Chapter Seventeen
Gigi was grateful she’d chosen a seat next to the center aisle, in the very last pew in the back of the church. If at any moment the service became too much, she could leave without having to disturb the other churchgoers, including Fitz.
He stood next to her, holding a hymnal open. Looking at her without quite looking at her, he angled the book until she could see the page. As if on cue, the first strains of organ music wafted through the sanctuary.
Although Fitz concentrated on the book, Gigi could feel his attention on her. She couldn’t look at him. His behavior in the carriage had left her reeling. Instead of judging her, he’d offered tremendous sympathy and reassurance, once again proving he was a good and decent man. Gigi should be dancing for joy.
She felt nothing but regret.
How could she ever measure up to a man like Fitz? He was full of integrity and honor, while she was a fallen woman. His words, and something she must never let herself forget.
Unable to resist, she shot a covert glance in his direction. Her heart began drumming a wild, chaotic beat. Was she . . .
Could she be . . .
Was she in love with Fitz? She’d always thought love required a certain amount of pain. What she felt for Fitz was easy, full of peace, and yet more powerful than anything she’d ever experienced.
She closed her eyes and breathed him in. He smelled of soap and sandalwood and happier times. Gigi took another breath, leaned closer to the man, then promptly stood straight again.
The initial strains of a popular hymn filled the church. Sing, she told herself. Don’t think. Sing.
As she launched into the hymn, peace enveloped her. How she’d missed singing in church. The melody rolled off Fitz’s tongue, too, but in a clear, perfectly pitched baritone. Gigi had forgotten what a good singer he was, or had she never known? What else hadn’t she learned about the man at her side? In this moment, she wished to know everything.
Their voices joined in flawless harmony, as though they’d been singing together all their lives. Which, in retrospect, she realized they had. Against her best efforts to stay focused on the song, Gigi’s thoughts sped toward the future. She imagined a life with Fitz, attending church together, relaxing at home by the fire, teaching their children their favorite hymns.
They would . . . they would . . .
She shook away the image. You are a fallen woman.
Out of the corner of her eye, she glanced at him, only to discover he was watching her in the same veiled manner. Something quite pleasant passed between them, a feeling that instilled utter contentment. Perhaps attending church was exactly what she’d needed.
The singing came to an end, and Gigi sat next to Fitz while he returned the hymnal to the slot on the pew in front of them. It took considerable willpower not to lean into him. She could feel his heat. Capability all but radiated off of him.
Now that the music portion of the service was over, her nerves returned. She felt like the ultimate imposter. What right did she have stepping inside a church, sitting beside godly men and women as if she deserved to be in the same building with them?
She shifted uncomfortably in her seat.
Hand on her knee, Fitz whispered, “Relax, Gigi.”
“I don’t belong here.”
“This is God’s House.” He took her hand, strength and assurance in his grip, and Gigi thought she might cry at the tenderness she saw in his eyes. “Everyone belongs here.”
Why did Fitz have to be so good?
Why did he have to behave in a way that proved every one of her preconceived notions wrong, not only the ones she’d had about him, but the ones she had about herself?
Pretty, popular Gigi was a fraud. Plain, dedicated Sally was a pretender. Who am I, Lord?
She didn’t know anymore. She’d never really known, not any better than she’d thought she’d known Fitz. She’d gone through her days as a silly, self-indulgent heiress, living in the moment, never thinking about anyone but herself. That lack in her character had been vulnerable to Nathanial.
The preacher took his place behind the pulpit with steady strides. He looked like no man of God Gigi had ever met.
Big and muscular, he resembled a blacksmith or perhaps a factory worker rather than a preacher of the Word. Tall, broad through the shoulders and chest, he had a penetrating stare, sandy-brown hair, and a piercing presence that put Gigi ill at ease. Fire and brimstone came to mind.
She nearly left the church.
But then the man swept a wide, welcoming smile over the assembled group, and she felt a little less out of place, a little less tense. This is God’s House, Fitz had said. Everyone belongs.
The preacher greeted the congregation with a few words of welcome, then started with prayer, asking the Lord to open the hearts and minds of the people in attendance. “Heavenly Father, You are a good and gracious God. I thank You for each of Your children in attendance here today. I am but Your humble vessel. I pray You speak Your Word through me.”
His voice was as rough as gravel, yet also soothing. Gigi closed her eyes and felt the corners of her mouth lift. Somehow she’d known he would speak in a deep, resonating tone.
“Some here may believe they don’t belong in Your House.”
Gigi cracked open an eye.
“I pray You give those individuals peace and the knowledge that they are loved and accepted as Your beloved children.”
