The Best of Intentions Page 5

  Pain shot up her leg. “Jarvis Street. Near Isabella.”

  He turned the most startling blue eyes on her and gave a low whistle. “You did get lost, didn’t you? Where were you headed?”

  “Nowhere in particular.” She could hardly admit she was spying on one of the wealthiest families in Toronto. For all she knew, this man could be the Eastons’ next-door neighbor. “I was out for a bit of exercise and fresh air. I should have been more careful, being new to the city.”

  “Judging by your accent, I’d say you’re from England?”

  “I am.”

  “What brings you all the way to Canada?” The intensity of his gaze scattered her thoughts like a bunch of spilled marbles.

  Grace focused out the window at the dark street, illuminated by the car headlights and a few well-spaced street lamps. She certainly wouldn’t discuss her private affairs with a complete stranger. “I’ve always wanted to travel, and I’d heard great things about Toronto.” Not a total falsehood. Rose always did praise her new home.

  “So you came here by yourself?”

  Grace fought a sudden surge of homesickness and merely nodded.

  “Quite a brave thing to do.”

  “I suppose.” She didn’t feel very brave at the moment. More foolish than anything else. How was she going to look for work now with a sprained ankle? She’d have to wait for it to heal.

  “My name’s Andrew, by the way. And you are?”

  “Grace.” Despite his friendly manner, something held her back from revealing too much. She had no wish to talk about the real reason she came here or about her sister’s death. “You have a lovely automobile. What kind is it?” She knew nothing of cars but talking about it might keep him from questioning her.

  “It’s a Rolls-Royce. My father gave it to me when he ordered a newer model for himself, though it’s a little ostentatious for my taste. I prefer something simpler, like a Model-T.”

  “I’m afraid I don’t know much about cars.” She shrugged. “Not many people own them in the town I come from.”

  “Then Toronto must seem overwhelming to you.”

  “It does indeed.”

  “Are you working here or on vacation?”

  She studied his handsome profile, the sweep of his golden brown hair over his forehead, the regal nose, and the strong jawline emphasized by a precisely trimmed beard. He wore an air of confidence, like one who knew his place in the world. What would he think of a woman who’d journeyed halfway across the globe with little or no planning, who now found herself adrift on a sea of uncertainty?

  “I’m doing some work for the church. The minister has been very kind. He’s offered to help me find a more permanent position.”

  “I’m sure you’ll find something soon.” He turned onto a street that at last looked familiar. “This is Jarvis,” he said. “What number are you?”

  Grace peered up the road. “You could just drop me at the corner.”

  Andrew frowned. “Not with that ankle. I’ll take you right to the door.”

  “There’s no need, I assure you.”

  “And how will you walk the rest of the way?”

  “I’ll be fine.”

  “Really? Are you planning on hopping on one foot?” His faintly amused gaze caught hers.

  “It’s just that . . . I’m already past curfew, and if my landlady sees a man bringing me home . . . well, I don’t want her to think badly of me.” Heat flooded Grace’s cheeks. What would dear Mrs. Chamberlain think of her after this escapade? Would she ask her to leave for breaking the rules of the house?

  Andrew slowed the car to the curb. “I’m sure she’ll understand when she sees your ankle. I’d be happy to come in and explain.”

  “No, really. You’ve been more than kind already. You can bring me to the door, but I’ll go in alone.” She held his stare, willing him to yield.

  He let out a loud breath. “Very well.”

  She gave him the address, and he continued down the road until he reached the boardinghouse. As soon as he pulled up the brake, he ran around to assist her.

  With his help, she made it up the walkway and the few steps to the door. She leaned against the entrance while she fumbled in her purse for the key. Despite her unsteady hands, she managed to open the door, and then turned to him. “Thank you ever so much. I don’t know how I’d have made it home without you.”

  A slow smile spread over his handsome face. “Glad to be of assistance. You’re sure you can make it from here?”

  “Yes, thank you.”

