Free Read Novels Online Home

Once an Heiress (Gilded Promises) by Renee Ryan (14)

Chapter Fourteen

An hour after sharing her thoughts about a permanent nursery at the theater, Gigi entered Esmeralda’s town house through the back door. At Mrs. Garrison’s curt order, she quickly shut out the cold.

Time had gotten away from her, and now Gigi would have to move quickly if she wanted to help Sophie prepare for the ball this evening. Tonight would be the young woman’s official debut into New York society. She must look perfect.

Gigi took the stairs two at a time, trying unsuccessfully to focus on the task that lay ahead, rather than her encounter with Fitz. He’d claimed they could become friends again. She wanted that, truly she did, but Gigi wasn’t sure they could regain what they’d once had. Her fingertips went to her lips, locking in the sigh that wanted release.

Fitz had kissed her. He’d kissed her!

She’d adored the feel of his mouth on hers. The sensation had nothing to do with friendship. Gigi would have never imagined such a simple meeting of lips could throw her assumptions of everything she knew into confusion. The kisses—both of them—had been brief and yet far more real than any of the countless moments she’d shared with Nathanial.

She continued climbing the stairs with something more powerful than embarrassment. Anger. Anger at herself for what she’d done with Nathanial. For believing him. For trusting him.

Fitz was proving five times the man Nathanial had ever been. He wasn’t one to ask for help, yet he’d requested Gigi’s. To turn to her for advice was unprecedented. She’d wanted to jump into his arms and kiss him square on the lips again and again, and thank him for his extraordinary faith in her.

Fitz was shattering every preconceived notion she’d ever had about him. He was full of surprises, and that scared her.

Was she falling for him?

Hadn’t she learned her lesson about men?

How much easier it would have been to think of Fitz as the villain in her story. Was he, like Nathanial, a bad man pretending to be good? Or a good man appearing to be bad?

On the third-story landing, she paused, tugged her still-tingling bottom lip between her teeth. She wanted very badly to believe Fitz was who he seemed to be. But she’d been fooled once. She couldn’t allow it to happen again. And she couldn’t fool him, either, that she was more virtuous than she was. At all deserving of his regard.

Gigi must keep her distance from Fitz. If she grew too close, too intimate in her feelings for him, she might do something massively daft, like become his friend and end up hurting them both. There was still so much she didn’t know about him—and so much he didn’t know about her. All the sordid details surrounding Nathanial. And her situation with the pearls.

If she fully confessed to him, he would never look at her with tenderness in his eyes. She couldn’t bear that.

She hurried into her room and cringed at her reflection. Her hair was a mess, her dress wrinkled beyond repair, and, most telling of all, her cheeks were shaded a bright pink.

She switched the wrinkled uniform for a cleaner version and removed her mobcap. At the mirror, she reworked each strand, twisting and tucking and calling upon every trick she’d learned as a lady’s maid. But no matter what she did, more red showed than blonde, and no longer just at the roots.

Sighing, Gigi ran her fingers along her hairline. Bleaching the strands so soon after the last time would result in irreparable damage. Why hadn’t she chosen to go black instead of blonde? Because she hadn’t had the expertise to know better, at least not enough to realize the darker color would have been gentler on her hair.

Taking a breath, she made her way to the second floor, gave a cursory knock, and walked into Sophie’s room. The young lady was sitting at the small table by the bay window overlooking the street below. She had a dreamy look in her eyes, one that put Gigi immediately on guard.

She’d seen that look before. In her own eyes a year ago. Had Sophie met someone? A man?

With the eyes of a woman who’d fallen too hard, too fast, Gigi ran her gaze over her friend. What she saw frightened her.

Gigi recalled the young woman’s wish to rebel against her mother. Sophie loved Esmeralda, but she hated drama. Esmeralda was the very essence of drama. The diva had her stormy days, when nothing went right or could be made right. She would turn her critical eye to Sophie then, finding fault with everything. But Esmeralda was also generous and welcoming of people from all walks of life. She was childlike in her affection for those she considered part of her inner circle. She especially adored those who adored her.

