“Perhaps I can ask Jack for an advance on my newest dime novel. A sizable advance.” Lilly laughed at her absurdity. “What am I thinking of? Jack knew the colonel would blackmail me. It was I who thought otherwise. Sometimes I can be so simpleminded.”
“Ask him anyway.” Miranda leaned down to rub her bandaged ankle.
“No, that’s not a good idea. Jack doesn’t want me to pay to suppress my real name. He’d balk at paying blackmail money.”
Miranda looked skeptical. “I don’t think you give Jackson enough credit. He loves you and wants to marry you.”
Lilly unpinned her straw hat and placed it across her skirt. She toyed with the silk carnations and ran her fingers over the mesh of the veil. “Yes, I believe Jack does care for me—in his own way. But he loves his business equally, if not more. And he ’s quite unhappy I didn’t tell him the truth about Fannie Cole earlier.” Lilly shook her head. “No, I most definitely can’t ask Jack.”
“I truly believe he ’d help you.”
“If he loaned me the money, I’d be in his debt. He might expect me to promote Fanny in return for his favor. And I couldn’t do that.”
Miranda sighed. “Oh Lilly, don’t you think it might be better if you confessed to your family? I know it would be difficult, but then you’d be forever free of the colonel. It might be worth swallowing a bitter pill.”
How could Miranda suggest such a thing? “If I only had myself to think of, I might consider it. But my parents would never understand my writing dime novels. And to think of what it might do to them, and our reputation . . .” Lilly sighed.
“I certainly sympathize with your reticence. But to be practical, you’ll have to find the money somewhere. If you refuse to ask Jack or your father, who can you ask?”
Lilly shook her head. “I don’t know. I promise to consider asking Jack, but I really doubt I’ll change my mind.” Lilly stood up. “I believe a walk by the sea might clear my head.”
She left Miranda with her tatting and walked around the side of Summerhill toward the rocks. Over the blue hydrangea bushes and porch spindles she spotted Mama resting in a wicker chair. Mama looked up and over her spectacles.
“Hello, Lilly. Out for an afternoon stroll?”
Lilly nodded as she climbed the veranda steps. “Why Mama, is that
Dorothea’s Dilemma
?” Her voice shook, but Mama didn’t notice.
Mama’s fingers spread across the title, but it was too late. Lilly recognized the cover immediately. She forced a laugh, but feared she couldn’t hide her displeasure. “I can’t imagine you’d enjoy a
dime novel
.”
Mama jutted her chin and then chuckled. “I’m surprised myself. But I’m enjoying it. The story is splendid. I’m almost half finished.”
Before long Mama would come to the scene with Ada Brown plunging through the ice and Lawrence rescuing her along with the ring. In an instant she ’d put two and two together, just like Jack had done, and realize Lilly wrote as Fannie Cole. She ’d have to misappropriate the book as soon as Mama left the porch—if Mama didn’t take the book with her.
Lilly frowned as her mother clutched the volume to her bosom. “You mustn’t waste your time reading books when you could be visiting your friends.”
“When I find a few more spare minutes, I most definitely will read more of this enchanting story.” Mama leveled a quizzical stare at Lilly. “I’m afraid I’ve misjudged all dime novels as worthless.
Dorothea’s Dilemma
is certainly not trash, as I first thought. Would you like to read it when I’m finished?”
“No thank you, Mama.” Lilly glared at the cover and wished the novel would vanish into thin air.
“You’re scowling. What is the matter with you, Lillian? You haven’t been yourself in weeks.”
Lilly lowered her gaze. “I’m fine, really I am.”
She waited for her mother to leave the veranda, but just as Lilly feared, Mama departed with her book in hand.
L
illy came downstairs the next morning to discover a trunk and a valise in the hallway. “Is someone coming or going, Mr.Ames?”
The butler cupped his ear. “What was that, Miss Westbrook?”
Then she spotted Jack striding in from the breakfast room and predictably, her pulse quickened.
He avoided her stare as he grabbed his bag. “Good morning, Lilly. I looked for you at breakfast—to say good-bye, for now. It’s time to return to New York.”
Her heart plummeted with unexpected dismay. “I see,” she murmured.