  “Then I will bid you good-night.” He tipped his hat and started down the walkway. At the gate, he looked back at her. “I hope you enjoy your stay here, Grace. For future outings, though, you might consider buying a map of the city.” He winked and turned toward the car.

  At a complete loss for words, Grace watched until he pulled away, then limped inside the house.

  The next morning, Andrew tapped his pencil on his desktop, his thoughts consumed with the stranded girl he’d helped last night. Why he should be giving her any further consideration was beyond his comprehension. But every time he forced his mind back to Cecilia, where it belonged, an uncomfortable comparison kept creeping in. Cecilia, attired in her beautiful evening gown with jewels glistening at her throat and ears, and Grace in a plain wool skirt and jacket that were neither fashionable nor particularly flattering. Yet even in her simplicity, with only a hint of dark brown hair peeking from beneath a straw hat, Grace had appeared almost noble. And when he stared into those intriguing brown eyes, he’d barely been able to look away.

  Andrew’s door opened, and his father stalked in. At the scowl on his face, Andrew straightened in his chair. “Good morning, Father. What can I do for you?”

  “You can find a way to make up for the mess you created last night.” His father didn’t bother sitting but stood with his arms crossed.

  “I assume you’re referring to my leaving the party early?”

  “You let a fine opportunity slip through your fingers, Andrew. Once you’d left, all the bachelors swooped in to rain attention on Cecilia.” He leaned over the desk as if to emphasize his next point. “One man in particular monopolized her for the rest of the evening.” Father paused, obviously waiting for a reaction.

  Andrew kept his expression bland. “I didn’t expect Cecilia to sit in a corner all night because I’d gone home. It was her birthday, after all.”

  “Then I guess you don’t care that Paul Edison spent the rest of the night dancing with her.”

  Andrew’s fingers tightened on the pencil in his hand. Of all people, why did it have to be Father’s new junior executive? Bad enough the guy was trying to impress Father at the office by attempting to undermine Andrew whenever possible and showcase his own work in a more advantageous light. But moving in on the girl Andrew was courting was low, even for him. Andrew’s jaw clenched.

  “Ah, that finally got your attention.” His father’s satisfied smirk only added to Andrew’s annoyance. “I trust you’ll do something about it. A nice bouquet of flowers might go a long way to restoring Cecilia’s good graces.” He paused. “But an engagement ring would be even better.”

  With a last pointed look, his father left the room.

  Andrew dropped his head into his hands. He’d forgotten all about sending flowers this morning. It seemed a personal apology was in order. If he were lucky, a bouquet of roses might smooth out Cecilia’s ruffled feathers. If not, a new piece of jewelry should do it.

  Anything other than an engagement ring.

  CHAPTER 6

  May 31, 1914

  Dear Grace,

  Tonight Frank kissed me for the first time. I’m floating on air.

  I’ve never felt this way before. I think I might be falling in love.

  On Mrs. Chamberlain’s insistence, Grace spent the first two days after spraining her ankle on the sofa in the parlor with her foot on a pillow, while the poor woman waited on her hand and foot. On the third day,
when the swelling had lessened and Grace could get around better, she’d sat at the kitchen table and helped peel potatoes and chop vegetables.

  Mrs. C.—as the woman insisted Grace call her—was kindly allowing her to stay for a reduced fee until she got a proper job. And Reverend Burke had been most understanding about her injury, saying not to rush her recovery, that the chores at the church could wait until she was on the mend.

  After dinner on the fifth day of confinement, Grace helped her landlady with the dishes in the homey kitchen. Her ankle, though still tender, was improving every day and she looked forward to attending church on Sunday.

  “You’re not required to do manual labor, you know.” Mrs. C. handed her a plate to dry.

  “I don’t mind. There’s only so much sitting with my foot up I can stand without going mad.”

  “Your ankle seems much improved.”

  “It is.” Grace smiled as she stacked the clean dishes in the cupboard. “Your nursing skills have proven very effective.”

  “I’m glad.” Mrs. C. dried her hands on her apron. “If you’re up to it, how would you like to join us at the Newcomers’ meeting tonight?”

