The Heiress (15 page)

Iris looked at the customer studying the tag on the Hepplewhite china cabinet. “You go ahead, and come back later, then. Ladies!” She lifted her hand in a cheery hello. “I’m Iris Templeton, the shop proprietress. May I help you?”

Bucky waited until Iris had started helping the customers, then surreptitiously reached into his camera bag and the small container he carried with him for just such emergencies. He smeared a streak of black axle grease on the inside of his left palm, then went back up to Iris with a puzzled look on his face. “I just noticed I’ve got what looks like grease or something on my hand. Is there a place where I could wash up?”

Iris looked both irritated by his interruption and eager to get rid of him before he did any damage to her valuable merchandise. “Yes, Bucky, there’s a bathroom in the back, at the end of the hall. Now—” Iris turned back to the group of ladies assembled around the china cabinet “—as I was saying. About this piece—”

With everyone else thoroughly occupied, it took no time at all to wash his hands and even less to slip into her office, pluck an invitation from the stack in her desk and slide it into his camera bag. Finished, Bucky rushed back to the front of the store. “Thanks, Iris.” He flashed her an appreciative grin as he let himself out the shop door, onto King Street.
I’m all set.

D
AISY WASN’T SURE
why she disliked going out to Rosewood so much. The family’s country estate wasn’t a far drive—it was only a half an hour west of Charles
ton, forty-five minutes from the beach. The rambling two-hundred-acre grounds were beautifully landscaped and maintained. The breathtaking pink brick Georgian mansion had three floors and some twenty-four rooms, all beautifully furnished with priceless antiques in mint condition. Behind that were three temperature-controlled barns that used to house even more antiques. Those pieces were so expensive that they were shown only to prescreened private collectors, repeat customers and interior decorators, and small, socially prominent groups or clubs.

She supposed it was the fact that except for a few rare events—a Halloween party when she was a child that had ended disastrously, the occasional wedding anniversary, the estate had never been used for family gatherings—only Templeton’s Fine Antiques business—and parties relating to that. There were no pets or horses, or places to have fun. Not even a TV or stereo. What little music was provided was done so by members of the Charleston symphony or various string quartets. Thinking about the few galas she had been forced to attend here while growing up, which she could count on one hand, it was all Daisy could do not to yawn.

Even now, knowing why she was here—to pick out a gift—Daisy couldn’t help but feel a little bit resentful and a lot on edge. She had tried to cover it up, to not be too out of sorts about having to come all the way out here simply to appease Richard and Charlotte and get them off her back yet again, but she hadn’t been entirely successful. Jack had asked her twice before she had dropped him at the Deveraux-Heyward Shipping Company offices if she wanted him to try and get away and come with her. But she figured one of them listen
ing to her father’s opinion of her hasty marriage was quite enough.

Hopefully, Daisy thought as she turned her red car into the long red driveway and drove up to the guardhouse in front of the closed black wrought-iron gates and electric fence, it wouldn’t take too long.

“Daisy Templeton…er, Granger, here to see my father,” Daisy said to the uniformed guard on duty. She flipped open her wallet, showing her ID, which had not yet been changed to reflect her married name, but the guard waved her off.

“That’s okay, Miz Templeton. Your father told me you’d be here this afternoon.”

“Is my father here yet?”

“He should be along shortly. But you can go on in the house and wait for him.” The guard smiled at her reassuringly. “I can turn off the alarm from here.” He pointed to the computer panel behind him.

“So I can just open the front door?”

“And go on in. Yes, ma’am. The locks are all electronic now. Your father and sister have access to remote controls, and of course we do here at the guardhouse, but that’s it. The regular household staff has to be let in by me.”

Daisy nodded, taking it all in. She knew the precautions might have sounded excessive to some, but given the value of the antiques on the property, which generally speaking totaled millions of dollars, it made sense. The guard opened the gates, Daisy drove through and on up the lane.

As she got out of the car, she felt a little weird—sort of nervous, but she told herself it was probably her pregnancy. It had nothing to do with the trauma she had once suffered here, years past, or the nightmares
she sometimes still had about that awful Halloween party. She was an adult now. She was fine. Pregnant maybe, but fine.

Doing her best to shake off her lingering uneasiness, she let herself inside and walked through the front hall. “Hello?” she called, wondering if there were any staff within earshot, but no one seemed to be here.

Daisy walked through the downstairs rooms, trying to recall exactly where the kitchen was. Eventually, she found it at the center of the first floor, tucked into a large windowless room. Designed like a hotel kitchen, it was all fluorescent lights, stainless-steel counters and huge commercial appliances. Daisy found a few bottles of soda and orange juice in the subzero refrigerator and poured herself a glass of juice, hoping it would normalize her blood sugar and make her feel a little better. And it did help a little. But not enough.

