An American Lady Page 2

  Lucas settled beside him on the large sofa. The lovely piece of furniture barely held his weight. “I just ran into Lillith outside and she had tears on her cheeks.”

  “That woman gets emotional so easily.”Davonport smiled.

  It always amazed Lucas that they were still so in love after more than thirty years of marriage. Such a thing was rare in society.

  “Who was the woman in black?”

  “You saw the young woman in the hall?”

  “Briefly and I must admit it was strange.”

  Davonport paused before he spoke, taking his time to form the words. Lucas had been around the duke enough to know this must be important to warrant such consideration.

  “Do you remember hearing of a daughter that Lillith and I lost long ago?”

  “Of course, it broke both your hearts.”

  “That woman out in the hall was our granddaughter.”

  Lucas felt his eyebrows shoot up. Davonport had been like a father to him when his own had chosen to bury himself in a bottle. He’d always heard that the duke’s daughter died before being wed or giving birth. His own mother had mourned the loss of her best friend until the last moments of her life. Had she not died giving birth to his sister, Charlotte, the girl might bear her name.

  “How can that be?” Lucas watched the play of emotion’s on Davonport’s face.

  The old man sighed, sinking farther into the chair.

  “My daughter never died, we created that story to cover up the scandal.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “She married an American and left the country. While she was gone, we never spoke and now I’m afraid it is too late.”

  “Too late?”

  “She died six months ago, in the fire that destroyed Chicago.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  Lucas felt genuine sympathy for the man at having lost his child twice. Looking at Davonport now, he saw dark circles under his eyes and a lack of color to his face. The loss must be taking a great deal out of the man.

  “Her daughter, Sinclair, has come to live with us now.” continued Davonport, “She is only a couple years older than your sister.”

  Lucas remembered the heavily shrouded young lady he’d met in the hall and was surprised that she still chose such heavy mourning clothes. Most people began to wear dark colors and show their faces at this stage. It made him curious about her reasons to remain in such deep mourning.

  “Sinclair had been out in society for two years when the fire happened.” said Davonport.

  “She has been unsuccessful for that long?”

  “If she is anything like her mother it would take a special man to recognize her attributes.”

  The curves of her shape hadn’t been that hard for Lucas to make out, but perhaps her face had been less lovely.

  “I fear my sister is headed in that direction,” he said after clearing his throat, “After her disaster at the Garrison’s ball, I worry she might never make a successful match.”

  “Was it that bad?”

  “She tripped over her feet going down the stairs and tumbled down on top of a dozen other people.”

  Davonport’s lips puffed up as he tried to contain his laughter. Lucas felt his own lips turn up at the edges. It was only humorous now, looking back on it.

  “Now she is refusing to attend any more activities this season.”

  “Maybe we could help each other.” The duke rubbed his fingers under his wrinkled chin.

  “I will be glad for some help. What are you thinking?”

  “Lillith and I are too old to be following a young woman like Sinclair around for an entire season, but we do not want her to miss it. She needs to find happiness again.”

  “So you want me to be a chaperone?”

  “Yes, and in exchange, my wife will use her various connections to assure your sister’s accident is never mentioned again.”

  “That would require a miracle, since it was seen by so many influential people.”

  “My wife knows how to convince people to keep quiet.”

  “I have no doubt.”

  “We could even plan a ball to assist them both in meeting society gracefully.”

  The deal was both distasteful and tempting. He hated social events and the endless monotony that went along with them, but his sister dearly needed some help. Looking at Davonport, he saw that it would also be a big help for the old man. Sinclair was in need of a diversion from her mourning.

  “I think that sounds like a wonderful idea.”

  Lucas extended his hand and watched Davonport smile as he took the check. This would be a bargain for them both.

  “What brought you by today?”

  “I brought another payment on the loan you gave me.” Lucas pulled a crisp banknote from the inside pocket of his coat and held it out.

  “You do not have to pay me back.” The old man pursed his lips, staring at the piece of paper. “I was only doing right by your mother in giving you that money.”

  “I know, but with business going so well, it’s only right to repay you.”

  “Has it become a success then?” Davonport still refused to accept the note, so it continued to be held in the air between them.

  “Yes and I am glad. It would have been difficult to find a husband for Charlotte with no money.”

  “The sweet girl deserves to have fine things.”

  “Now that I have the money, I plan on devoting most of it to her.”

  “Then you should not worry about paying back the loan.”

  “I will not accept no as an answer.”

  The duke shook his head, but didn’t continue trying to argue and finally took the bank note, placing it in his own pocket finally. Lucas was determined to pay that money back. Perhaps he would bring the final payment next time he came and they could both be done with it.

  “Now let us talk about something more interesting,” said Davonport.

  “Such as?”

  “Anything that does not involve women or money.”

  Chapter 2

  That night, as Sinclair fell asleep in the room her grandparents had chosen, her mind wandered back to that chilly October night. Once again she was in her own room, dressed in the blue satin dress her mother had picked out for the ball, and the corset cut into her ribs. The maid had left in a fit over the wire-framed glasses Sinclair refused to remove from her face.

