“And your maid ran off too boot,” Mrs. Kernoff said with a ‘tsk’ and a shake of her head. “I sympathize with you, my dear. It is getting increasingly hard to find loyal servants these days.”
Calista stared at Mrs. Kernoff a moment as she realized Mr. Donahue had told a lie on her behalf. Willing herself not to look at him now, she slowly nodded. “It certainly is.”
“Tell me,” Mr. Kernoff said after taking a sip of his coffee. “Who are you related to?”
Calista bit her lip and was considering how best to respond when breakfast arrived. She leaned back so the waiter could set her plate before her. The eggs, bacon, and toast she’d been served smelled delicious while three small ceramic containers filled with butter, jam, and honey, glowed in tempting invitation.
“I believe her parents would be Mr. and Mrs. Smith,” Mr. Donahue said with jovial ease.
Again, he winked at her when she glanced his way, this time allowing the tiniest hint of a smile, which immediately warmed her insides and caused her heart to beat faster. He was trying to give her a chance to avoid the subject Mr. Kernoff had raised. If she took it, she could simply smile and voice her agreement, then steer the conversation in a different direction.
But the truth was, she did not want to lie to these people more than necessary. To do so felt wrong, so she said, “That would be true if my name was indeed Jane Smith. But it isn’t.”
“Well now,” Mrs. Kernoff said, her eyes widening ever so slightly. “This just got interesting.”
“Go on,” Mr. Donahue murmured.
Calista did not look at him this time, but felt the intensity of his gaze singeing her skin. He might have guessed she’d assumed a false identity based on what she’d previously told him, but she’d not confirmed it until now.
“I prefer not to divulge my true name out of respect and concern for my family. Seeing as my coming here was an attempt on my part to find a way out of a disagreeable attachment, I fear the man I am meant to marry would make matters worse for my parents, should he discover the real reason for my absence.”
Of course it was much more than that. She also worried how the public would respond if they learned that the daughter of Senator Faulkner had slept on the floor of a pantry in between washing dishes. Her parents would be humiliated.
“So you ran from a marriage of convenience in the hope of marrying for love?” Mrs. Kernoff asked with a smile right before taking a bite of her food.
Calista cleared her throat and proceeded to butter her toast. Mr. Donahue’s presence at her side seemed to stifle the air around her with increasing force. She took a deep breath. “Not for love, Mrs. Kernoff, but with the hope of at least having friendship. There was also the satisfaction of knowing I would be choosing my own path instead of one forced upon me by unforeseeable circumstances. Not even my father could predict the dire result dealing with Mr. Thorkilson would have on us all.”
“Mr. Thorkilson, you say?” Mr. Kernoff blustered. “The real estate mogul?”
“The very same,” Calista admitted. “Papa owes his career to Thorkilson. Had it not been for him, we could not have afforded to move into the city. Thorkilson financed the townhouse, insisting it a necessity if we were to improve upon our status. He advised Papa on so many things and since Papa believed him a friend, he listened. But now the man is demanding Papa repay the favor either by returning every dollar Thorkilson gave him or by letting him have my hand in marriage.”
“Bloody hell,” Mr. Donahue muttered.
“I’d say so,” Mr. Kernoff agreed.
“I gather you weren’t aware of this conundrum?” Mrs. Kernoff said, her eyes on Mr. Donahue.
“No. I…knew the situation was complicated and that Miss…um…Smith… Forgive me but should we keep calling you that if that’s not your actual name?”
“Since I would rather not divulge my real name, it does make sense for you to do so,” Calista said, acutely aware of what she was in fact suggesting – that she would not trust them not to let her true identity slip and for a journalist to snatch it up.
The implication was like a slap in the face to these people who’d chosen to help what was in effect a stranger. But while she owed them her gratitude, she owed her allegiance to her parents first.
“Well then,” Mr. Donahue said, his voice a notch tighter than before. “I knew Miss Smith came to England hoping to make a better match for herself. I was not aware, however, that there was blackmail involved or that the man she fled from was such a lowly bastard. If you’ll excuse my saying so, ladies.”
“No excuse needed on my account,” Mrs. Kernoff said. “He’s a lowly scoundrel to be sure.”
“But if Mr. Thorkilson wants either money or you in return for this funding he has provided,” Mr. Kernoff said, “how does your running away to marry another man help your father?”
“During the year leading up to Mr. Thorkilson’s demand, I had begun corresponding with a Mr. Peter Westchester. We wrote each other regularly and when I eventually mentioned my predicament, he told me he would pay off the debt if I married him instead. I…” Calista took a hasty sip of her tea to help soothe the sudden attack on her nerves. “I believe he fancied himself in love with me and since this worked to my advantage I…I did not deny returning the sentiment.”
An awful moment of silence followed, during which Calista’s whole body burned with the shame of her deplorable deception.
Mrs. Kernoff was the first to voice her opinion. “Did you actually claim to love him?”
“No. I would never do that, but neither did I dispel Mr. Westchester’s beliefs.”
“My dear,” Mr. Kernoff said, his brow knit in deep grooves, “you said yourself that you and Mr. Westchester developed a friendship. If he did indeed love you, he would have offered to help you regardless, with the hope that your affection for him might grow during the course of your marriage.”
“As far as I know,” Mr. Donahue said, speaking up for the first time in a while, “Mr. Westchester’s father was trying to form an alliance with the Richmond family. They are in mining and steel – a wealthy and powerful lot. The idea being bandied about was for Peter Westchester to marry Lilly Richmond, the most entitled social climbing snob I’ve ever encountered. Looks down her dainty nose at nearly everyone unless they hold a title or have a heavier purse than her father.”
“There you are then,” Mr. Kernoff said. He began cutting his bacon. “I don’t believe Mr. Westchester had illusions, Miss Smith. Rather, I expect he was looking to marry you for much the same reason you sought to marry him – so he could avoid a horrible match. If he did indeed fancy himself in love with you, this only made his decision easier.”
Calista breathed a welcome sigh of relief. Peter had mentioned Lilly to her in one of his last letters, but not in a manner that caused her to think he was being pushed into marrying her. The next time he’d written in response to her mention of Mr. Thorkilson, it had been to offer her marriage, the desperation she’d read in his phrasing now making more sense than ever.
Clearly, what she’d interpreted as love had been the same feeling of entrapment she herself had been forced to face.