  Grace’s hand stilled on the glass she was drying. “It’s kind of you to offer, but I don’t think so.”

  “I know you’re still grieving for Rose, but getting out of this house for a couple of hours will do you a world of good. Who knows? You might even make a new friend.” Sympathy softened her landlady’s features. “Everyone can use more friends, Grace. Especially ones with a similar background.”

  Grace doubted she’d have anything in common with those people, yet she couldn’t bear to disappoint Mrs. C., not after she’d been so kind to her. She summoned a smile. “All right. I’d be happy to go with you.”

  An hour later, seated on a hard folding chair in the church basement, Grace balanced a teacup on her lap and looked around at the diverse group. Reverend Burke had led the meeting with a short prayer service and then spoke about some job opportunities in a local factory. Some of the members shared their experiences over the past few weeks, both good and bad. Grace gradually relaxed, realizing it did feel good to be around people from home, though not everyone was from Britain. Some were from Italy, and a few came from Poland and the Ukraine. Yet everyone laughed and chatted like old friends.

  “I can’t believe you’re from Sussex and I had to come all the way to Canada to meet you.” The man on her left, one Mrs. C. had introduced as Ian Miller, regarded her through very thick lenses that distorted the appearance of his eyes into tiny pea holes.

  “That is a coincidence.” Grace turned her head, trying to shrug off her discomfort at the intense attention.

  “I’ve been coming to these meetings for five years now. I never imagined meeting anyone as lovely as you.” He gave a nervous laugh.

  Grace smiled and scanned the room for Mrs. C., who waved at her from the other side of the room where she and another lady served the refreshments. If not for Grace’s ankle, which had started to ache as it often did later in the day, she’d have hopped up to help them.

  “Are you looking for work, Miss Abernathy?”

  “As a matter of fact, yes. Though this ankle injury has set me back a bit.”

  “I work in the CPR building on Yonge Street. I can keep an eye out for jobs if you like.”

  She frowned. “What is a CPR building?”

  “Canadian Pacific Railway.” Mr. Miller fished in his jacket pocket and pulled out a small card. “I actually work in the telegraph office on the second floor. If you ever need to send a telegram, I’ll make sure you get the best possible service. Maybe even a discount.” He pressed the card into her hand with a myopic wink.

  Despite herself, Grace laughed. “Thank you, Mr. Miller. I’ll keep that in mind.” She placed the card in her purse while he watched, just to prove she meant it.

  “I hope you don’t think me too forward, but I know what it’s like to be new in a strange city, so far from home. If you ever need a friend to talk to . . . or for anything really, please think of me.”

  The sincerity in his voice touched Grace’s heart. It brought to mind her brother, Peter, who was always so thoughtful and attentive to others, and she berated herself for thinking unkindly of the man simply because of his looks and his overeagerness. She smiled at him. “That’s very kind of you. I might take you up on that one day.”

  “Good. I’ll hold you to it.” He beamed at her as though she’d just promised to marry him.

  When the gathering came to an end, Mr. Miller helped her to her feet. “It was very nice to meet you, Miss Abernathy. I hope to see you at our next meeting.”

  As he tipped his hat politely and walked away, warmth spread through Grace’s chest. Mrs. C. had been right about coming tonight. You could never have too many friends.

  During her week of recuperation, Grace hadn’t managed to come up with a single new strategy to meet her nephew. Because of that, as soon as she was able to walk without a limp, she’d resorted to spying on the Easton estate again. Not exactly a crackerjack plan, but short of breaking into the house, she couldn’t think of anything else. Surely if she persisted, she’d eventually catch a glimpse of her nephew, though what good that would do, she didn’t know.

  Today was the third day in a row Grace had spent hours lurking on the street across from the mansion. The previous two days, she’d come in the morning with no luck, so today she decided to try the afternoon. She’d just about resigned herself to giving up for the day when the iron gates opened and a young woman dressed in a stylish plum jacket and matching hat pushed a pram onto the sidewalk.

