The Lightkeeper's Ball (26 page)

He squared his shoulders and walked toward her voice.

“‘I’m a sky kid,’” she sang. Her voice faltered when he stepped into her view from behind the arbor. Color flooded her cheeks and her dark eyes flashed gypsy fire at him. “What are you doing skulking around?” she demanded.

His lips twitched. “One trip in an aeroplane and you’re a sky kid, Essie?”

Her cheeks grew rosier and she tipped her chin up. “That’s a ridiculous name! Did you just come to mock me?”

“No.” He indicated the bench. “Mind if I join you?”

“Of course not.” She scooted over, but her expression stayed remote.

He had no idea how she really felt about him. The iron bench was hard under his thighs. Nearly as hard as the line of her mouth. She hadn’t been so cold when he last saw her. What had changed? Eyeing her expression, he doubted she would tell him.

With her fingers laced in her lap, she appeared to be a demure young woman who never did the unexpected, but he knew better. Something was brewing behind that beautiful face, but he suspected she’d only share what it was if he made her angry enough.

He cleared his throat. “Do you want to tell me why you’re so angry with me?”

Her eyes narrowed. “When were you going to tell me that Eleanor broke off her engagement to you?”

He grabbed the tail of his temper as it attempted to escape. “Where did you hear that?”

“Does it matter?” she asked, a note of challenge in her voice. “It’s true, isn’t it?”

How much should he tell her? All of it or only enough to distract her? He thought he caught a glimpse of something in her eyes, a longing to be wrong. Or was it his foolish hope instead? “Do you really want to know the truth?” he asked in a quiet voice.

“I do,” she said. Her voice trembled a little, but she put her hand over his.

He took heart from her impulsive gesture and placed his other hand over hers, then regretted it when she quickly pulled back. “I’ll hold nothing back. But listen quietly and don’t ask any questions until I’m finished. Agreed?”

“Agreed.”

“She didn’t break her engagement to me. I broke it.” When she gasped and opened her mouth, he held up his hand. “Remember your promise. I’m not done.” She shut her lips and he stared at her, willing her to believe him. “I know this isn’t pleasant to hear, but I caught her and Fosberg in a
 
.
 
.
 
. a compromising position.”

She opened her mouth, then shut it again at his warning glance. She shuddered, and he realized how hard this was for her. She’d loved Eleanor. But he didn’t think she knew her friend very well.

A toad hopped across the grass by his feet. He watched it go and tried to think of an easier way to tell her the story. There was nothing easy about such an unsavory tale. “I’ll just say it,” he said, his voice harsh. “She spent the night at his cottage two miles up the coast. I received a tip that I’d find them there. I didn’t care enough about Eleanor to be upset, but I refused to be made a cuckold. His valet tried to dissuade me from entering, but I forced my way in and found the two of them in bed together.”

She gasped. Or was it a moan? He wished he could take her hand but forced himself not to touch her. Her head was down and her shoulders drooped. “I’m sorry. I wish I could spare you this, but there’s more. When they saw me, Fosberg leaped from the bed in his nightdress. Eleanor clutched the covers to her neck and screamed at me to get out. I told her I was leaving and that our engagement was at an end. By the end of the next day she was dead. So, yes, I do feel some guilt about her death. Perhaps she feared I would tell what I’d seen, but I had no intention of humiliating her.”

“I-I can hardly believe it of Eleanor.”

“I’ve told no one. Not even my father, though I’m going to have to tell him. He has a crazy idea to marry me off to Olivia Stewart. I wouldn’t marry a Stewart if she were the last woman on Earth.” He spat the name Stewart from his mouth.

Lady Devonworth went white and still. “So is that why you wish to marry me? To foil your father’s plans?”

“No.” He wasn’t ready to tell her his feelings. “Have you spoken with your mother about my proposal?”

“I have. She believes it the proper thing to do.”

“Is that a yes then?”

She nodded her head without looking at him. “I fear I have no choice.” She raised teary eyes to his. “So she really did kill herself?”

He hesitated. “I don’t know,” he said. “She didn’t seem the type to do harm to herself. I believe Fosberg would have been willing to marry her. He seemed quite besotted.”

She nodded. “He said they were going to be married,” she said, looking away.

He saw the guilt in her eyes before it was hidden from him. “What else did he say?”

“That she broke her engagement to you and that you killed her.”

“I didn’t kill her!” he said. When she didn’t answer, his chest constricted. “Do you believe him?”
Please say no
. He held his breath and waited for her answer. Her hand crept across the metal to grasp his. He squeezed her fingers.

Her head came up and her eyes met his. “No,” she said. “I don’t think you’re capable of murder.”

He wanted to sweep her into his arms and press his lips to hers, but he restrained himself. There was time to win her. And he would.

Gaslight chandeliers cast shadows in the cavernous dining room as Olivia pulled a chair out to sit by her mother, who was at the head of the table. Delicious aromas filled the air: barley soup, roast duck with cranberry sauce, and chateau potatoes.

Her stomach objected to the thought of food, but she took up her napkin and smiled at her mother. “Dinner smells heavenly.”

