Chapter Twenty-Two
“I’m sorry, Miss Smith. I’m afraid the pearls are no longer in my possession.”
Stunned speechless, Gigi blinked at the pawnbroker. She must have misunderstood. He couldn’t have said her great-grandmother’s pearls were gone. “You . . . what?” she croaked.
“I sold the necklace.”
No, it wasn’t possible. Mr. Ryerson couldn’t be this cruel. “We had an agreement.”
The eyes that looked at her were sharp and measuring. “What can I say? The client made me an offer I couldn’t refuse.”
“But you . . .” Fury surged, prowling through her blood, seeking release like a wild animal straining at its leash. “You put your promise in writing.”
Surely, he would honor their agreement.
Forcing down her panic, Gigi fumbled inside the velvet satchel on her lap, pulled out the piece of paper, and slid it across the desk.
“Ah, yes, that.” He studied the promissory note with a satisfied smirk. “There are only two signatures here, yours and mine. You failed to secure witnesses to our transaction.”
“What does that mean?”
“Our agreement was never legally binding.” He spoke casually, as if he were discussing a change in the weather. Then, with a wicked grin, he proceeded to shred the paper into tiny pieces.
“Stop.” Gigi jumped to her feet. “You . . . you can’t do that.”
“I just did.” He dropped the remaining scraps of their agreement in the trash bin at his feet. “Our business is concluded, Miss Smith. My clerk will see you out.”
Finished with her now, he picked up his pencil, lowered his head, and proceeded to make random marks on the ledger beneath his hand.
The rising temper inside Gigi writhed and kicked for release. The muscles in her stomach tightened. She was out of her league. She’d known this for some time, but had pretended she held a portion of the control.
The air in her lungs grew hot, so hot she feared she would faint. Oh, but her fingers were ice. She might be out of her league, but she was not out of dignity.
She lost her fragile grip on her composure and released her anger. “You are a swindler and a thief.”
Mr. Ryerson ignored her. The scratching of his pencil across the page tore at her attempt to remain calm.
“You prey on people in desperate need of your help. How do you sleep at night?”
“You’ll have to excuse me if I’m not overwhelmed with remorse.” He set down his pencil and sat back in his chair. “I am a man of commerce, Miss . . . Smith. Whatever trouble led you to my shop is not my concern.”
Gigi thought of the compassion he’d shown her that day she’d entered his shop. It had all been a lie. All along, this man had held the control. He probably wanted her to beg, to cry. Dry eyes were her only defense.
“Have you no shame?”
He regarded her with blank, patient eyes, giving the impression he considered her daft. “You fell short of the money you needed to redeem the necklace. I had an eager buyer willing to make up the difference and then some.”
“When did you sell it?”
“Two days after your previous visit. The man was leaving the country and, as I said before, he made me an offer I couldn’t refuse.”
That, Gigi decided, was the very last straw.
All the money in the world couldn’t bring the pearls back. They were gone. Sold. But to whom?
Please, Lord, let it not be over. “What did the man look like?”
“I beg your pardon?”
Wild with hope, she clutched the velvet satchel tightly to her. Perhaps the heirloom that had been in her family for generations wasn’t lost after all. “The man who purchased the pearls, what did he look like?”
Please, Lord, please let him describe Fitz.
“Short, middle-aged, slightly overweight, receding hairline, British accent.”
It was no use. Her great-grandmother’s pearls were gone forever. Concealing her grief, Gigi crossed to the exit. She didn’t look back. There was nothing left for her in this building.
Out on the street, the light hurt her eyes. The air roared with the noise of her defeat.
It’s over.
She would have to go home empty-handed. Just like the Prodigal Son, she would have to face her father with nothing but a contrite heart.
It took Gigi a full hour to gather up her suitcase and bid farewell to the rest of the household staff. She was going to miss this group of former actors turned servants. They’d been good to her, accepting her without question.
