Love Is Elected (9 page)

All of the draperies on the lower floor were drawn. And the house seemed unusually quiet as Kara strode across the living room. But as she opened the cafe doors into the kitchen, she was surprised by the aroma of freshly made coffee and the sight of her husband sitting at the round butcher block table reading the financial section of the
Baltimore Sun
. He was dressed in flannel gray slacks, a creamy beige turtleneck, and a casual tweed sportscoat with leather patches at the elbows. The sight of Matt looking so cool and unruffled after their stormy encounter of the night before enraged her.

"Well, sleeping beauty is finally awake," he observed mockingly. Then his eyes roamed over her scruffy outfit. "Or is it the scullery maid?"

Kara tried to think of a snappy comeback. But none came to mind.

"By the way," Matt added, "the message on the T-shirt is superfluous. You've already made it clear what a crab you can be. But you'd better hide your claws for today. We're going out to Windy Willow Farm to meet my mother."

Kara's mouth flew open. "We are? Why didn't you have the courtesy to tell me? But then, why should I expect courtesy from someone like you?"

"If you hadn't made it clear that you didn't want my company last night, we might have had more time to discuss our plans for today," he retorted, studying her coldly.

"You mean, if you hadn't been in such a hurry to get out of here and into bed with your mistress," she countered.

Matt Jordan threw back his head and laughed at her accusations. "And just what makes you think that?" he challenged.

"I happened to pick up the phone in my bedroom and I heard…" Kara began.

But the dangerous glint in her husband's eyes cut her off in mid-sentence.

"I will not tolerate anyone eavesdropping on my conversations," he said very calmly and deliberately. But the icy tone of his voice sent a shiver up Kara's spine. Biting her lip, she looked down at the table top.

"And since you've made it clear that you don't really want to be my wife, where I go and what I do is really no concern of yours."

Kara felt her lower lip begin to quiver. And she was unable to look up and meet his eyes. But the next second he reached out and covered her long slender fingers with his strong hand.

"You don't know how I spent last night, Kara," he said more gently. "And if you did, you'd understand that I have good reason to be edgy this morning. But we have a long day ahead of us at my mother's place in the country, so let's call a truce. I'll heat up some blueberry muffins for breakfast while you go up and change into something more suitable for meeting her. And for heaven's sakes, take your hair out of that pony tail. She'll think I'm robbing the cradle."

Still unable to look up, Kara turned and fled from the kitchen. Back in her bedroom she looked through her closets and drawers trying to find something that Matt would consider suitable for a visit to Windy Willow Farms. Finally she settled on a burgundy corduroy skirt with a matching vest and striped blouse. To add a note of sophistication, she pulled on a pair of high-heeled, brown suede boots. Then she brushed out her hair, put on a dab of lip gloss and a touch of violet eye shadow.

"What am I doing?" she asked herself suddenly as she surveyed her image in the mirror. "I don't want to go meet his mother. How can I act as if things are normal when this whole affair has been so contrived? I'm going to tell him I won't go," she said decisively.

When she returned to the kitchen, Matt surveyed her assessingly. "That's a lot better," he approved, "although you're still not quite sophisticated enough to play the part of a candidate's wife. But we'll talk about that later."

"You certainly know how to give a woman compliments," Kara observed caustically, pulling out a pedestal chair and sitting down at the table. Then she reached for the butter and a hot muffin. "But I'm not going with you," she declared.

"And just why not?" he countered, his eyes narrowing.

"Because after last night, it would be hypocritical if I were to play the dutiful bride to your loving husband."

"Now get this straight, Kara. No matter what you think of me, you have an obligation to go through with our bargain; and meeting my mother in a civil fashion is part of that." The no-nonsense expression on Matt's hard features was so intimidating that Kara found herself once again avoiding his gaze.

They sat in silence for some minutes, each concentrating on the breakfast in front of them. Finally, feeling Matt's eyes on her, Kara looked up to find an unreadable expression on his face.

