Deception at Sable Hill (15 page)

Maeve was in the kitchen, slicing an onion to within an inch of its life when he entered.

“Who is winning, you or the onion?”

Wiping her eyes with the edge of her apron, she grimaced. “The onion, I’m afraid. Every time I make scrapple, I promise myself I won’t do it again. I hate dicing onions. Don’t know why.”

After quickly washing his hands, Sean gently pulled the knife from her. “I’ll do this, then.”

“You don’t mind?”

“Not at all.” Actually, cutting a defenseless onion into small pieces sounded like exactly the type of mindless activity he needed. “I need something to occupy myself. It’s been quite a day.”

“Mine too. Jemima fell and scraped her knees something awful, and then I ran out of milk and had to ask Jack for some milk money.”

“Do you need some money?”

She waved a hand. “It weren’t the money he got excited about. It was the fact that he figured out I spent too much at the fabric store the other day. He weren’t real pleased with me. I’ll tell ya that.”

“Hmm,” he said in his best noncommittal way. Sean had always thought Maeve’s husband had the patience of a saint to put up with his bossy, opinionated sister. When she handed him another onion, he carefully sliced it in half, then started chopping again. “Almost done.”

“Ta.”

“Anytime, Maeve.”

Her usual caustic demeanor sweetened. “This is like old times, it is.”

“Not hardly. When we lived at home, Ma kept you in the kitchen and me out of the house.”

She laughed. “Right you are. But I’m still glad you came by.” Her expression still bright, she said, “You and me standing here in the kitchen, chopping onions, what a sight we are.”

He laughed. “I’d say so.”

“My life is a far cry from the likes of Eloisa Carstairs, it is.”

Now he knew what had really been bothering her when he’d walked through her door. She was thinking about Eloisa’s days and comparing them to her own. “Maeve, just because Miss Carstairs doesn’t chop onions, it doesn’t mean she’s all bad.”

“I’m not being critical of her.”

“’Course you are.” Since he’d come over wanting to hear her thoughts about Eloisa as much as a meal, he dug in. “What did you think of Eloisa?”

“Are you speaking of Miss Carstairs?”

“Of course I am.”

“So you are calling her Eloisa now?”

“Maeve. Don’t be like that.”

“I’m not being any certain way. All I’m doing is wondering what had made you decide to develop a friendship with her.”

“I wouldn’t call us friends. Merely acquaintances.”

“Sean, if I believed that, I’d be a sight less smart. No need to lie to me, you know. I saw the way you eyed her the entire time.”

He’d had no idea his regard was so apparent. “And what way was I eyeing her?”

“You know.”

“Maeve, I promise, I do not.”

She blew out a breath of air. “You were looking at her like she was the stars and the sun and the moon, all wrapped up into one glorious, high-society package.”

He glared at her. “If I was looking at her often, it was purely out of concern for her welfare. You ladies certainly didn’t make her feel welcome.”

“We aren’t
ladies
, brother. Some of the women there are hardly respectable. Some aren’t respectable at all. We all knew that too.”
Looking mulish, she glared at him. “It was awkward, it was.” After a moment, she added, “She stopped by again yesterday.”

“She did? Did she stay for a time? She didn’t arrive alone, did she?”

“No, she had her driver with her. And from what I heard, she only stopped by to drop off some linens and books.” Almost grudgingly, she added, “The women were appreciative of her efforts.”

Sean didn’t miss the slight disdain in her tone. “Miss Carstairs was there for a good cause. No harm would have come to you for trying to give her the benefit of the doubt. Or from giving her a little less of a bitter attitude. She’s had a difficult time of it lately. I would appreciate it if you could spare her a bit of compassion.”

“A lady like that needs compassion? For what?” Her voice rose. “What could she possibly have that has necessitated her needing a helping hand?”

“It is her private business. I’m afraid I can’t share.”

Maeve thrust one of her hips out as she glared at him. “What happened? Did one of her maids not iron a ball gown just so?” She snapped her fingers. “Oh, I know. Maybe she had a small, unsightly blemish appear on her cheek. That would certainly mar her perfect life.”

