Jennifer Greene – Society Wives: Secret Lives: The Rags-To-Riches Wife (страница 2)
But for some inexplicable reason Bunny Baldwin had been determined to have the grown-up Lily Miller experience the fantasy she’d never known as a girl—attending a party all dressed up in a beautiful gown and feeling as though she belonged. Bunny hadn’t chosen just any party. She’d chosen Eastwick Cares’ major fund-raiser—the black-and-white ball.
As if it had been only yesterday, Lily’s thoughts drifted back to that day last December when Bunny had marched into her office and proclaimed that she had to attend the ball. All Lily’s protests had fallen on deaf ears. Bunny had insisted that her employment as a counselor for the agency required she be there to assist at the event. That had obviously been one of Bunny’s white lies—as Lily had discovered within ten minutes of her arrival at the ball. For some reason, Bunny Baldwin had cast herself in the role of fairy godmother to Lily’s Cinderella. It was the only explanation for the society doyenne tricking her into attending the event and even presenting her with an elegant gown to wear. Oh, Bunny had claimed the dress was something that she’d found in the back of her closet. But she had recognized the quality of the beautiful black gown, Lily admitted, though it wasn’t until she was in the powder room the evening of the ball that she had learned from one of the other women that the gown she was wearing was a vintage Dior.
Another bellow of thunder sounded overhead, jarring Lily from her memories. As the weather continued to deteriorate, Lily huddled in her coat and instinctively placed a hand on her stomach. She should leave now, she told herself. She had already taken a risk just by going to the church, she reasoned. Why push her luck? Every member of Eastwick society had turned out to pay their respects. And the Cartwright family certainly ranked among the city’s elite. No doubt Jack Cartwright had been there among the hundreds of mourners who had filled the church. For all she knew, he was among the small throng who had gathered at the cemetery for the burial. So far, she had managed to avoid him. But what if he saw her? What if Jack recognized her as the mystery woman he had slept with the night of the ball?
Even now, more than five months after the masked ball, she couldn’t believe her behavior had been so out of character. But then, she had hardly been herself that evening, Lily reminded herself. Just thinking about that day and how great her expectations had been when she’d awakened that morning sent another pang of disappointment through her.
She should have known better than to get her hopes up. If she had learned nothing else in her twenty-seven years it was never to expect something simply because she wanted it. Doing so had proven time and again to be a surefire path to disappointment. Yet, she had done just that. She had been so sure that this time it would be different. The detective she’d hired finally had a solid lead. She had believed that at long last she would have the answers she’d been searching for most of her life—who she was, where had she come from, why had she been left at the church all those years ago. Most importantly, she had believed she would finally know the identity of the woman whose soft voice and gentle hands were the only memories she had of her origins.
Only the lead hadn’t panned out. She hadn’t learned anything more about who she was or why she had been abandoned in the church with only a note saying her name was Lily and a gold locket around her neck. Lily reached for the locket that, once more, was on a chain around her neck. She closed her fingers around it and felt the familiar sting of disappointment. She had been more than disappointed that night. She had been devastated. Hitting another dead end when she’d believed she was so close had left her reeling.
She should never had gone to the ball that night—not in the emotional state she’d been in, Lily realized with the wisdom that comes with hindsight. But she hadn’t wanted to disappoint Bunny after she had gone to the trouble of providing her with the gown. Nor had Lily wanted to jeopardize her job by failing to show up. So she had gone—only to discover she wasn’t needed after all. Then, just when she had been about to leave, he was standing in front of her—the tall, dark-haired, blue-eyed stranger—asking her to dance. She had needed something, anything to block out the ache that consumed her. And once she was in his arms, all the pain, all the anguish of disappointment had faded.
There had been only him. The strength of his arms. The warmth of his smile. The feel of his mouth on hers. For one night, she had ceased to be sensible, dependable, predictable Lily Miller who had never done anything remotely reckless in her life. For one night, she had allowed herself to experience passion instead of just reading about it. For one night, she had followed her heart instead of her head. And because she had, she was pregnant and expecting Jack Cartwright’s child.
“Grant her eternal rest, O Lord …”
Shaking off the memory, Lily took a breath, then released it. She scanned the faces of those gathered. Not surprisingly, many of them were familiar—members of Eastwick society, local dignitaries and politicians. Quite a few of them she’d met through her position at Eastwick Cares. Others she knew from the news or social columns. Then she saw him—the tall, dark-haired man standing two rows back from the minister. Her pulse quickened. Even without seeing his face, she knew from the set of his broad shoulders and the conservative cut of his hair that it was Jack Cartwright.
Of course, she hadn’t known it was him at the ball. If she had known that the dashing man with the Tom Cruise smile behind the mask was the newest nominee to the Eastwick Cares board, she might have refused his request to dance. She certainly never would have accepted the key to his hotel room. But she
She had been wrong.
Yet, she didn’t regret what had happened, Lily admitted. How could she when the result was that she was going to have a baby? Smoothing a hand over her stomach, she felt a flutter of excitement as she realized that in just under four months, she would be able to hold her baby in her arms. She wanted this child, had from the moment she’d discovered she was pregnant. After being alone all these years, she was finally going to have a family.
Silently, she repeated the vows she had made to her unborn child the moment she had learned the baby was growing inside her. And as much as she already loved her child, she struggled once again with her decision to remain silent.
Was she doing the right thing by not telling Jack he was going to be a father? she wondered. But how was she supposed to tell one of Eastwick’s wealthiest and most sought-after bachelors that the stranger he’d spent one night with was pregnant with his child? The answer eluded her—just as it had for nearly five months now.
Or was she simply avoiding the answer rather than risk rejection? She could handle rejection, Lily told herself. But her baby … her baby was another story. She didn’t want her child, even at this stage in his or her life, to be unwanted.
As though sensing her gaze, Jack turned and looked in her direction. He scanned the crowd of mourners as though searching for someone and then his eyes met hers. For the space of a heartbeat, she couldn’t move. She simply stared into those blue eyes. Suddenly his eyes darkened, narrowed, and she realized he had recognized her.
“May her soul and the souls of all the faithfully departed rest in peace…. “
Lily didn’t wait for the minister to finish, she simply turned and fled.
Jack Cartwright stared in disbelief. There she was—the mystery woman from the ball. He’d begun to think he’d dreamed that night, that there had been no beautiful redhead, that there had been no passionate hours spent in his hotel room, that there had been no woman with ghost-blue eyes and skin as soft as silk. But she hadn’t been a dream. She was real. And she was getting away.
“Jack, where are you going?” his mother demanded in hushed tones as she clutched the sleeve of his jacket. “The reverend’s not finished the service.”
Beneath the net veil of Sandra Cartwright’s hat, Jack noted the disapproval in his mother’s eyes. It couldn’t be helped, he told himself as he spied the redhead in the dark coat walking briskly toward the cemetery gates. “I’m sorry. I have to go. There’s someone I have to see.”
“But, Jack—“
Ignoring his mother’s protest and the questioning look his father cast his way, Jack began to maneuver his way toward the rear of the crowd. “Excuse me. Sorry. Excuse me,” he repeated in a low voice as he shouldered his way past friends, business associates and acquaintances.