A sliver of trepidation wound its way around Calista the following morning when she went to meet Mr. Donahue in the foyer. But her concern that things would be strained between them after the tension she’d sensed the previous evening both prior to and after his rejection of her was apparently unfounded.
He stood in conversation with Mr. Pontoppidan, breaking eye contact with him only briefly when he registered her approach, before swiftly ending his discourse so he could give her his full attention. With his characteristically unflappable features, he faced her as she imagined he would any one of his many guests: with polite solemnity.
Gone was the heat she’d seen in his eyes the previous evening. So too was the smile he’d allowed while he’d entertained her. Now, by the light of a new day, it was as if she’d imagined any form of attraction between them, or even the beginnings of what she had believed could be true friendship.
Instead, there was distance. And yet when she placed her hand on the arm he offered, she felt the same electrical spark as before. But when she glanced up at him from under her lashes to gauge his reaction, his expression remained as if set in stone. Indifferent.
Shaking off her foolish yearning for a reciprocal show of awareness on his part, she let him guide her into the breakfast room where they were to meet the Kernoffs. To wish Mr. Donahue might show more interest in her than what was expected of him was foolish anyway. She would be leaving England soon while he would be staying here, in London, which happened to be very far from New York. So what exactly did she hope for?
The impossible, if she believed a man who’d only recently met her, who did not know her true identity and who was in a position to have nearly any woman he wanted, would swoop in and save her from Thorkilson’s clutches.
It was ludicrous for her to even consider.
No. This was a mess from which there was no longer any escape. Her one hope had been crushed, which meant there was nothing for it but to return home with her head held high and do what was required of her. At least she could find some solace, however small, in knowing she’d tried to control her own fate.
Unfortunately, luck had not been on her side.
Mr. Donahue led her toward an older couple who sat at a table for four. They stood in greeting, allowing Calista a better look. The woman was shorter than she and plump, with greying hair piled into an elegant knot at the nape of her neck. Her husband was of Calista’s height and a great deal slimmer than his wife, with white hair raked back and a moustache to match. Both wore kind and welcoming expressions though not without a hint of deep curiosity.
“Mr. Donahue tells us you came to England hoping to make a fresh start for yourself but that things didn’t turn out as you expected,” Mr. Kernoff said once introductions had been completed and they’d all been served either coffee or tea.
“Indeed, my intended was dead by the time I arrived,” Calista informed the couple since she saw no point in hiding the fact, “leaving me with little choice but to return home.”
“Oh, my poor girl,” Mrs. Kernoff exclaimed while Mr. Donahue placed breakfast orders on everyone’s behalf.
“What a shock that must have been for you,” Mr. Kernoff said. “To travel so far and have your hopes so cruelly dashed.”
“It was difficult to come to terms with,” Calista admitted.
“Miss Smith showed remarkable strength in the face of such grave adversity,” Mr. Donahue murmured once the waiter had walked away. “Especially for someone so young. She did not let herself be defeated, for which she has earned my admiration.”
The compliment was so unexpected and so full of praise, Calista’s cheeks warmed with self-awareness. She cast Mr. Donahue a discreet look, her stomach instantly starting to bounce when she caught his gaze and he sent her a wink.
“And your maid ran off too boot,” Mrs. Kernoff said with a ‘tsk’ and a shake of her head. “I sympathize with you, my dear. It is getting increasingly hard to find loyal servants these days.”
Calista stared at Mrs. Kernoff a moment as she realized Mr. Donahue had told a lie on her behalf. Willing herself not to look at him now, she slowly nodded. “It certainly is.”
“Tell me,” Mr. Kernoff said after taking a sip of his coffee. “Who are you related to?”
Calista bit her lip and was considering how best to respond when breakfast arrived. She leaned back so the waiter could set her plate before her. The eggs, bacon, and toast she’d been served smelled delicious while three small ceramic containers filled with butter, jam, and honey, glowed in tempting invitation.
“I believe her parents would be Mr. and Mrs. Smith,” Mr. Donahue said with jovial ease.
Again, he winked at her when she glanced his way, this time allowing the tiniest hint of a smile, which immediately warmed her insides and caused her heart to beat faster. He was trying to give her a chance to avoid the subject Mr. Kernoff had raised. If she took it, she could simply smile and voice her agreement, then steer the conversation in a different direction.
But the truth was, she did not want to lie to these people more than necessary. To do so felt wrong, so she said, “That would be true if my name was indeed Jane Smith. But it isn’t.”
“Well now,” Mrs. Kernoff said, her eyes widening ever so slightly. “This just got interesting.”
“Go on,” Mr. Donahue murmured.
Calista did not look at him this time, but felt the intensity of his gaze singeing her skin. He might have guessed she’d assumed a false identity based on what she’d previously told him, but she’d not confirmed it until now.
“I prefer not to divulge my true name out of respect and concern for my family. Seeing as my coming here was an attempt on my part to find a way out of a disagreeable attachment, I fear the man I am meant to marry would make matters worse for my parents, should he discover the real reason for my absence.”