  Grace’s heart began to race. Every instinct told her that Christian was inside the pram.

  As discreetly as possible, Grace followed on the opposite side of the street, grateful her ankle was healed enough that she could keep up. Several blocks later, the woman turned onto a side street. Before she could lose sight of her, Grace crossed the road and trailed her at a respectable distance until they entered a park.

  Grace followed her in, slowing her stride to make it appear like she was out for a leisurely stroll. Thankfully, there were several people around—some walking, some sharing a picnic on a blanket under the trees, others playing ball with their children. Enough activity that Grace wouldn’t seem out of place.

  She kept a close watch on the pram as she strolled. After two times around the park, the woman stopped to sit on a bench. Grace slowed her gait and meandered past, using all her self-control not to stare. Instead, she headed to the next bench and sat down. The beginning of an ache in her ankle told her she would pay for overdoing it today.

  Grace pretended to watch the activities of the children playing on a swing set, while stealing side glances at the woman who had taken out a book to read. Was this Christian’s nanny? If not, could it be Rose’s sister-in-law? Grace tried to recall any details Rose had written in her letters. She had mentioned Frank had a brother and sister but little else, talking mainly about the overbearing Mr. Easton, who had disowned Frank for marrying a penniless foreigner.

  A few minutes later, a baby’s cry sounded. Grace’s attention snapped to the pram. The woman laid her book on the bench and reached into the carriage. Smiling, she lifted the child out. She kissed the baby and snuggled him to her chest, arranging a blanket around him. Within seconds, the child quieted. The two seemed to share an intimate bond that would indicate more than a few weeks’ acquaintance. Maybe this wasn’t her nephew after all. Maybe this was the woman’s own child.

  Grace had to find out somehow. Before she could talk herself out of her crazy plan, she rose and approached the pair.

  The woman looked up as Grace neared. With her raven hair and wide gray eyes, she was quite beautiful.

  “Hello.” Grace pasted on her friendliest smile. “I couldn’t help but notice your lovely baby. He’s adorable.”

  The woman beamed back. “Thank you. We certainly think so.”

  “Your husband must
be very proud.” Grace held her breath and waited for the response.

  The woman shook her head. “No husband, I’m afraid. This is my nephew.”

  Grace’s knees began to shake. She moved closer and sat on the edge of the bench, leaving a good space between her and the woman. “How wonderful to be such a doting aunt.” She peered over at the perfect little face, and her breath seized.

  Large blue eyes, exactly like her sister’s, stared back at her.

  This was Rose’s son. Grace knew it as surely as she knew her own name. Foolish tears sprang to her eyes, and she blinked hard to keep them at bay.

  The woman studied her. “Do you have any children?” she asked.

  “Not yet, but I hope to someday.”

  The lines of concern on the woman’s forehead eased. “Me too. A whole houseful of them. In the meantime, little Christian is the next best thing. Aren’t you, darling?” She gazed at the child with absolute adoration.

  Grace’s heart squeezed. She’d been thinking of the Eastons as the enemy. It never occurred to her that she could have so much in common with one of them. Yet she and this woman had both lost someone dear, and both loved this little boy—the only tie they had left to their siblings.

  Grace squared her shoulders and shook off the sentimentality. She couldn’t afford to lose sight of her goal. “Are you sitting for the baby’s parents?” She kept her focus on the child’s cherubic face.

  After several seconds, a soft sigh escaped. “Tragically, no. Both his parents are dead.” She pressed a kiss to the top of his head. “But we will make sure Christian grows up with all the love he needs.” She laid her cheek against the boy’s until he started to squirm.

  Grace swallowed the lump of emotion that blocked her own throat. “I’m so sorry for your loss.” And for mine.

  “Thank you.”

  “It’s quite a responsibility to take in your nephew. Are you going to raise him yourself?” Grace couldn’t imagine Mrs. Easton, a wealthy middle-aged woman, wanting to take on such a formidable task. She’d likely leave it to her daughter.