“Sophie, it’s time for you to dress for the ball.”

Nodding, the young woman stood. The look in her eyes turned from dreamy to wistful, a slight distinction but noticeable to a woman who’d worn both expressions after meeting Nathanial.

A man had put that look on Sophie’s face.

Gigi’s heart pounded in a fast tattoo against her ribs.

“I think I shall wear the lavender-and-silver gown.” Silence met the pronouncement, until Sophie prodded, “Would you like to know why I wish to wear the lavender-and-silver gown?”

Gigi was afraid to respond. “I would think because the cut and color are the most flattering of all your dresses.”

“Well, yes. But there is another reason.”

Yes, Gigi figured as much. “If we don’t get to it, you shall be unfashionably late. And since this ball is being thrown with you in mind, that simply won’t do.”

Sophie took a deep breath. “Gigi, my friend, it is not as though the good people of New York will reject me because I am a few minutes late.”

The words showed how much she still had to learn about society. “One small misstep is all it will take to cause whispered speculation of your suitability.”

And then all their hard work of the previous months would be destroyed. Sophie’s life would be ruined, her heart crushed under her detractors’ perfectly sewn slippers.

“At some point, I will have to accept that some people will never accept me.”

“But others will.”

“There are some who are extraordinarily polite. Very gracious. Impeccably kind. But I am the Daughter of Scandal.” She jerked her chin at a defiant angle. “I am the child of an affair between an opera singer and her married lover.”

“It’s still possible you will make a good match.”

Sophie turned her head in Gigi’s direction. “The well-bred ladies of society consider me too much of a disgrace to be a wife to their sons. Perhaps it’s time I settle for something less.”

“Don’t do anything rash, I urge you.”

“I want a man to look at me the way Luke looks at Elizabeth, and Simon looks at Penelope, but I am no longer naïve enough to think I will find him among the New York elite. I ruined my chances when I confronted my father in front of the most influential members of his privileged world.”

“You don’t know that for certain.”

“Oh, but I do.” She gave a secretive smile. “And suddenly, it doesn’t matter so much.”

Gigi opened her mouth to refute the point, but Sophie continued talking.

“I have set my sights a few rungs lower than the very top of the ladder.”

“There are good men at the top.” Gigi thought of Fitz, and how very different he was proving from Nathanial. “And some very bad men every step in between.”

Sophie gave a little huff of laughter. “Who knows?” The reflective look came back into her eyes, but this time there was a hint of daring, too. “Perhaps my search is over.”

“Have you met someone, Sophie?”

“I’m not telling.” Moving to her closet, she flung open the doors. “Let’s get me dressed.”

“Please, Sophie. Listen to me.” Gigi hurried to stand beside the young woman. “Do not settle for a man unworthy of you. Wait for one who will treat you well.”

“You are being a bit severe, don’t you think? Simply because a man doesn’t earn his living in the noble pursuit of banking or high finance doesn’t make him less worthy.”

“Of course it doesn’t. But tread carefully. Do not be fooled by pretty words and false confessions of love.”

Sophie entered the closet. “I no longer care what people think of me. From this night forward, I will make my own way in their world, on my own terms. And I will fall in love with the man of my choosing.”

Gigi felt a spike of dread. She couldn’t hold back one last piece of advice. “Whatever man you set your sights on, make sure that he is who and what he seems.”

Sophie rewarded her words with a dismissive wave. “Don’t worry, my friend. I will adopt great caution going forward. And”—she plucked the lavender-and-silver dress from its hanger—“I will do so while looking magnificent.”

In that moment, Sophie had far too much Esmeralda in her, and Gigi’s dread turned into outright fear. It was as if she was watching the sweet, innocent girl she’d come to know melt away, layer by layer, morphing into someone else entirely.

“Sophie, please be careful.”

