Newport: A Novel Read online

  “Did you conduct many séances back in Sacramento?”

  She raised her eyes to his. He looked away, not ready to lose himself in the sweet abyss of her gaze. “Mrs. Chapman is the only . . . person . . . I’ve ever spoken for,” she said. “And I don’t like it very much, I can tell you that.”

  “You don’t?”

  “Of course not. There’s something creepy about it, don’t you think?”

  She lowered her head back to his chest, leaving him to stare out at the sea as her words flowed through his mind. If Amy didn’t like feigning Mrs. Chapman’s words, then why did she do it?

  The answer smacked his brain before he could even ask the question out loud.

  “Amy,” he said warily, “are you telling me that Mrs. Chapman is real?”

  There was nothing sweet and needy in her gaze this time. She backed away from him, scowl replacing the quiver of her lip. “Of course. Did you think I’d made her up?”

  Jim’s arms dropped to his sides.

  “I told you,” Amy said. “I am not a fraud.”

  He swallowed hard. The thought of an ectoplasmic Elizabeth Chapman floating through the parlor seemed insane. But, then, Granny Cullen’s pronouncements had always felt real enough, so much so that he’d always accepted them without question. After all he’d experienced growing up, he owed it to Amy to at least let her try to prove that she wasn’t off her rocker.

  “All right,” he said, trying to organize his thoughts. “All right. So Bennett Chapman invited you and your aunt out here from Sacramento, and you came along with Mrs. Chapman in tow.”

  She shrugged. “If it makes you feel any better, Aunt Catharine and I are used to traveling. Aunt Catharine lived in New York City when I first came to stay with her, you know. We moved to Chicago when I was three, then on to Denver, and finally out to Sacramento just before I turned thirteen.”

  Jim stroked his chin, trying to arrange the random snippets of information into some recognizable pattern. Adrian had obviously understood Mrs. Chapman’s message—nothing outside of extreme shock would have caused his mentor’s uncharacteristic loss for words and subsequent need of rescue. Nor was it an absurd leap to presume that Catharine Walsh might have gone by the diminutive “Cassie” at one point in her life. But the rest of the story . . . how was he supposed to fill in the details when Adrian closed up as tight as a speakeasy every time the subject arose?

  “Don’t blame me,” Amy said primly.

  “Huh? For what?”

  “For the fact that you never thought to ask Mr. de la Noye any questions.”

  She looked awfully smug. Jim made a face at her before turning his attention back to his thoughts.

  Adrian had been a fixture at the Reid home for decades, included by Jim’s father and later his mother in both family celebrations and heartaches, willing to lend a hand during dark days. Jim had never questioned why. Like everyone else in his family, he could recite by heart the story of how his father had risked his own life in Cuba during the Spanish-American War, dragging a wounded Adrian to safety under a barrage of enemy fire. He understood implicitly that repaying that debt was one of Adrian’s greatest joys. Yet with all that, he had to admit that Amy was right: he knew very little about the life Adrian had led prior to his adoption by the Reid family. Why had he never considered that strange?

  Of course, it was no odder than the idea that the late Elizabeth Chapman would interrupt her eternal rest to deliver messages about two people she’d never even met.

  Amy’s small palms rested against his chest. “Jim.”

  He glanced down to meet her gaze.

  “Will it always be this way?” she asked. “Will we constantly waste beautiful moonlit evenings with dry interrogations?”

  His stomach flip-flopped as she nestled closer. “Aren’t you curious about Mrs. Chapman’s message?” he asked, cradling her in a loose hug. “Don’t you want to know what it means?”

  “Yes.” Her voice was velvet. “But not all the time.”

  Jim jumped as her soft fingers stroked his cheek. She felt small and delicate in his arms, a Dresden doll come to life. One inch closer and he’d vow to slay the Minotaur for her.

  “Jim. You’re still thinking, aren’t you?”

  The reproach stabbed his heart.

  Amy sighed. “Silly,” she murmured. “For a smart boy, you sure can be thickheaded.”

