The Third Heiress (5 page)
Authors: Brenda Joyce
“Look, I even use the subway when I’m in New York,” Alex said calmly. “Is her room ready?” he asked Lauren, who was standing beside him.
Lauren nodded.
Surprised, Jill glanced at him, grateful for his defense, but she was not deluded, for he was hardly her champion either.
“Since when? Your fraternity days?” Thomas asked Alex with sarcasm.
Alex smiled very slightly. “When I’m in a rush, I’ve left my driver midtown in a traffic jam and hopped a train.” He shrugged. “It is a good way to get around, if you can handle yourself.”
“Hal had no business being in the tube, just like he had no business staying in New York.” Thomas looked at Jill. His meaning was clear. It was all her fault.
Everything
was her fault.
Everything
was her fault.
She was exhausted, she was ill, and she had never felt more debilitated, but she had had enough. “Excuse me. He had every business being in New York. I loved your brother. He loved me! We were happy!” But even as she spoke, their last damned conversation was in the back of her mind, causing doubts she should not have—and how could he have done this to her? “I have never loved anyone more. I will never love anyone this way again,” Jill heard herself say. She stopped. She was about to cry.
This time no one handed her a tissue. The huge salon was silent, stunningly so, and Jill found her own Kleenex. She dried her eyes, refusing to look at either Thomas, Alex, or Lauren now. But she had seen their expressions. No one believed a word she had said; they all thought her a liar.
Jill inhaled, fighting to steady her nerves, trying to control the everpresent urge to cry. “It’s the truth,” she said to them all.
“Well,” Thomas finally spoke. “We can dispute your version of the truth all day, can we not?”
“No,” Jill said. “No. You cannot.”
Thomas’s jaw was tight. They stared at one another. This time Jill refused to back down even though he was overpowering.
Thomas smiled grimly—it was more of a twisted curling of his lips—and he suddenly turned and strode from the room. His strides were hard and angry.
Jill realized that she was shaking—and badly. Never in her life had she had such an encounter before.
“How long will you be staying with us, Miss Gallagher?”
Jill met Alex’s penetrating blue eyes. She wet her lips. “I’m scheduled to leave the day after tomorrow.”
Alex nodded. “If you give me your flight information, I’ll see that you have a driver to take you to Heathrow.”
Jill knew he couldn’t wait for her to leave, and that her departure wasn’t scheduled soon enough to suit him or any of them. Yet she couldn’t offer to change her flight—she could not afford to do so. As it
was, the round-trip fare, booked only a day in advance, had cost her well over a thousand dollars. She did not have money like that to spare. Jill was silent, and she was angry. Why did it seem like the entire family had wanted her to send Hal home alone? She had every right to attend the funeral.
was, the round-trip fare, booked only a day in advance, had cost her well over a thousand dollars. She did not have money like that to spare. Jill was silent, and she was angry. Why did it seem like the entire family had wanted her to send Hal home alone? She had every right to attend the funeral.
“Please come with me,” Lauren said, but it was a command.
Jill glanced at her stony face. She could not wait to escape the salon. “Lead the way.”
“One minute, Miss Gallagher.”
Jill stiffened, facing Alex. “Yes?”
“I want to caution you,” he said firmly, his stance wide, almost threatening. “This family is in shock. You’re a stranger in our midst. I don’t want the boat rocked, not even slightly. I’m asking you to keep a very low profile for the next two days until you leave.”
Jill stared at him, her pulse pounding. “I don’t think you are asking me anything,” she said through stiff lips. “You are giving me orders.”
“I’m advising you,” he said flatly.
Jill hugged herself. Her damn eyes were glazing over again. “I know I’m not welcome here. I guess I should have sent Hal home alone. But that was something I could not do.”
Something in his blue eyes flickered. “No one said that, Miss Gallagher.”
Jill shook her head. “I am sorry if my coming here has rocked your boat.” She was suddenly bitter. “He died in my arms. How could I not bring him home? I have every right to be at the funeral!” She felt tears slipping down her cheeks. She glared at Lauren. “We weren’t dating. We were practically engaged—a week before he died he proposed to me.
He asked me to marry him,
” she cried aggressively.