The young woman dismissed her with another flick of her wrist. “I brought something home for you.”

Taken aback by the swift change of subject, Gigi absently took the silk gown from Sophie and followed the young woman out of the closet.

“It’s there.” Sophie pointed a finger to the far corner of the room. “On my writing desk.”

Gigi eyed the envelope from where she stood. Sally Smith was scrawled across the front. Recognizing the neat, looping handwriting, she cocked her head in confusion.

Why was Elizabeth Griffin sending her a letter?

“Go on,” Sophie urged, taking the dress from Gigi and nudging her forward with her shoulder. “Open it.”

Gigi moved to the writing desk and stared at the ivory parchment paper. Her first instinct was to tuck the envelope in her pocket and read it when she was alone.

But Sophie looked at her with anticipation.

“Do you know what she wrote?”

Sophie merely smiled, lazily, catlike. “Why don’t you open it and find out for yourself?”

Gigi tore into the envelope and read the handwritten request. “It’s an invitation to luncheon at Elizabeth’s residence.”

“Yes, I know.” Sophie moved in behind her and studied the invitation over Gigi’s shoulder. “There’s no need to respond. I told her you would be more than happy to attend.”

Scowling at this, Gigi tucked the card back inside the envelope. She was surprised to see her hands shake. “I can’t go.”

“Why not?”

“It’s simply not done.” The burst of regret clogged her throat. Gigi would have adored having luncheon with the woman she considered a close friend. “I am a domestic, and domestics do not dine with the women they serve.”

“Elizabeth warned me you would protest. I am to tell you that it will be a small private affair.”

“How small?”

“Only five women are invited. You and me, of course, as well as Caroline, Elizabeth, and Penelope.”

Gigi was tempted to accept the invitation. Though she didn’t know Penelope very well, this would be the perfect opportunity to watch the woman with Sophie and determine if her sisterly affection was genuine.

Gigi knew Caroline and Elizabeth better. She’d worked for both of them, and they’d bonded in a friendship beyond employer and employee. Despite each of their rough roads to happiness, Elizabeth and her cousin, Caroline, were settled in their new lives. They’d married well, joined in life to men who adored and doted on them.

“Gigi.” Sophie took Gigi’s shoulders and gently guided her to the bench at the foot of her bed. “You are not a domestic. You are masquerading as a domestic. There’s a difference.”

“You are the only person who knows I’m not really a servant.”

“I very much doubt that. The women you once served are intelligent and quite observant.” She knelt down and pressed her palms on Gigi’s knees. “I would wager both Caroline and Elizabeth already suspect the truth.”

Gigi thought back over her time with each woman. Yes, they’d suspected she wasn’t what she seemed. Their questions had been careful and discreet, and they’d let off when Gigi had refused to talk. But she’d left her positions with them because the questions had gotten too close to the truth, the risk of exposure too great.

“Please, Gigi, come to lunch with me at Elizabeth’s house.”

The urge to spend an afternoon in the company of women she admired was too strong to resist. She’d spent too many months poised between two worlds, belonging to neither, unable to find her place. Perhaps, for a few hours, in the company of women she liked and trusted, Gigi could be herself.

“All right, I’ll go.”

“Wonderful.” Sophie clapped her hands together. Gaining her feet, she studied Gigi a long, silent moment. “You cannot wear your uniform.”

“I have another dress.”

“That hideous brown rag?” Sophie made a face. “No. If there is any part of that you didn’t understand, let me repeat myself. No.

“I don’t have the money to buy a new dress.” She needed every penny for the pearls.

“We are nearly the same size.” Sophie circled her. “Yes, very nearly. You will wear one of mine.”

Gigi’s mouth opened, then closed. She felt something odd in her chest. Was that hope? An awakening?

She felt nearly like her old self.

A small victory and one she gladly accepted. Later, when she was alone, she’d worry about what to wear to the luncheon.

