Ship of Dreams (38 page)

"And I suppose you'll want your interest in the business back?" Remembering what he'd gone through when Charles first left, Kent couldn't quite subdue his resentment.

"I'd like to lend a hand, at least. I've learned a few things ... But there'll be time enough to discuss business later, when there are no more interesting topics afoot. How did you really meet Miss Gilliland?"

Warily, Kent glanced around at the others. "What did she tell you?"

Caroline, who had been listening with obvious impatience, seemed to take this as her cue. "That she tricked you into pretending she was your wife, so that she could escape the consequences of her crimes in California. She also said that your sense of
honor
—" sarcasm dripped from the word—"prevented you breaking your engagement to me."

Despite the tension in the room, Kent smiled. Dear Della. Thinking him dead, she had obviously tried to furbish up his memory for the sake of his family, with no thought for herself.

"We were married aboard the
Central America
, by the captain," he told them. Both his mother and Caroline gaped. "And Della committed no crimes," he continued. "She
was
falsely accused, and in San Francisco, justice is uncertain. She felt it safest to leave until the facts were known."

"Kenton, dear, how can you be sure?" his mother asked gently, her earlier haughtiness replaced by what seemed to be genuine concern. "You've known her such a brief time, and have only her word for what her past has been. It's perfectly clear, at any rate, that she is not of our social class. Do you really believe she can make you happy?"

"Yes." Kent did not waver for a moment. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Charles nodding approvingly.

"But what of her happiness?" asked Caroline shrewdly, leaning forward to place a hand on Kent's arm. "She has seemed most uncomfortable among your old friends and even your family. Suppose she cannot adjust to the many requirements that will be expected of your wife? She hasn't had the upbringing for it—"

"As you have?"

She inclined her head with a modest smile. "Well, yes."

Kent had never fully realized before just how artificial Caroline was. And to think he had once accused Della of being a consummate actress! Caroline would even pretend sympathy for Della if she thought it would bring her what she wanted—his money and position.

But now his mother joined in. "She's right, Kenton. Your little Irish girl would be a fish out of water in our social circle. She would be embarrassed at every turn, shunned by many and ridiculed by the rest. Her disgrace would reflect upon you, as well. First social contacts, and then business ones would suffer as a result."

"Her disgrace?" he echoed. "She may not have been born to a wealthy, prominent family, but that is no sin. With my support, I have no doubt she will get on well enough here in New York. She is charming and witty, and will make friends quickly."

"No sin?" Caroline repeated waspishly. "Francis tells us the two of you shared a cabin for weeks while at sea—
before
this alleged wedding. I assume no proof of such a ceremony now exists?"

Kent looked at her through narrowed eyes. "No, the papers were lost, of course. I take it you are willing to overlook my lapse, if I will repudiate her and marry you? How commendable."

Apparently realizing her mistake, Caroline tried another tack. "I only want what's best for you, Kenton, just as your mother does. Surely you can understand that?"

"I understand all too well. I think you had better go now, Miss Cadbury, before I feel compelled to explain. And you may want to tell your
heroic
brother to stay out of my way as well."

Both his mother and Caroline's began to sputter, but Caroline herself rose and headed for the door. "Very well, Kenton, but you will live to regret this. You and your little Irish harlot will never be accepted under any other genteel roof in New York
or
Philadelphia, mark my words. Come, Mother." With a toss of her golden curls, she swept out of the room, her wide black skirts brushing both sides of the doorway.

Mrs. Cadbury hesitated for a moment, dithering, but then followed her daughter out, with one apologetic glance over her shoulder at Mrs. Bradford. The moment the front door closed behind them, Kent struggled to his feet.

"I'm going to go see what's keeping Della," he said, hobbling out of the parlor before even Charles could rise to assist him. Reaching the stairs, he looked up—to see Della on the landing, in an outmoded sky blue dress. Catching sight of her expression, he quickly asked, "How long have you been standing there?"

"Long enough," she said quietly. "Or perhaps too long. Kent, this should be a joyous time for you, and I'm ruining it."

"Ruining it! You are my one true source of joy, Della. Don't you know that yet?" Gripping the rail, he started up the steps toward her. She made a motion to come down to help him, but he shook his head fiercely. He would not be treated like an invalid in his own home!

Della watched silently, her eyes wide with concern, as he made his way up the last few steps to the landing. Then she motioned to the small settee placed there. "Sit with me here, and we'll talk."

Though he shot a suspicious glance her way, he was just as glad of an opportunity to rest his leg. "What about? The plans we made before still hold. You will take your place here as my wife. If you prefer not to live in this house, we will buy another, or have one built—"

"No, Kent." Her face was as uncompromising as her words. "I heard what your mother said, and she was right. I'm completely out of place in New York society and, to be honest, I'm not at all sure I want to fit in, even for your sake. These past two weeks ..." Her voice trailed off, but he could see in her eyes a reflection of what she had endured. Anger welled up in him.

"What did they do to you? What did they say? I'll make every one of them—"

"No, Kent," she repeated, with a firm shake of her head. "Before, when we were still on the ship, I let myself believe it could work. That somehow, our love could overcome all obstacles. I believed it because I wanted to, not because my reason convinced me. But now I know otherwise. Even united, we cannot change the ways of the world—the ways of
your
world."

Alarmed, he grasped her shoulders. "What are you saying, Della? You're my wife. You promised to live with me until death us do part. Are you now reneging on that promise?" He could not lose her now—he would not!