"Remember, we're supposed to be having a truce," he reminded her. "And here's my first peace offering," he said, with a more friendly expression. Reaching into his pocket, he pulled out a small velvet box and put it on the table in front of Kara's plate. "Go ahead and open it," he urged.

Tentatively, Kara picked it up and slowly pulled back the lid. Inside a wedding ring set sparkled. The engagement ring was a large marquis diamond flanked by six smaller emeralds. The wedding band was a narrow circle of gold. Involuntarily, Kara drew in her breath.

"They're beautiful," she murmured.

"I hope this makes up for yesterday," her husband said softly. Reaching out he took her left hand and slipped the two rings on the proper finger. Just as before, the fit was perfect.

"This time you don't have to give them back," he chuckled.

"You mean, even when we get divorced," she blurted.

His gray eyes became hard as granite. "Just as you wish," he said coolly. "But as long as you're playing the candidate's wife, you'll wear them." Then he pushed back his chair and stood up. "Are you coming?" he asked.

Kara nodded dumbly.

"Well then, I hate to rush you through breakfast, but Mother's expecting us at eleven."

During most of the twenty-minute ride to Windy Willow Farm, Kara purposely kept her eyes averted from Matt, even though she was acutely aware of his magnetic presence, especially when his hand brushed lightly against her leg as he changed gears. She tried to concentrate on the fluffy white clouds scudding across the crystal blue of the sky and the rolling hills divided like patchwork by white rail fences and rows of blooming dogwood. But her thoughts were in turmoil. What would his mother be like? What would she think about Kara and this hasty marriage?

As they turned onto the gravel entrance road to the estate, she could remain silent no longer.

"What are we going to tell your mother?" she blurted.

"We're going to tell her the truth. I'm not going to insult her with the charade we've made up for the public."

"But what will she think of me?" Kara pressed.

Matt flashed her a narrowed look. "My mother's very open-minded. I'm sure that will depend on the way you behave yourself today."

Kara flushed. "I don't have anything against your mother," she protested indignantly.

"Other than that I'm her son," he added dryly.

Agreeing with him silently, Kara turned her attention to the scene out the window. The Jordan estate was impressive, she had to admit.

The winding driveway was flanked by a row of willow trees, feathered with the delicate greenery of their first spring growth. To the right was a large oval pond in which a flock of mallards had made themselves at home. To the left were acres of white fenced paddocks where thoroughbred mares and their new foals grazed peacefully.

At the end of the long drive was a two story fieldstone house with high white portico stretching across the front expanse. Ancient boxwood hedges lined the flagstone walk. And beds of lemon-tinted daffodils and bright red tulips provided a splash of color in front of the stately structure.

"When you said Windy Willow Farm, I had no idea it was this impressive," Kara accused. "You could have prepared me."

Next to her, Matt grinned. "I never thought of it that way. This is where I grew up," he said warmly. "It's just home to me."

Matt parked the silver Porsche at the edge of the circular drive in front of the house. Getting out, he walked around to Kara's side of the car, opened the door, and took her arm. Even after he shut the door behind her, he held onto her tightly as he led her up the walk.

When they were almost to the house, the front door flew open and a tall, slim, white-haired man dressed in a work shirt, jeans and leather riding boots emerged.

"Welcome home, Matt," he boomed. "Your mother is as excited as a high-strung filly over your marriage." Then he turned to Kara.

"So this is the lucky bride," he chuckled approvingly. "We didn't think anybody was going to lasso our Matt. But honey, I want to tell you you've got one heck of a man here."

The color in Kara's cheeks heightened. But Matt handled the situation smoothly.

"I'd like you to meet Lew McAlister," he said. "Lew's been with the family since before I was born. He runs the horse farm for my mother. He's quite a character with his Wild West ways, but you don't have to believe everything he says."

"I'm… I'm pleased to meet you," Kara stammered, holding out her hand. But McAlister swept her into a bear hug. "I expect you to take good care of this boy," he drawled in her ear. "But I'll let you in on a secret; it takes a tight rein to keep him out of trouble. I know, I had the job for twenty years."

"You don't want to frighten her off, do you Lew?" Matt asked dryly.

