Making Waves (10 page)

“Tonight? But I just saw him. He didn’t say anything.”

“He didn’t need to.” Lilly lifted Marguerite’s foot and began to untie her boot. “Your mother accepted on your behalf. Then she ordered me to get your pink ball gown ready.”

Marguerite moaned. “I hate that dress almost as much as I do the idea of dancing with him.”

“It’s a perfectly fine dress. You just don’t like it because she does.” She dropped the boot to the floor with a thud. “So, how’d your first day go?”

Marguerite threw her arm over her face. “You wouldn’t believe me if I told you.”

“That bad?”

She sat up and rubbed her brow with her palm. “It’s complicated. We were in the workshop all morning. Trip says Mark has to learn about boats before he can sail.”

“Makes sense to me.”

“It would.”

“Now, don’t go getting sore with me.” Lilly gathered the frilly pink dress from the chair. “Are you both gonna go back?”

Marguerite stood and slid out of the borrowed skirt, then shucked the Turkish pants and the shirt. “You don’t understand, Lilly. I have to go back. I want this more than anything.”

“Right now you’d better want a washbasin. You’re starting to smell like Mark.” She gave Marguerite a shove in the general direction of the washbasin and picked up the discarded skirt. “So, are you gonna tell me where this skirt came from?”

Heat rushed up Marguerite’s neck. “I sort of borrowed it.”

“You stole it!”

“I just needed something to cover up my cycling outfit before Roger saw me.” She glanced at the skirt. “Can you take it over to the Grahams’ camp and ask them if it blew off their line?”

Shaking her head, Lilly sighed. “I hope the Lord’s already telling you He expects you on the front pew this Sunday, Miss Marguerite, ’cause I know I do.”

Preparing for the evening took over an hour and a half. While Lilly returned the skirt, Marguerite dressed in the overly lacy, high-necked pink gown before securing her hair in a topknot.

“Ooooh, I can’t get this to look right.” Marguerite relinquished the tortoiseshell comb to Lilly, who’d arrived in time to get the tresses to cooperate.

“It looks fine. Now stop fidgeting.” Lilly placed a hand on Marguerite’s shoulder as she tucked the jeweled comb in place. She added a few more pins to the twist and adjusted the springy curls at the nape of Marguerite’s neck before declaring her mistress ready.

Marguerite stood and tugged at the cap sleeves on the gown. “These sleeves just don’t lay right. Maybe I should put on the blue dress.”

“Why do you care? You don’t want to impress Mr. Gordon anyway.”

“Lilly, hush. He might hear you.” She drew on a white kidskin opera glove and attempted to do up the tiny pearl buttons.

Lilly gently nudged her hand out of the way and hooked the buttons through the hoops with ease. “And it would be a good thing if he did. You should have told him the truth ages ago.”

“But Mother . . .”

Lilly shook her head. “She’s not the one he’s boring to tears.”

“Marguerite,” her mother called from the doorway. “Roger is here.”

Marguerite rolled her eyes. “Coming.” She hugged Lilly goodbye. “Pray for me. I’m going to need it.”

“I always do.”

Soaking up the atmosphere at the Pelican Bay restaurant, complete with gas chandeliers, fresco paintings, and glistening place settings, Marguerite made a decision to enjoy the evening.

With the dance following in the great pavilion’s ballroom, the well-dressed diners quickly finished their food. She recognized many guests, including Penelope Worth and Emily Graham. A stab of guilt surged through her at the thought of poor Lilly returning the skirt. At least Emily was a good friend.

Marguerite hurried through the meal’s courses, anticipating the dance. After having an obligatory dance with Roger because he’d brought her, she would be free to dance with others. In fact, she would have to in order to avoid any appearance of impropriety. For once the social rules worked in her favor.

Roger, however, ate painfully slowly. Every time she looked up from her steak and mashed potatoes, she found his gaze locked on her. “What is it? Do I have something on my lips?” She dabbed her napkin against them.

“Your lips are lovely as usual. I was just admiring how truly beautiful you are. Like a priceless painting.”

She smiled. “Thank you, but I’d rather not be hung on any walls.”

Roger set his fork down and sipped the red wine he’d insisted on ordering. He licked his lips and the bushy mustache wriggled. “Your father and I are working on a complex business deal,” he said. “Has he spoken to you about it?”

Marguerite laid her spoon beside the raspberry ice. “Me? I wish he would, but Father doesn’t confide in me about business matters.”

“Odd. I thought the two of you were close.”

“We are. He just doesn’t talk to me about his work. I guess I haven’t shown much curiosity.”

“What does interest you, Marguerite?”