Her mother gave her a sharp glance. “Whatever is the matter, Olivia? You look like you’ve lost your best friend. And where are your friends, by the way?” She leaned back so the footman could lay the napkin in her lap. “And I thought I saw your young man out there.”

“I saw Katie in the upstairs hall. She and Will will be down shortly.” She put her napkin in her lap. “Harrison was here, Mother, and I agreed to marry him. But there is a wrinkle in that plan. He is quite opposed to marrying Olivia Stewart.”

Her mother shot her a startled glance. “What do you mean?”

“There were some problems between him and Eleanor. He said Olivia Stewart would be the last person he would ever marry.” She bit her lip. “I could hardly tell him my name then.”

Her mother shrugged. “An engagement will suffice for now to restore your reputation. You can break it in your own time and tell him the truth.” She glanced at the mantel clock. “I like to dine precisely at eight. It’s five after.”

“Katie said to extend her apologies. Jennie was crying and upset, and they read her a bedtime story. She’s been having nightmares since the storm destroyed the lighthouse.”

Her mother’s expression softened. “Poor child.” She motioned to the other footmen hovering in the doorways. “You may serve the hors d’oeuvres.” The men jumped to do her bidding and went to the serving tables, where canapés were arranged with caviar, cheese, foie gras, and liver pâté. Her mother selected the caviar only, took a bite, then dabbed at her lips with the linen napkin. “So you still haven’t told me what is wrong.”

Olivia glanced at the clock. She likely had ten minutes before their guests joined them. The subject was hardly dinner conversation, but her mother would never let it go until she pried out the information.

She sipped her water, then put down the crystal goblet. “Mr. Fosberg returned this afternoon. He told me a most distressing tale.”

Her mother paused with a canapé halfway to her mouth. She put it down on her saucer. “About Eleanor?”

“It’s about Father.”

Her mother smiled. “He’s located your father?” Her voice was as animated as a girl’s, and a flush lit her skin.

A pang struck in Olivia’s midsection. Her mother genuinely loved the man. Olivia wasn’t sure how she herself felt. Her father had been like a king or nobility to her. She’d worshipped him and tried everything in her power to make him proud of her, to make him utter one word of praise. The discovery that he had feet of clay was a blow she wasn’t sure she could recover from.

“No, Mother. H-He says he has a valid will that Father executed. It was discovered in a safe that was buried in debris during the Great Fire. It was written in 1906.”

Her mother’s eager smile faded. “Your somber expression tells me this is somehow bad news. You know how I detest it when you dance around information, Olivia. Out with it.”

Olivia toyed with her spoon and stirred sugar into tea. “According to the will, Father has another heir. A son.” She glanced up to see how her mother received the surprise.

The words seemed to echo in the high-ceilinged room. It was her mother’s greatest shame that she’d never given her husband a son. If only she hadn’t had to tell her mother this news.

Her mother’s eyes grew wider as the words sank in. Her high color faded to a sallow yellow. Her throat clicked as she swallowed. “I don’t understand, Olivia.”

The facts. Stick to the facts in a neutral tone of voice that might calm Mother
. Olivia somehow managed to speak in an even tone. “Father had an illegitimate son, Mother. The son was traced here to Mercy Falls but evidently changed his name, and Mr. Fosberg was unable to track him down.”

“What is his name?”

“Richard Pixton.”

Her mother’s hands curled into fists, and she banged them onto the table so hard that Olivia’s water glass toppled. “Pixton!” She swallowed again, and a single tear ran down her cheek.

“You know the name?” Olivia asked.

“Lulu Pixton was my personal maid. She threw herself at your father, and I dismissed her at once. I thought she went to live with her sister in San Francisco.”

“That’s where Richard was born.” The older woman moaned at Olivia’s words, an eerie sound that raised the hair on the back of Olivia’s neck. Olivia reached over and took her mother’s hand. “I’m sure Father didn’t love her, Mother. I’m sure he was just trying to do the right thing. He was always careful to attend to his responsibilities.”

“His responsibility was to me, his wife! And to his own children.” Her mother rose so quickly that her chair tipped over. “I’m going to my room. I have a most dreadful headache. Give my regards to our guests.” She rushed from the room.

Olivia dabbed the spilled water with her napkin. She motioned for the footmen to remove her mother’s utensils and to repair the table. Her chest was tight, and she ached for her mother’s pain. And where was Father? They needed him now.

T
WENTY-FIVE

H
ARRISON SLID HIS
arms into the vest Eugene held out. “I don’t feel like eating dinner tonight, Eugene.” Nealy looked up at Harrison’s words as if to check that his master was all right.

Tonight he was to attend a celebratory dinner hosted by the owner of the business Harrison had just acquired. He was surprised his father had agreed to attend, given his displeasure over the price Harrison had paid.

“Yes, sir. Would you like me to make your apologies?”

“No, I have to go. Who knows what my father would say to Mr. Riley if I’m not there.” He buttoned the vest, then grabbed the jacket from the form by the window. “I hope I’m not seated next to Fosberg. It’s going to be all I can do not to throttle him.”