An Heiress to Remember (The Gilded Age Girls Club #3) - Maya Rodale Page 0,12

her. “I merely have the same destination. Would you rather I take the stairs?”

“Yes, but I should hate to deprive anyone of the joy of modern conveniences.”

This was the honest truth. After years in a drafty old castle, it was an understatement to say she was delighted in the newly built Manhattan buildings: hot running water, private water closets, elevators, electric lights.

The elevator dinged its arrival and she stepped in and took a deep, fortifying breath.

She could do this. She could stand in close quarters with the man who had only ever wanted one thing: Goodwin’s, the store. Not her. Why else would he have taken the money her mother had offered and disappeared when it was made clear that he would never get the store either by marriage to her or by being her father’s protégé? Yes, she’d accepted the duke—the pressure upon her to do so had been enormous. At least His Grace had made no bones about marrying her for money.

But Dalton . . . he had made her believe he loved her. He’d been revealed as a fortune hunter all the same.

When Dalton stepped in after her, it felt like all the air in the elevator evaporated.

The elevator attendant nodded at them both in greeting, apparently oblivious to the undercurrent of tension pulsing between them.

“Good afternoon. Which floor may I take you to?”

“The street please.”

“The street it is.”

Their slow descent began. Silence reigned. The kind of silence that seemed more impossible to break with each passing second of words unspoken. What did one say to one’s first love who returned only to possibly ruin one’s future plans? At what point has one waited too long to speak and so it was now more awkward to say something than remain quiet? One minute? Two?

One could not broach the topic of the weather. Not after that scene.

Instead, they did the thing where one kept one’s eyes focused forward, noting each floor they successfully passed without getting stuck or plummeting to their deaths. A particularly modern demise, that.

It would be swift, at least.

Not like this slow burn of mortification.

It was plain to her now that all he had ever wanted was the store. That explained what he’d done sixteen years ago, and his offer today. Dalton wanted Goodwin’s. Full stop. She gave a short exhale. Any lingering doubts she may have nurtured over the years that he’d wanted her had now been laid to rest.

How sad.

She had occasionally wondered about him during her long, cold days and nights. Wondered what he was doing, what he had done with the money, or if he had regretted his choice. It was clear now that he had been right here the whole time, turning a windfall into a fortune of his own.

Her mother had never said a word. All the letters they had exchanged and not one word. Then again, Beatrice knew better than to ask.

The elevator came to a slow, merciful stop. She tapped her toes, waiting for the doors to open. Then, finally, the attendant gave them both a nod and opened the door.

Beatrice squared her shoulders, ready to step out and face the world and the rest of her life. Within a few short steps she was out of the building and onto the street without a backward glance.

The air was thick and mildly unpleasant. She was grateful for the din and clamor of the city. For the rush of activity that swallowed her up and allowed her escape.

Beatrice marched straight to the edge of the street and raised her hand up for a hack.

And waited.

And waited.

Oh, dozens and dozens of vehicles—private carriages, delivery wagons, hacks already full with passengers—passed by her in a crush. Bicyclists whizzed past her and she was jealous. No available hack was to be seen.

“It’s a terrible time of day to get a hack.” A voice spoke from somewhere in the vicinity of behind her right shoulder. Beatrice didn’t need to look to see who it was. To see who would dare to explain Manhattan traffic to her, a born and bred New Yorker. She kept her eyes focused on Broadway.

“There’s never a good time of day to get a hack,” she replied.

“But this time is particularly unfavorable. The shifts are changing. The horses are eager to get back to their supper. Maybe if you are going uptown someone will take you on their way back to the stables.”

“As it happens I am going uptown.”

“How is the old Goodwin mansion? Hopefully it’s been kept