Page 14 of I Know You

When we arrive at Mrs. Guthrie’s mansion, it’s only thanks to Ben’s steady hand that I don’t tumble out of one of the Peugeot limousines she sent to pick us up. I grip Ben’s arm and eye the three-level sprawling square structure before me. It looks as though it escaped from an English countryside, with long, uniform windows dotting it and granite pillars flanking the entrance.

“You look very pale, Miss Granville,” Ben jokes, but I don’t miss the concern in his tone.

“That is the most dangerous ‘automobile’ ride I’ve ever been on.” I cling to his arm despite having set foot on solid ground. My knees tremble too much for me to trust remaining standing of my own volition. “Where did Mrs. Guthrie hire her drivers from? A racetrack?”

He chuckles. “They rival even Mamie Fish’s talents?” he suggests.

Mr. Allen chuckles and shares a look with Ben, but I scrunch my nose. The name is familiar, but I can’t place it right off. I tilt my head at Ben in question.

He sighs with disappointed amusement. “Never mind. I’ll make sure you can go straight up to your room to take a bath and relax.”

A butler opens the door and ushers us into the large, marbled entryway of the home. To my right, a grand, curving staircase rises to a landing and the second floor. We step onto a thick carpet just as Mrs. Guthrie, a plump woman with bright white hair, accosts Ben, pulling him into a tight embrace and then reaching up to take his cheeks between her hands and pull him down to plant a kiss on one.

“It’s been far too long,” she scolds. “Mr. Allen, you ought to get him down to San Francisco more.” She huffs.

“I do my best, Mrs. Guthrie,” he says, holding up his hands. “You know Ben.”

She glances around him to me, her lips pursing before she turns back to Ben. “The telegram said you were bringing your ward—since when do you have a ward? She had better not be some mistress you’re trying to bring here. This may not be Manhattan, but we certainly aren’t barbarians out here.”

The snort of laughter escapes me without my permission, and I quickly clamp my lips together, even as Mrs. Guthrie turns to glare at me. I do my best to look like I’m not a mistress, but I think the laughing that must still be in my expression doesn’t fool her.

“Mrs. Guthrie!” Ben struggles to keep laughter from his own voice, so I feel better. “Clara—Miss Granville is not my mistress. I give you my word on that. She’s a very proper girl who needs my help, and that’s all.”

Mrs. Guthrie reaches up and pats his cheek again, but this time much softer, showing her true affection for him. “You are the most generous man I know, Benjamin.” She casts a knowing look at Mr. Allen, who nods in agreement. “It’s a wonder none of the society misses have roped you in yet. Of course, you don’t give them a chance since that wicked Miss Swanson⁠—”

A hard glare from Ben silences any more she might have said on the subject. I raise an eyebrow in question, but he ignores me.

A wiggle of unease goes through me at Ben keeping something from me. But we really barely know each other. It’s unfair to expect him to bare his soul to me after only a couple days. Even if we’re on some wild adventure together.

Of course, it’s a strike against the dream scenario. If my brain was making this up, surely Ben would confess everything about Miss Swanson right away. Because I want to know.

Mrs. Guthrie sighs. “Anyway, that girl’s antics are no reason to tuck yourself away like a hermit.” She turns to me, her expression relaxed from a moment before. “Perhaps you’ll be the lucky one, my dear.”

Inwardly I’m face-palming. Mr. Allen’s shoulders shake with laughter. I’ve gone from a fallen woman to Ben’s future wife in a matter of seconds.

“Now, don’t embarrass her,” Ben says, mirth returning to his voice.

He’s paying for this. As in, I will definitely ask him about Miss Swanson later.

He lays a hand on my back. “I must show Miss Granville up to her room. She’s ready to collapse after that train ride.”

“Of course, dear.” She gives Ben one more pat on the cheek before turning to Mr. Allen. “William—you must be hungry. Let’s go in to dinner, and I’ll have something sent up for Miss Granville.” She hooks her arm in his and tows him along through the entryway toward the dining room, I presume.

“Mr. Allen knows her well?” I question as we start up the stairs. My stomach is still tumbling from 1901 transportation methods, so I hope that whatever Mrs. Guthrie sends up is mild.

“I’ve brought him here many times, and he stays on his own when he’s not at The Villa. He has a house in New York to placate his mother and to look as though he’s trying to find a wife, but he’s in California more often than not.”

“You’re obviously good friends. How do you know him?”

Laughter takes over his expression again, and heaven help me if that doesn’t make my knees weaker. “His family is old and respectable in England, but not a dime left. They sent him to America to marry into a fortune.”

How did that bring him to California? This is a classic Gilded Age novel plot—Downton Abbey, anyone?—but there are some twists I don’t understand. “Wouldn’t that have led him to New York? How did he find himself here?”

Ben grins with mischievousness. “He did go to New York, where he met a woman he followed here. Her family came from San Francisco and spent several weeks a year at The Villa. What she failed to mention to William was that she had been engaged to marry someone else: a wealthy man her father had chosen for her. The wedding was to take place that winter. I don’t doubt she loved William, but her father would’ve never given permission regardless of the previous engagement.”

I scowl. “Because of his financial circumstances?”

“Exactly. Will’s smart, though. I helped him make some investments, and he no longer has need of a rich wife.”