Grave Consequences (Grand Tour Series #2) Read online

  “And so?”

  “And so?” Hugh repeated wryly.

  “Hugh. What is their plan?”

  “To spend some time apart. To think on it. Search their hearts. And decide if they truly belong together.”

  “Goodness,” I said, still a bit overwhelmed by this turn. All on account of such a short conversation with Viv? Or a sleeping dragon awakened by a butterfly’s passing?

  “You should know,” Hugh said. “My brother can get rather volatile when he’s angry.”

  “Are you…warning me?” We neared the funicular railway station.

  He pursed his lips a moment. “Just that you should stick with the group. Don’t go where Andrew can corner you alone again. Especially if he’s been drinking.”

  I frowned. I’d never seen Andrew overly imbibe. That was more the realm of Felix and Hugh. “How is any of this my fault?” I whispered as we got closer to the others. My heart was pounding. Because while Hugh liked to play with my emotions, he seemed earnest in this warning.

  He turned to me and leaned toward my ear. “You, dear Cora, appear determined to delve into matters of the heart. Don’t you know that we Morgans and Kensingtons prefer to keep things on another plane altogether?”

  I avoided Andrew all night, as well as most of the others in our party. I kept to myself, forcing myself to eat something, then quickly making my excuses of a headache as some of them went to the Lumière cinema for a moving picture show, and the others went to a local dance hall. “I’d like to turn in early,” I said, meeting Will’s searching eyes. “I’m exhausted.”

  He nodded and let me go, clearly reluctant. Antonio escorted me to my room, waiting until I had locked the door behind me. I didn’t even call upon Anna, glad to undress myself, unpin my hair, brush it out, and slip into a nightdress, then burrow under the cool sheets and blankets of my big bed. Because I was unaccountably tired. Weary from the bones out. Tired of trying to think through every word, every action, and what the repercussions might be. And within seconds of laying my head on the pillow, just as I was thinking I’d never sleep, with all that was on my mind, I was.

  Hours later, I dreamed of knocking, pounding at my door. Someone calling my name. I opened one eye and sat up, turning up the flame of my bedside lamp and then going to the door, still wondering if I was dreaming.

  “Cora!” he said. “I must see you!”

  It was Andrew.

  “Andrew, it’s far too late. I shall see you in the morning.”

  “Come out! Come out this instant!”

  I could hear the slur in his voice. And Hugh’s words came back to me. About his volatility. Particularly when he’d been drinking. As if to emphasize the truth of Hugh’s warning, he banged on the door so hard, the whole thing shuddered. I took a step back.

  I glanced at the lamp in my hand. I was shaking so hard, the oil was sloshing around in the well at the bottom. “Tomorrow, Andrew! We’ll speak tomorrow!”

  “Come out here, Cora! Please!” I heard his voice crack. He paused. “Please. Just a word.” Could he truly be weeping?

  My heart paused a moment and then pounded. What had I done? Why had I interfered? The man was clearly devastated.

  “Just a moment, Andrew.” I moved to my bedside table and set down the lamp, then pulled on my dressing robe. I went back to the door and opened it a few inches. “Andrew?”

  “Just a word, Cora,” he said, his shoulders shaking. He was leaning his head against the wall, inches from the door. He wiped his nose and cheek with one serpentine swipe of his hand and arm and looked at me with such pain, such brokenness, that my heart broke for him.

  “Andrew,” I begged him. “Go to Vivian. She’ll see that you love her.”

  “No,” he said. “She won’t. She wants something from me that I cannot define. Something even she cannot define. It was you. You planted some seed in her mind.…” He searched my eyes, and in that moment, his own hardened.

  My internal alarm moved me to action a moment too late. I tried to slam the door, but he wedged his foot in and then pushed it open, sending me sprawling. I fell on my hip and elbow, sliding across the polished floor and moved to try to get up. But he was there, yanking me upward, clenching both my arms in his powerful hands. “What have you done?” he spat at me. “What have you done?”

  He shook me so hard my teeth rattled.

