Nick arrived promptly the next day at Mrs. Lennox’s address. He paid his cab fare and proceeded through the black wrought-iron gates up the walkway to the colonnaded façade of the Park Lane mansion. Similar imposing structures lined the wide, tree-lined avenue. Once, he’d aspired to such a London address. Now, he glanced indifferently at them, his thoughts fixed on the coming visit.
He’d found it hard to sleep when he’d arrived back from the gala. For so many years he’d worked toward this moment until as the months turned into years and his goal nowhere in sight, he’d realized what a pipe dream it was and gradually he’d abandoned it.
And now, he’d seen her again, when he was the man he’d dreamed of becoming and she was free.
The moment had found him unprepared.
Why hadn’t he come back sooner? The question had plagued him all night, and he’d not been able to come up with a satisfactory answer.
He adjusted his silk tie and rang the bell, feeling as nervous as a boy on his first courtship.
He thought again of what she’d told him of her being sent away. Shepard had proved more hard-hearted than he could have ever imagined. If he’d known she’d be sent away, would he have left like that? But what could he have done? A penniless clerk with no job prospects would make a poor knight to a sixteen-year-old damsel in distress.
No. He’d had to make his fortune to be worthy of courting Miss Shepard. And that had taken him many more years than he’d foreseen.
But was he fifteen years too late?
He smoothed his hair back and gave his tie one final adjustment just as a maid opened the door.
As soon as Nick gave his name, the servant stood to one side. “Yes, Mrs. Lennox told me to expect you. Come this way, please.”
He was led to a drawing room at the rear of the house where no street noises penetrated. “I will inform madam that you are here.”
“Thank you.” Left alone, Nick glanced about the well-appointed room. Oil landscapes filled the walls in gilt frames, dark velvet couches graced two sides of the room. Everything exuded refined taste. He walked over Oriental carpets to peer through the long windows facing the back. Precisely clipped yew hedges formed geometrical shapes within the walls of the wide garden. Bright flowers bobbed their heads within the green borders.
A slight noise behind him caused him to turn away from the view and look back into the room.
He saw no one. His eyes traveled slowly over the furnishings, the book spines on a floor-to-ceiling shelf, a piano at one end of the room, a set of nested tables, a chintz-covered armchair and a carved trunk before backtracking.
He heard it again, a low sniffle. He walked toward a desk, glad for the thick carpet which muffled his footsteps.
He peered under the desk.
A young boy, his large dark eyes looking up at him through a mop of dark bangs, sat crouched within the small space meant for a person’s legs. He clutched a furry stuffed animal to his breast.
Nick smiled tentatively. “Hello.”
The boy didn’t reply to the soft greeting. Could he be Mrs. Lennox’s son? The thought jolted him.
Of course. It would be natural for her to have children. Nick straightened and took a step back. “I’m not sure how comfortable it is down there. I know when I was a lad, I liked to find odd nooks and crannies. You can pretend to be in a cave, hiding away from a band of pirates, or perhaps you’re in your tent, bivouacked with your troops, planning tomorrow’s battle.”
The boy continued staring at him.
Nick leaned against the back of a couch, and put his hands in his trouser pockets, pretending to be at ease. “What is your friend’s name?”
The child looked from Nick to the stuffed animal in his hands. It appeared to be a rabbit from the long floppy ears hanging off the sides of its head. But at Nick’s scrutiny, the boy took the animal and hid it behind his back.
Before Nick could think how to reassure him that he was not going to take the thing away from him, Mrs. Lennox entered the room.
“Good afternoon, Mr. Tennent. I’m so glad you could come today. I was almost doubting that it was really you at the gala yesterday evening.” She advanced toward him with a welcoming smile.
She seemed more relaxed than she had last evening. But just as beautiful. She wore a high-necked blue gown with long sleeves which were gathered at the shoulders. Her hair was done up but in the sunlight filtering through the sheer curtains, he detected once again the coppery highlights he remembered so well.
He took her hand in his, feeling its soft warmth. Reluctantly, he let it go. “I know exactly what you mean.” To fill the silence, he looked back towards the desk.
She followed his gaze. Immediately seeing the boy, she bent down and held out her hand. “Austen, my dear, what are you doing down there? Have you said hello to Mr. Tennent? He is an old friend of Mama’s.”
So, it was her son. He drew in a breath, still having difficulty reconciling the young girl he’d known with the mother of a boy already in short pants and sailor collar.
The little boy took his mother’s hand and slowly let her lead him out of his hiding place. When he stood, Nick saw that he was older than he’d supposed. Perhaps six or seven instead of four or five.
Mrs. Lennox turned to Nick with a smile. “Let me present you to my son, Austen Lennox. Say, ‘how do you do, Mr. Tennent.’”