The ballroom overflowed with three hundred of New York’s social elite. The ball would last well into the evening hours. Fitz would stay an hour, no more than two. He’d rather be anywhere but in the Waldorf-Astoria’s famous ballroom. However, he knew the value of mingling with future investors. He also needed a distraction from thoughts of Gigi. Ever since he’d come upon her with the children, she’d taken up residence in his mind, and certainly in his heart.

Fitz had seen a side of the woman he’d never known existed. She’d looked like a mother, a woman he could see himself growing old with. He shouldn’t have pulled her into his arms. He definitely shouldn’t have kissed her.

Nothing could have stopped him.

Fitz was willing to admit, if only in the private recesses of his mind, that he wanted Gigi in his life. But friendship was the most he could hope for, the most he dared pursue.

Shoulder propped against the wall, he was, as usual, content to watch the celebration from a distance. He forced himself to pay attention to his surroundings.

The strains of a waltz floated on the air, while a rainbow of dancers whirled past him. It seemed the entire population of New York’s upper crust had been invited to this affair. The men wore formal black suits, with white vests and matching white ties. The women were dressed far more colorfully in formal gowns. They wore long white gloves up their arms. Jewels adorned their hair, necks, and wrists.

Gigi should be among them, laughing, dancing, and using her charm to win the heart of every man in attendance.

She was probably holed up on the third floor of Esmeralda’s town house, removing stains from a dress not her own. A pity, Fitz thought, and yet he knew the changes in her were because of her low position. She had more depth. But also more sadness.

Fitz wanted to erase the pain that lived in her eyes. He wanted to be the man who—

He cut off the rest of the thought.

Nothing could come of his growing attraction. He would never marry her, or any woman. He would not father any children. He would not destroy a woman for his own selfish gain. The investment firm would become his legacy, a tangible way to leave his mark on the world.

Clasping his hands behind his back, he looked out across the ballroom in time to see Luke walk in from the terrace, guiding his wife to the dance floor. The way the pretty blonde moved effortlessly on her husband’s arm spoke of easy familiarity and connection.

I will never have that with a woman.

Fitz was sorry for that, more so now that he and Gigi were no longer at odds. Their kiss had sealed his affection for her. He felt more alive in her company, more awake, as if he were emerging from an unpleasant dream that had held him in its dark grip for far too long.

When Gigi was near, the world made sense. Fitz’s footsteps were lighter and—

My footsteps are lighter?

He shook his head. Any more of this sappy introspection and he would find himself putting pen to paper to write poetic verse in Gigi’s honor. Him, the man she herself had claimed had no imagination or sense of what constituted a romantic gesture, now reduced to poetic musings.

Mouth tight, jaw clenched, Fitz tried to calm his raging pulse. A frown knitted his eyebrows together.

“Now that’s the sight of a man wishing to be anywhere but here.”

Welcoming the interruption, Fitz pushed away from the wall and settled his gaze on his friend. Luke’s eyes were full of humor.

“I prefer boardrooms to ballrooms.”

“Don’t we all?”

As he shook hands with his friend, Fitz got his first glimpse of Luke’s wife up close. She was a beautiful woman. She had a petite frame and blue eyes, and her hair was the palest of blondes. With Luke’s hair a shade darker than hers, the two made the quintessential golden pair.

“He sounds like you, Luke.” A soft tinkle of laughter followed the statement, the sound complementing the woman’s sculpted, elegant beauty. “Now do your duty, husband, and introduce me to your friend.”

“I am at your service, my love.” Luke took his wife’s hand, swept an intimate smile over her face, then said, “Elizabeth Griffin, I would like you to meet Christopher Fitzpatrick. We attended Harvard together.”

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Fitzpatrick.”

“Please, Mrs. Griffin, call me Fitz.”

“Only if you agree to call me Elizabeth.”

He inclined his head.

“Wait, you’re Fitz? From Harvard? Of course.” She looked to her husband, then back again. “You’re the friend who may be investing in Luke’s automobile company.”

“That would be me.”