  “Andrew, I didn’t mean to. Please…you’ve had too much to drink—”

  He let out a cry and this time pushed me up against a wall, his fingers digging into my arms. He leaned his beet-red face down toward mine. “How dare you tell me I’ve had too much to drink! Who are you to come into our lives and get between us? What do you hope to gain? Why are you bent on destroying our future?”

  “I hardly think I’ve destroyed anything,” I said, finding strength in my own fury. “If my innocent question was enough to do so, you had no semblance of a foundation for a marriage! Come now, Andrew. Look at yourself. What are you doing?”

  “Yes,” Will said from the doorway, every line in his face speaking of warning. “What are you doing?”

  Art was beside him.

  Andrew looked at them, to me, and then back to Will. “I needed a word with her.” He released me and took a step back.

  “In the middle of the night? Menacing her so?” He strode over to us.

  “This is none of your business, William,” Andrew said. “I will be done here in a moment.”

  “No,” Will returned evenly. “You are done now. Go to your quarters and sleep off whatever you’ve imbibed this night, or Art and I shall drag you there.”

  Andrew looked over Will’s shoulder to Art. Behind him, several of the hotel’s guests in nightcaps and dressing gowns peered from their doorways to see what the fuss was about. Andrew let out a sound of disgust and shook a finger at me. “Make it right with Vivian. Immediately.”

  “The only one who can make it right with Vivian is you, Andrew,” I said.

  His eyes widened with renewed anger, and he lifted his hand to slap me, but Will was there, grabbing his wrist and twisting his arm behind him. “To bed, Andrew. Now,” he seethed, forcing him from my room.

  Art, halfway in my room, turned to the gaping people in the hallway. He spoke to them soothingly, his tone clear, even though he spoke French. He was probably telling them it was all over, to go back to their rooms. Slowly, grudgingly, they turned and did as he asked, while he stood there, a hand on either side of my doorframe, as if standing guard.

  After a moment, he threw a wry grin over his shoulder and cocked his head. “You certainly know how to rile people up, Cora Diehl Kensington.”

  My knees felt watery beneath me, and I shakily reached for the back of my dressing table chair.

  “Whoa there,” he said, hurrying over to me and grabbing my arms, helping me sit down.

  When I winced, he belatedly realized he held me where Andrew had. If I’d had bruises from the kidnappers, what would these be like come morning? Vaguely, I reached up and ran the fingers of my right hand over my left arm.

  “Sorry. I wasn’t thinking,” he said, kneeling before me. “Do you need something? A glass of water? Something stronger?”

  “No, no.” I looked to the empty doorway, longing for Will to return. I wanted him here. Him to take me in his arms. Not this man with his inquisitive eyes.

  “I’ve messed things up,” I said with a sigh. “Again. We were all getting along so well.”

  “Who?”

  “Me and my siblings. They were accepting me, trusting me…and now this.”

  “Seems to me that it’s Morgan who has an issue with you. Not your siblings.”

  “Trust me,” I said dimly. “It won’t take long for the Kensington ire to follow.”

  “I take it you came between Andrew and Vivian.”

  “Not on purpose. I merely asked Viv if she loved him.”

  Art laughed softly. “You truly are new to this whole set of society, aren’t you?”

&
nbsp; I cast him a look of irritation. “Don’t mock me, Arthur. I’m not in the mood.”

  He quickly schooled his expression. “Forgive me. But you do seem to walk into trouble after trouble….”

  “Cora?” Will said from the door, looking at me and Art, then back again. He stepped closer. “Are you all right?”

  Just seeing his face made me feel so relieved I wanted to cry despite myself.

  Art looked at us and rose. “I’ll see myself out.”

  We should have refused him. We shouldn’t have been left alone. But neither of us spoke.

  Art smiled a little and departed, but he did not close the door. Will, frowning in concern over me, followed him and quietly shut it. We met in the middle of the room. I threw myself into his arms, clinging to him, and he wrapped his arms around me, cradling me against his chest. “Are you all right?” he asked, stroking my hair. “Did he hurt you?”

