Fortune (2 page)

Chicago, Illinois,
1971

S
unlight spilled through the nursery's floor-to-ceiling stained-glass window, painting the floor the color of rubies, emeralds and sapphires. Installed in 1909 to herald the first Monarch baby to occupy the Astor Street mansion, the window depicted a hovering angel, golden wings spread, her expression beatific as she guarded the children below.

Since that first Monarch baby, the angel had protected sad few children. One tragedy after another had befallen this family, a family desperate for daughters, one seemingly doomed to watch bitterly as other families grew and multiplied.

Two weeks ago that had changed. Two weeks ago Grace Elizabeth Monarch had been born and come home, to this nursery and its waiting angel, to this desperate family. She had changed everyone's life forever.

But no one's more than her mother's.

 

Madeline Monarch slipped into the nursery and crossed to the cradle and her sleeping daughter. She gazed down at her, love and a sense of wonder welling inside her. She reached out and stroked her baby's velvety cheek, and the infant stirred and turned her head toward Madeline's finger, sucking in her sleep, looking for a nipple.

A lump formed in Madeline's throat. She was so beautiful, so incredibly…perfect. She still couldn't quite believe Grace was hers. Madeline bent her head close to her daughter's and breathed in her baby-soft scent. It filled her head, and she squeezed her eyes shut, nearly drowning in its sweetness.

What had she done to deserve her? Madeline wondered. Why had she been singled out for such a stroke of good fortune? Even Grace's birth had been like a miracle. She had rocketed into the world, nearly painlessly and at a speed that had taken even Madeline's veteran obstetrician by surprise. Madeline's water had broken and less than an hour later there had been Grace, howling and red-faced but unbelievably, incredibly perfect.

Madeline shook her head slightly, unable to fully trust her sudden luck. But how could she? She had never done anything well, or easily, before. No, Madeline was one of those people destined to make mistakes, to choose poorly and to be hurt time and again.

In truth, the moment before the nurse laid Grace in her arms, Madeline hadn't believed that anything in her life would ever be easy, or painless, or without flaw. She hadn't believed that she was worthy of true love, of real devotion; she had thought she would go through life reaching for that elusive emotion but always coming back empty-handed.

The next moment had changed all that. Grace had changed it. Madeline loved her daughter almost more than she could bear. And Grace loved her back, the same way. Unconditionally. Completely.

Madeline threaded her fingers through her daughter's silky dark hair. Grace needed her. Grace loved her. Madeline found that truth to be heady and shattering, but absolutely, positively the best feeling in the whole world. She would do anything, battle anyone or any evil, to protect her daughter.

If necessary, she would give her own life.

Madeline heard a sound at the nursery door and turned. Her six-year-old stepson, Griffen, stood there, his gaze fixed intently on the cradle, his expression strange, at once fascinated and wary, drawn and repelled. She breathed deeply though her nose, fighting back a feeling of resentment at his intrusion. Fighting back the distaste that left her longing for a drink of clean, sweet water.

She scolded herself for both her thoughts and her reaction to him. Griffen needed her, too. She had to remember that.

Yet even as the thought ran through her head, she acknowledged that something about her husband's son unsettled her, something about him affected her like an icy hand to her back; it had from the first.

It wasn't his appearance or demeanor. He was an uncommonly beautiful child. Bright, polite, at times even sweet. He didn't seem to affect anyone else the way he did her. So why, when she looked into his eyes, couldn't she suppress a shudder?

Madeline knew why. Because she was different; because she saw in a way others didn't. All her life she had been troubled by uncannily accurate “feelings” and “visions”—about people, about events to come and about ones past. For as long as she could remember, she had been embarrassed by her ability. She had learned to manage the visions by ignoring them. Over time they had become less frequent and less vivid.

No longer. Like everything else in her life, pregnancy and motherhood had changed that. Grace had changed it. Now her sixth sense, if that was even what she should call it, neither rested nor would be ignored, as if the hormones raging through her body had kicked on a switch she didn't know how to turn off.

And her extra sense warned her that there was something wrong with Griffen Monarch. Something terribly wrong.

Madeline chastised herself. Maybe she was the one with the problem as her husband and Adam Monarch, her father-in-law, insisted; maybe all those hormones were affecting her judgment, her sense of reality and balance.