  She wrapped her fingers around his lapels and pulled him down toward her. He thought briefly that the whirling of the rocks might make him lose his balance and plunge them both into the sea. Then he realized that the rocks weren’t moving at all.

  Amy stood on tiptoe, so near that he could feel her soft breath against his cheek. He bent instinctively toward her, lips tingling as they drew closer to hers. “Amy,” he whispered in her enticing little ear.

  “Yes, Jim?”

  “Do you think your aunt could be Cassie?”

  Amy groaned. Then her mouth landed on his, and anything else he’d meant to say floated out to sea on the ocean breeze.

  CHAPTER

  18

  You’re looking well.” Adrian opened Liriodendron’s back French doors, ushering Catharine Walsh onto the terrace with the formality of a trained escort.

  “Thank you.” Her fingers slipped from the crook of his arm. “The years have been kind to you, too.”

  He appreciated the cool distance between them. With so much time gone by, they were little more than strangers now. There was no reason to resurrect anything as messy as emotion. On the other hand, this was still Cassie Walsh beneath the fine clothes and stylishly bobbed curls. He recognized her reserve for what it really was: a diversionary tactic.

  He leaned back against the stone retaining wall. “Cassie, surely you realize that I have questions for you.”

  “Catharine.” Her voice was sharp. “You may call me Catharine or Miss Walsh.”

  Her claws were still intact. “I understand,” he said.

  “I thought you might, Mr. de la Noye.” The syllables of his last name tripped off her tongue.

  He did not reply.

  “Good.” Catharine gave a curt nod. “I’m glad to see that we’re in agreement.”

  He saw that she had already determined which information she would share, regardless of the questions asked. Still, her wide eyes and set jaw could not divert attention from the trembling of her left hand. Despite all efforts, she’d been unable to fully submerge her apprehension. She was vulnerable—perhaps every bit as vulnerable as he himself felt.

  He chose his words carefully. “Miss Walsh, it’s to your advantage that we find Mr. Chapman competent to amend his will.”

  “Of course he’s competent.”

  “That’s hard to defend when he says his marriage proposal to you is based on advice received from his deceased wife.”

  The gauzy sleeves of her dinner dress fluttered in the breeze as she clasped her hands before her. “I can’t help that. It’s not my fault Elizabeth Chapman decided to surface.”

  “Are you sure about that, Catharine?”

  “Yes!”

  “You’re asking me to believe that Mrs. Chapman is not a product of your imagination, something you’ve created for your own benefit.”

  “She most certainly is not!”

  Adrian paused, surprised by the flash of fear that crossed Catharine’s face.

  “All right,” he finally said. “Suppose I take you at your word. Surely you can see how convenient it seems that the ghost of this magnate’s first wife should so enthusiastically choose you to be his second.”

  “Of course I see it.” Her eyes rested on the inky horizon. “I’m not a fool.”

  “Yet you have no idea whatsoever why Elizabeth Chapman thinks Bennett should marry you.”

  She whipped around. “No, Adrian, I do not!”

  He raised an eyebrow. He could understand her determination to see this marriage through. Bennett Chapman was worth more money than most people dreamed about.
But even the smack of the waves against the rocks could not disguise that jagged catch in her breathing. Perhaps Catharine had nothing to do with Mrs. Chapman’s arrival, but he’d wager that she knew a little more about the ghost’s edict than she was willing to share.

  Once upon a time, he’d been privy to this woman’s hopes and dreams. He’d assumed then that he could interpret every turn of that pretty mouth, each veiled glance.

  He’d been wrong.

  He turned to scan Liriodendron’s serene façade. It rose high above the terrace, pale and gracious, glowing like a pearl in the soft moonlight. There were no signs of hastily withdrawn figures, no swaying curtains. As far as he could tell, they were quite alone.

  He stepped closer to the woman before him and lowered his voice. “Catharine, I must ask you . . . the message Amy delivered at the séance . . .”

  She glanced up to meet his gaze, her expression blank. “Which message? Mrs. Chapman seems to have quite a bit to say.”

  “You know which one.”

  She turned away, fingers trailing through the air in a dismissive wave. “That question goes beyond your professional purview, Counselor,” she said.

