The Test of Gold Read online

  Table of Contents

  Praise for Test of Gold

  Other titles by Renee Yancy

  Copyright

  Dedication

  Epigraph

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Chapter 36

  Chapter 37

  Chapter 38

  Chapter 39

  Chapter 40

  Chapter 41

  Chapter 42

  Chapter 43

  Chapter 44

  Chapter 45

  Chapter 46

  Chapter 47

  Chapter 48

  Chapter 49

  Chapter 50

  Chapter 51

  Chapter 52

  About the Author

  Trademark Acknowledgments

  Dear Reader

  Plan Your Next Escape! What’s Your Reading Pleasure?

  Praise for Test of Gold

  This sweet Gilded Age romance shines with Renee Yancy’s attention to historical detail bringing depth to the story. The settings in 1897 New York, Newport, and Chautauqua drew me into a complex time of contrasts in wealth, poverty, power and helplessness. ~ Susan Page Davis, author of Prairie Dreams Series and Maine Justice Series

  Other titles by Renee Yancy

  Novella, Have Cash, Will Marry, from The Convenient Brides Collection

  Novella, The Battlefield Bride, from The Courageous Brides Collection

  Novella, The Irish Bride, from The Runaway Brides Collection

  A Secret Hope: Sword & Spirit Series Book 1

  The Fury of Dragons: Sword & Spirit Series Book 2

  On the Trail of Love

  The Test of Gold

  Renee Yancy

  Copyright ©2021 Renee Yancy

  Cover copyright © 2021 Elaina Lee/For the Muse Designs

  Formatting and Interior Design by Woven Red Author Services, www.WovenRed.ca

  First Edition

  Printed and bound in the United States of America. All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by an information storage and retrieval system-except by a reviewer who may quote brief passages in a review to be printed in a magazine, newspaper, or on the Web-without permission in writing from the publisher. For information, please contact Vinspire Publishing, LLC, P.O. Box 1165, Ladson, SC 29456-1165.

  All characters in this work are purely fictional and have no existence outside the imagination of the author and have no relation whatsoever to anyone bearing the same name or names. They are not even distantly inspired by any individual known or unknown to the author, and all incidents are pure invention.

  ISBN: 978-1-7363662-0-2

  For my longtime pal and high school buddy,

  Mike Emminger,

  I couldn’t have a better superfan than you!

  Fire is the test of gold; adversity, of men...

  Seneca (c.3 BC-65 AD)

  Chapter 1

  April 1897, New York City

  Evangeline Lindenmayer slipped through the marble halls toward her favorite room at 660 Fifth Avenue. Somehow the library had escaped the lavish attention to detail Mama and her architect had opulently bestowed on the other 149 rooms in the chateau.

  The massive oak doors opened on well-oiled hinges, and the papery scent of books and leather enveloped Lindy. Sunlight streamed through the leaded glass windows and sparked off the gold lettering on the book spines. Her shoulders relaxed, and she gave a contented sigh. Such riches! In a lifetime, she could never read all the books here.

  Her copy of Robinson Crusoe lay in the overstuffed chair where she’d left it the previous afternoon. Her mother had summoned her just as Robinson had been enslaved by a Moorish pirate.

  And one didn’t disobey Vera Lindenmayer.

  Lindy had waited all day to discover his fate. Curling in the chair, she lost herself in seventeenth-century Africa. Sometime later, she closed the book and sighed.

  “Is all well?” A tousled blond head peeked over the back of a leather Chesterfield sofa, and then a young man sat up and rubbed his eyes.

  “Oh!” Lindy dropped the book and sprang to her feet, her hand at her throat. “Who might you be? What are you doing here?”

  The man stood hastily and clutched a book against his black frockcoat. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to startle you. I must have fallen asleep.”

  “You did startle me, sir. And an unwelcome shock it was too!”

  He reddened and took a step back. “Please forgive me. My name is Jack Winthrop.” He glanced at the bookshelves. “Mr. Lindenmayer has kindly offered me the use of his excellent library while I’m studying for the ministry at Union Theological Seminary.” He gulped and ran a finger around his collar.

  “Oh.” That sounds like Papa, with his tender heart.

  “I’m also taking classes at Columbia, where the new anthropology department has recently opened.”

  Lindy’s mouth fell open. Not one but two colleges. Does the fellow even know how fortunate he was? Oh, to have been born a man. It isn’t fair.

  “Please accept my heartfelt apologies for startling you, Miss...”

  “Lindenmayer. Evangeline Lindenmayer.”

  “I’m pleased to make your acquaintance, Miss Lindenmayer.

  “Winthrop, you said? Are you related to Reverend Joseph Winthrop at St. Thomas?”

  The young man nodded. “He is my uncle.”

  Lindy examined him a moment. The edges of his sleeves were shabby and his blond hair a trifle too long, falling over his collar, but something undeniably attractive about him telegraphed itself to her.

  “I recognize you now. You usually sit at the back of the church.”

  Mr. Winthrop nodded. “That’s right.” He retrieved his hat off the sofa. “I’ll be going now. Sorry to intrude.”