  “No—” My voice broke. I was crying, knowing that it was more than Andrew’s attack. It was the trauma of this night on top of our last night in Nîmes. It was all too much…Too much. I shook my head and tried to gather myself. “I’m fine. Just shaken. If you and Art hadn’t come when you did…”

  “It’s all right, Cora. Shh. I’m sorry. Andrew will be better tomorrow. He’ll have a beast of a headache. But he’ll be better.” He backed away a bit to cradle my face and gaze into my eyes. “Trust me,” he said. “Andrew has to figure out some things. But I think he will. It’s just that…”

  “What? I—”

  “You took something from him. Regardless of whether you meant to do it or not,” he said quickly, seeing that I was about to defend myself. “He sees you as the one that set this ball rolling.” He ducked his head. “Granted, it needed to roll. Before an engagement happened. But I’d wager no one has ever taken something away from Andrew Morgan, all his life.”

  He smiled then. Because we both had had things and people taken from us. And this…the normal course of life put everyone on an even playing field. In time.

  “They might…they might resume their relationship. Tomorrow.”

  “I’d wager it’s likely,” he said, leaning close, brushing away my tears. “But in the meantime, you’ve made them think about things they should have been considering all along.” He kissed me then, tenderly, reassuringly, on either side of my face. “About what it means to care.” He gave me another kiss, softly, this time on the lips. “About what it means to be devoted.” And another…“About what it is to love.” He used his thumbs to wipe away more of my tears, but his eyes never left mine.

  I stared up at him, wondering if he was saying what I thought he was saying.

  “I love you, Cora Diehl Kensington,” he whispered, his hands tightening on either side of my face. He shook his head, his eyes becoming desperate. “And I don’t know if I can continue this ruse. Pretending that you are merely one of my seven clients, when every moment, all I want to do is to sweep you away. If only I had the means…if only Uncle—”

  He paused and ran a hand through his hair. “Please know that I’d declare myself to your father today if I could. I’d tell him I could no longer act as your guide. Because I wish to court you as your intended. But my uncle…”

  “What is it? Are you not his heir? Have you not come into your own means?”

  “A pauper’s means,” he said bitterly, backing slightly away from me. “I inherited nothing but debt. Even after we sell everything he had, I’m liable for more.” He looked at me, pain in his eyes. “I need to see this tour through. To the end. Collect my pay, then tell your father of my intentions.”

  I took his hands in mine. “I love you, too, William. And I understand. Truly. It’s only another six weeks, this tour. Surely we can last that long. You can collect your pay. I can get my tuition check. And when we’re home, nothing can keep us from each other. Not even Wallace Kensington.”

  He smiled and leaned his forehead against mine. “Do you really think it’s possible?”

  “Yes. Yes.”

  “What of…Pierre?” he asked, both guilt and fear crossing his face.

  “I wanted to tell him in Carcassonne. But with all that went on…I will send him word. Tomorrow. I promise. Now, please. You must be away. If anyone were to find you in here…”

  “I know,” he said miserably, making no move to depart. After a moment, he groaned, pulled me into another long, tender hug, and then forced himself to turn away and go to the door. “Lock it as soon—”

  “Wait.” I pulled him aside and then peeked out the door and down the hall, looking both ways. Making sure no one yet lingered in the hall, I pushed him out and practically slammed the door in his face, then leaned against it, smiling. “Good night, Will,” I whispered, knowing he couldn’t hear me. Not that it mattered.

  He loved me.

  William McCabe loved me.

  Part II

  GENEVA

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  Cora

  The next day, I posted my farewell letter to Pierre—which both pained me and relieved me—and we left France behind. It felt symbolic to me as we crossed the border into Switzerland, as if I were closing the door on whatever wild dreams I’d had about Pierre, too, and could focus on the future. On Will, I thought with a smile. I only hoped the letter would reach him before he set off to meet me, or that might prove to be awkward.

