Love on a Dime (22 page)
Lilly shook her head and pressed her lips. Yet her eyes begged for understanding. “I want to help you, Jack, but I won’t admit I’m Fannie. My family’s humiliation would be more than they could bear.” She placed her hand over his. “Please try to forgive me.”
He shrugged. “All right, I forgive you.” He couldn’t add enthusiasm to his voice because between her refusal and Reynolds’s stroke, all his hopes of building Jones and Jarman into a prestigious publisher were fading like a distant dream. “I won’t badger you anymore.”
Her small smile conveyed her appreciation. “I’m sorry to cause you such disappointment, Jack.”
He suppressed a low groan as the horses’ hooves pounded against the dirt road. “There’s one more thing, Lilly. I want to help you handle Colonel MacIntyre. He ’s a man without scruples and you shouldn’t deal with him on your own. Please, let me assist you.”
She hesitated for only a moment. “Thank you, Jack, but if and when it’s necessary to confront him, I can do it on my own.”
He shook his head and groaned. From the determination in her eyes, she wasn’t about to change her mind.
E
arly Monday afternoon Mr. Ames stumbled through the library doorway and offered Lilly a letter lying on a silver salver.
Lilly recognized the bold, black handwriting of Colonel MacIntyre. She reached for it slowly as if it were a flaming ember. “Thank you.” She accepted the letter opener from the butler, slit open the envelope, and pulled out a single page with a trembling hand. As soon as Mr. Ames departed, Lilly read the note in a whisper to Miranda, who sat in a chair beside her.
My dear Miss Westbrook,
Please meet me at O’Neill’s Café on Thames Street, Monday at three o’clock. We have important business to discuss. If you wish to keep your secret safe and your reputation intact, it behooves you to accept my invitation. Come alone.
Sincerely,
An interested party
The note dropped from Lilly’s hand and fluttered toward the floor as a breeze wafted through the screens and blew it across the Persian carpet. As luck would have it, Jack strode into the library, scooped up the paper and held it up. His eyes twinkled with curiosity.
Lilly lifted her chin. “It’s mine, Jack. May I have it—if you don’t mind?” She tried to keep panic from capturing her voice, but she sounded like an ill-tempered shrew. Hadn’t they just had this very conversation?
Jack’s forehead pleated. “There ’s no need to be so touchy. What’s the matter? You look terrified. Did the letter frighten you?” His right eye twitched as he glanced at the stationery.
“No, of course not.” Lilly held out her hand.
“It’s rude to read other people’s mail, Jackson,” Miranda added softly.
Jack paused. Would he dare peruse her note? Lilly couldn’t breathe as the seconds slowly ticked by. Appraising her as if he heard her thunderous heartbeat, his eyes narrowed. But instead of glancing at the letter, he returned it to her. Reluctantly. His better angels had won out.
Lilly nodded, suppressing relief. She snatched the colonel’s message and slid it into her skirt pocket. “Thank you, Jack.”
He nodded and excused himself. “If you need me, I’ll be nearby.”
Lilly waited until Jack left the library before she leaned closer to Miranda. “That was a close call. Do I dare meet with Colonel MacIntyre?” she whispered.
“You must. Unless you want your name smeared all over
Talk of the Town
, you have no other choice.”
Lilly buried her face in her hands for several seconds before looking up. “Writing under a
nom de plume
seemed such a clever idea when I first began scribbling romances. But now I know it was the worst mistake I ever made. Of course, I couldn’t write as Lillian Westbrook, either. Oh, Miranda, what am I to do?”
“Meet with the man and don’t act frightened. Stand up straight and tall and stare him directly in the eye. Glare at him. I shall accompany you.”
“But Colonel MacIntyre specifically directed me to come alone.”
“I’ll wait in the carriage. You don’t have to do this on your own. And remember the Lord is always with you.”
Lilly wrapped her arm around her friend’s shoulder and gave her a hug. “Please pray for me, Miranda.”
Miranda grinned. “I always pray for you. The Lord will give you the strength to do what you must.”
“I know. I won’t allow that horrid man to get the better of me.” For a moment Lilly almost believed her words.
A short time later she returned to her bedroom to dress for her meeting with the colonel. Already behind schedule, she only had a few minutes to escape Summerhill before Mama captured her for a carriage ride, then tea at the Breakers, Alice Vanderbilt’s Italianate villa on Ochre Point. Later, Mama and Irene would ask why she hadn’t joined them. She’d worry about a reasonable explanation later when she returned home.
Lilly rushed down the staircase. “Do hurry, Miranda,” she urged as she glanced over her shoulder.
