Chapter 24 Chasing Headlines #3
up the plan gave you, or any of us, if I’m honest. It puts more pressure on us, affords us no slack of time to correct potential
mistakes. I see no benefit at all, really, other than . . . well, altruism. Saving me from a fraught marriage and a lifetime
of . . . regret . . .” She trails off.
Cal has stopped walking, staring at her now with those deep blue eyes.
“And why isn’t that reason enough?” he whispers. “Though I’m not sure I’d call it altruism. Not when my own interests are
involved.”
“Your own interests?” Cora’s voice comes out as barely a breath.
Cal reaches for the edge of her sleeve, pinching it between two fingers, the rest of his hand barely grazing hers. “I can
think of few things more interesting than you, Coraline O’Malley.”
A heat burns through Cora’s abdomen, spreading like wildfire up her spine, down her limbs. Her real name. On his lips.
Of course she has feelings for him. She has since the first moment she saw him.
He’s been honest with her. Now it’s time for her to finally be honest with herself.
She inches closer. “What are we to do about this?”
“What do we want to do,” he murmurs, “or what should we do?”
Cora lets out a shaky breath. My, how she longs to lace her fingers around his neck, pull his lips down to hers, here, in public, for all the world to see.
No more lies or games or illusions, her heart laid bare.
Despite everything at stake—or perhaps more truthfully, because of everything at stake.
“Cora,” he whispers, searching her face. He nearly, nearly reaches for her.
A face catches her eye beyond Cal’s left shoulder. She startles with a flinch.
Is it him? What on earth is he doing here?
Cora steps back sharply, heart hammering. Harry Peyton hasn’t seen her, though, not yet. Beneath his tall top hat, his guileless
face is angled up at the bridge, his brow stitched in deep thought, as if he’s calculating the geometrics of the arch. He’s
headed in their general direction, his hands in the pockets of his fur-lined overcoat.
“I’m so sorry,” Cora mumbles. “You’ll understand in a moment.”
She takes two more steps from Cal, spinning directly into Harry’s line of sight.
“Harry?” she gushes. “Oh my goodness, a lovely surprise! What are you doing here?”
She winces at her own accent, perhaps a bit overdone.
Cora looks at Cal in earnest, hoping he’ll play the game, but no need—he’s already scrubbed his face clean of emotion, approaching
Harry with a dapper stride.
“Harold Peyton the younger, is it not?” Cal extends his hand. “We met in the park. Good to see you, old chap.”
Harry’s expression of extreme distaste broadcasts that the feeling is far from mutual. “Are you well, Cora? Is this reporter
harassing you again? Surely you’ve gathered enough quotes for your paper, sir.”
“Goodness, no, how chivalrous you are.” She laughs dotingly, wreathing her arm around Harry’s. “I stopped by Mr. Archer’s office to see if he had received any news from home. We haven’t heard from my cousin in quite some time, and I . . . well, I must admit . . .”
Cora wipes her eyes, her face crumpling.
Harry’s expression softens. He takes her hand in his. “Oh, dear Cora.”
“Believe this is my cue,” Cal says ruefully. He nods, a sad twist to his smile. “I shall keep you abreast of any developments,
Miss Ritter, if I hear anything from my sources.”
He tips his hat and goes.
Cora tries hard not to obviously watch him as he passes the newsies, sharing a joke with them, before disappearing back inside.
Harry squeezes her hand as they begin to stroll.
“I know how much your homeland means to you,” he says. “It pains me to see you so bereft.”
“Thank you.” She sniffs. “I must say, it’s such a tonic to run into you. What, pray tell, are you doing downtown?”
Harry gestures across the square.
“Our family broker has offices here,” he explains. “My father wanted to speak to him about potential investments.”
“Your father!” Cora exclaims. “He . . . left the house?”
“I’m as surprised as you are,” Harry says bemusedly. “He’s upstairs now at the brokerage, discussing the details of his current
portfolio. I was keen to listen in, I must say, but he made me take a walk. I figured I might get a closer look at the bridge
while I was at it.”
“Well, what delightful serendipity for us to run into one another.”
He edges closer. “Cora, I know I can’t solve this conflict in Württemberg, but I am certain I can help us. Er . . . you.”
“You’ve helped me so much already,” she protests faintly, edging subtly away so that he drops his hand.
“I can hardly convince my father of anything, but I believe the dynamic between us may finally be shifting. I explained the
emerald mines opportunity to him, and he’s now just as eager to invest as I am.” Harry smiles, standing an inch taller. “The
fact that half of my father’s old associates are desperate to carve out pieces of the business for themselves didn’t hurt
matters.”
Cora shakes her head, the very model of innocence. “I’m not sure I understand.”
Harry cups her shoulders. “Cora, he plans to be the primary investor in your mines. The primary investor.”
“That’s . . . that’s wonderful! I shall speak to my cousin about it, but I’m sure, given our engagement . . .” Cora lets out
a tempered laugh as she embraces him. “Oh, Harry, for once, the future feels bright and grand and—”
“Free,” Harry finishes, whirling her around in a sudden dance. “So very, very free!”
“Harry!” Cora laughs.
She closes her eyes as they spin, trying to pinch away the memory of Cal’s somber face, the hitch in his breath as he shared
his story, his father’s ill-fated boast. A railroad man now.
And now the train she has helped put into motion, one built to correct the wrongs of the past, is garnering its final momentum.
Hurtling forward, unstoppable now, just as Alice intended.
Perhaps that’s why Cora feels as if she’s stepped onto a runaway car, mere moments from careening off the rails.