Love Finds You in Mackinac Island, Michigan (33 page)

She couldn’t blame Parker, but she did feel sorry for him. Marriage—it was a sacrifice for all of them. Only a few people in this world actually got to marry the man or woman they loved.

He looked back up at her. “However, you and Chase—”

Claude opened one of the pocket doors and cleared his throat. “You have callers, Miss Elena.”

She turned, her eyes flickering with questions. She’d told him very clearly that she didn’t want to see anyone today except Parker or Jillian.

Claude looked over her head, at the piano behind her, as if he didn’t want to meet her gaze. “Mrs. Darrington and her son, Chester Darrington, are here to visit you.”

The protest reared up in her throat, but before she could speak, Claude opened the other door and motioned Chase and his mother forward. The room seemed to tilt under her feet. Chase wasn’t supposed to be here. He was supposed to be far away. In Chicago.

He looked so handsome in his brown pinstriped coat and trousers, his tweed vest and satin tie, and the felt derby in his hands. Like a gentleman.

Instead of rising, she sat frozen in her chair.

Parker leaped from his seat, extending his hand. “It’s nice to see you again, Chase.”

“And you as well.”

At the sound of his voice, her heart seemed to collapse inside her. She looked away from him, at the window behind Parker. If she had to speak with him—she would collapse as well, in front of all of them.

“Are you here to visit Miss Bissette?” Parker asked.

“I—” Chase’s voice faltered, and she wanted to take his hand and tell him that everything was all right. “I’m here to visit with her father.”

Mrs. Darrington hurried forward toward the davenport, reaching down to take Elena’s hands. “I’m here to see Miss Bissette.”

Elena had thought the woman would be angry at her, but she kissed her cheeks instead.

“Mr. Bissette is out back,” Claude announced.

Elena didn’t dare turn her head, not even to watch Chase leave.
Is this what love feels like,
she wondered,
this tilting, whirling, out-of-control feeling that puts one off-balance?

What must he think of her, first pursuing him for marriage and then all that happened with Edward? Did he think she’d tried to seduce his brother-in-law?

Mrs. Darrington released Elena’s hands and sat on the chair next to where Parker had been sitting.

Parker picked up his hat. “I believe it’s time for me to say my good-byes.”

When Elena looked up at him, the room seemed to right itself again.

“Remember what I said, Lanie.”

But Parker was wrong. It was too late for her and Chase.

* * * * *

Chase found Arthur Bissette in a lawn chair, sipping iced lemonade and watching a purple finch flit from one branch to the next. Chase wondered if the man was going to ignore him like his daughter had, but Arthur offered Chase his hand, and then he offered him a chair.

Arthur leaned back in his chair. “My wife thinks you might be the devil himself.”

Chase didn’t dare agree or disagree. He didn’t want to speak ill of the man’s wife or daughter or how they’d conspired against him.

“I never wanted to upset your family.”

“I know you didn’t, son.”

“I just— I was misinformed.”

“Are you certain?” Arthur handed him a cigar.

He took it. “I’m certain of very little right now.”

Digging into his pocket, Arthur removed a book of matches and held it up. “My wife thinks you invented these.”

Chase laughed as the man lit his cigar. “I’m no good at making new things. I only help finance them.”

“Deborah’s a good woman, but she doesn’t always get things right. In fact, sometimes she gets things very wrong.” He paused. “You’re a good man, Chase. Honest. I hope you prize grace and mercy as highly as you prize honesty.”

Chase took a long draw on the cigar, tasting the earthy flavor on his tongue. Arthur wouldn’t understand, but what had happened between him and Elena—it went far beyond grace. He could forgive Elena, eventually at least, but his heart desired much more than that. He’d wanted to marry her, but he couldn’t marry a woman he didn’t trust.

Hopefully, he could trust her father.

He tapped the cigar on the arm of his chair and ashes sailed to the ground. “Father says you have a factory in Chicago.”

