Newport: A Novel Read online

  Peter was a cad, an out-and-out womanizer. Cassie was naïve if she thought she could mold him into the faithful sort. Adrian frowned as he lifted his oyster fork to his mouth and chewed.

  “Is everything all right?” Marjorie leaned toward him, concerned.

  “All right? Of course. The entire evening is perfect, and you were very kind to allow my cousin to be a part of it.”

  Marjorie looked doubtful. “If it’s all so perfect, perhaps you’ll come down from the clouds and talk to me. I feel as if I’m having a conversation with myself! Tell me of Europe—did you enjoy Paris? It’s quite my favorite city in the world.”

  “I can understand why.” It was easy enough to launch into a safe conversation about Paris in the autumn. It required very little thought.

  Surely Cassie would blunder, say something that revealed her as nothing more than a charlatan. Adrian froze as Peter’s voice floated down the table, asking where Miss Weld had hidden herself for so many years.

  Tears pooled in Cassie’s eyes. “I debuted rather late, I’m afraid, due to the untimely death of my father.” Her sadness apparently brought out the gallant in Peter, who bent toward her with concern, handkerchief at the ready. Cassie brushed away a tear, lifted a brave chin, and rallied. “Forgive me, Mr. Phillips. This is a party, and we are to be gay. I’d much rather hear about you.”

  A skillful return. Cassie could take care of herself.

  “Mr. Delano,” Marjorie prodded. “You are miles away.”

  “I’m sorry.” He leaned back to allow the footman to remove his oyster plate. “I’m afraid I feel a responsibility toward Miss Weld. This is her first trip since her father’s death. She took the loss rather hard.”

  Marjorie relaxed. “That’s admirable, and I understand perfectly. I just wondered if there might be something . . . more. Exactly how distant a cousin is she?”

  Adrian silently swore to become a more attentive guest.

  He managed through the vermicelli soup and turbot in lobster sauce, through the spring chicken with peas. Cassie’s melodic voice grazed his ears as he savored the palate-cleansing punch served after the fourth course, but he could not distinguish her words. He didn’t have to: the enthralled look on Peter’s face said more than words could have. The situation was so clear that Adrian had little appetite for the several courses that followed the punch. Only by glancing at the menu card placed between him and Marjorie could he determine what exactly had been served.

  “Adrian.” Peter Phillips glanced toward the dining room door as the ladies swept from earshot after dinner. “Miss Weld will accompany you to the wedding Saturday morning, won’t she?”

  For the first time he could remember, Adrian had no thirst for the tawny port just poured. “She hasn’t been invited. She leaves tomorrow.”

  Peter’s eyes glittered. “I’ll see to it that she’s welcome,” he said. “Bring her.”

  CHAPTER

  24

  Are you hungry, Mr. de la Noye?” Nicholas Chapman settled back in his chair at the end of the dining room table.

  “No.” Adrian remained planted by the dining room door.

  “Well, I’m ravenous. Would you mind if I rang for breakfast?”

  “Yes, I would. I’d prefer to hear what you have to say as quickly and briefly as possible. I have a great deal to accomplish today.”

  “Drafting my father’s new will, perhaps?”

  “It’s on my list.”

  “Maybe not,” Nicholas said. “I did get the name right before, didn’t I? You’re Adrian Delano. Your family hails from upstate New York.”

  “I don’t deny that.”

  “Yet you go by the surname de la Noye.”

  Adrian shrugged. “Our original family name was de la Noye. I reverted back to it a long time ago.”

  “So I’ve been told. You fought in the Spanish-American War, were wounded and received a Medal of Honor under that name. I believe it was in Cuba that you began your friendship with young Mr. Reid’s father, was it not?” Nicholas rose and walked toward the coffee service on the buffet. “You must admit that on the face of it, changing your name was an odd decision. After all, you come from a family of some prominence. Giving up the Delano name surely meant sacrificing some of the privileges that came along with it.”

  Adrian paused before answering. The man had obviously made inquiries. “I found it preferable to rely on ability rather than pedigree.”

  “Ah.” Nicholas poured himself a cup of coffee from the silver pot, added two lumps of sugar, and stirred well before turning back to face his adversary. “I hadn’t pegged you as a man of the people.”

