Chapter 1

 

Newport, Rhode Island, October 1905

 

The smell of wood smoke and damp leaves greeted Phoebe Hill as she exited the town car in front of Baywood House. She paused, sheltering her eyes with a gloved hand as she gazed at the white stone mansion from beneath the short brim of her plumed hat. The house hadn’t changed at all, not even in the fifteen years since she’d last seen it. She let out a breath of relief.

“I’d like to look around,” she told the cabdriver, who stood at attention beside her open door. “Then we can return to the hotel for my mother.”

The man gave a polite nod. “Very good, miss.”

Phoebe ascended the wide steps, one hand lifting the skirt of her blue pinstriped dress, her heart beating wildly with excitement. She’d often thought of this house and dreamt it were hers. And now, because of her late employer’s benevolence, if all went well, she would soon be the mansion’s new owner.

Not surprisingly she found the front door locked. Phoebe moved to a side window and wiped away the dust to peer inside. Sheets blanketed the furniture, but the parlor’s ornate wallpaper and intricate ceiling moldings were wonderfully familiar and fueled her desire to find a way inside.

She strolled around to the side of the house, beneath a canopy of trees. Unlike the summer days she’d once spent here, when her mother worked for the Austin family, the trees now sported red, orange, and gold leaves. Phoebe drew in a full breath of crisp autumn air laced with saltiness from the sea. This was where she and her mother belonged, in the country. No more city life, no more adhering to someone else’s schedule or social events or whims. She was now the proprietress of her own life with the means to provide her and her mother with a real home again.

Reaching the servants’ entrance, she tried the worn knob, which turned easily beneath her hand. It was unlocked! Phoebe grinned and pushed through the door. Dim light and shadows made her blink after the bright sunlight outdoors, but she didn’t need to see to know her way around. She strolled through the kitchen, her gaze wandering over the old stove and preparation tables. How often had she slipped inside this room to sneak a berry or dollop of cream from some confection her mother was making?

The memories trailed her like a gauzy evening gown as she made her way through the house to her favorite room of all—the ballroom. The Austins were never able to achieve as much wealth as the Vanderbilts or the Astors had, nor was their Newport mansion as large or lavish. And yet, Gwendolyn Austin had spared no expense when it came to decorating her ballroom. The walls had been adorned with gold paneling and painted scenes of the French countryside, while the large chandelier in the center boasted hundreds of real diamonds.

Outside the room’s double doors, Phoebe stopped. She’d only ever been allowed in here to clean up after a party—never when guests were present—but she’d spent many happy hours pretending she was the hostess of her own ball inside the ornate room. Never would she have imagined that those girlish dreams might actually come to fruition.

She went to open the door and saw that it already stood ajar. Perhaps the servants who were hired by the Austins to clean the mansion once a year hadn’t closed it properly the last time they were here. Slipping inside, she gazed with wonder at the ceiling and walls until her eyes fell on a tall figure standing by the French doors at the opposite end of the room.

A startled cry leaked from Phoebe’s lips and echoed in the vast space. She’d been told the mansion was unoccupied. The man clearly heard her, for he turned around, but she couldn’t see his face with the light at his back.

“I beg your pardon,” she said, keeping her tone friendly and polite. Perhaps this was another interested buyer. “I was told I would find the place empty and that I wouldn’t disturb anyone if I looked around.”

The barest hint of an English accent laced his words as he said, “You are correct. I was admiring the place myself.” With his hands tucked into the pockets of his stylish trousers, he approached her. “And may I ask who you are?”

He appeared every inch the gentleman from his straw boater hat, to his tailored suit, to his shiny black shoes. Phoebe nearly dropped a curtsey before reminding herself that she was an heiress now, which put them on the same social standing.

“I’m Phoebe Hill.” She offered him a genuine smile. “I spent a great deal of time here as a child,” she added honestly. No need to mention her plans to buy the house just yet, in case he proved to be a competitor.

The man tilted his head, his expression puzzled, as he stopped a few feet away from her. “I lived here every summer as a boy, but I’m afraid I don’t remember you, Miss Hill.”

He’d come here every summer too? Phoebe felt as confused by his confession as he clearly felt at hers. Had he been the child of another servant or the son of one of the Austins’ guests? She searched his face, hoping to recognize the boy from years ago in the man standing before her now. He was rather handsome, with brown hair and green eyes. Familiar green eyes.

“James?” she murmured in shock. “James Austin?” Was he here because the family wasn’t going to sell the house after all? Her heart rapped out a staccato rhythm at the thought.

He reared back slightly. “You know me?”

“Of course.” Phoebe gave a light laugh. “You taught me how to play marbles. And when you broke your leg one winter, I sneaked a kitten into your room to entertain you.”

James’s mouth quirked up at the corners, though he still regarded her blankly. Would he recognize her at all? Her hair was the same shade of black, her eyes still the color of hazelnuts. But they’d both changed since the last time she’d seen him. He’d been fourteen and she’d been ten that last summer in Newport before his family had moved to England.