  “Darling, are you properly dressed?” her mother’s sweet voice asked from the other side of the door.

  Knowing she was attempting to be subtle, Sinclair decided to play along.

  “Of course I am, mother dearest.”

  Slowly Sandra Brown entered, dressed in a simple gown of midnight blue silk. Almost twice the material covered her mother’s bosom, regardless of them being equally ample in size. Sinclair wished she wasn’t forced by society’s expectations to expose so much of her soft flesh. She didn’t like to have men gazing at her with the heated look of lust in their eyes.

  “You’re still wearing those ugly spectacles,” her mother said, her face pinched.

  “I have bad eyesight, and I want to be able to know who I’m speaking to.”

  “I hoped you might not speak so much tonight.”

  “Why would I want to do that?”

  “Men prefer a woman who is less opinionated.”

  Sinclair rolled her eyes behind her glasses. Her mother was still angry with her for telling Mrs. Guther that her hat looked like a pumpkin at the last event they had attended. This drew her mother’s attention back to the thin glasses resting on her face.

  “You would look so much lovelier without those.”

  “I’m wearing them and that’s final.”

  She looked her mother square in the eye and saw the corner of her mouth twitch a little. It didn’t take long for a smile to spread and a chuckle to be heard.

  “You are just like your father,” she whispered against her Sinclair’s hair as she placed a kiss there.

>   “Stubborn as mules, both of you.”

  It was true that Adam Brown often encouraged his daughter’s free spirit, much to the disdain of his wife. He even went as far as encouraging her interest in the family shipping business. Had her parents not been so in love, it could have caused a lot of tension within the house hold.

  “Come, come.” He mother patted her on the shoulder. “We must go down now and dazzle the crowd.”

  That night was yet another social fiasco. In true wallflower fashion, Sinclair kept out of sight for most of the evening. Every attempt her mother made to draw her into the crowd of young people was ruined the moment she opened her mouth. She didn’t know how to giggle and make small talk as the other girls did. She’d rather be discussing literature or politics. This made her unpopular with the high society people at the party.

  When she could no longer stand the crush of people ignoring her, Sinclair escaped out into the garden. Cool night air blew lightly across her cheeks as she began to run from the sound of people. Tears streamed down her face and her lungs burned inside the confines of her corset. Once she reached the cool darkness offered by the wall, Sinclair pressed her cheek against the stones. Her face felt hot and damp, enough to fog the lenses of her glasses.

  “You shouldn’t let them get to you like that.” Her father had followed her outside.

  “I try not to. I try to act as if their opinions don’t matter, but we both know they do.”

  “Only as much as you let them.” Her father wrapped her up in a hug, and she breathed in the familiar scent of coffee and cigars. “You are smart, pretty and wealthy. There is no reason you need their approval.”

  “Mother would disagree.”

  “There are things that a parent always wants for their children, but those are her dreams. Don’t let them become your nightmare.”

  Once again, her father had known the right thing to say at the right moment.

  That same night was when the fire came. Sinclair could remember waking up with sweat dripping off of her face. Her cotton nightgown clung to her damp body as she struggled through the sheets to sit up. Heat was thick in the air, making it hard to breathe. Fear gripped her on the inside as she tried to figure out what was happening. A strange glow from the windows gave her enough light to see her room clearly and find a way out.

  In a stumbling rush, she went to her bedroom door. With her hand wrapped around the knob, she noticed smoke seeping in through the bottom of the door. Long gray spirals worked their way up from the floor to fade into the air. She paused for a moment to watch them dance in the hot air, forgetting the panic she felt.

  The sound of snapping wood behind the door caught her attention. It frightened her, forcing her to step back. Running across the slick wooden floors to the window, she threw it open and leaned out. What she saw made her breath catch in her chest.

  Orange and red flames coated the city in color. Smoke billowed up into the sky, creating dark clouds across the stars. The sound of people rushing through the streets could be heard as she sniffed the burnt air. In the distance, an orange glow could be seen over the skyline. Sinclair felt heat pressing against her cheeks and it made the unshed tears in her eyes sting.

  “Miss Sinclair,” a voice called up from the lawn.

  Looking down, she was relieved to see Frederick standing below in the garden. He looked frazzled, his hair falling limp in his face. He still wore his rumpled bedclothes, which Sinclair had never seen him in before. Black was smudged across his face, making it hard to read his expression. She had never been so happy to see someone in her entire life.

  “Frederick, thank goodness!”

  “Miss, are you able to get out?”

  “Not through my door.” Her words were strangled with frustration.

  “Then you’ll have to climb out the window.”

  Sinclair gazed down the two stories from her window to the lawn. An impossible distance loomed in front of her. Gripping the window sill, Sinclair shook her head vigorously.

  “Miss, you don’t have much of a choice.”

  “It’s too far.” Her voice got louder as the sound of destruction got closer.

  “Just climb down the trellis.” Frederick, motioned to the white woodwork nailed to the house beside her window.