  Adrian reached for his pocket watch. “Despite your extensive research, it appears you don’t know me very well after all.”

  “No. But I do know human nature, and men just don’t change their last names for purely selfless reasons.”

  Adrian flipped open the cover of his watch and pointedly checked the time. He had faced opposing counsel like this before, lawyers who flung half-baked suppositions through the courtroom in the hopes that something would stick due to the mere momentum of the throw. Nicholas clearly had some facts at his fingertips, but it was hard to tell exactly which ones. Key components were missing. Did the man honestly believe that Adrian himself would eagerly step forward to fill in the gaps?

  He closed the watch with a loud click and returned it to his pocket. “You seem to have invested a great deal of effort into exploring my past, Mr. Chapman.”

  Nicholas smiled. He shouldn’t have. He had the insincere grin of a patent elixir salesman. “A considerable amount of money as well, Mr. Delano.”

  “It is legally de la Noye, sir.”

  “De la Noye, then. Forgive me. It’s hard for me to remember that, since I had some association with your family in the past.”

  Adrian’s eyebrows rose. “Excuse me, but have we met before?”

  “No, sir, not at all. Your sister, Edith, was one of the young ladies I considered courting many years ago, but you were away in Europe at the time . . . sowing your own wild oats, as I recall. But, yes, I attended a few soirees hosted by your family. It’s ancient history now, brought back only because you’ve come to call at Liriodendron.”

  Adrian nodded politely. “Are we quite finished here, Mr. Chapman? My last name is unimportant to the proceedings at hand.”

  Nicholas raised the porcelain cup to his lips and carefully blew steam from the top. “You’re right. It doesn’t matter what you choose to call yourself. But the reason you reverted to de la Noye in the first place might have some significance.” The coffee reached its destination, and Nicholas took a deep swig.

  “I’ve told you the reason.”

  Nicholas eyed him from across the rim of his cup. “The real reason, Mr. de la Noye. The one you’d prefer I keep to myself.”

  Years of practice and training had taught Adrian to temper his reactions. He was an expert when it came to controlling both his expressions and his gestures. He could not, however, prevent the heat that rushed through his veins. Was this a bluff? There was no way to know.

  “Mr. Chapman, let me make sure I understand. Are you saying that you’ll reveal some unknown nugget from my past should I move forward with the execution of your father’s new will?”

  Nicholas cradled the coffee cup in both hands. “You are as smart as my sources say. Yes, Mr. de la Noye. That’s exactly what I’m saying. But the reverse is true as well: if my father’s current will remains intact, your secrets are safe with me.”

  “What of your father’s marriage to Miss Walsh? I’ve nothing to do with that decision.”

  The delicate cup landed on the buffet with such force that Adrian expected it to crack in two. “You leave Miss Walsh to me,” Nicholas said.

  Adrian fixed the other man with a steady gaze. “Miss Walsh is not my concern,” he said. “She is not my client; your father is. That’s as far as my interest in this matter runs.”

  “Is it now?” Nich
olas met the stare. “Ethics are of no use to a lawyer, Mr. de la Noye. Surely you’ve learned that.”

  Both men started as determined footsteps sounded in the hall. Adrian spoke beneath his breath. “I will take your words into consideration.”

  “Consider quickly. Time is short. Oh, by the way—regards to your wife and children. Dear Constance was your stenographer before your marriage, wasn’t she? Lovely lady, but hardly of your class.”

  Adrian bit back his response as Bennett Chapman strode through the dining room door. The older man seemed to have gained even more vitality during his trip to and from the telephone.

  “It’s done,” Bennett said, squaring his shoulders beneath his navy blue blazer. “I’ve spoken to an old friend of mine, Judge Thomas Bourne. He’ll arrive from Boston by four o’clock tomorrow afternoon to marry us in the parlor.”

  Adrian nodded. “Judge Bourne? A good choice. He’ll see to it that tomorrow proceeds smoothly indeed.”

  Nicholas looked as if the floorboards had cracked beneath his feet. “You can’t be serious.”