“I remember that kitten,” he said with a nod. “Your name is Hill? Are you related to our former cook, Mrs. Hill?”

He didn’t remember her—at least not yet. Phoebe didn’t know whether to feel disappointed or relieved by that fact. “That was my mother. I’m Phoebe,” she repeated.

This time his green eyes widened as he studied her more carefully. “Phoebe? The little girl with the black braids and impish smile?”

She laughed again as a flicker of happiness shot through her. He hadn’t forgotten her. “Yes. That would be me.”

James shook his head, looking dazed. “Y-you’ve changed.”

“So have you. I thought you were still in England.”

“I was. I am.” He unpocketed his hand to wave at the room. “My mother sent me back to oversee the sale of the house.”

Fresh relief accompanied his explanation. His presence wouldn’t interfere with her plans. “I’m surprised I didn’t see an automobile or a carriage out front . . .”

He shrugged. “I walked.” His expression turned wistful as he glanced around them. “I didn’t realize how much I missed this place until I stepped inside.”

“I know,” she agreed in a reverential voice.

This house had always been more than just a building to her. It was a place of magical summer days and wishes that might come true, even for the fatherless daughter of a servant.

“What are you doing here?” James asked. “Do you live in Newport now?”

“No.” Not yet. “My mother and I are still living in New York. I . . .” How much should she tell him? She clasped her gloved hands together, hating how she suddenly felt like an impostor. “I came into some money, a rather great sum,” she admitted, “when our recent employer willed the bulk of her inheritance to me.”

Lifting her chin, she met his level look with one of her own. She would be forthright and honest as her mother had taught her to be, even if she feared his response. “I’m planning to buy the mansion. That’s why I’m here.”

A moment of silence accompanied her words. Phoebe resisted the urge to take them back. She had enough money to purchase the house, whether James felt she was worthy of such a residence or not. Deep down, though, she secretly hoped he would approve of her plans. James had always treated her kindly, unlike his sisters or the Austins’ high-society guests.

“That is . . . marvelous, Phoebe.” A full smile lit his face. And spurred a repeat to the rapid thumping of her heart. “About the inheritance and wishing to buy Baywood.”

She had a sudden urge to embrace him in gratitude. Here stood the eldest son of George and Gwendolyn Austin, and he wasn’t scoffing at her or looking down his nose at her as others back in New York City had done.

“I’ll be rooting for you at the auction.”

Phoebe’s happiness shattered like glass. “The auction?” She’d been told the sale of the house would be handled by the accountant of the late Mr. Austin.

“Yes, Mother recently decreed she wanted the sale to be conducted through an auction. The event will take place at the end of the month.”

The blood rushed to Phoebe’s head, making her feel faint. She reached out to steady herself, but there was nothing to hold on to. Her plans had been contingent on acting swiftly in purchasing the mansion. Pitting her newly acquired fortune against those of far wealthier buyers at an auction would likely prove disastrous. She didn’t have as deep pockets as many of them, and she had to hold a sizeable sum in reserve to comfortably provide for herself and to assist her mother.

“Are you all right, Phoebe?” James took her elbow gently in hand. “Do you need to sit down?”

Shaking her head, she gathered what little remained of her courage and composure. Her dreams had been foolish after all. “Thank you. I’ll be well enough in a moment.” She took a step toward the door, breaking his kind grip. “It was wonderful to see you, James. I . . . wish you all the best.”

“Shall I see you at the auction?” he asked.

Tears stung her eyes. “Perhaps.” It might be worth still coming, but then again, she couldn’t stand the idea of being laughed at for bidding everything she had, only to lose to someone with more money.

He trailed her out the door and into the shadowed hallway. “Are you staying at one of the hotels?”

“Yes, but my mother and I are only here for a day,” she replied, instinctually turning back the way she’d come. Through the servants’ entrance. Even in that, she couldn’t maintain her new position as an independent, wealthy heiress. “I need to return to the hotel. My mother’s waiting there.” Margaret Hill had been hoping to see the house too, after her rest from traveling, but Phoebe wasn’t sure there was a point now.

James dogged her escape through the house and outside. “I’m thinking of staying here, while I get things ready for the auction.”

“That sounds nice,” she murmured. She drew in a cleansing breath, but the tears wouldn’t leave her alone. “I’ve got to go, James. Good-bye.”

With that, she rushed forward, ignoring how un-heiress-like she must look. The tears wet her cheeks as she reached the canopy of trees. At least she’d been able to see inside the mansion one last time, before relinquishing her plans and consigning the beautiful place to her dreams once more.

 

• • •

 

Bewildered, James tabbed his shoe against the gravel pathway as he watched Phoebe’s flight toward the front of the house. He’d never expected to run into someone he knew from his boyhood days, least of all little Phoebe Hill.

Who isn’t quite so little anymore, he thought with a rueful shake of his head.