“I’m coming as fast as I can. The hem of my skirt ripped, so I must be careful. Perhaps I ought to change my clothing.” Miranda grasped the rail as she gingerly descended the wide, carpeted steps.
“There’s really no time.”
The grandfather clock in the foyer struck two thirty-five. If no one at Summerhill waylaid them, they’d arrive by three, right on time. Grateful for the empty hallway, Lilly strode toward the door and peered through the glass side panels. The lawn looked deserted except for her carriage waiting by the veranda steps. She took a long, steadying breath. They’d make their escape before anyone had a chance to catch them.
A piercing shriek and series of thuds sent Lilly spinning around. Head over heels, Miranda tumbled down the stairs and landed on the Persian rug that covered most of the foyer floor. Slowly she righted herself, groaning.
Lilly rushed to her side and stretched out her hand. “Let me help you up.”
“My ankle, I think it’s sprained. Oh my, it hurts.” Miranda gasped as she leaned against Lilly and thrust herself to one foot.
Hobbling, Miranda turned pale. With Lilly’s help she lowered herself onto a stair-step. She examined her ankle and winced.
Lilly bit her lip. “Do sit still. Don’t try to move. I’ll have Mr. Ames fetch a doctor. You may have broken a bone.”
“Perhaps some ice . . .”
Mr. Ames appeared out of thin air and sized up the situation. “I’ll telephone for Doctor Hansen.” He shuffled toward the office.
“I’m afraid I shan’t be able to accompany you. That fall was so clumsy of me. I’m terribly sorry, Lilly.”
“Don’t worry about my meeting. I can handle the man on my own. It’s your ankle I’m concerned about.” Lilly bent down to get a closer look at the injury.
“You must leave right now. The entire household will be down here in a minute. They’ll all be so distressed about my fall they won’t even notice you’re gone. Do hurry. I promise I’ll be fine.”
Lilly hesitated, but she knew Miranda would soon be in capable hands. “If you really think you’ll be all right . . .”
“Go.” Miranda gently pushed her away. “At once. I’ll pray everything turns out well.”
Lilly pressed her in a hug, then dashed to the carriage. The driver jumped down from his seat and helped her inside the open landau. An enclosed vehicle like the phaeton would draw less attention, but there was no time to exchange carriages. They drove the length of the long driveway and out onto Ocean Avenue. Heavily veiled, she prayed she wouldn’t be recognized. If she were spotted by a friend of her mother’s, the lady might ask why she was out and about on her own without a chaperone. Fortunately, none of the Westbrooks’ equipages had a family emblem on their side. Thank goodness her parents weren’t as pretentious as most of the cottagers.
Lilly’s carriage rumbled toward the waterfront. The air hung heavy with dampness as fog and storm clouds blew across the harbor. The humid breeze curled her tendrils and fused her starched shirtwaist to her back.
Lilly gulped in the soggy air and struggled to stay calm. If only Jack were here beside her she ’d feel more confident. The prospect of confronting Colonel MacIntyre all alone coated her stomach with nausea. But she had only herself to blame for this entire disaster. She hoped she wouldn’t falter when she met him eye to eye.
Lord, please give me the words I need to confront the colonel and the strength not to flee
.
The landau wove through the congestion of Thames Street, past buggies and drays and every type of equipage imaginable. Once they reached the small café named O’Neill’s, the carriage pulled up to the curb. Her driver helped her step down. She smiled as if stopping at a working class eatery were commonplace. “Stay put, please. I’ll be detained for only a few minutes.”
The coachman’s expression betrayed no interest, but Lilly knew he must wonder why she directed him here. Bellevue Avenue shops and restaurants catered to her set exclusively. She seldom needed to travel to the waterfront where the townspeople conducted commerce. Mama would faint if she knew Lilly planned to meet New York’s dreaded extortionist . . . on Thames Street, no less.
She took a fortifying breath, but nothing calmed her agitation. Straightening her shoulders provided a small measure of self-confidence but not enough to stop her teeth from chattering. She pushed open the glass door and stepped inside the dark café. Her eyes rapidly adjusted to the dim light. Scanning the customers, mainly locals by the look of their clothing, she spotted a fat man sitting at a back table smoking a cigar. He waited, his hands folded on the faded tablecloth, an exaggerated, clown-like grin splitting his face. Then he waved her over.
Lilly swallowed her revulsion and lifted her chin. As she strode toward his table, the heels of her boots beat against the uneven wooden floor. “I assume you’re Colonel MacIntyre.”
His menacing smile stretched even wider. “Yes, I am the colonel, at your service. And of course, you’re Miss Westbrook. Please be seated.” He pointed to the other side of the table with thick fingers decorated with gold, silver, and diamond rings. “I’m honored you’ve deigned to meet with me.”
