Chapter Three #2
At the foot of the path, where she turned to head to Bellevue Avenue, she glimpsed a man pacing along the gravel.
To her shock, she saw it was Paul Brosnahan, clad in an elegantly tailored pale morning suit that couldn’t quite disguise his burly shoulders.
She paused, unsure, nervous, wondering if she could turn back.
She’d told May she would give him a chance to show he had changed, but May didn’t know what had really happened.
But he saw her then, and she couldn’t escape.
He came towards her through the crowd. His intense study was most unsettling, fixed and charged with something she didn’t understand.
There was something cold and unwavering behind his eyes, as if he was trying to memorise every detail, every gesture, of hers. It made her feel exposed and alone.
‘Jane,’ he said eagerly, coming towards her with his hand outstretched. ‘I’ve been wanting to talk to you ever since I returned to New York! What a social butterfly you’ve become, flittering here and there all the time.’
‘Indeed! Hello, Paul.’ She made herself smile and walked towards him.
She knew she couldn’t show fear; it would be better to make sure he knew he had no chance to win her, and then walk away as fast as she could.
But she wasn’t sure exactly how such a man could be told ‘no’.
She glanced around, glad the street was becoming crowded with carriages.
‘It is good to see you again. I hope your travels have been profitable.’
‘Very much so.’ He raised her hand to his lips, and didn’t let go.
He stood just a fraction too close, watched her too intently.
He didn’t need to shout or strike; he merely had to create tension by just being there, not letting her go.
‘I am building my own Newport house, have you heard? The wilds of Canada and California have treasures just waiting to be scooped up.’
‘You did used to say you would have great adventures.’ That was almost all he had been able to talk about back then. Even before he’d dared kiss her, he would corner her and tell her of all his exploits—fights, shady business deals and grand plans.
He offered her his arm to walk with her along the path.
She pretended she didn’t see, and just started strolling towards the safety of her own gates.
He fell in beside her, but she sensed his tension, his dissatisfaction.
She felt on edge, even though she knew he could do nothing there on the street.
‘So I did, yes. I’ve seen mountains and vast rivers, conquered them all.
Now I want to settle down and make a home here.
Enjoy things a bit, make my way in society. ’
‘My mother did mention you were building a house on 50th Street in New York.’ A gaudy place she’d seen going up, larger even than Connor’s home, but vast and blocky, without grace.
But her mother seemed impressed by it, and loved to remind Jane he was Irish, that they’d known him for so long and that he seemed to admire her.
‘And I just bought a little bauble. Out there in the harbour, see?’ He gestured to a large yacht in the harbour, glittering white and silver.
‘It’s beautiful,’ Jane said truthfully. Unlike the house he was building, the boat was sleek and elegant.
He touched her arm. She felt trapped by the heat of it, unable to pull away and make a scene. ‘I just need the right wife to run it all for me. Make me into a real society gent.’
Jane was sure he would never quite be what she considered a ‘gentleman’.
She was frightened by him somehow, even now.
No gentleman would make a lady feel that way.
‘I do wish you luck with that. You will surely have your pick.’ She glanced around, hoping to see Regina and her friends; maybe she could point him towards one of them.
‘Jane.’ He drew her closer and she stiffened, cold with incipient panic. ‘I have missed you. You’ve grown into such a beauty, just like I knew you would. Haven’t you missed me just a little? We were such friends.’
She remembered that kiss, and the years melted away, leaving her that helpless girl again. ‘I… Well, it’s—it’s been so long, I’ve been so busy…’ she stammered.
‘You’ve been building a place here. A life in society. That’s perfect.’ He gave her a soft, admiring smile. A smile she did not trust.
‘How so?’
‘I want to build a life here, not just a fortune. Have a home where people clamour for invitations. A wife who can throw parties everyone talks of, who can make friends, connections. That is what I need.’ He stepped even closer, and Jane fell back a step, nearly tumbling into the street.
‘And I’ve waited for you, Jane. You belong with me, you always have.
Don’t you remember?’ He touched her cheek, his fingers like a trail of fire on her skin, and she couldn’t breathe. ‘It could be that good all the time.’
She managed to break away in a burst of strength born of fear. ‘I remember no such thing. We were children when last we met. I have my own life.’
She hurried on her way, and heard Paul laugh behind her, as if he might enjoy the chase. In her haste, she almost stepped into the street just as a carriage rolled past. She fell back, her gloved fists curled tight, trying desperately to calm her racing heart.
She glimpsed a man in the carriage just as it passed her, and something about him caught her attention.
His face was turned away, shielded by his hat, yet there was something familiar in the set of his shoulders, the sun-touched waves of his hair.
For an instant her mind told her I know that person, and she wondered in a wild rush… was it Benedict?
But then it was gone, and she knew she had to rush home before Paul decided to follow her. She had to decide what to do next.
‘You see, Benedict, I told you how welcoming Newport would be!’ Louisa said as their carriage rolled along Bellevue Avenue.
She nodded at the people who walked in the shade of the beech trees and maples, her lace parasol bobbing.
Everyone stared and whispered, making Benedict long to duck down further under his hat.
‘I have the distinct sense that this place is not always what you could call welcoming.’ He thought of the hopeful and disappointed faces he’d seen at the hotels, people who longed to be welcomed in Newport and were doomed to be shunned. No royal court was stricter.
Louisa shrugged. ‘Certainly not. What would be the point of welcoming everyone? A place must maintain standards: culture, manners, behaviour. Not everyone would feel quite at ease in a ballroom, would they? One needs at least ten years to make one’s way in Newport.
One has to be delicate and strategic and possess money, manners and above all persistence. It’s not for the weak.’
Benedict thought that sounded absurd. ‘It sounds worse than Buckingham Palace.’
‘Well, in England, my dear, everyone already knows what to do and where their place is. Here they have to learn.’
‘Surely it didn’t take you ten years here?’