The little boy held out his free hand, his large brown eyes gazing up at him through black lashes. Nick took the small hand in his, closing his hand around it. As soon as the handshake was over, the little hand disappeared into the pocket of the boy’s short pants.
She turned to Nick again. “It’s such a lovely day, would you like to sit out on the terrace?”
He agreed and followed her to a brick terrace overlooking the garden he had seen from the window. Mrs. Lennox ordered coffee to be brought out to them.
Austen stood behind his mother’s skirts, and she bent over him, her hand on his head. Her hands were exactly as he remembered them, pale and slim. She wore only a thin gold band on her ring finger. “Would you like to stay with Mama and Mr. Tennent, or would you like to go up to Nanny Grove?”
“Nanny Grove,” he whispered. She straightened and smiled at Nick. “Austen is going up to his room and wants to bid you goodbye.” With a little nudge from her, he stepped forward and held out his hand.
Nick felt a pang, transported back to his own childhood for an instant. He used to be afraid of large strangers at that age. He stooped down before the boy and took his hand with a smile. The thin little wrist stuck out from his navy blue shirt. “It was nice to have met you, Austen. I hope we’ll see each other again.”
The boy only nodded. Nick released his hand and took a step away from him, imagining his height might intimidate the boy.
“I’ll be up to see you soon and we’ll go to the park later, all right?” his mother whispered, bending over Austen again.
Nick moved off to stand at the edge of the brick terrace, unsure what to say. It wasn’t often he was unsure of himself these days.
How to begin with a woman he had only briefly known so many years ago? A woman who had impressed him to the extent that no other lady had succeeded in displacing her memory?
This elegant lady was no longer the vivacious girl he remembered. Would the two of them have anything to talk about? This Alice Lennox seemed remote, with none of the young Miss Shepard’s impulsiveness or enthusiasm. Yet something in her slim straight shoulders affected him in a way that made him feel as vulnerable as he hadn’t since he’d left his native shores for America so long ago.
Had that young girl’s spirit been irrevocably suppressed? Was there any hope of resurrecting it? What had come to take its place?
He turned around when he heard Austen’s departure. The two watched him for a moment.
With a sigh, Mrs. Lennox motioned to a cushioned wicker settee. “Please, have a seat, Mr. Tennent.”
He took the place beside her as a maid set down the coffee tray. Mrs. Lennox poured dark Turkish coffee from the long-handled copper pot into two tiny porcelain cups. He took the one offered him. “Thank you.” He waited until she had sat back and had taken a sip from her cup before he spoke. “Your boy is quiet.”
She colored and looked away, as if the remark were aimed at herself. “Yes, Austen is rather bashful. He…well, he was only three when he lost his father, and I don’t know how much it has affected his behavior.” She ran her finger along the rim of her cup.
Nick was suddenly transported back to the afternoon he’d first met her in his tiny office. She’d walked along the edge of his desk, running her slim finger along its edge. Little had he realized then how the young girl would turn his life upside down.
He blinked away the sudden image. “I beg your pardon, what did you say?”
“I was saying that Austen was a happy baby, but it seems he has become more timid with each passing year. He’s also a bit frail. Like his father. I worry about him. I know I shouldn’t. I trust in God’s mercy.” She sighed.
“I don’t know too much about children,” he said, seeking of a way to reassure her, “but I imagine a lot of children are naturally shy at his age. How old is he?”
She smiled and he felt he’d said the right thing. “He’s seven.”
He cleared his throat. “How is your father?”
“He passed away last year. I moved back here to be with him four years ago when I was widowed. This was Father’s London home.”
The news stunned him. He’d always thought of Shepard as being in London the day he returned successful. “I’m sorry.”
She sighed. “But I still have my brother. Do you remember him?”
“Yes, I met him a few times.”
“He runs Father’s firm now.”
He nodded, hard pressed to imagine the man he remembered running anything. Perhaps he’d matured.
An awkward silence followed. “You never married again?”
“Oh, no.” She looked as shocked as if he’d asked her if she’d committed a crime.
“Most women do. You’ve been widowed how long?”
“Four years. But I loved my husband.”
He felt a twinge of envy for the man who had inspired that kind of love and loyalty.
“Besides, I have Austen. And my work.”
The wicker creaked as he sat back against the settee, feeling he’d offended her with his blunt remark. “Your work?”
She smiled sheepishly. “Actually, you were the one to inspire me in this direction.”
He paused in the act of sipping his coffee. “Me? How so?”
“You were the first one to ever cause me to question my privileged station in life. You challenged me to look around me at how other people lived.”
His lip curled up at the corner. “I was a rather priggish, unyielding sort back then, as I recall.”