He asked me to marry him,
” she cried aggressively.
The words had erupted of their own volition, and even as they did, her confidence wavered, while her emotions got the best of her and she could not continue. There wasn’t much more to say anyway.
And all she could think of was, Hal, come back, I am so alone … I need you!
Then she realized that Lauren and Alex were regarding her in disbelief.
“I don’t believe you,” Lauren said, her expression aghast. “He would never have asked you to marry him. Thomas is right about you!”
Jill started. She did not know what Lauren meant by her last remark.
“Hal and I are very close,” Lauren cried. “We are—were—only two years apart in age. If he was going to affiance himself to you, he would have told me. He said you were dating. That is all. He mentioned it once
or twice. I know my brother! If my brother was in love and planning on marriage, he would have told me—time and again!”
or twice. I know my brother! If my brother was in love and planning on marriage, he would have told me—time and again!”
Jill’s pulse was racing wildly. Her knees felt weak—she was afraid she might once again collapse. “No,” she said, shaking her head. She looked from Lauren to Alex. He was regarding her with his probing blue gaze, the shock now gone from his face. He didn’t believe her either, she thought. And she was terribly, sickeningly afraid that it was pity she now saw in his eyes. “He asked me to marry him—he did,” she said hoarsely.
Alex’s hands were on his hips. “It doesn’t matter. The point is moot. Lauren?”
A sudden determination seized Jill. She must never let this family know that she herself had doubts—that Hal had been uncertain in the end—that maybe they were all right—while she herself was wrong.
Oh, God.
Lauren stepped forward. Her eyes were red. “Come with me. I’ll show you to your room.” She turned and briskly left the salon, not waiting to see if Jill was following.
Jill hesitated, sending Alex one last glance. His regard was steady, and she had the uneasy feeling that he sensed her confusion and doubt—that he sensed the entire story. But that could not be the case. She was, understandably, paranoid.
“We’ll talk tomorrow,” he suddenly said.
There was something unyielding in his tone that made Jill hurry away from him. She had no wish to speak with him tomorrow or at any other time. She stumbled after Lauren, wishing she had never arrived at the Sheldon home, wishing she had never met any of them.
J
ill followed Lauren up to the third floor. Lauren said not a word. Her shoulders seemed rigidly set. As they walked down a long corridor, carpeted in blue and gold, numerous works of art hanging on the walls, Jill suddenly wanted to find Hal’s room. The room he had grown up in as a boy. The room he had used when he was in town. It would give her some comfort to go there.
ill followed Lauren up to the third floor. Lauren said not a word. Her shoulders seemed rigidly set. As they walked down a long corridor, carpeted in blue and gold, numerous works of art hanging on the walls, Jill suddenly wanted to find Hal’s room. The room he had grown up in as a boy. The room he had used when he was in town. It would give her some comfort to go there.
They stopped at a beautifully ornate door. “Good night,” Lauren said. She turned and walked away.
Jill watched her go. She knew she was not mistaking her rudeness. Then she walked into her bedroom, closing the door behind her.
Her bags had been brought up. They were neatly lined up at the foot of
a huge four-poster bed with a dark green velvet bedspread, matching dust ruffles, and pillows and shams in various shades of green, blue, and gold. Jill looked around, wide-eyed.
a huge four-poster bed with a dark green velvet bedspread, matching dust ruffles, and pillows and shams in various shades of green, blue, and gold. Jill looked around, wide-eyed.
The ceiling was pink, and intricately carved, a huge beige starburst in its center. The walls were painted a lovely, muted jade green, and numerous paintings—all of them old but small in size—hung on the walls. The room she had been given was the size of her studio in the Village—at least. There was also a working fireplace on one wall, the mantel a dark green marble, and the room’s furnishings were all antique, the fabrics—brocades, silks, and damasks—rich in texture, but faded and old.
Jill wandered around, touching the beautiful porcelain lamps and a small black, green, and gold Chinese screen standing in one corner. Had Hal been insane? She would have never fit into his family in a million years.
Jill stood very still, seized with absolute understanding, with horrific comprehension.