  Lindy laughed. He looks like a dog caught with the Sunday roast in his paws. “Don’t leave, Mr. Winthrop, you won’t be disturbing anyone. The only books Papa reads concern the care and breeding of horses, and my mother never comes in here. I’m the only one who frequents it with regularity. But aren’t you going to be frightfully busy with classes at two different colleges?”

  His face brightened. “I thrive on it, actually. It’s a great privilege to attend both the university and the seminary. My uncle has generously made it possible.”

  “Do you have other family besides your uncle?”

  “My mother.”

  “I don’t believe I’ve seen her with you.”

  A shadow darkened his face. “She isn’t well. Not strong enough to attend the service on Sunday morning.”

  “I’m sorry to hear that. And your father?”

  Mr. Winthrop smiled faintly. “My father died when I was seven, and Uncle Winthrop took us in. My father was his younger brother.”

  He cros
sed the distance between them and plucked her book off the floor. “Allow me.” He glanced at the title before he handed it to her. “What did you think of Mr. Crusoe’s adventures?”

  My, he’s tall. Lindy sank onto her chair as a qualm went through her middle. Mama would have a conniption if she knew a man like Jack Winthrop was given permission to use the library. Having a conversation with a man Lindy hadn’t been officially introduced to wasn’t done in society circles. But he’s not exactly in my social class, and he did introduce himself. Quite nicely at that. And I’m seldom able to discuss books with anyone.

  She pushed the thought of her mother firmly out of her head. “Won’t you sit down, Mr. Winthrop?”

  He nodded. “Call me Jack,” he said, as he took the chair across from her.

  “I couldn’t possibly, sir.”

  “Of course not. Forgive me. But what about Robinson’s adventures?”

  She considered his question. “I found it interesting Mr. Crusoe often felt guided by something or someone else. And that gave him hope amid hopelessness.”

  Mr. Winthrop arched an eyebrow. “Indeed, Miss Lindenmayer.”

  Lindy frowned. “You are surprised to find I have an opinion, Mr. Winthrop?”

  He smiled. “No, delighted. I thought young ladies such as yourself, were restricted to the latest treatise on manners and ballroom dancing.”

  Lindy wrinkled her nose. “If my mother had her way, books on etiquette would be my only reading material.”

  Dimples appeared when he smiled, transforming his serious face. “I’m surprised to see you inside on such a beautiful day. Do you not ride the Promenade on sunny afternoons?”

  “Only when I must.” She shrugged. “I’d much rather be here with my books than outside for the entire world to see and criticize.” Mama never lets me forget for a minute that I have the Lindenmayer family reputation to uphold.

  “You speak of your books as if they are old friends.”

  “They are indeed my friends, to be read and enjoyed again and again.”

  Mr. Winthrop leaned forward. “Do you mind if I ask what your favorites are?”

  She laughed. “I read almost anything. Right now, it’s Heinrich Schliemann’s account of his excavations in Greece, searching for the lost city of Troy.”

  Mr. Winthrop smiled again. “So, you’re interested in archaeology too? Unusual. What else do you read?”

  Those dimples were devastating, and the intent look in his brown eyes produced a curious fluttering under her breastbone. “I love books about adventure, whether it’s Gulliver’s Travels or The Count of Monte Cristo.”

  “Those are some of my favorites too. Have you read Ben Hur?”

  “I haven’t.”

  “Miss Lindenmayer, you must read it. Let me find it for you.” He jumped up and pulled the rolling ladder to the east corner. “I glimpsed it the other day searching for something else. Now, let’s see.”

  He ran his fingers over the leather spines, murmuring to himself. He had a long straight nose, a square jaw, and eyelashes entirely too long for a man.

  “Ah! Here it is.” He descended the ladder and held out the book. “Perhaps when you’ve finished, we could discuss it?”

  She swallowed hard at the eager look on his face. “That would be lovely.”

  Mr. Winthrop pulled a watch out of his waistcoat and glanced at it. “Five o’clock. This last hour has flown. I must take my leave.”

  Lindy jumped to her feet. “Five o’clock? Oh no!”

  She ran from the library, down the marble staircase, and across the vast two-storied hall toward her mother’s régence salon on the other side of the mansion. Stopping outside the glass and bronze doors, she undid the ribbon at her neck, gathered the escaped curls, and retied the knot at the nape of her neck. Then she shook out her wrinkled skirts and sighed. I’m in for it now.

  ***

  Vera Lindenmayer sat near the French windows at a tea table cluttered with silver spoons and delicate porcelain cups. Her French chignon hadn’t a hair out of place, and her coral earbobs perfectly matched her tea gown. She didn’t look up at her daughter’s hasty approach but continued to leisurely feed a bit of pastry to the Pomeranian on her lap.

  “Mama, I—”

  “Be silent.” Mama pressed her lips together and glowered at Lindy. “Your punctuality leaves much to be desired, Evangeline.” Her sharp eyes took in Lindy’s disheveled figure. “From the look of you, a person would think you care nothing for your appearance.”

