Her Defiant Heart (48 page)

Christian eyed the remains of her breakfast. "Shall I order something else from the kitchen?"

"No. I have no appetite this morning."

"All right." He stood and picked up the tray. "I am taking this back, and then I am getting a paper. Do not go farther than the bathing room."

Jenny made her promise and kept it. As soon as Christian was gone she threw back the covers and darted for the porcelain bowl in the bathroom. When she was finished being sick, she cleaned her teeth and went back to bed. Later, at lunch, when Christian commented on her ravenous appetite, Jenny did not enlighten him as to the reason.

* * *

Susan Turner finished tucking in the covers around her daughter and stepped back from the bed. So peaceful, she thought, as Beth's eyelashes fluttered closed. Behind her, she heard Scott come into the room. Susan put a finger to her lips, gesturing him to be quiet, then waited for him in the hallway while he kissed Beth good night.

Susan hooked her arm in her husband's as they walked down the stairs. "Mrs. Adams kept your dinner warm. Yankee pot roast, parsley potatoes, and sweet butter carrots. It was very good when Beth and I ate two hours ago. I cannot vouch for the meal now; neither can Mrs. Adams."

His wife's not-so-subtle reproof did not go unnoticed. "Dr. Morgan called me in again," Scott said. "Just as I was taking my leave. I also went by the St. Mark to examine Jenny."

"How is she?"

"Much better. I am very pleased with her recovery. In fact, Christian's taking her out tonight for some fresh air. They're going up to the Park. This will probably be the last week for skating."

"Jenny is going to skate?"

"No, of course not. She is going to watch. All bundled up, I might add. It's time for her to get out of that hotel room. After her experiences on the ward, she is the very last person who needs to be confined and restricted."

Susan did not say anything, but a frown played at the corners of her mouth. She wished that Jenny would agree to go back to Marshall House. "I'll get your dinner," she said. "You can tell me about Dr. Morgan while you eat."

Scott did not get around to talking about Morgan until he was almost through with his meal. In spite of Susan's interest she let him skirt the subject until she brought out dessert.

He forked a piece of the apple pie and held it out to Susan. When she shook her head, Scott shrugged and took it for himself. "Morgan wanted what he always wants—to know if I'd learned anything about Jane Doe. He asked about Christian. Apparently he's heard rumors that Christian's taken up residence at the St. Mark with a married woman."

"Of course," Susan said. "I was afraid that would happen. Christian does not appreciate his notoriety. I would not be surprised if there was some mention of his liaison in the
Herald.
Worse, in his own paper
.
He is endangering Jenny by staying there. She cannot be anonymous if he is not. Sooner or later, because of Christian, someone is going to express an interest in Mrs. Carlton Smith."

Scott put down his fork and reached across the corner of the table to touch his wife's wrist. This was no idle concern she was expressing. "Susan? What is this all about? Don't you think Jenny's safe going to the Park tonight?"

"Yes... no... I don't know. I suppose if she's agreeable to leaving, then she must think it's all right. It is evening after all." With her free hand she fingered the pearls at her neck as if they were worry beads. "But then she has never really gone anywhere with Christian. She does not know what a stir he can cause just walking across the St. Mark lobby."

"I think you are making too much of it," Scott said. "Christian does not draw attention to himself."

"He doesn't have to. People just notice him."

"Perhaps," he said, conceding the point reluctantly, "but that doesn't mean they know who he is."

"Only one person has to," she said. "Just one. And that one person says, 'Who is that striking woman on Christian Marshall's arm?'"

"Do you really think anyone has the answer to that question?"

"Someone will. We cannot know how long it will take, Scott, but eventually someone is going to see her and
know
she is not Mrs. Carlton Smith."

"So? It is not as if they will
know
she is Jenny Holland either. She was a maid in the employ of the Benningtons. Why would anyone remember her?"

"I did," Susan said softly. "So did Alice Vanderstell."