She swept her gaze over Griffen, guilt pinching at her. His own mother was dead three years now, the victim of an “accidental” overdose of sleeping pills and booze. Madeline knew it couldn't have been easy for him, growing up with a grandfather obsessed with having a female heir, a grandmother driven to the point of near madness by seven late-term miscarriages and a father who hadn't the understanding or the patience for the needs of a young child. Then, as if those things hadn't been enough, she had been introduced into the mix.

And now he had a sibling to deal with, a sibling who had stolen whatever attention and affection this austere household had to offer.

Poor child, Madeline thought, mustering resolve if not warmth. She would try harder. She would be a good stepmother to the boy. She
would
learn to care for him.

Madeline smiled and motioned him into the room. “Come in, Griffen. But quietly. Grace is sleeping.”

He nodded, and without a word to her, tiptoed into the room. He crossed to stand beside her and gazed silently at his half sister.

Madeline studied him a moment, then returned her gaze to Grace. In the past eighteen months, Madeline had come to understand just how deeply troubled a family she had married into. In fact, she had begun to fear that marrying Pierce Monarch had been another of her mistakes. He was not the man she had thought him to be—he was withdrawn, inflexible and, she had discovered, mean-spirited. So mean-spirited that she had wondered how she could not have seen it before.

Madeline frowned. She wasn't being truthful with herself. She knew why she hadn't seen it. She had been blinded by the Monarch name. By their wealth, their status in Chicago. She had been awed by Monarch Design and Retail, the jewelry-design firm started in 1887 by Anna and Marcus Monarch with the money they had inherited from their parents. Within a matter of only a few years, the brother and sister team had created a firm whose works rivaled Tiffany's in beauty, quality and originality.

Madeline recalled the many times previous to meeting Pierce Monarch that she had wandered through the Michigan Avenue Monarch's, aching to possess one of the impossibly extravagant, utterly fabulous pieces, a brooch or necklace or ring. Just one piece, she had wished. Any one at all.

Her wish had come true.

Oh, yes, she had been blinded by all that the Monarchs had and were. After all, she was a woman with no family and no pedigree, a woman Pierce had plucked off the sales floor of Marshall Field's and transported here, to the old stone mansion in the heart of the city's Gold Coast, to what she had thought of as a dream come true.

But the dream had the qualities of a nightmare.

She shook her head. That was over now. Here was Grace, a savior of sorts for the Monarch clan; already Madeline felt a lightening in the atmosphere of the house, a celebratory mood that affected all, even the household staff.

“Baby Grace is so pretty.”

Startled out of her thoughts, Madeline looked down at the boy, her heart melting at his awed expression. Rather than being jealous of his new sister, he seemed fascinated by her. He seemed to adore her.

How could she think such awful things about her stepson when he looked at Grace that way?

Madeline smiled. “I think so, too.”

“Grandfather Monarch says baby Grace has the gift.”

Madeline's smile froze. “The gift?” she repeated.

He nodded. “The one the Monarch girls get. The one my great-great-grandfather Marcus saw in his sister and used to make our fortune. That's why Grace is so special. That's why we must always keep her close to the family.”

Although only parroting words he had obviously heard many times before, something almost fevered in his expression chilled her. “Grace is special because she is, Griffen. Not because of some…gift. Besides, just because only the girls in the family have been the artists so far doesn't mean that someday one of the boys won't be.” She smiled and tapped him on the end of his nose with her index finger. “Maybe you.”

“No.” He frowned and shook his head, looking adult and annoyed with her stupidity. “Grandfather says only the girls. That's the way it's always been. It's why Grace is so important.”

Only the girls.
Madeline shuddered and rubbed her arms. “Honey, Grace is just a baby. She might not have this…gift.”

“She has it. Grandfather says so.”

She frowned. “And your grandfather knows everything?”

“He's the smartest person in the whole world. I'm going to be just like him when I grow up.” Griffen moved his gaze back to Grace. “Can I touch her?”

Madeline hesitated, then nodded reluctantly. “Only lightly. Like this.” She demonstrated, ever so gently stroking Grace's silky dark hair.

Griffen watched carefully, then mimicked her actions. After a moment, he drew his hand away. “She's so soft,” he said, looking up at Madeline in surprise. “How come?”

“Because she's brand-new.” She nudged the cradle and it swayed. “When she gets a little bigger, I'll let you hold her.”