  “I’m sorry, Mama—”

  “You know we haven’t much time left before our trip to London this autumn. I’ve worked hard to make your debut perfect, but it’s obvious you care nothing for my feelings.”

  “That’s not true, I—”

  “Enough of your excuses, Miss.” Mama took a sip of tea. “What engaged you so completely, you forgot your poor mother? I’ll speak to Miss Kendall. If she can’t keep track of you, I will have to engage another governess.”

  “It’s not her fault, Mama.” Poor Miss Kendall. Her lumbago had flared up, and when she’d fallen asleep in her chair, Lindy had tiptoed out to give her elderly tutor some much-deserved rest. “I finished my lessons and went to my room for a moment. I fell asleep.” It wouldn’t do for Mama to know just how much time I actually spend in the library.

  Mama narrowed her eyes. “Is that so?”

  “Yes, Mama.” When she took a step closer, the Pomeranian growled and bared its teeth. “Please don’t blame Miss Kendall.”

  “Your actions affect others, Evangeline. Never forget that.”

  How could she forget? Her mother never missed an opportunity to remind her.

  Remember who your father is, Evangeline.

  Don’t do anything to bring shame on this family.

  People are watching. You must always be gracious and elegant, a lady in all respects.

  One of these days, you will marry into the aristocracy, Evangeline. You must be ready.

  “I haven’t forgotten, Mama.”

  Her mother sniffed. “Do you remember we’re off to Paris next month to choose your gowns at the Worth salon? When we return, you’ll accompany me on my social calls. All of them.”

  Lindy groaned inwardly.

  “Smile, Evangeline. No one wants to see a dour debutante.”

  Lindy tried to smile. “Yes, Mama.” What else can I say? I’ve always tried to do what you expect.

  “I trust you will come down to dinner punctually tonight. And have your maid do something with your hair. It looks a fright. And your corset isn’t laced tight enough.”

  “Yes, Mama.”

  Lindy waited a moment, but her mother had returned to the plate of pastries, murmuring to the dog. Lindy sighed and left the salon.

  Just another day in the Lindenmayer chateau.

  Chapter 2

  A faint scent of lavender lingered after Miss Lindenmayer fled the room. Jack Winthrop hadn’t expected to meet anyone in the library, and especially not someone like Evangeline Lindenmayer. She’d been quite animated when speaking of her favorite books. He could barely stop himself from staring at her lovely face and eyes—what color were they? A sort of fascinating blue-green. Had Otto Lindenmayer known his daughter used the library when he had offered the use of it? Jack shook his head. He certainly wouldn’t tell him.

  He slipped out the delivery entrance at the rear of the mansion and made his way to the street. Other high society folks like the Lindenmayers attended St. Thomas Episcopal Church, where his Uncle Winthrop held the office of senior pastor. Such a fuss of feathers and fur surrounded the daughters of these families, the girls whispering to each other behind their gloved fingers and peeking over the rim of their fans at the young men in the assembly. After the service, a group of these young women would invariably burst into titters at some comment, while their mothers looked on with an indulgent air.

  They were like hot-house roses, raised in luxury and given the best of everything. He couldn’t
imagine any of them had read Robinson Crusoe, let alone have an intelligent thought about it. A few of these girls had even made cow’s eyes at him, but he always handled it the same way—a stiff little bow and then turn politely away, which usually provoked more smothered giggles. How silly they all seemed.

  But not Miss Lindenmayer. She didn’t fit with these other girls in the least.

  She had beauty and brains. Intelligence shone through her beautiful eyes, and she was thoughtful, taking the time to think about his questions before answering. And she loved to read—how amazing was that? She was like a rare jewel, shining among the rocks, or a star that blazed brighter than any other in the night sky—

  “Uscire di strada, signore!”

  Jack scrambled onto the curb as a two-wheeled cart clattered past, flinging dirt onto his trousers and narrowly missing his toes. This wouldn’t do. Jack gave himself a shake and pushed his hat firmly onto his head.

  “Hey!” Someone poked his arm. “You wanna pretzel?” An elderly woman in a tattered headscarf fixed him with shiny black eyes. She pointed to the pretzels stacked over dowels on the tiny pushcart. “Nice and fresh. You buy?”

  Jack stared at the street cluttered with fruit stands, olive-skinned moppets, and swarthy men with drooping mustaches selling peppers, strings of garlic, and onions from wooden carts. The gaily-painted wooden shop signs snapped into focus.

  Peruzzi Olive Oil. Banco P. Caponinigri. Giovanozzi Formaggio.

  Jack blinked. He’d gotten turned around in the opposite direction on Park Avenue, veered off Fourth, and walked all the way to Grand Street in Little Italy.

  He’d been shanghaied by the stunning creature in the Lindenmayer library.

  “Ciao,” said the Italian lady.

  Chapter 3

  Lindy tossed her hair ribbon onto the dressing table where her maid Claudine waited, hairbrush in hand. “Where have you been all afternoon, chérie?”

  “In the library.” Lindy sank onto the bench and quickly straightened as her corset pinched her midriff.

  “No lessons?”

  “Miss Kendall’s napping, the poor dear.”