"Susan?"

Susan laid her hand over Scott's. "Can we go to the hotel?" she asked, ignoring the question in her husband's eyes. "Please? Mrs. Adams can stay here with Beth. It's important I see Christian. I should have told him as soon as I realized, but I—"

"Realized what?"

But Susan was already on her feet, pulling Scott along. "If we hurry, maybe we can stop them before they leave the St. Mark."

* * *

"Are you warm enough?" Christian asked. "I should have told Joe to bring the closed carriage."

Under the fur rug, Jenny snuggled against Christian. Her hands were clasped inside the wonderfully soft ermine muff he had bought for her at A.T. Stewart's. She raised it to her face and rubbed her cheek on it. "Better than warm enough," she said, smiling as the fur tickled her lips. "And I'm glad you sent for this carriage. It is beautiful out tonight. I cannot think of a better place to be."

"You can't? That is disappointing."

"I am not the one who insisted you spend every night on the mattress in my studio," she said. "I wanted you with me."

"Do you still?"

Jenny slipped one hand out of the muff and raised it to Christian's cheek. "Still," she said. "Always."

He kissed the back of her hand, turned it over, and kissed the heart of her palm. It was such an unexpectedly romantic gesture that Jenny's warm sigh misted in the air.

All the way along Broadway up to Fifty-ninth Street their carriage passed omnibuses and horsecars filled with people determined to make the best of the unexpectedly long, bitterly cold winter. Flags were raised on all the transports indicating the pond and lake were still frozen. Christian asked Joe to take them north of the Mall to the lake so Jenny would be able to sit in the comfort of either Beach or Terrace House and watch the skaters. When they arrived, though, Jenny announced she did not want to go inside. She dug in her heels and refused to go anywhere save in the direction of the lakeshore.

There was never any question but that Christian would give in. "Have you always been so stubborn?"

"Always." The frozen lake sparkled under calcium light posts. Skaters of both sexes, of the rich and poor and middle class, darted like water striders across the ice. A five-piece band played on a snowbank near Beach House. Out on the ice, the skaters, novice and experts alike, responded to the rhythm. It was a spectacle filled with radiant color and glitter. The scene reminded Jenny less of skating on the canals in Amsterdam and more of the resort she had visited in Switzerland. She came dangerously close to blurting out her observation. "Papa said I was born stubborn," she said a shade wistfully instead. "I expected people to do as I wanted. He said it was the crown that made me that way."

Christian's interest was captured immediately. He still knew so little of Jenny's background, and what glimpses he was given merely increased his curiosity. "The crown?"

"Mm. Oh, look!" She pointed to a trio of skaters who were racing across the ice, each clutching a mug of frosty ale. None of them spilled a drop.

"I am filled with admiration," he said dryly. He urged Jenny along, afraid if they stood too long in one place she would get cold. "Tell me about this crown."

"It is really nothing. Merely a birthmark that Papa insisted was shaped like a crown. I have never seen it. He claims it is on my scalp, buried beneath my hair. Of course, as I did not have any hair to speak of when I was born, Papa saw it quite clearly."

"And he called you the Princess."

Jenny nodded. "Silly, isn't it?"

Christian's reply was noncommittal. How had Alice Vanderstell known about the pet name? Vanderstells were money. Jenny Holland was not. The discrepancy made Christian wonder again about the clothes in Jenny's wardrobe. When he had asked her about them, she had only said that Reilly had sent them. He had accepted that answer but had not understood it. In light of Jenny's weakened state, he also had not pursued it.

Beneath Jenny's cloak she wore a green crinoline dress with white undersleeves. The skirt had five wide flounces and a tight, high-necked bodice. He had not been thinking about the quality of the tailoring or the fineness of the material when she had modeled it for him earlier. The deep emerald color made her eyes at once darker and somehow brighter. It had not seemed a contradiction. She had looked so exquisite that he'd wanted to suggest they stay right where they were. Perhaps it would have been better if they had. He might never have raised these questions now.