Again he mimicked Madeline's actions, nudging the cradle, making it swing. “How much bigger?”

“A little bigger. Newborns are very delicate. They can be easily hurt.”

For several minutes, they said nothing, just stood side by side, rocking the cradle and gazing at Grace. Then Griffen looked up at Madeline once again. “I'm going to marry her when I grow up.”

“Who, honey?”

“Baby Grace.”

Madeline laughed softly and ruffled his dark hair. “You can't, sweetheart. She's your sister.”

Griffen said nothing. One moment became several, then he narrowed his eyes, the intensity in them taking her aback. “I will,” he said softly, fiercely. “I will if I want.”

Madeline's vision blurred, then cleared.
She saw a dark, white forest and blood spilling across a gleaming floor. She heard a silent scream for help, and saw small arms flailing against larger ones.

A squeak of terror slipped past Madeline's lips. She blinked, and she was once again in her daughter's sunny nursery, once again staring into her stepson's cold, angry eyes.

Fear choked her. She fought it off, fought off the premonition and its chilling image. Drawing herself up to her full five-foot height, she frowned at him. “You cannot,” she said sternly, though her voice quivered. “A brother cannot marry his sister. Not ever.”

His face pinched with fury. “I will,” he said again, grabbing the top rail of the cradle. “No matter what you say!”

He pushed as hard as he could. The basket swung wildly, almost capsizing. Madeline cried out and sprang forward, though it was too late. Grace was thrown against the side of the basket, her head against the wooden slats. The infant screamed.

Madeline scooped up her howling daughter and cradled her against her chest, rocking her and cooing, trying desperately to comfort her. Trying just as desperately to comfort herself. She shook so badly she could hardly stand. Grace was all right, she told herself. Just frightened; just a bruise.

It could have been worse. Much worse.

Blood spilling across a gleaming floor. A desperate cry for help.

She lifted her gaze. Griffen had retreated to the doorway and stood there watching her, his expression smug. Self-satisfied.

As she met his eyes, he smiled.

Madeline's knees gave. She sank to the floor, clutching Grace tightly to her chest. She shook, but not with fear. With the truth.

Griffen meant his sister harm.

Grace would never be safe around him. Never.

1976

M
adeline stood at her bedroom window, heart pounding, mouth dry with fear. She watched Pierce and Adam, engaged in conversation in the driveway below. Both men were dressed for a day of business; they had been standing in the driveway, their cars idling, for just over ten minutes.

Madeline checked her watch again, swore softly, then returned her gaze to her husband and father-in-law. She squeezed her eyes shut and willed the men to finish their discussion and go.

Her silent plea didn't move them, and she flexed her fingers, frustrated. Anxious. Why had they chosen today for a lengthy chat? Why today, when every minute counted? Every second?

She had everything planned. Adam was leaving for a buying trip; in moments Pierce would head to work; he had a cocktail reception to attend tonight and a racquetball match after that. The housekeeper did the marketing on Wednesdays, it was Nanny's day off. Grandmother Monarch was quite ill and hardly ever emerged from her suite of rooms. Griffen was in school.

Today was the perfect day to run away.

Her stomach fluttered. Nerves. Disappointment. In herself, in her husband. He refused to see the truth about Griffen, about the boy's intentions toward Grace. In the five years since the incident in the nursery, Madeline had countless times shared her fears, her premonitions about Griffen, with her husband and father-in-law. They had called her excitable. She was overreacting, they'd said. She was a neurotic, hysterical mother. They had even suggested that she was jealous of the boy.

Jealous! Of Griffen? Of the time he spent with Grace? It was worse than ridiculous. It was insulting.

Without support from the family, she had been forced to watch Griffen's bizarre attachment to his sister grow. He became alarmingly jealous when she ignored him or chose to play with another child, or even a toy, or pet. He followed Grace; he was possessive of her time, her attention. Madeline had caught him gazing with pure hatred at other children, at Nanny, at her, for heaven's sake.

But those had been nothing compared to what had come next.

Grace's favorite toys destroyed, sometimes mutilated. Her kitten bludgeoned to death.

Griffen on top of Grace, holding her down, one hand covering her mouth, the other up her dress.

Even now, months later, the horror of what she had stumbled upon, caused her stomach to turn. He had not been playing a guileless child's game with his sister. They had not been wrestling, as he had claimed with an innocent, beautiful smile.