Her green eyes filled, and one lone tear slipped from lash to cheek. "I want to be your wife—to live with you—more than anything on earth. But to alienate you from your family, your friends, your whole sphere ... How could I live with myself?" she whispered.

He gripped her shoulders more tightly. "I don't care about any of that! I love you, Della."

"And I love you. But answer me this, Kent, honestly: If our positions were reversed, if your marriage to me would threaten
my
comfortable future, tear me from all I'd ever held dear, all the rights and priveleges I'd been raised to, would you allow that?"

He opened his mouth, then closed it. Of course he would not. He could never intentionally be the instrument of Della's ruin.

"Now you understand," she said softly.

But he shook his head stubbornly. "No. It's not the same. I admit that I may not be able to shield you from every insult, but having you by my side will enrich my life immeasurably, not destroy it. Together, we
can
effect a change—not at once, perhaps, but eventually. You'll see."

Della sighed, her face still troubled. He tried to think of more he might say to reassure her, but just then Joseph appeared at the foot of the stairs to announce dinner.

"Thank you," said Kent. "We'll be right down." Taking Della's hand firmly in his, he led her slowly down to the dining room, determined to prove his intentions.

*
           
*
           
*

Della had to admit that the meal was less tedious than most she had endured at this table. Kent, Charles and Judy chatted among themselves, occasionally including her in their conversation. Mrs. Bradford and Barbara, however, were at best icily polite. And this was a mere family dinner. What might society at large have in store for her?

"Railroads," Charles was saying, gesticulating with his fork and ignoring his mother's disapproving glare. "Railroads are the wave of the future, you'll see. In ten years they'll be as important as ships, or more. In twenty, they'll make traditional shipping obsolete."

"You say they're in extensive use in the South, to ship sugar and cotton?" Kent asked, his interest clearly piqued. "I'm familiar with the passenger lines here in the Northeast, and a line from Sacramento to the gold fields seemed to be prospering, but I hadn't considered them for serious cargo shipping."

Charles went on to describe what he had seen in the South, and in England, where he had spent a year during his wanderings. Kent looked thoughtful.

"I'll make some inquiries tomorrow, after the doctor has seen my leg. Mother, didn't you say there would be a reception at the Burroughses' next Tuesday? That will be an excellent chance to sound out our shareholders ... oh, and to introduce Della, of course." He turned to smile at her.

She returned it mechanically. Already Kent was mentally reentering the world he had left behind. This was his milieu, where he belonged, amid the press of business and politics. She tried to envision herself at his side, meeting wealthy, prestigious personages—and failed utterly.

It had been one thing to pretend to that position aboard a ship where no one knew her past. It would be something else entirely to continually justify—and apologize for—her antecedents. For here, they would be known. Caroline Cadbury would see to that.

"... and tomorrow, we'll go shopping," Judy was saying to her. With an effort, Della recalled herself to the conversation. "With your unusual coloring, I daresay you can make quite a splash, in the right gowns."

"A splash? Er, perhaps." Judy meant well, Della knew, but her best course would surely be to remain inconspicuous, a mere shadow behind Kent.

Mrs. Bradford sniffed, then echoed her own thoughts. "Nonsense, Judy. Her only hope is to dress as conservatively as possible. Though even that is unlikely to counteract the gossip which is even now making the rounds."

Kent frowned, distracted from his discussion with Charles. "Gossip? We'll nip it in the bud, if it indeed exists. Judy is right. We'll dress Della to the nines and let her burst upon the scene. She'll bowl them all over with her beauty and charm." He smiled warmly at her.

She tried to return it, but her thoughts were rebellious. She would not be dressed like some doll, to be paraded on Kent's arm while the society matrons snickered behind her back. And Kent would be as much an object of their ridicule as she, something she refused to allow. Pretending to listen to the conversation that flowed over her, Della began to plan.

By the time the ladies retired to the parlor, leaving Kent and Charles to their talk of railroads, she knew what she had to do. If she were careful, by the time Kent realized she was gone she would be well on her way to Ohio, where she could attempt to start her life over. There was a train leaving the station at midnight, and she meant to be on it.

*
           
*
           
*

"So, how long do you think that leg will keep you on the sidelines?" asked Charles once the ladies had left the dining room.

"Not long, I hope. Mother has summoned Dr. Portman, and he should be here shortly. We'll see what he has to say about it."

Charles nodded, then obligingly filled a glass for Kent from the sideboard before reseating himself across from his brother. "Now that you've heard the details, what do you think of my proposals?"

"I think you're probably right. Bradford Shipping needs to expand into railroads. I have a new appreciation for the risks of relying solely on ships." Kent took a sip of his brandy.

"I can imagine you do! And that being the case, I have another proposal for you. One I think you should consider, for your Della's sake."

Kent regarded his brother warily. "What do you mean?"

"I heard a bit of your conversation before dinner, and I was watching you both during the meal. It's clear you love her to distraction, but you're not always as observant as you could be."

Charles had always been shrewd, if irresponsible, Kent recalled, able to read people so well that he could manipulate them without their even noticing it. Rather like Della, he realized with a start. "I'm listening," he said.

Kent's eyes widened, as Charles outlined his idea.

*
           
*
           
*

As she had expected, Kent's mother and sisters made no objection when Della excused herself for the evening only moments after they all reached the parlor. Judy murmured something about how tired she must be, but the others looked frankly relieved to see her go—doubtless so that they could talk about her.