Gigi swallowed back the well of emotion rising in her throat. How could this preacher know what was in her heart? She looked covertly around, wondering if others shared her overwhelming sense of inadequacy and shame.
“I ask this in Your Son’s name, Amen.”
The preacher waited a beat, then looked out over the congregation. “God loves the lost.”
Unable to hold back a gasp of surprise, Gigi shifted in her seat. Fitz gave her hand a reassuring squeeze.
“I am reminded of the parable of the Lost Sheep.” The preacher paused again, caught several eyes near the front of the church, then added, “And the Prodigal Son.”
Gigi shifted in her seat again, glanced down at her lap, back up again. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Fitz sit up straighter as well, his lips pressed tightly together. She had no idea what struck him in the sermon, only that he was listening intently now. Would Gigi ever solve the mystery that was so much a part of the man?
“Both parables carry the themes of loss, searching, and rejoicing. The image of our Lord celebrating the recovery of just one lost sinner speaks of the fundamental nature of our loving God.”
Though his smile remained in place, the preacher’s expression turned serious. “Through the years, I have witnessed many fall away from the Lord, never to return. While others, like the Prodigal Son, come home after a season of rebellion with contrition in their hearts.”
He paused, drew in a slow breath, waited for the congregation to lean in.
“What turns one heart hard and another full of regret? What makes one sinner repent, while another wallows in shame and self-pity?”
Gigi’s blood roared in her veins. Was he about to give her the formula for redemption?
Looking down, he opened his Bible and read from the fifteenth chapter of Luke. “‘What man of you, having an hundred sheep, if he lose one of them, doth not leave the ninety and nine in the wilderness, and go after that which is lost, until he find it? And when he hath found it, he layeth it on his shoulders, rejoicing.’”
He looked up, spoke of repentance, then read the story of the Prodigal Son. “I point you to the son’s contrite heart. That was all it took for his father to forgive him. Many of us, like the older son in this story, falsely believe forgiveness must be earned.”
Gigi sighed. A lovely sentiment, but not all earthly fathers were like the one in the Bible. Not all forgave so easily. Not all forgave without some token to prove change had occurred.
“The story of the Prodigal Son teaches us that no sin is too great, no transgression too terrible, for the Lord to forgive.”
Gigi remained unconvinced.
“We all fall short. Making mistakes is part of living. God’s love is stronger than our shame. We only have to ask for forgiveness, and then receive it.”
Gigi wanted to believe she could be forgiven. She wanted to believe her earthly father was waiting for her return.
But Harcourt Wentworth had made his position clear. She was convinced now more than ever that if she had any chance of earning her father’s forgiveness, she must show up with the pearls.
“Do not allow your past sins to define your future.”
Gigi swallowed against the burning sensation in her throat. The interior of the church seemed to close in on her. Heat radiated from deep within her soul.
She needed fresh air. She needed it now, this very minute. “I have to get out of here.”
Without a moment of hesitation, Fitz stood, reached for her hand. “We’ll leave at once.”
Gigi thought her heart couldn’t get any gloomier, but Fitz’s instant support nearly broke her. As they made their way out of the building, the preacher’s voice lifted, and Gigi’s feet ground to a halt. “If forgiveness has to be earned, then it isn’t forgiveness at all.”
Bitterness filled her, followed by an unbearable churning of the most terrifying emotion of all. Hope. That dangerous, slippery emotion that made her believe all would turn out well.
A year of struggle had taught her differently.
And yet, and yet, Gigi felt a tiny, minuscule, sliver of hope building inside her. Hope for the future, hope that she could return to being the godly woman she’d once been. And maybe capture some stability along the way.
Heavy footed, she stepped in the direction of the carriage Fitz had hired. The physical act of moving brought the rest of the world into focus. Sights, sounds, and the damp, earthy smells of autumn yielding to winter swamped her senses.
Heart in her throat, pulse beating wildly through her veins, Gigi made a decision. She was through running.
No more excuses. No more stalling.
She would give herself three weeks to settle matters in New York. Then, then, Gigi would board a train to Boston.
Fitz helped a pensive Gigi into the carriage. She was silent on the ride back to Manhattan, giving one-word responses to his futile attempts at conversation.
Apparently, the thought-provoking sermon had provoked, well, thought. Fitz had experienced his own share of revelations. His cousin had sent another telegram this morning. Though there was nothing new in the missive, Fitz sensed Connor’s impatience. His cousin had urged him to Complete your business and come home.
Fitz knew he’d stayed away too long. It was time to leave.
Nothing had turned out as he’d planned, and he wasn’t wholly sorry for it. He was falling in love with Gigi.