Madeline had gone to her husband and her father-in-law; she had told them what she'd seen. She had begged them to believe her, had pleaded with them to trust her. Not only for Grace's sake, but for Griffen's, too. The child needed counseling.

Not only had they not believed her, her father-in-law had threatened her. If she didn't cease this madness, Adam had warned, he would take Grace away from her. She was unbalanced, he had told her. Her delusions about Griffen, about being able to see the future, were unhealthy for the youngster. Any judge would see that.

Adam had struck her then, sharply, across the mouth. The force of the blow had sent her reeling backward, into a wall. Pierce had stood silently by, watching his father, allowing it to happen without even a murmur of protest.

Madeline brought a hand to her mouth, remembering, holding back a sound of pain. Any affection, any last, lingering warmth she had felt for her husband had died in that moment. And in that moment, she had begun hating him. Hating him so much, so ferociously, that she had been able to taste the emotion.

It had tasted like acid. It had eaten at her like acid.

It still did.

All these months, she had controlled her feelings. Because she'd known she couldn't afford another of her “mistakes,” because she'd understood that this time it was Grace's life at stake. Grace's well-being.

With the Monarch power, money and connections, Adam could make good his threat to take Grace away from her. He could do it without even breaking a sweat.

Then her daughter would have no one to protect her. No one who saw the truth about Griffen.

So Madeline had begun the elaborate charade—pretending to be smitten with her husband, acting the part of devoted, adoring wife, the part of the perfect Monarch daughter-in-law. She had claimed to both men that she'd had a sort of epiphany, telling them that they had been right—she had been overreacting about Griffen.

She didn't know what had gotten into her, she'd told them. She didn't know why she had been so excitable. She had told them she was sorry, that she was embarrassed by her behavior.

Pierce had fallen for it right away; Adam had taken longer.

She had begun planning her and Grace's escape.

Pierce looked up suddenly, catching her staring at him. He narrowed his eyes—with suspicion, with realization. Her heart stopped, then started again, thundering in her chest until she had to fight to catch her breath. He knew, she thought, completely panicked. Dear God…he had found her out.

What did she do now?

Madeline fought her panic. He didn't know. He couldn't. He didn't even suspect. She had been very careful. That morning, as a bit of insurance, she'd even submitted to his hands and mouth, she had submitted to his every demand, no matter how abhorrent to her. She had moaned and writhed and sighed, knowing that he would go off to work content and cocky. Knowing that he wouldn't give her another thought all day. All the while she had wanted to wretch; her skin had crawled at his touch.

But she would do anything to protect her daughter. Anything. This plan had to work. It had to.

Madeline forced an adoring smile and waved. Then for good measure, she blew him a kiss. He smiled, the curving of his lips confident to the point of arrogance, then returned to his conversation.

She backed away from the window, relief flooding her. He didn't know. Neither did Adam. She and Grace were safe.

For now.

Madeline spun around, thinking of the past months. She had lived in fear, she had spent every waking moment walking a tightrope between acting as if nothing was wrong and protecting Grace, between appearing unconcerned about Griffen and being too terrified even to sleep, lest he use that opportunity to sneak into Grace's room and violate her.

Living that way had taken its toll. She was tired and on edge. She had lost weight, so much that people had begun to comment. There had been times, as she paced the floor during the middle of the night, that she had wondered if she was crazy. If she was delusional, as Pierce had said.

But those times were few; they didn't last long. She would recall Griffen's expression when he looked at Grace, would recall the coldness of his eyes, the cunning of his smile, and she would know she wasn't crazy.

Everyone else was blind.

Madeline crossed to the bed, bent and peered underneath—her suitcases were there, where she had left them, waiting. Hers was packed, Grace's empty. As soon as Pierce was gone, she would remedy that.

Madeline stood, glanced around the room, mentally ticking off her few options, reassessing her decision. She had no family to go to and had lost touch with all her old friends. Even her once–best friend, Susan, who she had been so close to that she had believed them soul mates, had slipped out of her life. She had no nest egg to fall back on and no means to support her and Grace. Pierce had seen to it that she had no financial independence; everything she had, Pierce either gave her or she signed for.

Adam's sister, Dorothy, was sympathetic, but only to a point. Dorothy's allegiance would always be first and foremost to the Monarch family and the family business. And Dorothy, like the others, was obsessed with the notion that Grace had the gift, obsessed with the belief that Grace would one day succeed her as the artistic genius behind Monarch Design.

