Fox River (21 page)

A
s I’d expected, my mother wasn’t pleased about my marriage. In Virginia Ian Sebastian might pass for nobility, but on Fifth Avenue he was no one of importance. In New York he was a farmer, nothing more. My brothers, practical to the bone, discreetly checked Ian’s financial standing and reputation, then attempted to persuade her that the match was a good one. But Mama could not be consoled. I would never be one of New York’s Four Hundred. She had failed in her mission.

The wedding went forth as planned, without her genuine blessing. At six o’clock, in a break with tradition, both George and Henry walked me down the aisle, and Annie, newly engaged to Paul Symington, was my only attendant. I wore a white lace gown that revealed a scandalous length of leg and a train that trailed well below it. My bridal cap was trimmed with orange blossoms and hundreds of seed pearls, which swirled down the veil like a waterfall. My bouquet, a gift from Ian, was so heavy with orchids, roses and hothouse gardenias that my arms tired before I reached him.

Fox River Farm had never looked more glorious. I had fallen in love with it on the day Ian swept me onto his horse and into his life. The house, a two-story Georgian with a centered gable, was built of rose-colored brick with soft gray trim and a recessed portico that provided us with porches on both levels. The Sebastian who had built it had relished multipaned windows, and the original handblown glass remained, distorting all views of the countryside.

Ian wore his morning coat with striped trousers, although he had threatened to wear his formal Master of Foxhounds attire and announce my presence with a hunting horn. The minister beamed at both of us as we repeated our vows and Ian slipped a gold band on my finger. The minister harrumphed a moment later when our wedding kiss lasted too long to suit him.

“We’ll have to make a sizable donation to the church,” Ian told me on our way down the aisle as man and wife.

I laughed, happier than I’d known I could be. My fairy-tale life was proceeding on schedule.

The reception lasted for hours. In my stay at Sweetwater I’d learned that Virginians believe having fun is a sacred duty. Even my mother, who tried to find fault, had a difficult time. And when a great aunt of Ian’s, a dear woman of more than ninety years, recited the family’s lineage all the way back to a manor house in Leicestershire and an obscure title bestowed by Charles II, my mother was mollified enough to invite us to visit before our ship sailed for Europe.

It was nearly midnight when the last guest departed. My family and our out-of-town guests went to Sweetwater to spend the night with the Joneses or to the Red Fox or Colonial Inns in Middleburg. I was almost sorry when the house was finally empty and even the servants had tactfully vanished. Until that moment the wedding and everything that had come before had seemed dreamlike, the culmination of all my childhood schemes. Now I was married and a new life was beginning with a man I hardly knew.

I hadn’t thought about the latter very often in the past months. How well does a woman ever know a man? We move in different spheres, think different thoughts, have different interests. When our paths cross, we are polite, even kind to each other. But friendship, like the one I shared with Annie, is unlikely. A woman can hope that a man will appreciate her strengths and forgive her weaknesses, but true understanding is something else indeed.

Now I wondered if I had made a wise choice. Until that moment I had never really questioned my upbringing. I had cooperated fully in Mama’s plan to find a rich, well-connected husband, and despite her misgivings, I had found one and married him. But had I allowed pride to overtake my good sense and bound myself to a mystery man?

Ian strolled into the room just as that final thought occurred to me. He took one look at my face and burst into laughter. “It’s perfectly natural, darling, to be a little worried right now.”

“Is it?”

“After all, you’ve just taken a big step, and we’re about to take another.”

I had looked forward to this next step with a mixture of curiosity and longing. I knew the mechanics, if not the finer points, and thought it all sounded quite extraordinary. “You would certainly know about that,” I said. “Having had a wedding night once before.”

He took a moment to light a cigarette, waving the match to extinguish it as he asked, “Would you like to know about Frances? You’ve never asked.”

I wasn’t certain, but I nodded.

He drew a deep puff of smoke into his lungs. “We were the same age, Frances and I. She was from Virginia. Her family settled Clarke County, and her roots were as deep as mine.”

“A good match.”