Marguerite stared at him. In three months of outings, not once had Roger ever inquired about her personal hobbies, her likes and dislikes. The glint in his eye made her uneasy. Was his interest genuine, or did he suspect her sailing excursion? Had he somehow learned what she was up to?

No, he couldn’t possibly know about the sailing lessons. She forced a smile. “As a matter of fact, I enjoy stargazing.”

An ugly, halfhearted laugh erupted from his mouth. “Why doesn’t that surprise me? My Marguerite wishing on stars.”

She cringed.
My Marguerite?
Tonight Roger didn’t just seem boring, he seemed almost possessive.

The sweet raspberry ice puddled in her compote. Trying to ease the mounting tension between them, she folded her napkin and set it beside her plate. “We should get going. After all, we don’t want to miss the first dance.”

He lifted her hand to his lips and pressed a kiss to it. “No, we certainly wouldn’t want to do that.”

Roger danced with every step perfectly timed and joylessly performed. Prior to this evening, Marguerite had danced with him only a few times. She found it amazing that anyone could approach something so enjoyable with so little excitement. Then again, it was Roger.

When she misstepped, he frowned. “Concentrate, Marguerite. People are watching.”

She threw her head back and laughed. “So? What does that matter?”

He pressed his hand hard to her waist and held her in place. “It matters.”

“Roger, relax. This is a dance. It’s supposed to be fun.”

“Life isn’t the game you make it, Marguerite.”

When the four-piece orchestra concluded the lively waltz, she sighed with relief. “Would you be so kind as to get me a glass of lemonade?”

“And where will you be?” Behind his spectacles, his dark eyes chilled her.

“Right here.”

“Then I shall return directly.”

She sat on a bench and tried to make sense of Roger’s actions. Maybe he’d overheard Lilly or maybe he’d sensed her discomfort concerning the secret morning outings. Whatever the reason, she almost wished boring, predictable Roger would return. This Roger frightened her.

She shook her head. That was ridiculous. Roger Gordon wasn’t to be feared. Maybe his caterpillar mustache was, but the man certainly was not.

“Hello, Miss Westing.”

Marguerite’s head shot up. Before her stood Trip Andrews, hair still tousled and dimples still dangerous, wearing a fine black tailcoat, white vest, and tie. He seemed as at ease in the wealthy crowd as he did on a sailboat.

“What’s a lovely lady like you doing sitting out on one of my favorite dances?” He held out his hand, apparently expecting her to take it.

But that was not going to happen. Not after how he’d treated her and Mark today. “I’m sorry. I’m waiting for my escort to return with refreshments.”

“I see.” He didn’t appear disheartened. In fact, his fire-flecked eyes seemed to sparkle at the challenge. “Then I will catch you in a few dances.”

He moved off, and a bit later his friend Harry asked her to dance. Since Roger had yet to return, she accepted his offer.

Harry, who immediately admitted he was a horrible dancer, made her laugh the entire time, telling stories of the various gents and ladies in attendance. When the dance ended, another young man stood ready to whisk her away.

As the last notes closed on the fast waltz, Roger appeared. He grabbed her elbow and drew her to the side. “What do you think you’re doing?”

“Dancing.”

“But you’re with me.” He thrust the lemonade at her and it splashed on the awful pink dress. He whipped out a handkerchief and held it out to her. “I apologize. How clumsy of me.”

Taking the handkerchief, she dabbed at the stain.

Roger cleared his throat. “I guess you’ll want to go now.”

“No, this little spot will dry.”

He took hold of her elbow. “Actually, I think we’ll leave.”

Marguerite jerked her arm away. “What has gotten into you? You aren’t yourself at all.”

“I’m sorry. I guess I’m just more tired than I realized.”

She studied him. He seemed sincere. “Do you honestly want to go?”

“No, we can stay awhile longer. Let me get you another lemonade.”

He quickly departed, and Marguerite shook her head. Lately, his personality changed more than the shifting sands on the beach.

Trip Andrews didn’t like what he saw. The man accompanying Marguerite Westing appeared anything but gentlemanly. Who was this cad? Trip knew most of the regulars at the lake by now, and other than the night he’d pulled Marguerite from the water, he’d never seen this man. Holding his breath, he watched the situation, ready to intervene if necessary, but as he expected, she handled it admirably. He expelled his breath when her escort left her.

She took a few wobbly steps toward a chair and sat down. Whatever had happened, it had shaken her, and a frown marred her beautiful face. Even a few minutes ago, when she’d danced with Harry, he’d glimpsed the same lightheartedness in her that he’d seen on the
Argo
the other day. Now, from the sag of her shoulders, it was apparent something wore heavy on her.

Determined to bring back her glowing smile, he crossed the room and held out his hand. “I believe you owe me a dance.” When she lifted her eyes to his, he flashed a broad grin. “Or do you just need a friend?”