Did she have any other option? “Let’s not pretend this is a social call.” Lilly sharpened her voice, amazed at her sudden bravado. Never would she or her family receive him as a visitor. “Let’s get on with whatever it is you want to discuss.” As if she didn’t know.
His smarmy grin faded and took a downward turn. “Splendid. But first, would you like a cup of tea or perhaps coffee?” He continued his pretence of good manners.
“No, thank you.” Lilly squirmed in the hard chair and waited for the colonel to scrape up the crumbs of his cherry pie.
“Miss Westbrook—or may I call you Lillian?” His piggy eyes shone with mockery.
“No, you may not.”
“Then I should like to call you Fannie Cole, the name you’re so anxious to keep hidden. Now then, Fannie. You’ve been most indiscreet writing for publication without informing your parents or friends. They’d all disapprove of your occupation, as well they should.”
She gulped, holding back a torrent of anger. “What do you want? If you don’t tell me at once, I shall leave.” Focusing on the man’s gleaming eyes, Lilly started to rise.
“Sit down. I’ll get to the subject at hand.” He glanced around the café. Obviously satisfied no one was listening, he leaned forward across the table. His tobacco breath struck her like a cloud of poisonous gas. “In order to keep your name out of my news sheet, I require three thousand dollars. Now don’t look so stunned. That might seem like a large sum to you, but I’m sure when you think it over, you’ll agree it’s a small price to pay for silence. I’ll tell my readers I was misinformed about Miss Cole’s identity, but I’ll continue my diligent search.”
Lilly clutched her hands to stop from slapping his face. Where would she obtain that amount of money? Her own bank account, managed by Papa, had a modest sum. Of course Papa possessed substantially more, but he ’d never loan her any of it without knowing all the details. Perhaps Miranda could help. No, Miranda’s father controlled her funds also—giving her little more than pin money.
“I’m afraid I can’t come up with that amount. It’s out of the question.”
The colonel spread out his hands in a gesture of helplessness. “Then you’re out of luck, miss. Perhaps your father or your publisher could help. Explain you need to pay for some gowns or a few trinkets. You’re creative. Use your imagination.”
Lilly stood and found her bones too soft to hold her up. She grasped the back of the chair to steady herself and dug her fingernails into the wood. “You’re the most despicable man I’ve ever had the misfortune to meet.”
Colonel MacIntyre chuckled and bowed. “Thank you for your kind words.”
As she turned to leave, his warning resounded in her ears. “I expect to meet you here in two days at the same hour. Bring cash or you’ll see your reputation destroyed in the next issue of
Talk of the Town
. Good day, Fannie.”
Where could she possibly locate such a vast sum in such a short time? Out of ideas, Lilly climbed aboard the carriage and buried her head in her hands. She didn’t know how she’d conceal this scandal of her own making, but she had to find a way.
Help me, Lord. Only You can provide me with a solution to the mess I’ve made
.
Jack wanted to help. Full of clever ideas and bravado, he ’d devise a solution that would rid her of
Talk of the Town
forever. But she needed to face the consequences of her choices without dragging him into it. If possible.
Heavenly Father, what should I do
?
LILLY RETURNED TO Summerhill and found Miranda waiting on the front veranda, tatting in hand. Laying the ivory shuttle on her lap, Miranda motioned her to the porch swing.
“How does your ankle feel?” Lilly asked, frowning at her friend’s foot which rested on a tapestry footstool.
Miranda grimaced. “It’s still a bit sore, but better. Now tell me all that happened with the colonel,” she whispered as Lilly dropped beside her.
“It was dreadful. He ’s a vile extortionist, just as Jack claimed. He demanded three thousand dollars to keep my name out of
Talk of the Town
. I have absolutely no way of obtaining that much money.” Lilly’s voice quavered as she covered her face with her hands. She feared she might cry, but after one sniff she blinked back hot tears.
Miranda squeezed Lilly’s hand. “I’m so sorry.”
“Every last dime of my inheritance is controlled by Papa, not that I cared until now. But I can’t obtain any of it without his permission, and he ’d want to know why I need it.”
Miranda nodded. “Do you have money left from your publisher?”
“Not one cent. I donated all of it to the Settlement House. Of course, I’m glad I did because they’re in such desperate need of funds.”
“Only now you’re desperate too.” Miranda drew out a sigh.
“Yes, I’m afraid I am.”
“If I had the money I’d gladly give it to you, but I don’t. Neither does my father.”
“Thank you, anyway. I know you’d help if you could.” Miranda was poor compared to the Santerres, her prosperous relations, but she donated what she did have to worthy charities.