No, he wasn’t falling in love with her.
He was already there.
How had he let this happen again?
There could be nothing between them. Even if she returned his feelings, which he believed she might, Fitz would never put her through what he’d seen his mother endure over the past two years. He cared for Gigi too much.
While they bounced and bumped along the pocked road, Fitz worked out the sequence of events that had led to this impossible situation. He admitted, if only to himself, that Gigi was the one that got away. He was not a man who took losing well, as the members on his rowing team could attest.
Pride was a lonely companion.
Fitz was used to being lonely.
When he’d arrived in New York, he’d told himself he’d come for the pearls. But he’d have never given in to Gigi’s request to return the necklace herself if that had truly been the case. From the beginning, he’d known she would find a way to get the necklace to Annie. Fitz had known, he’d known, she hadn’t meant to keep them for herself. He could have left town after their conversation in the alley behind Esmeralda’s town house.
Instead, he’d stayed in New York, close to Gigi, making up excuses to seek her out instead of finishing up his business and going home.
He loved Gigi. Always had, always would. But the emotion was now built on more than infatuation. Fitz had gotten to know the woman she was at the core, the one she’d hidden beneath her pretty smiles and carefree manner.
Perhaps even Gigi didn’t know her true depths.
She was no longer the frivolous, spoiled heiress, but a woman of substance and compassion. She was good and kind and sat on the dirty floor so she could read stories to little girls.
His father had always liked her. Would he even remember Gigi?
Frowning at the thought, Fitz retrieved his watch from the small pocket in his vest, the one his father had given him as a graduation present. The driver chose that moment to hit a large pothole.
The watch went flying to the floor.
Gigi tumbled forward.
Straight into Fitz’s arms.
Ignoring the watch at his feet, he closed her in his embrace, reveling in the feel of her. A bit too much. “Stop wriggling.”
“I’m trying to return to my side of the carriage.”
“I want you here.” He plunked her on the seat beside him.
Her breath caught on a gasp.
His did as well.
There was a long pause.
And then they were both talking at once.
“Gigi—”
“Fitz—”
They fell silent.
Fitz let out a slow, silent push of air. The gesture reduced the tension between his shoulders not one bit.
Gigi’s eyes skidded up to his, their blue darkened to a rich sapphire. Words formed on his tongue, tender, heartfelt promises that would last a lifetime. He spoke none of them aloud.
She remained as silent as he. How he hated the awkwardness that had returned to their relationship. “Gigi—”
“Fitz—”
They both heaved a sigh.
Spinning away from him, she looked out the window, sufficiently ending the uncomfortable moment. At least she remained on the seat beside him.
Fitz’s gut churned with a sensation stronger than affection, deeper than fondness, and more than a little complicated for his peace of mind.
“Gigi?”
She turned back around.
He reached for her hand, paused inches from making contact. Touching her again would be a bad idea.
The worst of all bad ideas.
As they stared at each other, Fitz noted, somewhat inappropriately, that Gigi’s eyelashes were utterly enchanting, a pretty auburn shade similar to her real hair color. A smile of deep affection slid across his lips.
“I think I’d be more comfortable sitting on my side of the carriage.” She glided across the short distance with exaggerated dignity, her movements graceful yet carefully controlled. Her posture perfectly precise, she leaned back against the squabs and proceeded to study the interior of the carriage.
With every bit of emotion stripped from her face, she nearly fooled Fitz into thinking she was completely self-possessed. But her gaze didn’t quite meet his, landing instead on a spot just above his right eye.
Good to know he wasn’t the only one feeling disconcerted.
This was his chance to broach the subject that had been nagging at him since their conversation on the way to church. Fitz admired Gigi’s determination to redeem her great-grandmother’s pearls on her own. But what if she was unable to earn the twenty-five dollars before the deadline?
Would she accept his help then?
One way to find out . . .
“Gigi, now that we are friends—”
“Are we friends, Fitz? Are we really?”
“Of course we are.” He placed his elbows on his knees and leaned forward. “We have shared many confidences.”
“You mean I have shared many confidences.” She gave him a sad half smile. “I know nothing of your life in Boston beyond the basic facts. I know where you live, where you work, and the names of your family members but not much else.”
She had him there. But even the smallest details of his day ultimately led back to his father. His lips remained firmly shut.
Gigi was not so easily daunted. She scooted forward, halting only once their knees touched. “I have shared so much of myself with you. Won’t you share something of yourself with me?”
Gigi couldn’t know how badly Fitz wanted to do exactly what she asked. But once he started, he feared he wouldn’t be able to stop.
And so he took the easy way out. “I’m thinking of investing in an automobile company.”