  “No need to fuss, Nicky. As I’ve told you before, you are certainly welcome to attend the ceremony. Where is Catharine? She might want to order flowers for the parlor, plan a wedding dinner—I suppose we should arrange some sort of honeymoon . . .”

  “Bennett.” Adrian clapped a firm hand on his client’s shoulder, angling him away from his son’s furious glare. “I’ve only one question for you: have you reached this decision through your own volition? Is this marriage what you really want?”

  Bennett’s shoulders slumped slightly beneath his palm, but his gaze remained fixed and true. “Yes. I am fully cognizant of my actions.”

  Adrian’s hand dropped back to his side. “Then congratulations to you, sir. Please accept my every wish for your continued happiness.”

  “You’ll stay through tomorrow night, Adrian, won’t you? It would mean a great deal to me to have you and Mr. Reid attend the marriage ceremony. And you, Nicky—I would never consider asking you to be my best man, but will you stay to see me wed?”

  “You can’t be serious,” Nicholas repeated, but his father’s attention had shifted toward the fireplace. His businesslike demeanor melted away as he studied the spot to the right of the mantel, eyes misted by the pleading gaze of a supplicant.

  His voice, when it came, seemed far away. “I understand that neither of us cares for the other very much, Nicky, but your presence during this ceremony would please your mother greatly.”

  “Oh, for the love of—”

  “Look closely. She’s still with us, standing by the mantel. Wait, she has more to say . . .”

  “You can hear her?” Adrian asked.

  Bennett blinked, momentarily nonplussed. “I suppose I can. What a wonderful turn of events! Perhaps I won’t need to bother Amy anymore if I can speak with Elizabeth on my own—oh?” He squinted. A faint whiff of lavender wafted through the room; both Adrian and Nicholas froze.

  Bennett nodded his head as a dreamlike smile wreathed his face. “Very well, then. Of course it’s all right. Anything you wish, my dear.”

  “What’s happening?” Nicholas demanded.

  His father shot his cuffs as he turned toward him, once again the consummate businessman. “No need to concern yourself. Your mother simply prefers that we continue to speak through Miss Walsh for the time being, and only when we are all present together. She agrees, however, that Mr. de la Noye would be a delightful addition to the wedding guest list, and says that your presence, Nicky, is obligatory. Plan to stay, Adrian.”

  “Perhaps Mother herself would like to be a guest at the wedding,” Nicholas said sourly. “It would give her a chance to meet Judge Bourne.”

  “She already knows Judge Bourne,” Bennett said.

  Adrian glanced up, a germ of an idea racing through his head. “Mr. Reid and I would be honored to attend your wedding,” he said slowly. “I’ll draft a will that you and the new Mrs. Chapman can sign immediately following the ceremony. Judge Bourne can witness it.”

  “An excellent idea, Mr. de la Noye. No wonder I retained you so many years ago.”

  Nicholas faced his father, but his words were for Adrian. “You’re imposing, Father,” he said. “Surely Mr. de la Noye’s family longs for his return to Brookline as quickly as possible.”

  “Oh, they’ll see me soon enough.” Adrian finally reached for a coffee cup. “You’ve never met my wife, sir. A wise, resilient woman, if you’ll indulge my bragging. Constance always reminds me that any task worth doing is worth doing well. She’d be disappointed if I were to leave this one in the middle.”

  “Then I take it I’ll be sharing some very interesting information with Judge Bourne tomorrow night,” Nicholas said evenly.

  “I’m sure we will be at no loss for conversation.” Adrian extended his cup. “Would you be so kind as to pour me some coffee? Bennett, Nicholas had a splendid idea a moment ago. Perhaps Elizabeth could attend the ceremony.”

  Bennett clapped his hands together with delight. “Are you suggesting a séance, Mr. de la Noye?”

  “Why not? The late Mrs. Chapman obviously approves of the marriage.”

  Nicholas nearly dropped the coffeepot he’d just lifted from the buffet. “You would . . . let Judge Bourne know Father believes Mother is here?”

  Adrian held his cup steady as Nicholas poured. “Why not?” he repeated.

  “You’re as mad as my father is. Because the minute you inform the judge that Father thinks a ghost is attending the wedding, you prove my case.”