Two tall footmen silently appeared and carried his trunks outside to the carriage.
Jack sighed. “Work never ends, and I have some business to take care of. I enjoyed being with you here, more than you can ever imagine. And I hope to return as soon as I can.”
“Were you going to leave without telling me?”
He pinched a smile. “No. I was searching for you when you came downstairs.”
She nodded. “You’ll allow me more time to decide about— marriage, won’t you?”
She was in such a quandary she feared her decision wouldn’t come quickly or easily. Yet she wanted to throw her arms around him and reach up to feel the fire of his kiss upon her lips. That would answer the question better than mere words.
“I’m giving you as much time and space as you might need. But I have to tend to business. A publishing house doesn’t run by itself.” He bowed, picked up his valise, and headed to the front door. Then he halted and leaned toward Lilly. He gently touched both her shoulders as he ’d done last night. “I hope you’ll accept my proposal, but I understand if you don’t.” He stepped onto the veranda.
“Jack. Wait.”
Fortunately Mr. Ames was out of earshot.
Words hardened in her mind and wouldn’t break loose. So much had passed between them, binding them together. “I confess, I’ll miss you.”
He expelled a short, self-conscious laugh. “Yes, you’ll miss me like a wart.”
“That’s not true.”
He stepped closer. She could feel heat rising from his skin. She inhaled the light scent of his cologne and a tingle danced up her back. If only this pleasure could last forever.
“If you find yourself in trouble with Colonel MacIntyre, and I know you will, remember to call upon me. I’ll help you any time, any place.” He bent over and kissed her cheek.
A ripple of excitement skipped across her heart. “I know you would. Thank you, but I’m sure that won’t be necessary.”
“I have an hour before the boat leaves for New York. If you have time, shall we take a short stroll?” Jack offered his arm.
She couldn’t resist. “Yes, I’d like that.”
Together they stepped into pale sunlight and sauntered across the damp grass filmed with morning dew. Surf rushed against jagged rocks, rising in a spray of crystals. Lilly watched a seagull soar overhead against the opal sky and envied its freedom to be just as God intended.
At the edge of the lawn, Jack stopped short. “Lilly, please, tell the world who you are. Don’t be ashamed of your work just because some old biddies find it scandalous. If they actually read your books, they’d approve.”
“I hardly think so.” But if she truly loved him, wouldn’t she take a chance? She stayed secluded in the bedroom writing her little stories, afraid to venture out into the world and face the petty people she allowed to control her. If she showed a bit of courage, she could possibly help Jones and Jarman and perhaps even find genuine love.
“Maybe you should stop ignoring the Lord’s will for your life. He wants you to write the stories He gives and acknowledge them.”
She stopped by the side of a giant rocks jutting into the surf. The wind stiffened, whipping blue-gray waves against boulders, forcing her to raise her voice. “Jack, you’re simplifying a complicated problem. My worst fear is what my family will think of me.”
“Are their opinions that important?”
“Yes. I’ve always tried to be a good daughter and make my parents proud. They were so distraught when George ran off to California. I tried to compensate by pleasing them. I refuse to hurt them.”
Jack nodded, conceding her point. “But you write dime novels anyway.”
Her conscience pinched. “I do,” she said. “I never expected anyone to find out. Naïve, I know, but since writing is my ministry, I felt sure the Lord would protect me. And to be honest, I couldn’t control the urge to write. I
have
to write.” She eased her fingers away from his soft touch. “My family would be crushed if they learned of it.”
Jack groaned, obviously exasperated. “This won’t be the last time that Colonel MacIntyre demands money. He’ll come back ’round, and ask for more than you’ll want to pay, or be able to. And then he’ll expose you. It’s best you do so yourself, now. And not give that lout a single dime. But the choice is yours, Lilly.”
She swallowed hard. With nothing more to say, she turned to leave. Jack touched her sleeve.
“Lilly, what about us? Have you thought any more about marrying me . . .”
She eased her arm away. “I’ve thought of little else.”
His dark eyes bore into her. “Follow your heart, Lilly. Stop fretting about other people ’s opinions. They don’t matter. And I believe your heart has given you the answer.”