Hal had fallen in love with her. But when their relationship had deepened, he had realized the impossibility of ever bringing her home. He had wanted to marry her—but had realized that his family would fight their marriage tooth and nail. The Sheldons would have never accepted a lowly dancer into their midst. Which was why he had suddenly had second thoughts about them.
Jill sank down onto the bed.
Hal had loved his family. From the start of their relationship he had spoken about them often, with love and pride. It had been clear to Jill that his family was the center of his existence, and because she herself had no family, it had been one of the very first reasons why she had fallen in love with him.
She closed her eyes. Hal wasn’t at all like his brother, his cousin, or his sister. He had not been arrogant, and he had not flashed his money around town. Jill had not lied when she had said he had rarely used his driver in the entire time she had known him, and he had preferred jeans and T-shirts to suits and sports coats. It had never bothered Jill that he did not earn a living from his photography. He had been an artist, just as she was, and she had believed in him deeply. She had always felt certain that one day he would have had his lucky break and show his work to great critical reviews, and that would be the beginning of his career.
Suddenly the pieces of the puzzle began to fit. Hal was so different from them all. No matter that he adored them. What if he had gone to
New York to escape them and the pressures of being a Sheldon—of being the different Sheldon, the near black sheep?
New York to escape them and the pressures of being a Sheldon—of being the different Sheldon, the near black sheep?
If so, he would have been very conflicted. But he had hidden his inner turmoil so very well—until their last and final conversation.
Jill grew frightened. She hugged her pillow, not wanting to go where her thoughts were leading her. Hal had known, at the end, that he could not bring her home without having to choose between her and his family. Jill wept.
And when her sobs finally died, she lay staring up at the ceiling, knowing she would never know how he would have solved his dilemma. Jill wished she hadn’t come to London.
She wished, desperately, that Hal were alive, that they were back in New York, in the midst of their fairy tale. For now that was what it was beginning to appear to be—a foolish fairy tale.
But it was a fairy tale she would never forget, not for the rest of her life.
J
ill could not sleep.
ill could not sleep.
Her thoughts tormented her. And she missed Hal so badly that it hurt in every fiber of her being.
But perhaps the worst part was staring at the night-darkened ceiling, feeling so utterly alone—being so utterly alone—once again.
Jill turned on the bedside lamp. She could beg God from here to eternity, but Hal was dead, and nothing could ever change that fact. But somehow, she would survive—just as she had survived the loss of her parents twenty-three years ago. But this time the loss was different. This time she would cling to her memories. She did not want to ever forget, even if it meant living with anguish for the rest of her life. The only thing she had to do now, for her own sanity, was lay to rest her confusion and doubts. For that was a cross she just could not bear.
Abruptly Jill stood up. She could not sleep, and lying restless in bed would make her crazy, with her thoughts seesawing back and forth between her worst fears and her now unattainable hopes and dreams. She needed to do something, she needed to distract herself, for she dreaded being alone for the rest of the night.
Jill walked over to a television on a nightstand and snapped it on. She rubbed her forehead tiredly. British television with its odd humor did not interest her. What she really needed was a sleeping pill or two, which she did not have. Barring that, she could use a good stiff drink. A martini or two would do, she thought almost savagely.
Hadn’t she seen a bar cart in the salon where she had fainted?
Jill glanced at the clock on her nightstand. It was a quarter to twelve. She had arrived at seven-thirty P.M. By now, the family must be well asleep. She crossed the room, pulling on a pair of jeans, for she’d been sleeping in her T-shirt and panties. She refused to consider what would happen if she were caught wandering about the house unescorted. She did not think anyone would look kindly upon the act. She knew from Hal that Lauren and Alex did not live with the family. If she stumbled across anyone, it would be that bastard Thomas. But that was too bad. She would stand up to him if he dared to confront her the way he had earlier that day. She owed the Sheldons nothing. She was alone again, and if she did not take care of herself now, no one else would.
Jill made it to the living room without seeing a soul and poured herself a scotch, which she did not usually drink and did not even like, and started back up the stairs. But on the second-floor landing she paused, sipping the neat drink. It warmed her instantly, and even better, it dulled the grief and pain and confusion immediately. Hal’s bedroom, she knew, was on this floor. He had often told her how he loved the light from his bedroom facing east on the second floor.
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