“That’s enough.”

“Or did one of her many beaus not save a dance for her? I’ve heard that a hurriedly filled dance card can be a terrible thing in her social circle.”

Sean stood up. As he did so, he looked down at her with something akin to scorn in his eyes. “For the record, you used to be far nicer. You used to think of other people.”

“I do think about people who need my concern. I help out at Hope House, don’t I?”

“I came over here the other evening to ask you to show some Christian charity to Eloisa. To try to look beyond her wealth and
privilege to the person she is inside. Years ago, I wouldn’t have even thought that I would need to do that. I would’ve assumed that you would be there for her, no matter what. But now I’m not even sure you would be willing to reach out to her again as a favor for me. What’s happened to you?”

“
Life
happened
. As well as the fact that I, for one, am more than willing to accept the reality of our situation.”

“And what is that supposed to mean?”

“It means, Sean Ryan, that you may mix with society by moonlighting at balls and galas. You might even know a couple of gents because Owen Howard has decided to go slumming. Some people might even give you the time of day because you’re a fancy police lieutenant, and a good one at that. But the truth of the matter is that you are no closer to being friends with Eloisa Carstairs than I am with President Cleveland. You’re just too different. And if you think differently, you’re fooling yourself, Sean. She’s going to hurt you something awful too. Mark my words.”

His sister’s words stung, mainly because they had a grain of truth to them. “You have things all wrong.”

“No, brother. It’s you who has things all wrong. Anytime Eloisa Carstairs says good-bye to you, she’ll go home to her mansion. She’ll go into a bedroom that’s likely bigger than half my house, and a maid will attend her. Servants will bring her tea on carts. Other servants will prepare her food, serve it up to her, remove the plates, and wash them. And then she’ll change for bed by getting into a nightgown that someone else washed and pressed, and slide under sheets in a bed that someone else made. But first her lady’s maid will take down her hair. And when she looks in the mirror, she’s going to see herself. And she’s beautiful.”

Her voice cracked. “She has
everything
, Sean. She has everything
and she wants more. She’s going to want to marry a man who can give her more. No matter what you might think, she is not going to want to marry someone like you.”

“You sound as if you’ve thought a lot about how a lady like her lives.” Of course, the moment he said those words, Sean ached to take them back. She certainly didn’t deserve either his words or tone.

“Of course I have, Sean,” she replied with more than a trace of bitterness laced in her tone. “I’ve got me a cozy home, a good man, and two healthy children. I’m blessed, and I don’t mean for the Lord to think I’m not appreciative of that.” She lowered her voice. “But I’d be lying to both you and myself if I acted like I was never envious of a lady like her.”

He shook his head. He didn’t know everything there was to know about Eloisa. Far from that. However, he now knew her well enough to realize that it would be a grave mistake to believe that Eloisa Carstairs was only the sum of her appearance. “No—”

“She has everything, Sean,” she repeated. “Everything. And the sad thing of it is, she is still looking for more, even for someone like you.”

“Like me?”

“Stay away from her. Knowing her will only do you harm. I mean it.”

“I’m going to leave now.”

She slumped. “Yes. Yes, I believe that would be a fine idea.”

He turned, but not before whispering, “Maeve, I hear what you’re saying, I do. And if we were talking about a different woman, I would say you were exactly right.”

“But?”

“But I know Eloisa. And I know what she’s been through and I know what her dreams are. And I can promise you that it would be a grave mistake to judge her only on her looks and wealth. The Lord
gave us full lives, made us whole people, Maeve. We’re not simple paper dolls that can be bent and prodded and transformed with a twist and a pull. We have hearts and souls and dreams and feelings. Even people like you and me. And even wealthy women like Eloisa Carstairs.”

Maeve’s lips parted. Obviously she was stunned by his small speech. “I’m sorry, Sean,” she murmured.

“I’m sorry too.” He knew he should step closer and promise her forgiveness. But at the moment he was too angry with his sister and too struck by the feelings that were coursing through him to do anything but step into the dark evening.