Having no other option, Madeline had pawned her engagement ring—Pierce thought she had taken it in for cleaning—and used the money to buy a car. A late-model Chevrolet, a junker compared to the Mercedes sedan she usually drove. But it had low mileage and the woman from whom she'd bought it had sworn it was absolutely dependable.

Madeline had parked it a dozen blocks away, in a transitional neighborhood where it wouldn't scream that it didn't belong. Everything was in place.

Madeline checked her watch, then twisted her fingers together.
Dammit, when were they going to leave?
Every moment counted. Because every moment meant another moment's head start before Pierce and Adam realized what she had done.

As if in answer to her silent plea, Madeline heard the slam of car doors. She raced to the window in time to see Adam and Pierce drive off.

Finally! Heart in her throat, she flew to the door, into the hall and down the stairs. At the foyer she stopped, forcing herself to appear calm on the off chance someone was about. She made her way to the study, closing and locking the door behind her.

She leaned against the door, letting out a breath she hadn't even realized she held. She drew another. Across the room hung a small, exquisitely rendered landscape. Behind it, a wall safe.

She stared at the painting, working up her courage. For four months she had used every excuse to be in here when Pierce opened the safe; she had even used an insatiable need for sex, all in an attempt to learn the combination. She had watched, she had listened and counted and prayed.

And she had learned it, number by excruciating number. Or she thought she had.

Dear God, please let me have the right numbers. Don't let me be wrong.

Madeline crossed to the painting. She swung it away from the wall. Her hands shook. They were clammy, slick with sweat. She spun the wheel to the first number, then the next and next. She grasped the handle and pulled.

It didn't open.

She almost cried out in disappointment, physically biting back the sound. Without money, she couldn't go as far as the corner. Without money, there was no way she could get Grace away from here, no way she could hide and protect her.

Stay calm, Madeline. Take a deep breath and try again.

She did.

The safe opened.

Light-headed with fear and relief, she reached inside. She moved aside a black velvet pouch emblazoned with Monarch's “M” logo, counted out five thousand dollars, enough, she thought, to get her and Grace far from here and settled, until she could find a job.

She stuffed the bills into one of her cardigan's deep pockets, then moved the pouch back to its original position and started to close the safe door. Her gaze landed on that black velvet bag.

What was in it?

On impulse, she opened the bag and dipped her hand inside—and pulled out a fistful of sparkling, fiery gems. Diamonds, rubies and sapphires. She caught her breath, stunned. By their beauty. By their heat. For even though they were cold against her palm, their fire made them hot.

What were they doing here? she wondered, selecting a particularly large, brilliant stone and holding it up to the light. Why weren't they in the store's vault, where they belonged? There they would be both safer and fully insured. It didn't make sense. Adam and Pierce were nothing if not shrewd businessmen.

Madeline frowned at her own thoughts. She didn't have time for this; what Pierce and Adam did with the store's property wasn't her concern. It never had been. She dropped the stones back into the bag, then shoved the bag back into the safe.

Take them.

The thought raced into her head, and with it a feeling, sharp, overwhelming—that she would need them, that Grace would need them. Madeline shook her head, denying the thought, the feeling. She was overwrought and anxious; she wasn't thinking clearly. If she took the stones, Pierce and Adam would be that much more determined to find her. They would have that much more to hold against her in a court of law.

She swung the safe shut, made sure it was locked, turned and started out of the study. Halfway across the room she stopped, frozen, blinded by an indistinct but chilling image.
She saw snow. And blood spilling across a gleaming floor. She saw the twinkle of gems and the glitter of ice.
Her mouth went dry; sweat beaded on her upper lip.
She saw dark water sucking someone down, swallowing them whole.

She began to shake.
Take the gems. Take them now.

With a cry of pure terror, Madeline spun back to the safe, reopened it and grabbed the pouch. She slammed the safe shut and as quickly as she could, twisted the dial, then eased the painting into place.

She couldn't turn back now.

Clutching the pouch to her chest, she ran from the library. Hysteria tugged at her; she fought it. She had to stay calm if she was to protect Grace. Today she was taking the first step, but every day after would prove as much of a challenge.

No one was about. Madeline supposed the housekeeper had already left. She made her way up to the nursery. She crossed to Grace's bed.