth have a nice conversation?” She asked the question in her saccharine-sweet timbre that made the cream cake seem bland.

Why had he never noticed the grating sound of her voice before? Why did no one see what she truly was? Katherine St. James had always seemed the epitome of elegance and charm, a woman greatly admired among her peers.

Appearances could be deceiving. Jackson knew that now. In this new light, he noticed so many things about the older woman, things he’d missed or ignored before—the way her lips flattened whenever she looked in Caroline’s direction, the angry angle of her shoulders.