Strands of Bronze and Gold (31 page)

Profusions of flowers were brought in from the orangery for lastminute embellishing. Anne and I tucked creamy camellias and roses and lilies like stars among the dark green garlands, and we helped Daphne fashion bouquets of the more exotic blooms in a hundred vases. We cut tendrils of ivy to loop and trail gracefully in our arrangements. Each polished surface glistened. Torches were placed, still unlit, along the drive all the way from the edge of the woods. Wyndriven Abbey was in its glory.

As early dusk approached, a wealth of candelabras and lamps were lit in the public rooms to banish the wintry gloom that lurked in every nook and cranny. I understood the pagans who celebrated the winter solstice with light. There never could be enough light in the abbey.

All was done, but no one could relax, not with the anticipation in the air. We perched ourselves on the edges of chairs while we waited for the time to go upstairs to dress. The rest of us made small talk, but Bernard’s conversation was expansive. When at last the musicians arrived and began setting up, we scattered to begin our toilette.

Odette filled the bath, and I used a new cake of Parisian perfumed soap. Mme. Duclos knocked at the door. She came to assist me into her newest creation—the ball dress of my own design. Odette helped me slip into my most delicate cotton batiste undergarments, fastened my hoop, laced me tightly, and then she and Madame lifted the gown over my head.

I gazed at myself in the tall mirror. My skirt had tiers of fine white lawn with long streamers down the back. The bodice had a deep V-front waist and short capped sleeves. It was trimmed with purple silk taffeta ribbons and embroidered white-on-white lace. I wore a necklace of pearls at my throat, and Bernard had sent violets for my hair.

I looked well enough, but this no longer pleased me as it once would have. There was no longer room in me for my old vanity. If I had been homely, whatever the shade of my hair, I doubted I would be engaged to Bernard right now. I also looked young. This was a girl’s dress. I could never wear such a frock again after marriage.

Anne entered. Her gown was cut velvet ivory silk, with a pointed waist and pagoda sleeves. For her hair Bernard had sent roses. So thoughtful.

We admired each other. My sister tweaked my tresses, and I gave her a cameo locket to rest on her throat. We then watched out the window, awaiting the first guests’ arrival. Twilight fell. A great white
marble moon hung low. The torches had been lit. Twinkling pinpoints of light that were carriage lamps began to stream in from the woods. Buggies and saddle horses and coaches filled the drive. We opened the casement so the sounds could reach us—horses’ hooves, the crunch of wheels on gravel, the rise and fall of voices, laughter. Toby and Tater Bug and Reuben led horses toward the stable, where they would be hitched to posts and cared for by grooms.

Anne took my hand and squeezed it. “Will your friend Mr. Stone be here tonight?” Her tone was grave. “How will you manage if you see him? Have you considered that?”

“Of course,” I said quietly, “it’s all I’ve thought about.” At sight of my sister’s face, however, I gave a quick laugh. “No, that’s not true.” I twirled my spreading skirts. “I’ve also given a few thoughts to my dress. Probably he’s not invited—Bernard doesn’t think much of preachers—but if he does come, he’s a gentleman and I’m a lady. We’ll greet each other politely.”

The first guests alighted, and it was finally time to go downstairs. Odette wreathed a cloud of silvery tulle about my shoulders, and Anne and I descended in a ripple of silk and lawn and the perfume of violets and roses.

Bernard stood beside the massive entry doors, very tall and very elegant in his evening clothes. “I am so pleased to meet you,” he was saying as he shook a gentleman’s hand. “My travels have not permitted me to be neighborly in the past, but I am happy to make your acquaintance now. And so it is you who owns the plantation house with the fine cupola that is visible from the road?” And again and again he found just the right thing to say as he greeted guests. It came easily to him when he chose.

I did not join him. I didn’t know how Bernard would have introduced me. The grand announcement of our engagement would be made later in the evening. Although these people were the neighbors I had been longing to meet, shyness suddenly gripped me. What could I possibly say to them, these strangers? I clung to Anne and Harry and Junius.

