Chapter 3
Three
W ith a roar, Jackson Lennox shoved at the model of the bridge that spanned one end of the dining room table to the other. Hundreds of tiny pieces of wood along with cables toppled onto the glossy mahogany surface.
“Rubbish!” Helpless rage roiled inside him. “All rubbish!”
Crying out again, he swept the wreckage off the table, letting it topple to the floor with a crash. One of the anchorages stood at the far end, illuminated by the brightly lit chandelier. It seemed undeterred by his outburst, mocking him with its grace and poise.
It was rubbish too.
He trampled over the wooden pieces now scattered across the oak floor, not caring that he was snapping and crushing the specialized model wood beyond repair. It didn’t matter that he’d spent countless hours over the past week gluing and hammering everything together with meticulous precision. It didn’t matter that it was his best design yet. It didn’t matter that he’d almost figured out the problem—or so he believed.
No, none of it mattered. Not when his suspension bridge was still unsafe. Not when so many had suffered and died because of his failure. Not when more people would suffer and die if he didn’t get the design right this time.
He reached the remaining anchorage, swiped it up, and threw it against the wall.
It hit with a reverberating crash that sent shards of wood flying throughout the dining room. A sliver hit him in the face, but the overgrowth of his facial hair kept it from cutting his skin. Even if it had cut him, he deserved the pain and the punishment. It was the least he should endure when others had endured far worse.
A few final bolts rolled to a halt on the floor, and then silence settled over the destruction—utter silence except for the angry huffs of his labored breathing. Not even his servant Elliot, somewhere in the mansion, made a sound.
During outbursts like this, the fellow stayed well away from Jackson, giving him the space he needed. It wasn’t the first model bridge Jackson had destroyed, and it likely wouldn’t be the last. Because that’s what he was good at—making messes and mistakes.
At a firm knocking against the front door down the hallway from the dining room, Jackson scowled. Who was attempting to visit him so late at night?
He glanced to the thick draperies that were drawn to find bright light creeping through the slit between them. At some point, the night had passed and turned into morning. He’d obviously lost track of time and worked through the night again.
Not only had he lost track of time, but he couldn’t remember what day it was. His eyes stung from focusing for so long on the intricate details of the bridge, and his stomach gnawed inside him. When was the last time he’d slept or eaten?
He tried to make his brain recall the details of the past week, but it was a blur. In fact, the past four months since the accident were fuzzy. He’d done little else except to study his architecture and engineering books, draw elaborate diagrams, and build complicated models.
He peered around the dining room at the empty decanters, half-full glasses, and plates with stale food. Elliot had clearly tried to feed him.
The knocking on the front door resounded again, this time louder.
Jackson stepped into the dining room doorway and glanced in the direction of the stairway that led to the lower level and kitchen. He wanted to believe Elliot was gone to the market. But he was probably in his cups and foxed.
Jackson tentatively moved into the hallway. The barren floors were covered with dust and dried mud. The papered walls were without any pictures. The only thing on the wall was a gilded oval mirror.
As Jackson caught his reflection, he recoiled at the stranger that stared back at him. His dark hair was overlong and unkempt and needed not only combing but washing. The face was hidden behind a bushy beard, long sideburns, and a mustache. Gray-blue eyes were outlined by dark circles and the forehead was creased with lines.
He was coatless and vestless, with several buttons of his dress shirt undone. His trousers were wrinkled, and like everything else, needed laundering.
There was a wildness to his expression, one that reflected the turmoil of the monster that had taken up residence inside him. Yes, he was nothing more than a monster. Not only did he look like one, but he acted like one too.
“Hello?” came a woman’s voice from outside the front door.
A woman? Had Meredith come to pay him a visit?
His heart gave a rapid beat. He couldn’t let Meredith see him like this. He scanned himself in the mirror again, fresh disgust filling him. He was a filthy, bedraggled mess.
Hastily, Jackson ran his fingers through his hair, but the strands only stood up all the more. He fumbled for a button on his shirt, but he couldn’t find one and glanced down to see that only threads dangled there.
“Jackson?” the woman called.
Jackson halted his attempt at grooming. The voice was too firm and practical to belong to Meredith.
Besides, there was no reason for her to call on him. After the collapse of Queen’s Bridge back in May, he’d done what he should have much earlier—he’d cancelled their engagement and set her free.