Arthur shook his head. “The bank is closing it down on Monday.”

“But you still own it?”

“For four more days.”

“What if you had guaranteed work?”

The older man sighed. “There is no work. After the World’s Fair and then the economic panic, no one in Chicago wants to invest in a new industry right now.”

“It seems to me that a bank would reconsider if you could pay back the loan.”

Arthur took another draw on his cigar, contemplating his words. “They might.”

Chase held out the cigar in his hand, pointing to the blue sky. “Do you like stars?”

“I suppose I appreciate them, but not like my daughter does. She loves everything about the night sky.”

“Did she tell you about my telescope?”

The man’s eyes widened. “Is that what you’re working on?”

Chase leaned toward him, placing the cigar at his side. “I need you to be honest with me, sir. Did Elena tell you about the telescope?”

He shook his head. “She never told me anything about you…or what you were working on.”

Chase sat back in his chair. He wanted to believe the man, desperately. He wasn’t sure what to do with the information, though. Elena might have kept his secret, but she had still deceived him.

He took another draw of the cigar, looking out at the trees. “I have a proposition for you.”

Nell delivered a fresh pot of English tea and hot scones with lemon custard to the drawing room, and Mrs. Darrington poured a cup of tea for each of them. The older woman didn’t rush the discussion, like Mama would have, but allowed silence to bridge the awkward gulf between them.

Elena’s hands trembled as she reached for her cup, spilling the tea on her shirtwaist. The brown liquid pooled across the navy stripes.

Chase’s mother must think she was a simpleton.

She sipped the tea, though she didn’t taste it. She tried to put the cup down with grace, but it clattered on the saucer.

The curtain was up on her life this morning. She was supposed to be smiling and pretending that all was well on the stage, a skill she’d mastered long ago, but even though her audience was watching her, she couldn’t seem to pretend anymore.

“Elena.” Mrs. Darrington reached forward, taking her hands again. Instead of pity, compassion weighed heavy in her eyes and her voice. “I can’t tell you how sorry I am.”

“Sorry?” Elena asked, watching her face. “I thought—I thought you would be angry with me.”

The compassion in Mrs. Darrington’s eyes turned to surprise. “Why should I be angry with you?”

“Edward—they put him in jail. And then he left Sarah.”

“According to the lieutenant, you did nothing wrong.”

“I was walking in the woods alone.”

“Well, there is certainly no crime in that.” She released Elena’s hands and took a sip of her tea. “The lieutenant said he got to you in time, that Edward didn’t hurt you.”

Elena grimaced. “Only my pride.”

Mrs. Darrington took a scone from the tray. “Will you be all right?”

“Eventually.”

“Very good.” She took a bite of the scone. “Do you remember when I was here before, how I mentioned that Chase was courting someone?”

“I do.” Her voice shook.

“It seems that I was wrong.”

“You were?”

“That’s what I get for meddling,” she said with a shrug. “A mother should never meddle.”

Elena swallowed the laughter that bubbled in her throat, knowing that Mrs. Darrington was meddling at this very moment. And the woman seemed quite aware of what she was doing.

“My son, though—he needs a good wife. A woman he can trust.” She dipped a piece of scone into her teacup and ate it. “Someone who knows how to forgive.”

“Does your son need forgiveness?”

“We all need forgiveness, my dear. That’s why the Lord sent His Son.”

“And you and Sarah—I suppose you have to forgive, as well.”

“It will take us awhile to work all that out,” she replied. “But, yes, we must forgive Edward.”

Mrs. Darrington poured them both another cup of tea. “Have you been drawing?”

She shook her head. “Not recently.”

“You mustn’t stop, you know. My son said you were a fine artist.”

“Chase exaggerates.”

One of Mrs. Darrington’s eyebrows slid up, and Elena realized her mistake, the familiarity of using his nickname. “Chester. I mean, Mr. Darrington.”

Curses. She would never get it right.