Gigi took her time telling them each what they’d meant to her, finishing her words with a fierce hug. Mrs. Garrison hugged her the hardest in return. “You will be terribly missed, Sally.”
Gigi would miss Sally as well.
The young maid had taught the frivolous heiress how to work hard, take care of herself, and love with a servant’s heart.
“Thank you, Mrs. Garrison, for everything.” Blinking back yet another bout of tears, Gigi kissed the weathered cheek. “I have one final favor to ask of you.”
“Whatever you need.”
“Will you give these to Sophie and Esmeralda?” She handed the housekeeper two envelopes.
Gigi would have preferred to say good-bye in person. But Esmeralda was still abed and Sophie had yet to return from her honeymoon. In her letter to the younger woman, Gigi had urged her friend to write and let her know she was safe.
Gigi gave Mrs. Garrison her forwarding address and, with nothing else to say, made her way to Grand Central Station.
Fitz jumped off the train while it was still pulling to a stop. His feet barely hit the platform before he took off at a brisk pace. He wove through the throngs of other travelers with purposeful intent. He’d had a lot of time to think on the journey from Boston to New York and had come to several conclusions about himself, none of them flattering.
For an intelligent man, Fitz had been exceedingly foolish and stubbornly prideful. Can’t forget prideful. He’d convinced himself that pushing Gigi away was for her sake. Keeping her at a distance hadn’t protected her.
It had protected him.
Fitz had a lot of groveling to do. He just hoped it would be enough to win her heart.
A movement out of the corner of his eye had his feet grinding to a halt. His breath stalled in his chest.
Set apart from the milling crowd, there stood Gigi, a small battered suitcase at her feet.
Fitz switched directions. Let the groveling begin.
Coming to a stop beside her, he drank in the sight of her.
“Fitz?” As if coming out of a trance, she slowly turned her head. A range of emotions raced across her face, shock the most dominant. “You came back.”
“I couldn’t stay away.”
The skin beneath her eyes was dark with fatigue, but the eyes themselves were bright and full of happiness. She was happy to see him.
“Oh. Oh, Fitz.” A gasp slipped out of her. “What happened to your eye?”
“It’s a long story. I’ll tell you all about it, every detail.” He held her gaze, willing her to hear the unspoken message in his words. “I promise you that, Gigi, and I always keep my promises.”
Her entire bearing softened. “I know. It’s one of the things I love most about you.”
She loved him. He saw it in her eyes, heard it in her voice.
His heart stopped beating too fast. With affection and without caring who saw them, he bent to place a tender kiss on her forehead, her nose, her lips.
A pretty blush spread across her cheeks. “I’m very happy to see you.”
“And I, you.” He couldn’t get enough of looking at her.
The soft curve of her lips, the light in her eyes, and the slight tilt of her head all called to him. Stunning from every angle, she’d always been beautiful.
Now, she made him yearn.
Lost in the moment, in the girl from his past who’d become the woman he loved, he paused a while and simply stared.
Big, expressive eyes looked back at him. For a moment, unspoken promises flowed between them. Fitz would spend a lifetime following through with every one of them.
“Gigi, I want—”
The blast of a high-pitched train whistle interrupted the rest of his speech.
Swallowing back his frustration, Fitz looked down at the suitcase sitting at her feet. “Did I catch you leaving New York?”
Her eyes slid past him, brushed over the train pulling into the station, then slid back. “I’m going home.”
One side of his mouth kicked up. “You redeemed the pearls.”
“No, I, that is . . . the pawnbroker . . .” She caught her bottom lip between her teeth. “He sold them.”
“They weren’t his to sell.”
Fury flashed in her blue eyes. “No, they were not.”
Fitz angled his head. “I thought you had a written agreement.”
“We did.” In short, clipped sentences, Gigi told him about the promissory note lacking the signatures of two witnesses.
Fitz had experienced a host of disagreeable emotions in the past three days, but nothing compared to the rage that scorched through him now. He drew in a hard breath. Let it out. His fury only deepened. “That crook.”