  “Yet I have every right to ask it.” Without thinking, he caught her hand in both of his. It fit as if he’d last cradled it only minutes ago. Years peeled away, whipping about them in a whirlwind of unbridled memory. Surprised, Catharine leaned toward him, lips parted.

  He should never have come here.

  Catharine yanked her hand from his as if burned. “Have you any further questions?” she asked, struggling to catch her breath.

  “Yes,” he said, voice hard. “So many. But I’d be much obliged if you’d just answer the one I’m asking. Was there a child?”

  She raised her chin like a queen receiving subjects. “You needn’t worry, Adrian Delano. There is no child. Good night.”

  He watched her leave the terrace on heels too low to cause the lack of balance in her walk. The response was classic Cassie. Of course there was no “child.” Any child that might have been had grown up long ago. Not exactly a lie, but perhaps not exactly the truth either.

  She was as beautiful as she’d remained in his memories. Worse, she still possessed the magnetism that had drawn him to her in the first place, that spark he’d never been able to rationalize away.

  He gripped the edge of the retaining wall. One more séance. That was all it should take to find the answer Cassie herself would not provide. Then he and Jim would draft the will and leave Newport forever.

  CHAPTER

  19

  February 1898

  It was still afternoon when Adrian followed the housekeeper into the gardener’s cottage off Ruggles Avenue, but it might as well have been two in the morning. His fatigue ran far deeper than body alone. He tried to concentrate on the woman’s words, managing to catch the ones he thought might be most important: “I’ve had them place your trunks in your room . . . I’ll be in with meals . . . you’ll find me up at the house should you need anything else, Mr. Delano.”

  “Thank you so much for your kindness, Mrs. Vickery.”

  He jumped at the sound of Cassie’s clear voice behind him. Despite their shared streetcar ride across Newport, he’d nearly forgotten that she was still with him. How had he managed to ignore the housekeeper’s raised eyebrows when they’d first entered the cottage together?

  “Oh, dear,” Cassie sighed, mouth pursed in a fetching pout. “I’m afraid my little whim has proven inconvenient to everyone. Even Cousin Adrian had no idea I planned to travel with him today. It was a surprise, but perhaps an ill-conceived one. I apologize for my rashness.”

  Adrian straightened. “No, I’m the one who should apologize. I should have offered both proper introductions and an explanation when we first arrived. Forgive me, Mrs. Vickery. I returned from Europe just yesterday, and exhaustion has played havoc with my manners. This is my cousin . . . Miss Kate Weld.”

  His eyes met Cassie’s. Her glittering smile could have saved Alfred Dreyfus from Devil’s Island.

  Oh, why the hell not. He’d told worse fibs in Europe. She’d be leaving in the morning, anyway.

  He set Cassie’s carpetbags onto the tiled floor. “My cousin will be staying here tonight, leaving for Boston tomorrow.”

  “I wish I’d known,” Mrs. Vickery began. “I’d have made up the second bedroom. If you’ll give me but a moment, I can—”

  “Oh, no need to trouble yourself.” Cassie’s dimples flashed as she laid a confiding hand on the housekeeper’s arm. “If you send over the linens, we can certainly manage. It strengthens the character to fend for one’s self now and then. It will be fun, like family summers on the Cape. Isn’t that right, Adrian?”

  “Quite.” He watched as she guided Mrs. Vickery to the door. He’d have to remind “Cousin Kate” that “summers on the Cape” included a small flotilla of household help.

  Cassie waited until the garden gate clicked shut before turning back to face him. “There,” she said with a shrug. “That wasn’t so hard, was it?”

  Adrian rested his aching forehead against the cool wall of the parlor. “I can’t even say that you’re ruining me, can I? I arrived in a compromised state.”

  He jumped at the touch of her soft hand in his hair. Her fingers slipped down the nape of his neck to gently knead his tight shoulders.

  “Perhaps you should rest,” she said. “I imagine we have plans tonight.”