  “We’ll see,” Adrian said, meeting the other man’s gaze squarely. “Perhaps it’s time to invoke Clause Eight of our agreement, the one that allows a neutral third party to decide the outcome of our dispute. Judge Bourne should do nicely. Maybe you should ring for breakfast after all. I’m suddenly hungry.”

  “I’ll inform the housekeeper on my way out.” Nicholas deposited the coffeepot onto the buffet with a loud thump. “You’ll excuse me. I’ve a telephone call to make.”

  “Don’t mind him, Adrian,” Bennett said as his son left the room. “I’m sure my recent decisions have rattled him, but Nicholas is usually more bark than bite.”

  “No trouble at all. Would you join me for breakfast? I’d like to hear more about Elizabeth.”

  “She’ll be so pleased.” Bennett turned toward his chair at the head of the table. “So pleased.”

  CHAPTER

  25

  Jim half carried Amy out of the house, listening as her ragged breathing grew calmer the farther they got from the dining room. It was as if a stranglehold had been pried from her throat, and not a moment too soon. By the time they reached the back terrace, a hint of pink had returned to each of her cheeks. Even her grip on his arm felt steadier—sure enough, in fact, that he felt no compunction about plucking her fingers from the sleeve of his flannel jacket and stepping abruptly away from her side.

  Amy looked up, startled. “Are you all right? I know it was creepy back there, but that’s my problem, not yours.”

  “You really take the cake, don’t you?” Jim jammed both hands into his pockets and turned away.

  “I don’t understand.”

  An angry buzz started in his ears. “Don’t bother to look confused, Miss Walsh. I’ve got your number now. You’re a calculating flirt. Worse, you’re a fraud.”

  He heard her indignant gasp. “How dare you!”

  He whirled around to face her, finger pointed at her nose. “I was brought up to believe in the spirits, but after your performance today, it’s clear that ‘Mrs. Chapman’ is composed of nothing more than scraps of information nicked from clueless dupes like me.”

  Amy’s mouth dropped open. “How can you say that after what I just went through back there? It was like some horrible wave was trying to suck me under and drag me out to sea! It took everything I had to break free—I couldn’t wait to get out of that room. And to think I was about to thank you for helping me!”
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  His own naïveté made him wince. “Save your breath. I’m finished with it—all of it.”

  “You can’t just walk away, Jim Reid. I need you!”

  He batted away the thought that she might actually mean it. “For what? There are plenty of other men out there for you to make fools of, and you do it so awfully well. Can’t say I didn’t bring it on myself, though—I should have realized that anything I told you in confidence could and would be used against me.”

  Her lower lip trembled. “I don’t understand. I would never hurt you on purpose.”

  He shook his head hard, trying to shield his sense of reason from her plaintive tone. “Darn it, Amy, why did you have to tell everyone that I can’t see in the dark? You promised me you wouldn’t.”

  “I told you before,” Amy said in a small voice. “I have no control over anything Mrs. Chapman says.”

  “Forgive me if I don’t believe that anymore.”

  “Jim.” Her hands scrabbled across his chest, gathering his jacket into two large hunks. “Jim, please. I’m scared to death. I think . . . I think I could have died in there.”

  He looked down at her and breathed a silent curse. Were those real tears welling up in the corners of those clear blue eyes? How did she manage to look so utterly helpless, like a bird that had just fallen from its nest?

  “You handled yourself just fine,” he mumbled, staring down at his scuffed buckskins.

  “No, Jim, listen.” The crack in her voice made his eyes lock with hers. “I’m afraid to go back in there. I don’t want to speak for Mrs. Chapman anymore.”

  “Then don’t.”

  “I don’t think I have a choice,” she whispered.

  His brows lowered in concern. Carefully, he disengaged her fingers from his lapels and led her over to one of the wrought-iron chairs by the table. “What do you mean? Who’s forcing you? Is it your aunt?”

  “Don’t you mean my mother?” she demanded flatly.

  He dragged a chair to her side and sat. “Of course. Your mother. Amy, level with me—after all these years, did you honestly have no idea that Catharine Walsh was your mother? Not even an inkling?”