  I tried to sit next to Vivian, hoping we could share a quick conversation, but when I patted the seat beside me she ignored me, choosing to sit by herself. Perhaps she was vexed with me as well, I thought, for getting her beau riled up into such a state. It mattered little. Once we got to Geneva, I’d find a time and place to talk to her and find out what was happening in her head…and heart.

  We traveled through deep mountain valleys filled with tidy Tyrolean buildings—with bright white, stucco walls framed by big brown timbers and bright red shutters—and past shepherds driving herds of sheep and cattle from one meadow to the next. The train track made a serpentine path through the snowcapped peaks and over frequent, frightfully high arched stone bridges where waterfalls cascaded below us.

  We all sat by the windows, gazing out in awe, mesmerized. Even Montana, with her glorious mountains and lakes, could not compare to this alpine glory. Gradually, we began to descend again, arriving in Geneva midafternoon. She was a pretty city, with obvious wealth behind her—every building had a perfect facade and gleaming glass in its windows. Streetcars ran meticulously on schedule, Will said, appropriate for a city known as much for her skill in crafting clocks as she was for banking and international diplomacy.

  He led the way out of the train car, then toward taxicabs that took us to a gorgeous, sprawling hotel on the shores of Lake Geneva. Women strolled in crisp white linen, parasols above their heads, dapper-looking men at their sides. And out on the water was one sailboat after another, like a scene out of a painting.

  “Ahh, yes, the Genevans do enjoy a proper bit of sailing,” Art said, pausing beside me. “Did you know Lake Geneva is the biggest freshwater lake in Europe?” He lifted his camera. “Do you mind? You’re as pretty as a picture there with your parasol.”

  “If you’re so inclined,” I said. Did the man never reach the end of his film?

  He hovered over the viewfinder. “Would you mind looking back out over your shoulder, toward the water? I like your face in profile.”

  I did as he asked, feeling a tinge of a blush at his words. And yet I sensed no interest in a personal pursuit from him. He merely was concerned about his photographs, it seemed. With each stop I thought he’d leave us, but now he was securing sailing vessels for us tomorrow, and I’d heard Vivian say something about him having contacts in Vienna.

  “Perhaps I can arrange a way to get us all out on the water tomorrow, to take part in the regatta…” he said, still peering into his viewfinder.

  “Is there anywhere you do not know people, Art?” I asked, considering him. I wondered how he could be away from his business for
so long. Or was he merely another young man of the well-to-do set, free to travel the world on an unlimited budget?

  “I do know a good number across Europe,” he said, pursing his lips. “I grew up coming here and have fostered many good relationships over the years. It’s good for my business.”

  “What is your business? If I may ask,” I said. I’d seen a typewriter among his luggage and knew he spent a fair amount of time in the local telegraph office, but he spent more time developing his photographs and traveling about with us, as far as I could see.

  “I deal in people,” he said with a grin, winking at me. “The interweaving of lives. The intersections of our stories.”

  I frowned in confusion over his cryptic answer, but he was already moving on. He gestured again toward the water and then patted his chest. “It does a body good to be by such a lake or sea, don’t you think?”

  I couldn’t restrain my smile, turning to fully look at it myself. “Indeed.”

  “Maybe Andrew and Vivian will find their way back to each other,” he whispered. He looked outward. “It’s irresistibly romantic.”

  I glanced up at him. “Do you believe they will?”

  “I do.”

  “I hope you’re right. Because right now, neither of them is speaking to me.”

  He gave me a wink. “It will work out. Come on. The others are already inside. Surely William has our room assignments by now.”

  He offered me his arm, and together we walked up the wide marble steps, entering the grand lobby of the hotel. Inside it was posh, luxurious, with attendants at the counter in full black-and-white livery. The biggest crystal chandelier I’d ever seen dominated the center of the ceiling; gorgeous brocade and velvet couches and chairs and settees in groupings invited guests to come and sit for a while and look out through vast banks of windows to the veranda and blue lake beyond.

  “Cora, you can follow this bellman and Anna to your room,” Will said, handing me a key and gesturing toward a young attendant and my maid. “Please join us here in the lobby in two hours. We are to attend an evening garden party.”