White-turbaned maids took wraps, and the guests began to spread like water throughout the first floor.

I heard comments. “He brought it all the way over from England”—from a dark girl in flame-colored chiffon. “What a staircase! I must have one like it in my house”—from a gentleman with bushy side-whiskers. “I’ve heard tell his wife killed herself in one of these rooms”—very low from a woman with a high-bridged nose and badly applied rouge. “He makes his money by …” “His morals are questionable …” “No children, no heirs …” “Dang good wine, though.” The gossip flowed like the drink. Ducky had been correct in thinking the curious would pour into Wyndriven Abbey this night.

Shifting masses of people surged from room to room, the ladies graceful in their wide hoopskirts. Their dresses lit by candlelight seemed to glow from within. Inconvenient though the style was, they did make for beautiful silhouettes. I took quiet pleasure in realizing there was no dress I liked so well as my own.

The furniture had been removed from the banquet hall to make room. When the first strains of music sounded, people poured into the hall. Bernard claimed me. He kissed my hand and said, “How beautiful you are.
Je t’adore
.” After that he said nothing as we galloped down the floor in a reel.

I had expected him to monopolize me for most of the evening, but he instead escorted me back to the edge of the dance floor after the first dance. He bowed and led lady after lady out for waltzes and polkas, schottisches and reels. He leaned into them, smiling, in the flattering way that assured them they were beautiful and charming. And some of them looked to be beautiful and charming indeed, with their spangles and jewels, their sleek chignons or springing ringlets, their spreading gowns of silk and lace and taffeta.

I danced a good many dances myself, as did my siblings. Our swirls around the drawing room back home in Boston had prepared us for this. My pearl earbobs bounced and my beaded dancing slippers tripped lightly. I overcame my shyness and talked to the gentlemen who partnered me. In musical Southern accents they teased me about being a Yankee and asked questions about how I found life here, to which I responded with animation. I told the truth that I thought Mississippi beautiful.

Bernard’s gaze was often fastened upon me. When I sailed about the floor with older gentlemen, his expression was benign, but when I danced with younger gentlemen, my fiancé glowered. Evidently sauce for the goose was not sauce for the gander—he could flirt as he wished, but he frowned when it was turnabout. I tried to smile at him gratefully when I caught his eye. He must be kept on an even keel.

I retired to catch my breath in a little corner bower and fanned myself with the swans-down fan that dangled from my wrist by a ribbon.

Through a screen twined with garlands, I peeked at Junius speaking intently to a terrifying-looking gentleman near a refreshment
table. He had hoped to make acquaintances for business purposes, so that was good. Harry flirted with a pretty blonde with a mischievous smile. Anne danced a second dance with a massive young man. Wouldn’t it be wonderful if both of them met someone tonight worth keeping? The movement of the frothy, billowing flounces seemed like the ebb and flow of the ocean. The sound of many voices imitated the sound of the sea. My eyes drooped.

And then I saw Gideon. My engagement ring cut into my flesh as I clenched my hands together. At some point he had slipped in and was now speaking to an elderly lady in silver satin. Seeing his dear face was like a physical blow. Of course I hadn’t really forgotten it. He was here—and it was too late.

The music hushed and Bernard stepped onto the musicians’ platform. “Honored guests, I have an announcement to make,” he said loudly, above the other voices. “Where is my Sophia?” His eyes swept the crowd.

Go up there. I must go
.

In a daze I exited my hiding place and made my way toward him. “Ah, there she is.” He held out his hand and I placed my chill fingers in his. “Ladies and gentlemen, let me introduce you to my fiancée and the future mistress of Wyndriven Abbey, Miss Sophia Petheram.” He continued with praise for me that I didn’t hear, nor did I hear the murmur of the crowd. All I knew was Gideon.

His head rose above the others—he was so tall. His eyes were riveted on mine, and there was a shocked question in them. A pang of love stabbed through my heart as, ever so faintly, I nodded. He stood stiff in rigid anguish.

Amid the handshakes and congratulations and introductions
that beset me, I saw Gideon back away, then leave the hall. He headed toward the conservatory.