  In for a penny, in for a pound. He was too tired to resist, even when she insisted on injecting that awkward “we” into the conversation. “I’m invited to a late dinner at the Phillips’s home tonight. Peter Phillips is best man in the wedding, and his sister Marjorie will be hostess tonight.”

  “Hmm. Who else will be there?”

  “I have no idea. I haven’t been paying attention.” He closed his eyes. The soothing rhythm of those fingers against his shoulders was pure magic.

  “Surely there will be a bachelor or two on hand. You’ve been invited, after all.”

  “I suppose it’s possible.”

  She stepped away, brow puckered in thought. “You must, of course, let our hostess know that I will be joining you tonight. It’s maddening to have unexpected guests intrude. Can you think of an acceptable reason to bring me along? Oh, I know! My visit is a surprise, but I’m just out of mourning for my dear papa and . . .”

  He remembered that her inventiveness had always made him smile. “I haven’t invited you to join me.”

  “Oh, Adrian, you must. Please. It’s my only hope. I won’t embarrass you, I promise.”

  He turned toward her, surprised by the tinge of desperation in her voice. Her back remained as ramrod straight as ever, but he noted the slight slump of her shoulders, the faint circles shadowing her eyes. Her fragility took him by surprise. Somehow, he’d supposed her invincible, as utterly impenetrable as an ironclad warship.

  “You’re as tired as I am,” he said.

  The fact that she was too weary to argue spoke volumes.

  He rested a hand on her shoulder. The bones beneath his palm were more delicate than he’d expected. “You can rest inside,” he said. “I’ll make the necessary arrangements for tonight’s dinner, then nap out here on the sofa. We can make up the other room later.”

  “You’ll take me with you tonight then?”

  He hesitated briefly, considering. It was only one night. What difference would it really make? “Yes,” he said.

  “Thank you, Adrian,” she said softly. “For everything. I’ll never forget this kindness.”

  Something in her eyes threw him off balance, made him feel as if he had no control over either the situation or his actions within it. He lifted his hand from her shoulder. “You’d best make your mark tonight, Cousin Kate, because I’m packing you off tomorrow.”

  Undeterred, she stood on tiptoe to kiss his flaming cheek. “I understand,” she said, then turned toward the bedroom, closing the door softly behind her.

&nb
sp; CHAPTER

  20

  Sunlight streamed across Jim’s bed, bathing him in brilliance impossible to ignore. He flung an arm across his eyes in a useless attempt to ward off the brightness. Only a sap would forget to pull down the shades before falling into bed the night before. With a groan, he rolled over and burrowed his face more deeply into the soft down of his pillow.

  Intoxicating images flickered against his closed eyelids. Amy cuddled in his arms, her pliable curves tucked up against him as if there were no place she’d rather be. He could still feel her satin strands of hair brush his chin as the ocean breeze wrapped itself around the two of them standing on the rocks. Her smooth skin . . . those incredible lips . . . the inscrutable look in her blue eyes as he’d bent closer and closer . . . Most amazing of all, it hadn’t been a dream.

  He flopped onto his back, grin tugging at the corners of his mouth. Lord, he’d been such a jackass. His mind, always too active, had wasted so much time analyzing how to make that first kiss perfect. Yet even without a well-constructed plan in place, kissing Amy had been as easy as eating ice cream. That first kiss had melted into another, the next one into even more, until he and Amy had ended up breathless, her small hand stroking his chest as he drew her close.

  And, incredibly enough, it would probably happen again.

  A loud knock on the bedroom door pulled him back into the daylight. He squinted at the clock on his nightstand. Seven forty-five. Later than he usually slept, but certainly not beyond the bounds of decorum.

  “Who is it?” he called, hoping that Amy stood beyond the door.

  “Adrian.”

  “Um . . . just a minute.” He fumbled for his spectacles, not even bothering to hide his disappointment. Had he promised to meet Adrian this morning? His mentor rarely initiated meetings prior to breakfast.

  He hopped from the bed, snatching his robe from a corner chair on his way to the door. The trousers he’d worn yesterday tangled in his feet and nearly sent him sprawling headfirst across the floor. He shoved them away with his foot, yanking his bathrobe over his union suit as he reached for the doorknob.