“How wonderful. But why are you hovering in the shadows instead of joining in the party?”

He decided to be truthful. “The ballroom is hot, overcrowded, and I am a bit—”

“Overwhelmed by the vast quantities of unfamiliar New Yorkers?”

“In a word, yes.”

“Tell me about Boston,” she said, clearly attempting to put him at ease. “I have only visited your city once, and it was a very long time ago.”

Fitz welcomed the opportunity to expound on the city he called home. He told her about boating on Boston Harbor and picnicking on one of the islands, then added, “It’s a city full of history.”

This seemed to delight Luke’s wife. “I adore history. If I can coax my husband into taking me for a visit, what should we see first?”

Fitz and Luke answered simultaneously. “Harvard’s campus.”

Elizabeth laughed. “I see my husband was right about you.”

“How so?”

“You two are of a like mind.” She patted Luke’s cheek. “Now, it’s time I leave you two to speak business.”

“You wound me, Little Bit.” Luke gave his best imitation of a man affronted. “I would never talk business in a ballroom.”

With a display of amused indulgence, she kissed his cheek. “Then use the opportunity to speak about the ‘good old days’ at Harvard. It was a pleasure meeting you, Fitz.”

“And you as well, Elizabeth.”

“Oh, look, Penelope has arrived. I must speak with her about the luncheon next week.” A whimsical smile on her face, Luke’s wife wandered away.

Both men watched her go.

Once she was out of earshot, Fitz said, “I always suspected you were a man of sound judgment. Now that I have met your wife, I realize you are also a man of excellent taste.”

Luke smiled with unabashed joy, as if he’d been laid low by love and couldn’t be happier. “Elizabeth is the very heart of me.”

“She’s lovely.”

“I’ll be sure to pass along the compliment.”

“Please do.”

There wasn’t time to say more, as a small commotion had broken out near the ballroom’s entrance. Excited murmurs filled the air, followed by a quick straightening of shoulders, a widening of eyes.

All heads turned.

A beat passed. And another. And then . . .

Esmeralda made her entrance.

Dressed in a red silk dress with layers of matching lace and intricate embroidery, the infamous diva sauntered into the ballroom like a queen lording over her realm.

She took her time sashaying through the room, stopping every fifth or sixth step in order to strike a dramatic pose. With an assortment of feathers bobbing on her head, she waited for assembled guests to admire and adore her. Only then did she continue her journey through the room.

Sophie trailed after her mother, falling farther and farther behind, her eyes riveted on a spot where three young men stood watching the dance floor. Had one in particular caught her eye? Or was Sophie attempting to distance herself from Esmeralda’s dramatic entrance?

Esmeralda caught sight of Fitz and altered her course. Hips swaying and her face arranged in a calculating smile, she stopped her pursuit inches shy of running into him, close enough for him to get a whiff of her cloying perfume. She struck a final pose—one hand on her hip, the other poised gracefully in the air at shoulder level.

“Fitz, tesoro.” She squeezed in between him and Luke, the move forcing Luke to step aside or risk coming away with a mouth full of feathers from the hat she wore. “What a surprise to see you here.”

Somehow, Fitz doubted anything surprised this woman.

“Sophie, come, say good evening to our friend.” Esmeralda waved her daughter closer. One problem. Sophie had fallen so far behind that she’d been swallowed up in the crowd. There was no sight of the young woman. Much to Esmeralda’s obvious displeasure. “Where is that girl?”

The words were spoken in a flat Midwestern accent, far truer than any Esmeralda had used before. Fitz tried not to smile, but the diva put on quite a show.

“I believe Sophie is conversing with my wife and sister over by that large potted plant.” Luke supplied this oh-so-helpful piece of information with an ironic twist of his lips as he gestured toward the other side of the ballroom.

Esmeralda ignored him.

“You dance with me, mi amore.” She held out her hand to Fitz, her Italian accent firmly back in place. “Come. We go now.”

