Passion Wears Pearls (37 page)

His coach was as luxurious as any she had seen, but she was too numb to do more than vaguely appreciate the warmth of its interior.

He took a seat across from her. “Where do you reside, Miss Beckett?”

“The Grove, on King Street, if you please.” Eleanor closed her eyes as a mortifying wave of distress threatened to overtake her, and her tears gained momentum. “I can’t imagine what you must think of me, Mr. Keller.”

“I have only the highest opinion of you, Miss Beckett. You are a woman of conscience, and while posing for Mr. Hastings may have been a grave mistake, I know that poverty and desperation drove you to it. I am the one who should be apologizing to you.”

“No. No, Mr. Keller.” She readjusted her wrap and averted her eyes, unwilling to even look at Thomas and see the pity in his face. “Please, don’t. Our fathers’ business is in the past. I can’t … relive it today.”

Several minutes passed in silence, but finally Thomas spoke again. “I am sorry for what has happened, Miss Beckett, but only because of your heartbreak. I cannot help but hope that you will celebrate your liberation from such a man—if not today, perhaps in time. He offered you so little, Miss Beckett.”

Eleanor covered her face with her hands, determined not to sob in this man’s presence. “You mustn’t … say such things.”

“I think you deserve better, and if you’ll allow me, I can—”

“No!” Eleanor’s hands dropped and a new fury seized her. “No more offers! I’ll not go from one man’s attempt at generosity to another! I am not a drowning woman, Thomas Keller. Fool or not, I made my own choices and I’ll be damned if I will lean on your arm and wilt in tears and let you think that I—” Eleanor took a deep breath, ignoring the tears that streamed down her face. “All I ever wanted was to live a respectable life and not suffer at the whim of Fate. As much as I hated being hungry and destitute, I thought that if I stayed true to myself nothing could really hurt me. I-I was wrong! But, please—it is too soon to speak of celebrations or my freedom.”

I don’t want to be free! I’ve lost my heart to a man who wanted nothing more than a figure to paint, flesh and bone—the muse of the moment. Oh, God. From his own lips, to hear myself so dismissed …

Thomas nodded, saying nothing as she lost the battle to control her emotions. Instead, he quietly averted his gaze to give her what privacy he could until the coach pulled to a stop in front of the inn.

She recognized the Grove through bleary eyes but wiped her cheeks firmly. “Mr. Keller? Have you ever felt so defeated that you weren’t sure if you could breathe?”

He looked at her in sympathy. “You are not defeated, Miss Beckett, and I stand by what I said earlier. You are a woman of conscience and I am glad to know you.”

“It was a pleasure meeting you, Mr. Keller. And I—wait!” She hesitated with her hand on the coach door. “Why were
you
there? Why were you in the studio this morning?”

Thomas’s sober expression became almost pained. “I feared he was mistreating you. I called on him to … assure myself that I was mistaken.”

She studied him for a moment, unsure of her own reaction to his confession. “You were mistaken, Mr. Keller. He never—
never
mistreated me.” Her throat closed in agony as a thousand memories of each gentle touch and considerate gesture flooded her mind.

“He isn’t what he seems, Miss Beckett.”

“H-how is that?”

“It’s common knowledge that his family threw him off years ago for pursuing such a … an immoral profession. He has wealthy friends, but I must ask, where do his fortunes come from? If he’s known no great artistic or critical success, then how is it that he possesses the resources that he has? No one seems to know, Miss Beckett. Do you?”

She shook her head. “It is … none of my concern, or yours.”

“He disappears into India for several years and then resurfaces without a word to make strangers of almost everyone who knew him beforehand. Hastings is no gentleman, Miss Beckett. He is a pretender and a—”

“Enough! You sully your own reputation when you say such things and dishonor yourself, Mr. Keller. I will not speak of him again. If I was deceived, then I am well clear of it. In a strange way, I should be proud of my gullibility, Mr. Keller. Like my father, I want to believe the best in people and to see in them the qualities I hold dear. It is not a fault I intend to amend. Good day, Mr. Keller.” Eleanor stepped down from the coach without waiting for assistance and walked into the inn without looking back.

She was grateful for Thomas’s concern but was sure he’d misunderstood both her character and Josiah’s. Thomas had exaggerated them each in turn as a villain and a damsel in distress, and she didn’t have the stomach to defend either one at the moment. Eleanor surmised that Josiah’s gruff behavior at the Walls’ had misled Keller, and the disastrous encounter today had surely cemented her role as a helpless victim in his eyes.

As for the source of Josiah’s fortunes, it was the least pressing of her worries.

Whatever Mr. Keller’s intentions in sharing his fears, it was sordid business that a sober-minded man would wisely stay clear of—and Eleanor did not expect to meet Mr. Thomas Keller again.

Not that it matters.

Michael Rutherford was on the first-floor landing, and she blindly ran into him in her haste, tearfully colliding with him and knocking everything he carried out of his hands. A flurry of paper scattered everywhere and Eleanor knelt to help retrieve it as best she could.

“I’m so sorry!”

“There’s no need for that!” Michael knelt next to her, reaching for a copy of the
Times
. “Are you crying? Are you injured?”

“I’m fine, Mr. Rutherford!” Eleanor tried to ignore him and focus on the papers at their feet.