Initially, she’d been upset about his decision, but that hadn’t lasted long.
His mind swirled with her last visit over two months ago when she’d come to tell him that she’d found someone new and was engaged again. He’d told her he was happy for her, and maybe part of him really was happy that she’d found a decent fellow to care about her after having to endure a bird-witted man like him who was consumed with his work.
The truth was, Meredith had deserved a husband who would be devoted to her—a man who could appreciate her and give her the time and attention she needed. He’d never been that kind of man, had never made her truly happy.
Regardless, she was married now—at least he assumed so. That meant she wouldn’t come visiting. Not anymore.
So, if not Meredith, who was the woman at the door?
“Jackson Lennox?” The female on the portico was persistent and pounded the door again, long and loud.
Jackson glanced again toward the servants’ entrance, hoping to see or hear Elliot coming, but there was still no sight of him. “Blast you, Elliot.”
Jackson growled in frustration at his incompetent servant. What use did he have for the fellow? For that matter, what use did he have for the enormous house he’d built for Meredith? He didn’t need twenty rooms, not for just himself. While Meredith had already started to decorate and fill some of the rooms, half were sitting empty.
“Jackson, are you home?” the woman called.
With another growl, he jammed his fingers into his hair. Then he stalked into the hallway and approached the door. “Who is it? And what do you want?”
His manners were as appalling as his appearance. If his dear mother could hear him or see him, she would not be at all pleased with the man he’d become. How had he turned into this angry, bitter person?
“Jackson?” The voice on the other side of the door radiated surprise. “Is that you?”
He had the distinct impression that he wouldn’t be able to get rid of this visitor unless he opened the door and scared her away. So without any further hesitation, he threw open the door and planted himself with both feet wide, his arms crossed, and his fiercest scowl.
The woman on the front stoop didn’t take a step back, didn’t even flinch. Instead, her eyes rounded—familiar, kind eyes set in a familiar thin face that belonged to his sister.
“Augusta?” In the many years he’d been gone from England, he’d only seen her once five or six years ago, and yet hardly anything about her had changed. She was still thin and bony, her narrow face hadn’t aged, and her dark brown hair was styled in a tight bun without a single hair out of place.
She was taking him in too, her eyes widening as she scanned him from his untidy hair down to his scruffy shoes. With the morning sunshine bathing him in full light, no doubt she was seeing every stain and blemish and just how bedraggled he’d become.
Before he could say anything, primarily apologize for his rude welcome, she stepped forward and wrapped him into a hug. Although she was tall for a woman, he was still several inches taller than her, both of them having inherited their height from their father.
“It’s so good to see you, Jackson,” she murmured as she squeezed him tightly.
He hugged her in return, his thoughts churning with this new twist of fate. His sister was here at his house in Victoria. While he wasn’t in a pleasant frame of mind to have company, he was glad to see her. They’d never been particularly close since he’d been away at school for so much of his childhood and she’d spent so many years traveling. However, he had always cherished her, and he’d also always admired her for her strength of character.
She gave him a final squeeze before pulling back and assessing him again, holding on to both of his arms as if she were afraid that if she let him go, he’d run away and hide. Unfortunately, if that’s what she was thinking, she wasn’t half wrong.
Her brow puckered with more lines than had been there the last time he’d seen her. “How are you?”
He’d never been more terrible. But he couldn’t very well say that, so he shrugged. “I apologize for looking a fright. I’ve been working nonstop.”
She was tactful enough not to comment on his appearance. Instead, she offered him a warm smile. “The work here in the colony must be very demanding.”
He could never explain to her all that had happened with the new bridge in the Fraser River Valley or his role in its collapse. At least not at the moment. “And you, my dear sister? How are you?”
“I’m delighted to finally be here.”
“And mother? How does she fare?” After getting recent letters that Mother suffered from influenza, he’d been unnerved.
“Doing much better. I believe she shall make a full recovery, or at least I was confident of that especially because she seemed so happy to finally have Father all to herself.”
Jackson wasn’t sure he could respond without saying something bitter about their father, so he kept silent.
Augusta was well aware of the conflict he’d always had with their father, and thankfully instead of talking more about the man, she changed the subject. “It was quite a rough voyage here, wasn’t it, Miss Rhodes?” She turned toward a woman standing several paces away on the flagstone pathway. A hired hackney was parked on the street beyond, and the driver was already unloading the luggage from the back platform.