He’d just defended Eloisa with everything that he was, he realized. Because she was important to him.

Far too important to give up. Even if that was the smart thing to do.

CHAPTER 13

A
nother evening, another formal affair. As Juliet picked up another hairpin and artfully arranged her chignon, Eloisa gazed at her reflection in the mirror and tried to drum up some enthusiasm for the evening’s event.

She couldn’t do it.

Yet again, her plans included dressing up in a very expensive gown to spend the evening in the home of one of her parents’ very particular acquaintances. Once she arrived, admired every other lady’s very expensive gown, she would converse with several suitable gentlemen.

After that, one of those men would escort her into a warm—because too many people would have been invited—extremely fragrant—because too many artfully arranged flower arrangements would be on display—dining room.

She would then smile, make scintillating conversation, and appear interested in whatever the gentleman at her side wished to talk about while eating mere bites of each offering during a lengthy, seven-course
meal. This, of course, would be preceded by aperitifs and followed by forced banter with some of the same fifty people who always attended these events.

She was likely to be seated with an eligible bachelor, someone of social standing who was in the market for a wealthy bride.

Or, perhaps it would be a gentleman of somewhat lesser rank who was a close friend of the hostess, or to whom the hostess owed a favor. This man would be more charming, more effusive in his compliments, more attentive. And because of all these things, infinitely more desperate.

Two years ago, when she’d made her debut, her mother and father had sat her down on a settee in the formal drawing room and systematically explained the truths that would now govern her life.

The first truth was that Eloisa must always,
always
be aware that there were few people as wealthy as the Carstairs family.

Eloisa had been stunned.

Oh, not by the announcement, of course. For most of her life, she’d realized that most everyone in Chicago did not live like the Carstairs family at the top of Sable Hill. Their estate encompassed more than two acres. Dressmakers and milliners delivered their creations to their home for perusal. Almost twenty servants were employed by the family to see to their every need.

However, she’d also learned at a young age never to speak of such things. “There is nothing more bourgeois than speaking about one’s wealth, dear,” her mother had intoned again and again.

The second truth was that even without their wealth, the Carstairs family enjoyed a stellar reputation. That meant not only were they well thought of, but they were somewhat lauded by others.

And that meant that under no circumstances could Eloisa do anything to taint this hard-earned status.

And that meant that Eloisa could not forget to always look her best, behave her best, and never, ever forget that she was being watched.

“People are always waiting for you to make a fool of yourself, Eloisa. Take care not to give them something to talk about,” her father had warned. “Remember, once a reputation has been lost, it can never be regained. Ever.”

The third edict was both similar to and quite different from one given to her brother.

Thomas, being a boy, had been told not to let some desperate girl encourage him to make foolish choices. Soon after his lecture, he’d been sent back to boarding school, then Yale, then given leave to tour the continent for a full year.

She, on the other hand, had been told her duty was to marry well. Very well.

She’d also been repeatedly warned that her name, combined with her beauty and their wealth, would attract all sorts of nefarious men. Men who would do or say almost anything to reap the benefits of marriage to her.

“Just because you’re available, it doesn’t mean you are available to just anyone, Eloisa,” her mother advised.

Years ago, when she was fifteen and sixteen, and perhaps more enamored of herself than she should have been, Eloisa had been hurt that her mother had never taken into account her personality or her humor or her grace, or anything that made her Eloisa, not simply a Carstairs.

But now that she’d made her debut, she’d learned that the core of her mother’s words had merit. Some men did, indeed, strive to marry into her family. Some attempted to lie about it.

Now that she was older?

Most leaned toward honesty.

She leaned that way, too, and toward entertainment. Which was
why she was secretly hoping that tonight’s event would entail a favor owed to the hostess. She could use a laugh. She could use a few minutes of meaningless flattery. Anything to take her mind off the fact that she’d been measured up and found less than desirable by a group of destitute women in a charitable home.

For a woman who had always been taught that she was the epitome of everything that everyone else wanted? It had been a blow to her ego.