Unaware of the thoughts her comments had provoked, Jenny allowed Christian to turn them back toward Beach House. Her silent compliance was the only admission she made about beginning to feel the cold. She adjusted the hood of her cape, keeping the fur trim close to her face. Every time they passed other people closely, Jenny averted her eyes. Since leaving the hotel, she had been uneasily aware of the stares that followed Christian.

"Did you skate here when you were a boy?" she asked.

"No. Sometimes the river would freeze. We'd skate there." He pointed to the refreshment stand. "Would you like something warm to drink?"

Jenny shook her head. "I'm fine. Tell me about the 'we'."

"That would be my brothers and me." The memory, long buried, touched a chord in his voice and vibrated in his throat. He could still hear the sound of his brothers' laughter as they chased flat stones on the ice with brooms. "The ice broke under Logan once," he said. "God, we were scared. He was clutching the edge of the ice, crying for us to help him. Braden and David and I were so afraid, all we could do was jump up and down and scream for help. It's a wonder the ice didn't break under us as well." He shook his head, a small smile of amusement appearing at last to play about his mouth. "Lord, but we were idiots."

"What happened?"

"One of us finally remembered what to do, but I cannot claim that it was me. We flattened our bodies on the ice, made a chain, and eventually pulled Logan out. Then we took turns carrying him home on our backs. As I recall, we got the thrashing of our lives."

"Even Logan?"

"No. He got pneumonia."

Jenny was smiling, shaking her head, as she and Christian entered the spacious sitting room at Beach House. They found empty chairs near the stone fireplace and sat. Among the crowd of people were matronly chaperones who kept an eagle eye on their charges. Handholding was frowned upon. Public kissing could cause a scandal. Still, Jenny saw several couples easing toward the shadowed corners who looked as if they were willing to take the risk.

"Tell me about Logan," she said. "How did he become interested in photography?"

Christian tugged on the back of Jenny's hood. It fell, uncovering her hair. The firelight burnished wisps of sable at her temples. He wondered about the crown again. The princess. Yes, she was that. "Logan? Actually I was interested first. He was bedridden after that accident on the ice, and for lack of anything better to do, I showed him how to make pinhole cameras. He thought it was magic. When he realized it wasn't, he was captivated."

"Do you regret teaching him?"

"I don't think so, not anymore. I suppose it's no secret to you that for a long time I did. I used to tell myself that if I hadn't had the interest, then he wouldn't have either. Logan was like a shadow. Oh, he did the things Braden and David did, but he was most firmly attached to me. When the war began and I enlisted, Logan joined up with Brady as a photographer's assistant. He was seventeen. When some of Brady's men left to work under their own name, Logan finally got his chance to be in the thick of things. It was what he wanted." Christian leaned forward and stared at the fire for a moment. He gave Jenny a sideways glance. "I've finally come to realize that Logan made choices, just as we all did. I didn't kill him."

Jenny's small gasp did not carry further than Christian's ears. "Of course you didn't kill him," she said. "Did you really think that you had?"

He nodded, straightening. He stretched out his legs and crossed them at the ankles. "Most days I did. I felt the same way about David. I watched him fall at Gettysburg. It was one of the few times I set up a camera. He was posing for a picture we planned to send home. Can you imagine we were doing that? A Rebel sniper caught him in the chest. I've been told I threw myself into the fighting after that, that I spared no one, showed no mercy. Sometime that day, I took a bullet in the leg and received a medal for valor. They said I was a hero, but that is because they did not understand. I was just trying to get my brother back."

Jenny's heart went out to him. In the background, the tinny carnival-like music of the Park band played on, at odds with the poignancy of Christian's revelations.

"I believed I had a hand in Braden's death, too. Father did not want him to go because he was needed at the paper. I was a more likely candidate to represent the Marshalls on the battlefield."