Fitz couldn’t think of anything he’d rather do less.

Unfortunately, he’d failed to make his preference known quickly enough. Esmeralda had already hooked her arm through his and was looking up at him expectantly.

That, he supposed, was what he got for hesitating.

Fitz had a precious half second to assure Luke they would talk later before he was twirling around the dance floor.

Placing his hand at Esmeralda’s back, he guided her through the steps of a waltz. They pushed and threaded their way through the crowded parquet floor in a semblance of dancing.

“You will ask my daughter to dance before the evening is through, yes?”

Fitz saw the hope in Esmeralda’s eyes, along with the calculation and eagerness for him to agree. Then the diva quickly masked her expression with a bland smile.

So much pride in this woman, so much bravado. Fitz understood both emotions and thought it was time for a frank discussion.

“Esmeralda,” he began, keeping his voice at an octave only she could hear. “I am not interested in courting your daughter.”

“I insist to know why.”

He’d upset her. He heard it in her sharp gasp, saw it in the angry tilt of her lips. “Sophie and I don’t suit.”

It was really that simple.

The dark eyes that swept over him held a hawk-like sharpness. “You like her, do you not?”

“She is a lovely girl.”

Esmeralda dropped all pretense of charm. The diva disappeared. In her place was the mother wishing to see her daughter settled.

It would not be with Fitz. The sooner Esmeralda understood that, the better for everyone involved.

Out of the corner of his eye, he caught a flash of lavender silk heading toward a partially secluded alcove just off the right side of the dance floor. Sophie wasn’t alone. The young woman’s escort seemed familiar, but Fitz couldn’t place where he might have seen him before, if he had at all. Then he remembered the group of young men that had captured Sophie’s attention earlier.

Even from this distance, the look of adoration in her expression was unmistakable. For his part, the man beside her had a look of quiet affection. There was an obvious attraction there, one that didn’t look completely new.

Fitz said nothing to Esmeralda. His only wish was that the man would turn out to be far more worthy of Sophie than Dixon had been of Gigi. Putting the two young women out of his mind, he switched his attention to the diva.

“I would think,” he began, choosing his words carefully, “that you would want more for your daughter than marriage to a man she hardly knows.”

The anger was back in Esmeralda’s eyes. “You dare to suppose you know what I want?”

Before responding, he took them through a series of complicated turns, glancing out onto the terrace. Sophie and her mystery man had moved into the shadows of a shallow alcove. They were still in view but appeared to be in deep conversation.

Not your concern.

“I have insulted you,” he said to Esmeralda. “That was not my intent.”

“You think Sophie isn’t good enough for you because she is my daughter.”

Though she spoke in a low hiss, the diva’s outrage was evident in the strain tightening around her eyes and lips.

“Sophie is perfectly suitable.” For some other man. “She is not—”

“Suitable enough for you.”

Esmeralda looked unsure of herself, Fitz thought, realizing he’d never seen her in anything resembling a vulnerable state. Until now. “She is not the woman for me.”

He did not expand on his reasons.

A brief battle of wills ensued, where Esmeralda scowled and Fitz held the woman’s gaze without flinching.

“Why do you refuse to consider courting my daughter?”

She’s not Gigi. “It’s not possible.”

“You are married?”

“I am not married.”

“Engaged, then?”

“I am not engaged.” He knew he was being tediously redundant in his answers and not revealing anything specific. With women like Esmeralda, it never hurt to be overly careful.

“Then you are free to court my daughter.”

Nothing could mask the hope in Esmeralda’s eyes. Fitz almost pitied her predicament, the helplessness she must feel. Her daughter was suffering the consequences of her actions.

Esmeralda would be appalled if she knew the direction of his thoughts. And so Fitz gave her yet another vaguely accurate response. “I am not free.”

He would never be free.

The reasons were his own and not her concern.

Fitz could, however, give her a portion of the truth.

Executing a perfect spin, he commanded the diva’s stare and said, “My heart belongs to another.”