She straightened. “Jack, answer me one question. Has success brought you all the happiness you expected?”
Jack reared back, apparently not anticipating that question. “Not yet, but I believe it will in the future.”
“What has prosperity given you besides business worries? Was all that striving worth the cost?”
He hesitated. “I don’t know. Maybe not.” His voice grew testy. “Look, Lilly, we ’ve both made mistakes. But let’s not continue to make them.”
He leaned over and pressed his lips against hers. Shocked by the intensity of his sudden affection, she tried to push away. But the sweetness of his mouth paralyzed her resistance.
“Lilly, let’s get married right away.” He wrapped his arms around her in a protective cocoon.
She didn’t want to move; he was casting a spell over her. Struggling to speak, her words emerged weak and hesitant. “I love you, too, but I’m not free to do exactly as I wish. I’m sorry, Jack, but you’ll have to wait a while longer for my decision. I wish I could say yes right now, but I can’t.”
She wrenched away from his grasp and fled across the grass toward Summerhill, unshed tears burning her eyes. Jack followed, lifted his luggage into the carriage, and said his farewells.
She watched him depart and listened to the sound of horses’ hooves fading away.
“He’s a nice young man, that Mr. Grail,” the butler said.
“Yes he is,” Lilly agreed.
She didn’t know how long she’d stared at the deserted drive when Miranda’s quiet voice broke into her thoughts.
“Jackson left, didn’t he? You’ll surely miss him.”
Nodding, Lilly hunched over the porch rail, hanging her head. “I shall.” She looked up and readily absorbed Miranda’s sympathy.
“Embers can flicker long after the fire has died. I believe they’ve flared once again and you shouldn’t try to put them out.” Miranda wrapped her arm around Lilly’s rounded shoulder. “You must soon decide whether or not you can let go of the past and trust Jackson.”
“I know.” Lilly choked back tears.
Miranda embraced her with a hug.
"CONFOUND THAT LILLY," Jack railed to the wind that swept his complaint out to sea in one powerful gust. He leaned over the side of the steamship as it cut through the choppy waters of Long Island Sound. All the way from Newport to New York, Jack replayed his confrontation with Lilly, never once letting her image slip from the forefront of his mind.
He pictured her beautiful oval face etched with worry, the flutter of her hands, the pearl gray walking suit, tailored, yet so feminine on her slender frame. He wanted to hold her in his arms and shield her from her enemies, but she wouldn’t let him protect her. He wasn’t one bit surprised she refused his help. But even a smart young woman couldn’t battle the likes of Colonel MacIntyre on her own. Lilly would wither under the pressure and cave into that rotter’s inevitable demands—though where she ’d find the funds to pay extortion remained a mystery.
Lord, don’t let Lilly rely on her own wit and courage. Help her to understand only Your wisdom and strength will get her through this crisis
. God was in control and Jack was glad, because He was their only hope.
Thank you, Father, for being faithful and thank You for forgiving me for all the years when I wasn’t faithful to You. Lord, if it’s Your will, please bring Lilly and me together. If You don’t intervene, I’m afraid it won’t happen
.
He stood alone by the rail and allowed the wind and salt spray to wash away some of his tension. When the steamship docked hours later, he felt almost refreshed and ready to tackle the business that brought him back to the city.
At his newspaper office, he met with Albert Hayes, the editor of his weekly newspaper which, by all accounts, was prospering. With circulation rapidly heading upward, Jack hoped the
Manhattan Sentinel’s
success would help offset the impending decline at Jones and Jarman. Only time would tell if the publishing house had been a smart investment or put him over the edge.
After years of experience assisting his father at their town paper, Jack felt comfortable running the
Sentinel
. Yet, his interest lay with novels since becoming an avid fan of adventure stories during his boyhood. And, he had to admit, the love stories of one famous author in particular.
Seated at his office desk, he composed an editorial, but his mind wandered back to Colonel MacIntyre. What could he do to help Lilly defeat the blackmailer? The wily old scoundrel was accustomed to lunging for the jugular. Alone in Newport, Lilly couldn’t defend herself against a man known for outmaneuvering his cleverest opponents during the war. Jack regretted leaving her despite his urgency to return to the city. He couldn’t continue to neglect his fledgling businesses.