  “You’re going to catch me if I fall?” she asked timidly, eyeing the thin wooden trellis.

  “Of course,” said Frederick. “But we need to hurry. I’m not sure how much longer the house is going to stand.”

  Taking a deep breath, Sinclair reached out to grab the fixture. She moved down the side of the house slowly, gripping the painted wood with sweaty palms. She refused to look down beneath the hem of her nightgown.

  “Miss, could you move a little faster, please?”

  “I could, but I won’t.”

  “If you fall, I’ll catch you.”

  She snorted but didn’t dare look down at him. Her arms were growing tired from holding her own body weight and her chest hurt from breathing the smoky air. It took most of her strength to overcome her own fear and keep her body moving.

  “Miss Sinclair, maybe you should jump for it now.” called Frederick, panic edged in his voice.

  “I will do no such thing. I don’t even know why you’d suggest it.”

  “Because the trellis is on fire.”

  Looking up, Sinclair saw that flames had in fact leapt out the window and attached to the trellis. Shrieking, she released the frame and felt herself falling backwards. Hitting the ground knocked the air from her lungs and sent sharp pain shooting through her muscles.

  “Miss, I hadn’t expected you to fall without warning.”

  She struggled to breathe again as Frederick lifted her to her feet. Aside from bruises she could feel forming along her skin, nothing felt seriously injured. She checked all her limbs and joints to be sure nothing was broken. To her surprise, she felt a book tucked into the pocket of her nightgown. It had been the one she was reading before bed, and now it was also a survivor.

  “I hadn’t planned on falling,” said Sinclair in a hoarse whisper, “but I trusted you were ready.”

  “Sorry, Miss.”

  Shaking her head, she looked up at the remaining structure of her home as it fell into ruin. It was the only home she had ever known and now it was gone. She knew she would mourn the loss of it deeply when she had the time, but for now she urgently needed to find her parents.

  With an extended hand she allowed Frederick to help her up and lead the way. They moved slowly through the crowded streets, trying to get to the nearby lakefront. Stalled carriages blocked the streets and forced the masses onto the narrow sidewalks. At one point she was pushed aside by an ailing man being carried on a homemade stretcher. She reached out and touched his hand for a brief moment.

  “Frederick, are you sure my parents got out?”

  He squeezed her hand for reassurance. Still, the grim scene before her did little to ease her mind.

  “Fine,” she said, her eyes searching the crowds of people who had gathered at the edge of the water to watch the city burn. “Let’s find them quickly.”

  Fredrick gently led her along the streets until they reached an area where the people from her neighborhood had gathered. She could see her house from there, now bursting with flames. A window that had once been her mother’s pride with its rose colored glass was shattered, letting the fire escape out into the night.

  “Sinclair, is that you?” asked someone standing in front of the butler.

  Peeping around she saw the soot-covered face of Mr. Bronston, their neighbor and friend. His fat cheeks and dimpled chin were both blackened by ash. His robust shape was dressed in a night shirt, though he strangely wore his hat.

  “Mr. Bronston.” Sinclair moved to stand beside him.

  She was surprised but happy when he pulled her into a warm hug.

  “We were worried about you,” he said, “Especially when Frederick didn’t come back right away.”

  “Wh
ere are my parents?”

  Her question must have caught him off guard because he didn’t answer right away. Instead his gaze traveled past her face to where her home still stood covered in flames.

  “They thought you might still be inside.”

  His voice caught in his throat, but he didn’t need to continue. Panic seized her. Pushing against him, she rushed towards the building. Heedless of the heat or danger, she didn’t notice when her legs no longer touched the ground. She wasn’t able to go anywhere, because Frederick had caught her around the middle.

  “Let me go!” she screamed, clawing at his arm.

  “You can’t go in.”

  There were tears in his voice, and in that moment she knew the truth.

  They were gone. The world faded into blackness. That was where her dream always ended.

  “No!” she screamed out into the darkness of her new room.

  Sinclair sat upright in the bed, the sheets tangled around her legs. It took her a moment to remember where she was and the months that had passed. Her limbs trembled violently as she tried to even out her breathing. There was a soft knock at the door and she knew who it was without asking. Without waiting for her to call him in, Frederick opened the door.

  “Miss?” He sounded concerned.

  “I’m fine. Just another bad dream.” She said to him. “I didn’t mean to wake you.”

  They both knew he hadn’t been sleeping, but more than likely standing guard outside her door. This was a habit he had picked up after the fire. Part of him felt responsible for her, like an overprotective big brother. Since her parents were gone, he was the only part of her old family she had left. He often would not go to bed until the sun started to rise. Sinclair had no idea how he managed to stay awake all day on so little sleep.

  “Do you need anything, Miss?” For the sake of propriety, Frederick remained on the other side of the door, not entering her room.

  “No, just another dream. No need to worry, you should go to bed.” She hoped he would listen to her for once and find some rest.

  There was a moment of hesitation before he spoke. “You made the right choice coming here. This is what your parents would have wanted.”