She smiled. “Not at all.” She looked past him, sobering. “Later, when I met my husband, he helped me see even more how we must help our fellow man.”
Nick’s pleasure at having inspired her in any way evaporated as he listened to her wax on about her husband’s role in her life. He’d taken her off to live in a small vicarage and given away anything they had to the needy in their parish. To hear her tell it, Julian Lennox had been a saint among men.
After several moments of listening to an extended eulogy about the poor curate’s selfless life among his parishioners, Nick concluded the man had been a weak individual who had caused Miss Shepard to be cut off from her parents’ wealth.
Mrs. Lennox took a sip of her coffee, her eyes sad. “I think it broke his health eventually, but he wouldn’t have been happy any other way. Since Julian’s passing,” she went on, “I returned to London and with a few other dedicated women have formed a society to help those working families who have no decent place to live. When I was widowed, I realized my own plight. With few resources, I would have been hard-pressed to find a wholesome place for Austen and myself.”
He frowned. “With few resources? But your father?”
She looked down at her half-empty cup in her lap. “My father disinherited me when I married Julian.”
Nick’s frown deepened. “And yet you returned to him?”
“Yes. He was willing to accept his grandson, and I had few options.
“Since my father passed on, my brother, Geoff, allows me the use of this house.” She sat up and smoothed her skirt. “But that’s more about me than I meant to bore you with. What brought you to London after so many years?”
“My mother’s funeral.”
He heard her soft intake of breath and he met her gaze, which was full of sympathy. “I’m so sorry.”
He stared down at the dregs of his coffee and without planning to, found himself saying, “I always meant to come back sooner.” Her own story of nursing her consumptive husband only made him feel the inadequacy of the monetary assistance he’d rendered his mother.
“Was she ill very long?” she asked gently.
“No, not with the last illness.” Why hadn’t he come back sooner, he’d asked himself continually since the day he’d received the cable of her death.
“She had been sick often?”
“Off and on through the years.” He gave a humorless laugh. “Poverty and lack are what ultimately killed her.”
“Again, I’m so sorry.”
He set his cup down on the table. “She worked long and hard over a lifetime until she was worn out. I helped her once I began earning wages, but I always meant to come back earlier. Alas, I was too late.”
“I’m sure she knew your heart.”
Their eyes met and he read genuine sorrow in hers. “Your loss was worse.”
Her eyelashes flickered down. “I miss Julian. It was very difficult at first, but at least I know where he is. He had the assurance of the resurrection and of his Savior’s love. He died peacefully at the vicarage, with those he loved around him.”
They sat quietly some minutes. Nick thought about how blessed the departed man had been with such a woman’s love. He’d known no such love in all his years abroad. Ever, really.
She offered him more coffee and he gave a brief nod.
“I also came to London for business.”
“I see.” She stirred her cup and set the tiny spoon down on the saucer. “Tell me all about America,” she said, sitting up straighter. “Is it as big as one hears? Why did you decide to emigrate? Oh, I know, you probably had heard that fortunes are made over there practically overnight, but it seems so brave to set out by yourself. I want to hear all about it.”
As her questions tumbled forth, Nick recognized the young girl of fifteen years ago. He wasn’t sure if she was just making an effort to distract him from his grief, or if she was genuinely interested, but he decided to indulge her.
He took a sip of coffee. “After I left your father’s firm, I didn’t even wait until I was fully healed but booked passage aboard a steamer bound for New York harbor.” Shaking his head, he continued. “I traveled steerage, a way I would never recommend to anyone.”
“Was it very bad?”
“Overcrowded conditions in the airless hold of a ship, through calm waters and stormy. What was most disagreeable, I think, was the lack of fresh air. The food wasn’t the worst I’ve eaten, and the company comprised all kinds of people, mainly families hoping for a new start, or men going on ahead and hoping to send for their families as soon as they’d saved for their passage.”
She leaned forward, her chin in her hand, fascinated with his description.
“The trip lasted ten days, and whenever the skies were clear, I took my blanket up on the deck and slept under the stars.”
“Oh, I should love to do that! You weren’t afraid of rolling off the side?”
He smiled at her little understanding of a steamship. “I found a nice little sheltered spot under a smokestack. Anyway, it was my first and last experience traveling steerage. I’m happy to say this time around I was able to travel first class.”
“And what did you do once you arrived in New York? Did you know anyone?”
“Not a soul.” He could laugh about it now. Arriving with no money in his pocket and no acquaintances had been a different matter. “I went along with some of the single men I’d traveled with. There was a sort of network of immigrants. These men knew of others who’d gone before them; some had family members. I found a room in a boarding house, full of Irishmen, Scotsmen, Russians, Swedes and Norwegians and soon found work on a construction site.”
Her eyes widened. “A construction site? Not as a secretary?”