“We were compatible. At least sometimes. But Frances was fond of having her own way, and whenever she was displeased she left for the bosom of her family. I spent the years of our marriage enticing her to come home again. That final time, she was pregnant and refused to stay at Fox River, despite the fact that we had arranged for the best medical care. She wanted to be with her mother. Our son was born a month early, and the delivery was fatal for both of them. The midwife in attendance knew little about modern medicine.”

I was dismayed. “Ian, I’m so sorry. That’s a terrible story.”

“I wouldn’t have burdened you with it tonight, but there shouldn’t be secrets between us.”

“I’m glad you told me.”

“You can see why another marriage held no appeal until now.”

I felt honored to have changed his mind—which might well have been the intent of telling his story. I placed my hand on his arm. “I’m not Frances. I married you for better or worse today, and I’ll stay with you through both.”

His expression softened. “We’ll hope there’s very little of the worse to live through.”

“I’ve heard that tonight could be part of the better, if we stop telling each other sad stories and go upstairs.”

“You’re a forward little vixen, aren’t you?”

“I don’t know. We could find out together.”

He stubbed out the cigarette and pulled me close. And as I’d hoped, what followed was part of the better.

What I didn’t know was that there was so much worse to come.

J
ulia had only half listened to Maisy’s novel. Louisa’s story, with all its happily-ever-after and romantic flourishes, seemed too unrealistic tonight. And even though Louisa herself had hinted there was worse to come, Julia couldn’t get involved in another woman’s life. Not when her own was in such disarray.

Julia had apologized to Maisy. Although she wished her mother wouldn’t interfere, she knew Maisy was right. Christian was a free man, and his daughter was living down the road. Their paths would collide, and soon. How long before Christian realized the truth?

There were no happily-ever-afters in this story. Christian had been cheated of so much, and every day that passed without knowing about Callie was more undeserved punishment.

She threaded her fingers behind her head and stared sightlessly at the ceiling. How could something that had held such promise end so tragically? She wondered if, by writing the fictitious Louisa’s story, Maisy was trying to tell Julia to keep hope alive. Was
Fox River
Maisy’s well-intentioned but slightly demented way of trying to show Julia the way back to Christian?

She squeezed her eyes shut. She was being unfair, and she knew it. Whatever Maisy’s intentions, she was not engineering a reunion. She simply wanted Julia to do what was right, to tell Christian he had a daughter.

Julia remembered a time when she had told Christian everything, when most of the time he had known what she was thinking before she said the words. That wonderful intimacy had begun at the Middleburg Spring Races and ended in a courtroom.

But it still lived in her memories.

At the party after the race, Christian Carver had been friendly to both girls, carefully not paying attention to one more than the other. But Julia was certain he had his eye on Fidelity.

After the party, an exhausted Julia, her defenses down and her hormones charged, followed Fidelity into her bedroom at South Land. She tossed her own shoes beside her friend’s and joined her on the bed. Like Fidelity, she had changed into something dressier, but unlike her, she smoothed her skirt before she lay down. Fidelity could simply drop her clothes on the floor when she undressed, and tomorrow someone would whisk them away to the laundry or dry cleaner. At Julia’s house anything she left on the floor stayed there until she picked it up.

“Okay, so I really like Christian,” Julia admitted. She curled her knees and propped her head on her elbow to see Fidelity. “He’s real, if you know what I mean.”

“Too real. I mean, he’s an orphan, and his daddy burned down Claymore Park’s stable. That’s about as real as it gets.”

“Well, he’s not the son of a millionaire, if that’s what you mean.”

“Robby sure is.” Fidelity propped herself up. “What do you think of Robby Claymore?”

“I’ve always liked Robby, too.”

“He’s practically tongue-tied around me.” Fidelity giggled. “For a rich boy who’s as smart as he’s supposed to be, he sure doesn’t have any confidence. He needs confidence. Too bad I’ll be too busy with his best friend to give it to him.”

Fidelity was always on the prowl, sampling life, taking what she liked and discarding whatever she didn’t. She wasn’t cruel; in fact, she had a generous heart. But losing a place on the Olympic team was the first time she’d been denied anything she wanted. Fidelity still thought it was a fluke.

“I don’t think Christian is the kind of man you should mess with,” Julia said. “He’s not like you, Fidelity. He’s serious. He’s had a lot of setbacks, and he had to grow up fast. I don’t think he knows how to play games.”