Tally must have felt the commotion through the shuffle of their footsteps and came bounding up the stairs to lend a hand. To Eleanor’s surprise, Mr. Rutherford’s reaction to their assistance was not what she expected. He seemed to become more frantic in his retrieval of the scraps, wincing as Tally held out one of the sheets to her since she was closest. Decorum dictated that she avert her eyes before handing it over to Michael, but something made her look. Perhaps it was the flash of fear in Rutherford’s eyes. …

Jackal.
The word caught her attention, and she quickly read it through damp eyes.
Jackal’s set for the Thistle. Friday at midnight.
Eleanor shook her head. “Here you are, Mr. Rutherford. Do the Jaded often meet in such places?”

His expression was one of horror as he took the paper from her hand, folding the draft quickly as if to hide it from her view. “There’s no meeting. Tally, here, let me have those.”

Tally cheerfully handed over the rest of the newspaper clippings and retreated with a bob of his head, unaware of the storm brewing between the two adults.

“No meeting?” Her cheeks were still wet from crying, but she gave him a look of pure scathing derision. “Can none of you be honest when pressed? Is it even possible, Mr. Rutherford, for even one of your little group to speak with honor? Men! What a worthless lot of jaded fools, if you ask me!”

She stepped around him as daintily as a duchess stepping around a dung pile and slammed her door behind her.

On Thursday morning, Eleanor sat quietly in her lawyer’s office. He’d summoned her about what he described as pressing business, and she’d been grateful for the distraction of an appointment after days of listless inactivity.

“I have the documents here, Miss Beckett, and wished to speak to you in person to convey the remarkable turn of events.”

“If it’s anything to do with Mr. Josiah Hastings, I won’t waste any of your valuable time, sir. My business with him is concluded and I am loath to—”

“No, Miss Beckett. This is another matter altogether and quite surprising since we never pursued an appeal. It seems your father’s case has been settled privately.”

“M-my father’s case? I don’t understand.”

Mr. Olmstead held out a sheaf of papers for her inspection. “It’s quite official, Miss Beckett, and effective immediately. You are a woman of some wealth now. I have the contracts here from the young Mr. Keller, and a bank draft, which his clerk assured me is only the first in good faith that
is due you. Similar payments are to be made in the schedule he has included, and there is a legal document entitling you to a good percentage of all future profits made from Keller’s Gentle Smelling Salts and all pertinent brands and products. I must say, it is an extremely generous offering!”

“Oh my!” Eleanor surveyed the summary letter and marveled that she didn’t feel more elated. After all, this vindicated her father and restored his legacy. “Why? Why would he do that?”

“Who can say? A burst of conscience? A moral imperative? Or more likely, his lawyers have uncovered new evidence that would have exposed him to great liability should it have come to light. In any case”—Mr. Olmstead beamed triumphantly—“justice is served and I cannot think of a better beneficiary than yourself!”

A wealthy woman. All my dreams, dropped into my lap without ceremony, and all I want to do is to cry. The world has righted itself too late to save me, and I’m too numb to feel anything but lost. I have the means to go anywhere twice over, but nowhere I care to go.

“Justice.” She repeated the word, standing to shake Mr. Olmstead’s hand. “Yes, thank you. I shall be sure to send a note of my sincere appreciation to Mr. Keller for this act and …”

“Was there something else, Miss Beckett?”

“No. There’s nothing.”

Josiah tried to paint. His imagination and memory sustained an image of Eleanor in pearls, sitting against a wash of green satin, an offering from Poseidon that any mortal would sell his soul to taste. The shadows were worse today, gray and black clouds that loomed in his peripheral vision and then drifted inexplicably in front of him without warning. But he ignored them and painted with his face so close to the canvas that his breath fanned the oils and coated his throat until it burned to breathe.

In his mind, the storm raged. The wise course of action
was to wait to pursue her until this Jackal business was finished and it was safe. Rutherford had made a point of stopping by to underline the matter. Waiting until after tomorrow night, at the very earliest, was a reasonable and sound decision. But every minute that passed chafed his nerves.

Pride be damned. I should just tell her. I should just lay my fortunes at her feet and confess everything.

“You’re painting.” Eleanor’s voice behind him was a stunning revelation. He turned, elated to see her but also surprised.

“How … ?”

“Mr. Creed knows me enough not to bother with any alarms, and since you still have no working bell, I didn’t trifle Mr. Escher.” She stepped primly forward. “Your security is quite lax.”

“Eleanor.” He took a deep breath. “There’s so much I should—”

“Wait.” She was all business as she opened her reticule and then held out a folded envelope. “I insist on paying you back, Mr. Hastings.”

We are back to Mr. Hastings? So formal?

“Paying me back? I don’t understand. You don’t owe me a farthing.”

“On the contrary”—she moved a little closer, her gloved hand still extended with the paper toward him—“I owe you a great deal. Here. The sitting fee, plus an additional sum for my lodging and any incidental expenses you may have incurred on my behalf. Mrs. Clay’s estimates were clearly fraudulently low, and I couldn’t bear the thought of hurting her feelings by pointing out the obvious, so I hope my best estimation wasn’t too far off.”

“You’re rambling, Eleanor. I don’t care for a farthing of it. You earned that money per our agreement, and I don’t see why you’re compelled to pay back a penny that you don’t owe!”

“I have money of my own now, Mr. Hastings.”

“Money of your own? From what source?” he asked.

“Mr. Keller voluntarily settled against my father’s legal suit and restored my father’s reputation.” She lifted the
paper another inch. “So because of his honorable gesture and generosity, I have money of my own and can now repay you as I always wished.”