When I could, I excused myself, whispering to Bernard that a feminine matter must be attended to. I squirmed inwardly as I said it, but I needed a reason to leave the room that he wouldn’t question. (Or at least that I didn’t think he would question.) He smirked a little, then released me.

Gideon slumped on the edge of the fountain, staring into the water where goldfish darted, but his gaze did not follow their brightness. He raised his head when I entered and barely glanced my way before looking down once more. “Is this a terrible dream?” he asked.

“I wish we’d both wake up if it is.” I swallowed. “I’m afraid it’s real life, though.”

“When I received the invitation, I was so happy to know I would see you again at last. I expected I would meet your family, and you and I would have a chance to talk. I thought maybe, just maybe, we could make our future plans together—since you had said you would go away with your siblings when they leave. I was a fool.”

I dropped down to the ledge beside him. “I had no choice in the end.”

“A person always has options.”

“I used to think so too.” My voice was shaking. “But sometimes, given who we are and our circumstances, that just isn’t true.” He was so close. My whole body ached from yearning to reach out and touch him, to comfort him and me both. I held my arms tightly at my sides. “Instead, you had no choice but to stop meeting me and I had no choice but to find a way to help my family out of their troubles.”

“It never occurred to me you couldn’t wait a few months.” He rubbed his forehead as if it ached. “Did I mention I was a fool?”

My shoulders drooped. I couldn’t find my handkerchief, so I dabbed away my silent tears with the delicate top layer of my skirt. “I would have waited for you forever if I could have, but … it’s complicated … I’ve been so unhappy.”

“So have I, but I fought the loneliness by thinking over the hours we spent together and hoping and planning. And now you’ll marry de Cressac.”

My misery was so great I could scarcely speak. “My family needs the money,” I managed to squeeze out.

“I see. You’re marrying for money.”

I raised my bowed head and said, “No, Mr. Stone, I’m not. I’m marrying for love—love of my family. I’m so sorry.”

He shook his head and stood. I could hold myself back no longer from reaching for his arm; it seemed that if I could just—but he was gone too swiftly. He had never really looked at me the whole time we were speaking. I was left with my hand in midair. He halted at the outer conservatory door. Without turning, he said, “Remember, in spite of everything, if you should ever need help, you do have a friend nearby.”

He left just as Bernard burst through the other entrance. In the steamy warm air of the conservatory, a coldness wafted. Bernard was scowling. Had he seen Gideon? Had he heard anything?
Please no
.

I ran to him, even though my wobbly limbs nearly gave way beneath me, and put my arms around his neck and kissed him. “I was detained by one of our guests,” I said with an arch smile.

“Who was it?”

“Only the funny preacher. He admires your ferns.”

“I should prefer that my fiancée not be alone with other gentlemen. Odd that a guest should exit the house in such a way.”

“Does it matter how he leaves, so long as he does? What is he to us?”

I lifted my face for another caress, trying to erase all doubts from his mind. His lips met mine savagely, his grip on my arms bruising.

Finally he pulled away. “There. You may dance with whomever you please, but only
I
may do that.”

I schooled my features, trying to hide my disgust. “I’m having such a grand time. Do you know, I didn’t realize what a fine dancer you were before tonight? And you flirt so proficiently with all the pretty ladies. I was jealous indeed.”

He gave a short, mirthless laugh. “Whereas you are not so fine a dancer. I was ashamed. We must see that you practice. Perhaps I shall get you a dancing master. Evidently I was remiss in not providing one early on. Stumbling about with your brothers in your kitchen hardly was adequate.”

I swallowed back the sting and put my hands on his shoulders. “Listen, can you hear the music? Dance with me here—just the two of us. You can teach me all I need to know.”

Bernard’s sardonic curl of the lips told me he knew I was trying to distract him, and he would let me get away with it—this time.

As we danced, a thought came to me:
Gideon and I never had a chance. It was always hopeless. Even if we’d continued to meet secretly, eventually we would have had to leave the shelter of the forest, and always Bernard would have been there, waiting
.