"You're right. I better stop flapping my mouth. And you better go in to see your mother," he said to Matt.

But before he turned toward the paddocks, he winked at Kara.

Matt opened the door and they stepped into the cool, elegant foyer. The floor was black and white marble tile, set off with oriental rugs. A curving staircase with an elaborately carved railing swept up to the second floor. And the long Chippendale hall table held a polished silver bowl brimming with an arrangement of freshly cut spring flowers. Matt steered Kara down the hall toward the back of the house. As Kara passed the living room and dining room, she had a quick impression of expensive antique furniture and plush upholstery.

"This is like the Sugar Hill mansion I toured once in Philadelphia when I was in college," she whispered.

"Well, this one's not open to the public all the time, but it is included on the Christmas candlelight tours my mother organizes each year for Maryland charities. But let's not keep her waiting; she's probably in the greenhouse."

At the back of the house they entered a large glassed-in room where the air was heady with the smell of flowers and plants. In the middle of the room Kara could see an elegant-looking silver-haired woman dressed in a pale blue shirtwaist who was busy repotting an enormous Boston fern. As they entered, the woman looked up and a warm smile spread across her aristocratic features.

"Matthew dear," she said, standing up and stripping off her gardening gloves. "And this must be Kara." She hurried forward and gave the young woman an affectionate embrace. "I can't tell you how happy I am to welcome you to the family."

Kara found herself responding to the genuine warmth of this woman who seemed so different from her overbearing son. But she didn't know what to say. Over Mrs. Jordan's shoulder, she looked at Matt helplessly, her eyes begging him to explain the situation.

"Mother, there's something I have to tell you," Matt began.

But Mrs. Jordan, who had stepped back from Kara, shook her head. "You don't have to tell me anything," she interrupted. "Frank Adams was here yesterday afternoon and explained the whole story."

Matt's features hardened. "Then he's overstepped his responsibilities," he ground out. "His duties don't extend to my personal life."

"That may be true," his mother agreed. "But I'm grateful he did. I've already had several phone calls from the media asking for my reaction. I'm glad I had a better understanding of the situation."

Matt nodded tightly. "From that point of view, I guess it was appropriate," he relented.

His mother smiled. "Now, I'm not trying to get rid of you, Matt," she said, changing the subject. "But I do need your opinion on a horse sale Lew is taking care of for me tomorrow. Do you think you can go look at those yearlings and make sure he's set a fair asking price?"

"Mother, Lew knows a lot more about the correct price than I do," Matt protested.

But Mrs. Jordan made a swishing motion with her hands. "You run along and give me a chance to get to know Kara a little better," she laughed. Turning to the young woman, she added, "I never could put one over on him."

Matt gave them both an exaggerated shrug and headed out of the room.

"Now come into the family room and sit down," Mrs. Jordan said, turning to Kara. "I had that wing added several years ago. The original house was built before the Civil War."

Obediently, Kara followed the older woman down a short hallway.

Mrs. Jordan was still rattling on. "And my dear, you must call me Elizabeth. We don't stand on formalities around here."

The family room was comfortably furnished with a beige velvet sectional sofa making a U in front of the brick fireplace. The coffee and end tables were of chrome and glass. And one wall was lined with fruitwood cabinets topped by ceiling-high bookshelves.

Mrs. Jordan gestured for Kara to sit on the left side of the sofa, as she crossed to one of the bookshelves and took down a large oatmeal-colored volume with blue lettering.

"After Frank Adams left, your name jogged my memory," the older woman told Kara as she came to sit beside her on the couch. "So I got out my old college yearbook and had a look at it."

Kara gazed at her expectantly.

"Do you know your mother and I were classmates at Goucher College over thirty-six years ago? And you look so much like her, I feel as if I've known you a long time already."

Kara stared at her mother-in-law in surprise.

"You mean you really knew my mother, Mrs. Jordan?" she questioned.

"Yes. And I do want you to call me Elizabeth the way she did." While the elder Mrs. Jordan was talking, she flipped the pages of the yearbook. "See, here I am," she pointed to a youthful version of herself. "And here's your mother."