“I’ve never known my son to exaggerate.”

“That’s because I don’t exaggerate,” he said from the doorway.

Elena looked at him, and his handsome face seemed worn without the easy smile that had slipped across his lips when they were alone at the lighthouse.

It was true; they were both very different people away from that world. Perhaps it was impossible to merge their real lives with the moments they shared, what seemed like a lifetime ago.

“We must go, Mother.”

Mrs. Darrington stood and Elena sat up straighter, controlling her voice but not daring to stand. “May I speak with you a moment, Mr. Darrington?”

He hesitated before he replied. “Certainly.”

“There is no rush,” his mother called as she bustled out into the hallway.

He didn’t come into the drawing room. “What is it, Miss Bissette?”

She hated the way her name sounded on his lips, all formal and stuffy, like they’d never gazed up at the stars together, never laughed together or shared their secrets. Oh, for him to call her “Andy” one more time. To smile at her with admiration and joy instead of disdain.

To say that he loved her.

But it was all business for him, and she would oblige.

“Claude—our manservant,” she stumbled, “I discovered his grandfather.” Oh, she was getting it all wrong. “I didn’t discover his grandfather. I discovered his name. It’s Nickolas Westmount from Magdelaine’s journal.”

Chase shook his head. “I don’t understand.”

“Claude would like to read Magdelaine’s journal.”

He shook his head. “I left it in Chicago.”

“Perhaps when you return—”

He backed quickly away, shoving his hat on his head like there was urgent business he must attend to. “I’ll send it back with your father.”

“My father?”

He tipped his hat. “I’m glad to see you are quite recovered.”

She collapsed back on the couch when she heard the
click
of their front door.

She hadn’t recovered at all.

* * * * *

“An apology, that’s all I asked for.” His mother reprimanded him from across the seat on the carriage ride back to the Grand. “Instead, you were perfectly awful to her. Again.”

He felt like a twelve-year-old, getting scolded by his mother. But she didn’t know what Elena had done to him. If she did, she would be just as rude.

“Elena is my friend, Chase.”

“But she’s not mine.”

His mother huffed. “What is wrong with you?”

“You saw her, Mother. She was entertaining that Randolph fellow when we arrived.”

“What of it?” she asked, her hand swiping through the muggy air. “Elena’s one of the prettiest girls on all of Mackinac, if not
the
prettiest. That doesn’t mean we’re rude to her.”

He cringed at the thought of Elena courting any man, just as the thought haunted him of what Edward had tried to do to her in the forest. Part of him wanted to protect her from future harm, but she had parents who cared well for her. She didn’t need him.

And he couldn’t allow himself to need her.

“You have to do something,” she insisted.

He looked out the window. “You’re meddling, Mother.”

“If you were fifteen years younger, I’d put you over my knee and spank you with a willow switch.”

“It didn’t hurt then—”

“You want to marry Elena,” she blurted. “You know it, and so do I.”

He shook his head. “I’m not ready to marry.”

“You most certainly are,” his mother murmured. “You’re just being pigheaded.”

“I am not.”

“Years ago, you told me you wanted to marry a woman who spoke her mind.”

He glanced back at her. “I don’t think that any longer.”

His mother muttered something else, but he didn’t ask her to repeat her words.

* * * * *

Claude and Nell left the dining room table cluttered with dishes after Papa asked them to give the family a few moments to discuss a private matter. He spent the first fifteen minutes telling Mama the grim facts. How the bank was about to foreclose on both the factory and the house in Chicago. How all his investments were being held captive in a bank vault until he repaid his loans, but that most of them were worthless anyway until Chicagoans began buying and selling real estate once again.

And then he told them that he’d never liked producing farm equipment. He’d always wanted to be part of developing something innovative, something that no one else was producing en masse. Elena knew that men like the Darringtons were part of a small group of financiers who actually made money on innovation. To her knowledge, her father didn’t have anything new to produce.