“No. I had only my old bank references—” He stopped, realizing too late where that might lead. “Anyway, I didn’t want to start over as a clerk, I’d spent too many years toiling in that department. So, I used my meager muscles this time instead of my brains.”
She looked down. “My father didn’t give you a reference when you left his employ?”
He shrugged. “He found me kissing his daughter, as you may recall. He was in his rights to send me packing with nothing.”
They looked at each other steadily. “It was my fault you were dismissed.”
“No.” The word came swift and sharp. He rubbed a hand across his jaw, looking away from her at last. Did she regret it? “If not for his dismissal, I would never have gone to America and found the opportunities I did there.”
“How did you go from a laborer to the owner of your own firm?”
Again, he smiled. “It didn’t happen overnight. I spent some months at construction work, until deciding to head west. I heard from many that California was the place to be if one wanted to get ahead. I hopped a freight car from New York and was on my way.”
“Oh, what an adventure! I wish Austen could hear you. How long did that trip take?”
“Quite a long while because I didn’t go directly to California. I stopped several times in between, picked up a little work here and there—harvesting fruit in orchards, working as a farmhand for a bit on the great farms in the Middle West, ending up on a ranch in the West for a while.” He smiled ruefully. “I was determined to get over my fear of horses after that fall.”
She laughed. “I’m so glad! I was afraid you’d never want to get on another horse again.”
“I not only did, but learned to ride a Western saddle. Even learned to lasso a steer.”
“A real cowboy.” She shook her head. “Austen would love to hear your stories,” she repeated.
Did this mean she wanted to see him again? “Perhaps I can share them with him.”
But she only nodded and said, “Perhaps.”
Nick continued telling her the highlights of his adventures, playing up the amusing incidents and downplaying the months and years of deprivations and hardships before he’d had his first break.
She sighed as if satisfied with a well-told tale. “So you ended up in San Francisco.”
“Yes, I found work in a dry goods store, unpacking cases, stocking shelves. Soon, I was working as a clerk, keeping track of inventory.” His lips curled upward. “So, after all that time, I ended up doing what I had tried to avoid.”
“What was that?”
“I’d vowed never to go back to clerking.”
“Ah, but this time, it seems it was not in vain.”
“No. It still took a few years, but gradually I worked my way up until I was manager of the store, and when the owner decided to branch out, he put me in charge of another store. Soon, I was overseeing a whole district. I saved every penny until I was able to invest my money. I borrowed some and went into a partnership with another fellow and we bought our own store.
“After a few years, having paid off the debt and making a profit, I began to buy other things—railroad stock, tea from China, government bonds…”
She drew in her breath. “You’ve been to the Far East?”
“I’ve made a few crossings.”
“Goodness. My own life seems very dull in comparison.”
He looked downward. “I’ve learned something about such a life. If one doesn’t have someone to share one’s success with, it is a lonely journey.”
“You never married?”
He shook his head slowly, once again debating how much to tell her. “I had little time when I was working toward success until recently.” He shrugged, his tone taking on a cynical edge. “I quickly discovered that when one has money, it’s very easy to attract a woman’s attention. Unfortunately, one cannot easily trust the authenticity of any avowals of love and fidelity given to a wealthy man.”
He drained the last of his coffee and set the cup down, knowing he should go. “I am grateful for all I have been given. That is one of the reasons I wanted to see you again. Lord Asquith had already been telling me about your charity, and I wanted to look into it. Besides opening a branch of my firm here in London, I’ve returned to England because I wanted to donate something to a worthy cause.”
“Oh, that’s wonderful, Mr. Tennent.” Her face took on an animation he remembered. “Would you like to visit our charity and see something of the work we do?”
He nodded. Any reason for seeing her again would be a good one. “Yes, very much so.” He paused for only a second before saying, “Would tomorrow morning be too soon for you?”
She blinked as if surprised, but then agreed.
They discussed a time then he stood. He’d also learned not to overstay his welcome. “Thank you for the coffee and conversation.”
Nick left the Shepard mansion, deciding to walk back to his hotel. He needed the time to sort through all the impressions he’d received in the last hour in Mrs. Lennox’s company.
The impression that superseded all the others was that the girl he remembered was still there beneath the elegant society lady. Her eyes had sparkled with enthusiasm at his tales of his adventures in America’s West.
As a man of thirty-eight, he found himself as fascinated by this woman as he had been at twenty-three by the girl on the verge of seventeen.
Where would this fascination lead him?
His pace quickened at the anticipation of seeing her as soon as tomorrow. He wasn’t a man to spare any effort once he set his course.
Would Alice Lennox see anything in him worthy of her time and attention after all these years? After knowing the love of a truly worthy man like her late husband?