“Mortifying as it is to admit, I trusted the wrong man. Again.” She gave a short laugh devoid of all humor. “There’s nothing to be done. The pearls are gone.”
If only Fitz had acted when she’d first told him about the necklace. He should have gone to the pawnshop in Herald Square as soon as he’d known. “Did the pawnbroker say when he sold them?”
“A week ago, to a man with a British accent who was leaving the country.”
Fitz wanted to hit something. No, he wanted to hit someone. The desire left him shaken to the bone. He’d been unable to make Nathanial Dixon pay for what he’d done to Gigi. This corrupt pawnbroker would not be so lucky.
“Tell me he at least told you the name of the man.”
“He only gave me a description.”
Fitz made a mental note to contact Mr. Offutt. With the help of the private investigator, he would make this right for Gigi. Somehow, someway, though the odds were stacked against him finding success. He started to tell her what he planned but was interrupted by a blast of steam and another ear-splitting train whistle.
As he tugged Gigi away from the tracks, Fitz reached down for her suitcase. Only when his hand closed over the handle did the magnitude of her presence at the train station hit him. “You’re going home without the pearls.”
Tears swam into her eyes. “I have no other choice.”
“I’ll go with you.” He reached for her, cupped her cheek. “When you face your father, I will be right there, standing next to you.”
Closing her hand over his wrist, she smiled tenderly. “It’s a tempting offer. But I have to face him alone.”
“You don’t, Gigi. You really don’t.”
A cold wind swept off the tracks.
Gigi didn’t seem to notice. “Do you remember when we went to church together?”
He nodded.
“And the sermon? Do you also remember that?”
Again, he nodded.
“I have read the story about the Prodigal Son at least twenty times since, but it wasn’t until this morning, after I walked out of the pawnshop, that I had something of a revelation.”
Her voice held raw vulnerability. Only a sense of propriety kept Fitz from pulling her into his arms and soothing away her pain. “What did you discover?”
“The Prodigal Son didn’t repent until he lost everything. Only then, when he was at his lowest, did he go home. Don’t you see? He returned home empty-handed.” She lifted her hands, fingers splayed, to emphasize her point. “All he had to offer in exchange for his sins was a remorseful heart. That’s how I will return to my father’s house, with nothing but a remorseful heart.”
Fitz didn’t think he could love this woman any more than he did in that moment. “You are a courageous woman, Gigi Wentworth.”
Her lips twisted at a wry angle. “I am also a very slow learner.”
“We have that trait in common.”
“How do you mean?”
The fast-moving crowd seemed to close in on them. Fitz was jostled from behind. He let out a weighty push of air.
“Let’s sit.” He looked around for a suitable place out of the main traffic. “There. On that bench beneath the blue awning.”
With her suitcase in hand, he guided her across the crowded platform.
Fitz set down the luggage and joined Gigi on the bench. “On more than one occasion, you’ve asked me to confide in you.”
Her fingers curled around his. “I remember.”
“You were right. I should have opened up to you long ago.”
Before she could do more than sigh, he told her about his father’s illness. He left nothing out, baring his soul, giving her every detail of his fear and anger and frustration.
Her face drained of color. “That’s awful. Why didn’t you tell me he was that sick?”
Emotion clogged his throat, tightened his chest. “My mother swore me to secrecy. Besides her and me, the only other person who knows is my cousin Connor.”
“That’s why you feel indebted to him.”
“He’s told no one of my father’s illness, which hasn’t been easy. Especially”—Fitz’s voice went hoarse—“at the office, where his symptoms were magnified.”
“I can only imagine.”
“The rumors are true about Connor and me. We pushed my father out of the company. We had to, for his sake, or risk exposing his condition.”
Gigi squeezed his hand. “There are no words to express how sad I am about your father.”
Now that he’d begun, Fitz held nothing back. He told Gigi about his father’s night terrors, including the most recent episode that had resulted in his black eye.