Of course it was much more than that. She also worried how the public would respond if they learned that the daughter of Senator Faulkner had slept on the floor of a pantry in between washing dishes. Her parents would be humiliated.
“So you ran from a marriage of convenience in the hope of marrying for love?” Mrs. Kernoff asked with a smile right before taking a bite of her food.
Calista cleared her throat and proceeded to butter her toast. Mr. Donahue’s presence at her side seemed to stifle the air around her with increasing force. She took a deep breath. “Not for love, Mrs. Kernoff, but with the hope of at least having friendship. There was also the satisfaction of knowing I would be choosing my own path instead of one forced upon me by unforeseeable circumstances. Not even my father could predict the dire result dealing with Mr. Thorkilson would have on us all.”
“Mr. Thorkilson, you say?” Mr. Kernoff blustered. “The real estate mogul?”
“The very same,” Calista admitted. “Papa owes his career to Thorkilson. Had it not been for him, we could not have afforded to move into the city. Thorkilson financed the townhouse, insisting it a necessity if we were to improve upon our status. He advised Papa on so many things and since Papa believed him a friend, he listened. But now the man is demanding Papa repay the favor either by returning every dollar Thorkilson gave him or by letting him have my hand in marriage.”
“Bloody hell,” Mr. Donahue muttered.
“I’d say so,” Mr. Kernoff agreed.
“I gather you weren’t aware of this conundrum?” Mrs. Kernoff said, her eyes on Mr. Donahue.
“No. I…knew the situation was complicated and that Miss…um…Smith… Forgive me but should we keep calling you that if that’s not your actual name?”
“Since I would rather not divulge my real name, it does make sense for you to do so,” Calista said, acutely aware of what she was in fact suggesting – that she would not trust them not to let her true identity slip and for a journalist to snatch it up.
The implication was like a slap in the face to these people who’d chosen to help what was in effect a stranger. But while she owed them her gratitude, she owed her allegiance to her parents first.
“Well then,” Mr. Donahue said, his voice a notch tighter than before. “I knew Miss Smith came to England hoping to make a better match for herself. I was not aware, however, that there was blackmail involved or that the man she fled from was such a lowly bastard. If you’ll excuse my saying so, ladies.”
“No excuse needed on my account,” Mrs. Kernoff said. “He’s a lowly scoundrel to be sure.”
“But if Mr. Thorkilson wants either money or you in return for this funding he has provided,” Mr. Kernoff said, “how does your running away to marry another man help your father?”
“During the year leading up to Mr. Thorkilson’s demand, I had begun corresponding with a Mr. Peter Westchester. We wrote each other regularly and when I eventually mentioned my predicament, he told me he would pay off the debt if I married him instead. I…” Calista took a hasty sip of her tea to help soothe the sudden attack on her nerves. “I believe he fancied himself in love with me and since this worked to my advantage I…I did not deny returning the sentiment.”
An awful moment of silence followed, during which Calista’s whole body burned with the shame of her deplorable deception.
Mrs. Kernoff was the first to voice her opinion. “Did you actually claim to love him?”
“No. I would never do that, but neither did I dispel Mr. Westchester’s beliefs.”
“My dear,” Mr. Kernoff said, his brow knit in deep grooves, “you said yourself that you and Mr. Westchester developed a friendship. If he did indeed love you, he would have offered to help you regardless, with the hope that your affection for him might grow during the course of your marriage.”
“As far as I know,” Mr. Donahue said, speaking up for the first time in a while, “Mr. Westchester’s father was trying to form an alliance with the Richmond family. They are in mining and steel – a wealthy and powerful lot. The idea being bandied about was for Peter Westchester to marry Lilly Richmond, the most entitled social climbing snob I’ve ever encountered. Looks down her dainty nose at nearly everyone unless they hold a title or have a heavier purse than her father.”
“There you are then,” Mr. Kernoff said. He began cutting his bacon. “I don’t believe Mr. Westchester had illusions, Miss Smith. Rather, I expect he was looking to marry you for much the same reason you sought to marry him – so he could avoid a horrible match. If he did indeed fancy himself in love with you, this only made his decision easier.”
Calista breathed a welcome sigh of relief. Peter had mentioned Lilly to her in one of his last letters, but not in a manner that caused her to think he was being pushed into marrying her. The next time he’d written in response to her mention of Mr. Thorkilson, it had been to offer her marriage, the desperation she’d read in his phrasing now making more sense than ever.
Clearly, what she’d interpreted as love had been the same feeling of entrapment she herself had been forced to face.
“I wish there were a way for you to escape Mr. Thorkilson’s clutches for good,” Mrs. Kernoff said. She gave Mr. Donahue a brief look before directing her gaze back to Calista. “Doesn’t seem right, escorting you back to New York so you can be sentenced to marrying such an odious man.”
“I’m afraid there’s no other choice,” Calista said with a brittle smile she struggled to hold in place. “It’s either that, or pay back the money he’s owed. Plus interest.”