Katie Rose Read Free

her, but he was able to deal with neither his own memories, nor his mother’s preoccupation with her husband’s passing.
    But he couldn’t avoid the place forever. He had known this day would come, that his mother couldn’t continue to visit him at his offices. She needed his advice on some investment matters, and there were just too many documents for her to carry. He had to go to her home, his home.
    The butler lost his sedate expression when he opened the door, and a broad smile creased his face. “Master Gabriel!” He recovered quickly, then resumed his formal stance. “The mistress will be so glad to see you. Do come in, sir.”
    Gabriel accompanied James into the parlor. He averted his eyes from the mantel, where his mother had insisted upon placing every photograph she possessed of John Forester. It looked like a shrine, an eerie memorial suited more to a church than to a home. He’d said as much, but his mother refused to take them down, claiming they brought her comfort. He stood with his back to the fireplace, fighting the riot of emotions that threatened to overwhelm him.
    John Forester had been a gentleman. There was no other word that could so aptly describe him. He never turned away a man looking for help, even if he gave up his own dinner to provide it. He didn’t understand his son, who was far more interested in finance than art, investments rather than intellectual discussions. He reminded Gabriel of the plantation owners in the south, content to sip mint juleps while the world crashed around them.
    Fortune had initially been good to his father, for he’d invested early in marble mining, never realizing that the newly formed New York aristocracy would demand theelegant stone for their doorsteps, their floors, their offices and churches. Yet even with an overwhelming backlog of orders, he had nearly run the company into the ground. When it was almost bankrupt, Gabriel took over, and made the cuts and reductions in cost needed to survive.
    Although he experienced tremendous success, his father never forgave him. A year later, when John Forester died of heart failure, some speculated that it was brought on by the crisis in his business. Although his mother never gave the slightest indication that she felt that way, she’d never been the same. Mary Forester had arranged the funeral, smiled at the guests, and accepted their condolences, but she withdrew within herself like a flower forever closed. She was only a shell of the woman he’d known all his life.
    He heard his mother’s footsteps and turned, fully expecting to see the broken woman who appeared at his office every other Monday morning. He braced himself, picturing her black dress, her parchment-like face wrinkled with sorrow, her bonnet enveloping her like a shroud. His mouth dropped when she practically bounced into the room, her eyes alight with excitement, her cheeks blooming. She looked like a healthy young girl instead of a grief-stricken old woman. She hugged him, and he smelled violet water, a scent that always reminded him of her and this house.
    “James, fetch some tea! I prayed just this morning that you would come today. You see,” she looked at him shyly, “I have something to tell you.”
    Stunned, Gabriel sank into a chair, shaking his head. “Mother, are you … well? You don’t have a fever?” He felt her hand, but it was cool.
    She giggled, the sound like rippling water. The servant returned, silently laying out tea. She smiled at him, and continued when he left the room. “No, silly, I’m justfine! Wonderful, perhaps. The most magnificent thing has happened. But let me start with my news. I’m going to marry Robert Wood.” She sat across from him, dressed in lemon-sprigged muslin, looking like a schoolgirl with a wonderful secret.
    “What?” The teacup he’d accepted tumbled to the floor and he gaped at his mother. “Isn’t he a pauper?”
    “Robert Wood has been a very good friend to myself and your