“Games?” Fidelity dimpled. “Do tell, Julie boo, what games am I playing?”

“You don’t want a boyfriend without money.”

“Well, he could pass. He has the look. He’s been around the Claymores so much he has excellent manners. Didn’t you notice he was perfectly at home tonight? Oh, and he rides with Mosby Hunt. Daddy says he’s the best whipper-in they’ve had in years.”

“He was a hero tonight. Tomorrow he’ll be mucking out stalls at Claymore Park.”

“So? I muck out stalls, too.”

“You’ve never done a lick of work in your life.”

“Well, I know how to muck out a stall, if it ever comes to that. And I do care for my own horses, but you wouldn’t know, because you won’t come near them.”

“I just think you should go easy on Christian. Don’t you get tired of breaking hearts?”

“Oh, go on. I never break hearts. I just bend them a little. Wrinkle them. You know. If I get tired of Christian—”

“
When
you get tired of Christian—”

“He’ll be a big boy about it. He’s an adult. He’ll act like one.”

Julia lost her temper. “Maybe you should act like one for a change.”

Fidelity raised one perfectly plucked brow. “So…you want him? That’s what this is about? If you want him, I might reconsider.”

“Forget it. I don’t want your cast-offs.”

Fidelity lay back and stared at the canopy. “Okay, here’s the thing. You’ve really got to develop a backbone, Julie boo. You’re letting me run you over.”

“What?”

“You never wanted anything before, but now you want Christian. And you’re still handing him over to me on a silver platter.”

“What do you want me to do? Scratch out your eyes?”

“Didn’t you notice who he spent his time looking at tonight?”

“I don’t seem to have your sixth sense.”

“
You,
doofus. Even when presented with my dimples and baby blues, it was you he was watching.”

Julia didn’t know what to think.

“Do you know how I get every single man I want?” Fidelity said.

“By flaunting every single cell of your perfect body?”

“By choosing carefully. I only go after what I
know
I can have. Period. Why bother with anything else? The one time I set my sights on something out of my reach, I lost. He has his eye on you. I know what it looks like.”

“And you’re not mad?”

“It’s a big ocean out there. There are a million champion bass just waiting to be hooked.”

Julia didn’t know what to do after that. She was afraid Fidelity was wrong; then she was afraid Christian might be hesitant to single her out, since the girls were close friends. One day, before she could do anything, she came home from school to find him waiting on her porch, with Maisy dancing attendance.

She parked her Escort beside his Claymore Park pickup and walked up the front path, trying to look nonchalant. Maisy, in an embroidered Mexican sundress paired with hiking boots, greeted her, then disappeared into the house. Julia wasn’t sure which surprised her most, Christian’s presence or Maisy’s discretion.

“What a neighborly thing to do,” Julia said. “Dropping by like this to see my mother.”

“I thought you’d be home earlier.”

She would have been, if she’d known who was waiting. She sat down on the step beside him, glad she was wearing something besides jeans today. She smoothed her knit skirt over her knees. “Won any more races lately?”

“Nope. How about you?”

“Nope.”

He stood. “I hate to say it, but I have to go. I’ve stayed too long already.”

Disappointment was a slap in the face. “Oh…”

“I should have called. I’ve been here an hour. I’ve got a class tonight, and I have to get ready. Walk me to the truck?”

They walked in silence up the path. He stepped through the gate, latching it behind them, then leaned against it. “Why don’t you ride?”

For a moment she couldn’t think.

He smiled, as if encouraged. “It’s not really because you don’t keep horses here, is it? You could always ride at South Land.”

“What does Fidelity say about it?”

He hesitated. “She says you’re just not a horse person.”

“I
thought
you’d talked to her. You’re here because Fidelity told you to come!”

“I’m here because she gave me the right excuse.”

“And why did you need one?”

“Because…” His grin was charming. “Because I didn’t want to make any mistakes with you.”

Her oxygen supply dwindled. She had to take a deep breath. “Okay, I’m afraid of horses. I don’t know why, but they terrify me.”

“Well, they’re pretty big. Everyone’s a little anxious at first.”