“It was very rough.” The woman was decidedly younger than Augusta by at least ten years if not more. She had a quiet, deferring air about her that told him she was a servant, likely a lady’s maid, which would account for why she wore a fashionable gown and not the black uniform and white apron of a regular maid.
Even though he had sworn off women after breaking his engagement to Meredith, he wasn’t blind and could see easily enough that Miss Rhodes was attractive with high cheekbones, a delicate nose, and dainty chin. Her hair was an unusual reddish blond that highlighted the creaminess of her skin and made her light blue eyes vibrant, like the color of the sea in the summer. She also had a womanly figure that her gown displayed to perfection, leaving no room for speculating just how stunning she was.
In this remote colony where men outnumbered women, she would have numerous marriage proposals within the next month. In fact, the young men would be fighting amongst themselves to win her, and she would have her pick of a husband. Then Augusta would be without a lady’s maid. His sister probably hadn’t thought about that when she’d made her plans.
Ah, well. It would be for the best. He wasn’t in the right frame of mind to entertain Augusta, much less have a young maid like Miss Rhodes residing in his home for the duration of his sister’s visit.
Augusta stood back and surveyed the front of his home. He’d drawn up the plans himself and had helped oversee the construction when he hadn’t been on the Fraser River overseeing the building of the bridge.
“You have a lovely home, Jackson.” Augusta’s keen gaze filled with appreciation.
The steeply gabled roof and the three stories with castle-like turrets on the sides each contained round windows that overlooked the distant mountain peaks. He’d designed arched windows on the second floor and large bay windows on the first. The entire structure was painted in blue with detailed trim work around the windows, doors, and eaves that gave the home an elegant appeal, as did the wrought iron along the portico.
He’d had requests from other prominent families in Victoria who were interested in having him design their houses. However, as much as he had relished the project, architecture was only a hobby. He was an engineer at heart, his mind constantly at work concocting complex feats that no one else could accomplish, apparently not even him—like the suspension bridge that was supposed to span the Fraser River and make the traveling easier to and from the gold fields and all the new settlements that were springing up.
He held in an exasperated breath, one aimed at himself for his failures and mistakes. For now, he had to be gracious to his sister. She likely wouldn’t visit long. She never did when she was traveling, since she claimed she grew restless when she was in one place for too long.
“Please, do come in.” He stepped aside and waved a hand at the front hallway, but then he stopped short at the sight of the mess. Not only wasn’t he in the right condition for hosting visitors, neither was his home. He spun and blocked the doorway. “On second thought, I wonder if you’d be more comfortable at one of the nice, new hotels. My home isn’t suitable for company.”
“I’m sure it will be just fine.” Augusta waved a dismissive hand. “After staying for four months in a cramped berth on the ship, your home will feel like a luxurious palace.”
Jackson tried to remember if he even had furniture in his guest room. If not, he could give up his bedroom to Augusta. He didn’t sleep much anyway.
“Besides,” Augusta said as she motioned toward the hackney driver, who was carrying a trunk, “we shan’t stay long. Only until the wedding.”
His heartbeat stuttered to a stop. He’d written home last autumn about his plans to marry Meredith this coming October after a year-long engagement. But he hadn’t corresponded to let his family know he’d ended the relationship. Even if he had, the letter wouldn’t have reached Augusta before she’d set sail on her voyage to Victoria.
“I’m so looking forward to meeting Miss Hodges.” Augusta pushed past him into the house.
He wanted to grab her arm and stop her, wanted to warn her, needed to tell her the truth about Meredith and the wedding. But he could only stand back as she stalked into the entryway.
She only took four long steps inside before halting abruptly. She scanned the entryway, likely cataloging his discarded, dirty clothing draped over the stairway railing, socks balled up on the floor, shoes tossed in every direction, and hats sitting atop stacks of unopened mail and newspapers.
She was at the right angle to also peer into his front parlor. Although he hadn’t been in the room in days, he guessed it was in the same state of disarray as the rest of the house.
The hackney driver halted just inside the door too, and had grown wide-eyed as he took in the disorder. Only the lady’s maid remained outside.
Augusta was silent for several long heartbeats before pivoting with a frown. “Jackson Lennox, you have some explaining to do.”