She was all grown up, a beautiful and poised young woman, and an heiress to a fortune apparently. He was pleased to see her delightful, down-to-earth demeanor and mischievous smile hadn’t changed with her altered circumstances. He could recall, in the past, how her smile had always coaxed him to return the gesture. Only just now in the ballroom, when she’d smiled, he’d felt more than a desire to smile back. He’d felt as if the autumn sunshine had taken up residence inside his chest.

He’d dreaded coming here today, knowing that in less than a month the mansion would be sold. But God had clearly answered his repeated prayers for strength in the sudden appearance of Phoebe Hill. Not only did she represent a friendly and familiar face, but she was also someone who clearly loved and cherished Baywood House as much as he did.

So why had she blanched when he’d mentioned the auction? James slowly began walking after her, his mind awhirl. Phoebe had sounded happy and excited at the prospect of purchasing the place—and truth be told, he would prefer she owned the mansion than anyone else. But something had upset her, something do with the auction.

After a minute or two, his thoughts merged into sudden understanding, a reason as to why she was no longer thrilled about buying the house. He couldn’t know if it was the truth, though, until he spoke with her again. And if he didn’t catch her, he might not have another opportunity to do so.

James broke into a slow run. He rounded the front corner of the house and saw Phoebe slipping into the backseat of the automobile parked in the drive.

“Phoebe, wait.” He jogged toward the vehicle. “Wait up a moment.”

She thankfully didn’t slam the door shut and order the driver to speed away. Instead she glanced up at James with a drawn expression. Her lovely brown eyes appeared wet with tears.

Gripping the door frame, he leaned forward. “You don’t wish to come to the auction, do you?”

Phoebe pressed her lips closed and shook her head, her gaze falling to her lap, where her gloved hands were clasped together. No one peering into the car would ever suspect she’d grown up in his family’s household as the only child of their exceptional cook.

“You fear you’ll be outbid.” It was the only reason he could think of for the abrupt change in her behavior.

“Yes,” she confirmed.

He could relate to the loss and defeat emanating from her. “If I could change my mother’s wishes and allow you to buy the mansion, I would.”

She lifted her head to look at him. “Really? Why?”

Why indeed? James swallowed, trying to understand his reasoning himself. “I think it only right and fitting that someone who adores this place should be its rightful owner. Someone with memories of what it once was.” He turned to look over his shoulder at the grand house. “What it can be again.”

He and his mother had shared numerous heated discussions throughout the last five years about the fate of Baywood House. Gwendolyn Austin wanted it gone and no longer draining money from her children’s fortunes. The mansion represented her old life, not the one she now had in England with James’s stepfather and their children. For James, though, the house represented a time of happiness when his father had still been alive.

As the eldest and the only one of his siblings with an affinity for the house, James had been commissioned to ready it for auction and oversee the sale. A task he no longer wanted.

If he could buy Baywood House for himself, he would. But the yearly stipend from his stepfather and his inheritance from his own father wouldn’t be enough to purchase the mansion. Phoebe likely had more funds at her disposal than he did at present. Besides, his mother was likely to throw an apoplectic fit if he didn’t return to England after the auction.

“Will you at least consider coming to the auction?” he asked, focusing on Phoebe once more. “Better yet, if you wished to, you and your mother could come a day or two early and look the place over. I’d very much like to put the furnishings and rooms back to rights—as they once were.”

She peered up at him, her head tilted in thought. Her eyes no longer glimmered with tears but with undisguised interest. “You’re auctioning off all of the furnishings as well?”

“My mother believes that will bring more buyers to the event.”

“And you want everything to look as it did?” When he nodded, she continued in a gentle but teasing tone, “Do you remember how it all looked?”

James chuckled as he fell back a step from the car. “If that isn’t simply pulling the sheets off the chairs and wiping away some of the dust, then I’m sunk.”

Phoebe’s wonderful smile reappeared. “You could do that . . . or . . . you could solicit the help of two people I know who are very well acquainted with each and every room of the house.”

“Is that so?” he countered, enjoying their banter. “And how are these two people so familiar with the place?”

She twisted to the side to face him directly. “Because they were part of a larger group who traveled ahead of the family and readied the place for their arrival.”

Relief mingled with hope inside him. “What would these two people require in exchange for providing such important help?”

Phoebe pretended to look thoughtful. “A place to live, rent-free, until the auction.” A shadow flitted over her pretty face, erasing her merriment and furrowing her brow. “And a chance to spend a few more weeks in a place they dearly loved.”

James tasted the bite of sorrow and regret on his tongue. If he could hand over the house to her, he would. Other than himself, he couldn’t recall anyone else ever looking at it with such fondness as Phoebe was at this moment. He might not be able to grant her wishes to buy the house without an auction, but he did like the prospect of spending more time with her. And ensuring the house looked as it once had.

“As an authorized representative of the Austins,” he said, with mock formality, “and a fellow servant in this endeavor to ready the house, I accept the terms you’ve outlined, Miss Hill.”

Reaching out his hand, he waited for her to shake it and seal their agreement. Phoebe hesitated a moment, then placed her hand in his in a firm handshake. James grinned. “And may I be the first to say, welcome back to Baywood House.”