“We aren’t talking a little anxious. I break out in a cold sweat. I tremble so hard I can’t hold the reins. I get sick to my stomach.”

“But other than that?”

She tried to laugh. “Fidelity tried to teach me. Believe me. I wanted to learn, I really did. But she can’t understand my reaction. Nobody can, including me. I’m just…” She paused. “Why were you talking to Fidelity about me?”

“I…Well, I wanted to make sure I wasn’t poaching on somebody else’s territory.”

Relief filled her, followed by elation. “I’m not afraid of anything else. I’ve done mountain climbing, whitewater rafting. Heck, I’ve even been brave enough to be Fidelity’s best friend all these years. That should count for something.”

He smiled at her, a smile that sent the oxygen rushing through her veins again. “Julia, why don’t I teach you to ride? Can you trust me? I can be patient. I know how to move slowly. We can take
everything
one step at a time.”

She wondered exactly what they were talking about.

“Will you give it a try?” he said.

She thought of herself on the back of a horse, high above the ground, slipping from side to side as the horse moved recklessly beneath her…. She thought of Christian right beside her.

Could you teach someone to ride without touching them? She didn’t think so.

“I like the way you think things through,” Christian said.

“You have a horse that’s tame enough? You’re not going to start me on Night Ranger, are you?”

He took her hand over the gate and squeezed it. “How about tomorrow? Before you have a chance to lose your nerve. Come early. It’s Saturday.”

“What’s early?”

He dropped her hand. “Seven. I’m scheduled to walk hounds at eight. That will give us plenty of time to sneak in your first lesson.”

She watched him saunter away. He had a loose, swinging stride, a young Wyatt Earp on his way to Tombstone. Only when he’d disappeared did she realize what love had gotten her into. By then, it was too late to change her mind.

In the next weeks, Robby, Christian, Fidelity and Julia seemed to find a million excuses to be together, in any combination they could manage. The roots of friendship had been dormant; now the friendship blossomed again. They swam, ate and listened to music. They watched movies and had cookouts, growing comfortable with each other again as only old friends can.

Julia was anything but comfortable with Christian, though. She had never before encountered this rush of emotion, the sweaty palms, weak-in-the-knees, pulse-pounding glories of sexual attraction. Every time she was with him the sensations intensified.

She found herself noticing the smallest things. The golden hair sprinkled along his tanned forearms. The strong line of his jaw and ridged slope of his nose. The slight hesitation before he spoke his mind, as if he couldn’t be careless, even in the heat of argument. When she let herself dwell, even for moments, on her feelings, she realized her attraction was not purely physical. Christian was a totally genuine man. He said what he thought, then stood by it. He was strong in all the ways that mattered.

Although she was the most pathetic riding pupil imaginable, he refused to give up on her. His patience was extraordinary. Unfortunately so was his self-control.

A full month of riding lessons passed before Julia felt courageous enough to walk her mount around Claymore Park’s riding ring without Christian on a horse beside her. She had no idea why she was so terrified, except that fear seemed a sensible emotion under the circumstances. Horses were huge, erratic and oversensitive creatures. They startled at noises or paper blowing across the ground. They nipped, trampled and reared.

They also, once the fear began to disappear, made her feel twenty feet tall when she was sitting on one.

By mid-June, six weeks into her training, she could post a trot and gracefully sit a canter. She looked forward to mounting and only rarely wanted to dismount at lesson’s end. Learning to ride had meant close contact nearly every day with Christian. He had been patient, comforting and demanding enough to make her want to overcome her fears. Once the worst was over, she had spent twenty-three hours of every day waiting for the hour they would spend together.

“You have all the right instincts on horseback,” Christian told her at the end of two months. It was evening, but the summer sun was sinking slowly. “You’re not Harry Ashbourne’s daughter for nothing.”

Julia glowed from the compliment—made sweeter since it was coming from him. Until that moment she had been isolated from the horse world that surrounded her. Now, not only did she ride, but she was part of the aristocracy, the daughter of a legend.

He led Night Ranger over to Whitey, the reliable old mare she had learned on. “So before you swell from pride and get too big for your horse, we’re going to try something more challenging.”