Maybe he should write an editorial denouncing
Talk of the Town’s
extortion schemes, but the colonel would undoubtedly retaliate by exposing Lilly’s identity. If only she trusted the Lord enough to confess her ministry to her public, then MacIntyre wouldn’t wield power over her.
“Mr. Grail, I have the information you requested when we spoke on the telephone.” Albert Hayes handed Jack a summary he’d typed up.
With a nod of thanks, Jack skimmed the information, hoping Theo Nottingham, Irene’s unsuitable friend and possible beau, was actually as bland as he looked.
Albert clasped his hands behind his back. “Theodore Nottingham is a bachelor from a prosperous San Francisco family which recently fell on hard times, although few know about that. Mr. Nottingham keeps up appearances. He’s been quietly courting a Louisa Thornton for five years, but no engagement has been announced.”
Jack tensed. “Hmm.” If Theo hadn’t proposed yet, it seemed likely his feelings toward Louisa were lukewarm at best.
“Miss Thornton comes from lots of money, but rumor says their reservoir was drained dry a few years ago.”
Albert cleared his throat. “Mr. Nottingham has a secret habit. He owes thirty thousand dollars in gambling debts and his creditors are not all gentlemen.”
“Ah. I would think he ’d be eager to marry the lady before her father got wind of his financial difficulties.” Theo Nottingham kept his problems well hidden.
“From what I hear Miss Thornton hopes to announce their engagement sometime during the next year—if he proposes by then.”
Perhaps Theo was still searching for a wife, one with more to offer than merely a distinguished name. If Nottingham were a romantic, Irene might fill the bill nicely, except for the inconvenient fact of her marriage and empty bank account. Lovely, charming, and discontented, she wore an invisible sign on her neck which announced, “I am available to the highest bidder.” Not for one moment did Jack doubt Irene would leave George for a better situation, either for love or money. Irene couldn’t eliminate Theo’s debts, but he probably didn’t know that. And she was one of the most stunning women in society—if one liked the shallow, sensuous types. Her beauty might be enough for Nottingham to convince Irene to shed George and marry him.
But what would Irene gain by divorcing George and marrying Theo? She probably thought he possessed a fortune. Certainly she wasn’t attracted to his skeletal looks or solemn personality.
“And what about Mrs. George Westbrook? Did you discover anything interesting in her past?” Perhaps he should feel guilty about checking up on his best friend’s wife, but he didn’t, not in the least.
Albert’s expression brightened like an incandescent light-bulb. “Yes, indeed.” He gathered a set of notes from his desk and scanned them.
Jack’s pulse quickened. “Go ahead.”
“Irene Frampton comes from a small farming town in California. After her parents died, leaving her practically destitute, she made her way to San Francisco where she worked in a dance hall as a can-can dancer.”
Jack felt the blood drain from his face. “A can-can dancer?”
He’d thought she looked familiar, but George ’s wife bouncing around in the chorus line? That was absurd. Yet, somewhere from the back of his memory he pulled up a picture of a striking blonde kicking long, shapely legs, turning cart wheels, and jumping into high-flying splits. The image focused. He remembered Irene in a low-cut bustier, feathers, and a frilly skirt she swished around in front of a room full of raucous men. He’d seldom frequented dance halls, but during his short stay in San Francisco, he had visited one. Obviously Irene ’s striking beauty stood out among the rest of the dancers’ good looks and fine figures.
His stomach flipped over. Poor George must have married Irene unaware of her past. He ’d never bring home a former showgirl to his straight-laced family.
“Tell me about her relationship to Quentin Kirby.”
Albert shuffled his feet. “He claims Miss Frampton is one of his nieces, and most people believe him. But the rumor is that he found her in a dance hall, fell for her, and took her home with him. None of the local gossips suggest any impropriety since Mr. Kirby is well past his prime, though he was quite a ladies’ man in his day. A few say he ’s a foolish old man still infatuated by a beautiful and talented young woman—even though she ran off with George. However, the majority accept the story of the family kinship.”