Gigi placed a soft touch to his bruised skin. “Your poor mother. What a terrifying moment that must have been, watching her son forced to subdue her husband.”
“The burden of my father’s care is taking a heavy toll. She’s aged considerably in the past year. But she is determined to ride out his illness with him, even to the grave. Her devotion leaves me in awe.”
“Sounds like your parents have a solid, loving marriage.”
Now that the topic of marriage had been broached, Fitz turned the conversation to the final piece of the tale, the part that directly affected their future together. “I have consulted several physicians, including specialists in brain diseases. My father’s prognosis is grim.”
“I’m so sorry.” Gigi blinked rapidly but was unable to prevent a few tears from trailing down her cheeks. She swiped at them impatiently. “It’s so unfair. Your father is a good man, Fitz, one of the best I know. I’ve always liked him.”
“He’s always liked you.”
They shared a sad, gut-wrenching smile.
“There’s something else you should know. My father’s disease could be hereditary.” He commanded her gaze. “Now you know why we can’t stay engaged.”
“Oh, no you don’t.” She bounded to her feet, jammed her hands on her hips, and glared down at him. “Don’t you dare use your father’s illness as an excuse to push me away.”
He stood, drawing himself up to his full height. “Gigi, you don’t want to marry a man like me. Trust me on this. I’ve seen—”
“Do not make up my mind for me.” She waved her finger in his face in a scolding manner that would put any schoolteacher to shame. “I am a grown woman. I know what I want and who. I love you, you big idiot.”
“I love you, too, Gigi, too much to chain you to a man who may one day lose his mind.”
“You’re afraid.”
He gave a short, bitter laugh. “You’re right, I’m afraid. I’m afraid for you.”
“You think that little of me?”
“I think that much of you. I won’t sentence you to a lifetime of servitude to an invalid.”
“That’s not your decision to make. I love you, Fitz. In the same way your mother loves your father. And as you have already promised to stand by my side, I shall stand by yours. No matter what comes our way, we will weather it together. Do you hear what I’m saying?”
A smile tugged at his lips. She was offering him the precious gift of her heart. Her trust. Her future. “I hear you.”
“At this point, any self-respecting gentleman with a modicum of sense would sweep me into his arms and whisper soft, affectionate words in my ear.”
How he adored this woman. “He would, would he?”
“He would then tell me he loves me, has always loved me, and will love me until his last dying breath.”
It sounded like the perfect way to start the rest of their lives together. Fitz stretched out his hand.
Gigi shifted out of reach. “I’m not through.”
“My mistake.”
Keeping her expression bland, she tilted her head at a haughty angle. “After he professes his love, he should promise to marry me as quickly as humanly possible.”
Fitz liked that last part. A lot.
“Well?” Her foot started tapping out a rapid tattoo on the platform. “I’m waiting.”
Had he truly thought he could live without her? No more. Not a second more.
He yanked her into his embrace. “I am completely and utterly unworthy of you, Gigi Wentworth. You make me want to be a better man. It would be my honor and privilege to stand by your side until we’re old and gray.”
She softened in his arms. “And?”
“I love you. I have always loved you, since I was in short pants and you wore girlish pinafores.” He pressed his lips to her ear. “I will love you until my last dying breath.”
“And . . . ?”
The woman was ruthless. Fitz wouldn’t want her any other way.
“And . . . I promise to marry you as quickly as humanly possible. Say yes, my love.” He pressed his mouth to her temple before pulling back far enough to stare into her lovely eyes. “Say you’ll marry me.”
“Yes, Fitz. I’ll marry you.”
He smiled down at her. “And . . . ?”
She laughed, a sweet tinkling sound that warmed his heart. “I want to marry you immediately, this week, no later than next. Our families will adjust to the shock.”
“I’ll make you a good husband.”
“I’ll make you a better wife.”
Fitz had no doubt. They had a future to plan, hopes and dreams to share. He took Gigi’s hand, lifted her suitcase, and said, “Let’s go home.”