Journey's End (Gilded Promises) Read Online Free Page A

had he allowed his landlord such autonomy when his gut had warned him the fellow couldn’t be trusted?
    The question weighed heavy on his heart because, deep down, Jackson knew the answer. He’d been focused on his own troubles and personal agenda instead of the people indirectly in his care.
    Perhaps if his father had stayed and faced the consequences of his actions all those years ago, Jackson would have been more aware of the conditions of his tenement houses.
    Instead, he’d spent most of his time and energy restoring his family’s good name. He’d been so focused on earning his rightful place back in society that he’d ignored his Christian duty to the people who depended on him.
    To whom much is given, much is expected.
    He’d failed these people. Now he had to fix his mistake before he could move on with his own future.
    “You know, Jackson, I’ve been thinking.” Reilly shifted to his left just in time to avoid stepping into the path of a pack of boys rushing past them. “What if Smythe has taken off completely? What if he’s run away with your money?”
    Jackson tightened his fist again. “Then we’ll hunt him down like the dog he is.”
    What George Smythe had done was reprehensible. No matter what happened here today, the man would be held accountable.
    Tuning out Reilly’s litany of complaints about the smells and the crowds and the endless jostling, Jackson continued down the street. Listening to the assistant’s grumbles, no one would guess that John Reilly had been raised on a street just two blocks over. Reilly’s personal knowledge of this area was one of the reasons Jackson had insisted he join him on this particular mission.
    Drawn by some invisible force, Jackson found his interest pulled to the left. Two women carefully picked their way through the dense crowd. The taller one was clearly in charge, leading the way with a slow yet determined gait. The smaller one seemed to be struggling with each step and leaned heavily against her companion for support.
    Clearly, they were new arrivals to the neighborhood. The luggage gave them away.
    Half a block over, Jackson couldn’t make out their faces. But they were dressed respectably, and neither wore any adornment on their heads. They were probably from the British Isles, perhaps Ireland if the frail girl’s red-gold hair was anything to go by. She reminded Jackson of a wounded bird as she clung to her friend’s arm.
    The friend, on the other hand, had much darker hair, thicker and wavier, the color of rich chocolate. That hair, that beautiful, untamed hair, captured Jackson’s attention and held it. For a moment—for one shocking, inexplicable moment—everything in him eased, softened, and simply let go.
    He fought for objectivity, even as he took a step in her direction.
    There was something about her, something unique and different that didn’t fit with her surroundings. She moved with a regal confidence more suited to a drawing room farther uptown.
    Mesmerized, Jackson took another step in her direction, barely registering that his assistant had turned his litany of complaints toward the heat and the smell of rotting garbage.
    Jackson focused only on the woman, only on how the glow of the late-afternoon sun cocooned her in soft, golden light. His pulse thundered in his ears.
    The woman, she seemed somehow . . . familiar.
    Had they met before?
    He couldn’t imagine when. She was clearly new to America.
    And yet . . .
    He sensed that he was supposed to know her.
    Closer now, he was able to see her face more clearly. The other girl completely forgotten, Jackson catalogued the brunette’s features one by one. She had smooth, flawless skin, high cheekbones, and dark, winged eyebrows over sea-green eyes, pale eyes lightened even further by the afternoon sun.
    Would her voice match that exquisite face? Would she speak in a deep, sultry alto? Or a higher-pitched soprano?
    One thought kept echoing through his mind. I know her.
    But how?