She still felt creeped out for some reason. Maybe because the house was so huge and she was so completely alone. “What I need to do is occupy my mind,” Daisy instructed herself firmly, her voice echoing in the cavernous rooms of the mansion. “Find something to do to pass the time.” But what? There were no magazines. No TV or radio. She hadn’t brought a book with her or her camera.

Instead, she just wandered the massive building trying to occupy herself. Heading back to the front of the house, she walked through the front hall and then through the parlors on either side. She was in the library, examining bookcases and tapping on walls, when someone suddenly loomed behind her. Daisy jumped as a man’s shadow fell over her. She’d been so busy distracting herself, she hadn’t heard anyone come inside the house.

“What are you doing?” Richard demanded as he stepped closer. He, too, was perspiring from the oppressive heat and humidity outside, his dark-brown hair clinging damply to his forehead and the back of his neck. At sixty-seven, he still looked fit and virile. Partly because he always made sure he got enough sleep, ate right and worked out regularly under the guidance of his personal trainer. But also because he took care to dress elegantly every day, dyed his hair and made use of the latest plastic surgery techniques.

“Just looking around,” Daisy said. Why did she know he would be annoyed? Even if she had just been standing there, he would have been annoyed. Daisy sighed inwardly. It was just like old times: him prick-ling with resentment and her feeling awful about herself.

Daisy continued to stand there, wondering if she was ever going to stop wanting the two people she had grown up thinking were her adoptive parents—instead of her biological grandparents—to love and accept her for who and what she was. Sometimes Daisy felt close with her mother, but to Richard, Daisy feared, she was simply the Templeton black sheep who would never, because of her illegitimate beginnings, quite be up to the family’s blue-blooded standards.

Richard took a handkerchief out of his pocket and blotted the back of his neck, his face. “Let’s go upstairs to the third floor,” he said.

Her spirits sinking ever lower—Daisy knew that more stinging criticism was yet to come—Daisy swallowed her resentment and followed along. Too late, she wished she had let—no, insisted—that Jack come out here with her, even if he had to leave work.

“I have to tell you, Daisy, your mother and I were
very upset about your elopement,” Richard said as he led the way up the stairs.

“Who are you talking about?” Daisy asked, doing her best to look innocently confused. She couldn’t help it—she had to break the flow of his prepared speech, and throw him off his rhythm, and there was no quicker way to do that than by asking a stupid question. “Iris or Charlotte?”

Richard grimaced as he tackled the third flight. “Charlotte is your mother.”

“By adoption.” Daisy followed along dutifully, aware she was beginning to feel just a tiny bit nauseated. “Iris—”

“Daisy,” Richard interrupted in a loud, intimidating voice, “I am not going to discuss this with you.” He paused on the steps, towering over her. “Iris made a mistake that has long since been remedied. I will not have you bringing it up again, with me or anyone else.”

Of course not, Daisy thought, quaking a little at the repressed anger she saw on her father’s face.
Because then we Templetons might actually begin to deal with our problems.

“But, since you are married,” Richard continued in a kinder though no less patronizing manner, “perhaps I can help you to succeed in your new endeavor.”

Daisy didn’t like the direction this lecture was going. Or the increasingly icky feeling in her stomach. “What do you mean?”

“A wife, even one as young and untutored in the ways of matrimony as yourself, has certain duties and responsibilities to her husband.”

Daisy couldn’t wait to hear what those were in Richard’s view. “Such as…?”

“If she is wise, she will be sure she does everything
she can to make certain she is a good wife to her husband.”

“I don’t get it,” Daisy said blankly.

“Then I’ll spell it out for you.” Richard’s eyebrows arched autocratically. “There’s a difference between being a proper, upstanding wife and a floozy!”

Daisy stared at him in disbelief. She couldn’t believe her father had just said that. She turned away, her face flaming. “I resent that,” she countered angrily as bile climbed from the center of her chest into the base of her throat. Although she doubted she would be able to convince him of that once he and her mother learned of her pregnancy.

“Maybe,” Richard stated in cool disapproval, “but you certainly dress like one. Which is why I am asking Charlotte to take you shopping for some proper clothes, more suitable to your new role in Charleston society, and why I want her to sponsor you as a new member in all her charitable activities and clubs.”

At that, it was all Daisy could do not to moan. “You have got to be kidding,” she retorted, taking a deep breath.

“I most certainly am not.” Richard turned to her as he led the way into one of the antique-furnished bedroom suites. “The busier you are, the better. Furthermore,” he lectured her sternly, wagging a finger in front of her face, “you’re a wife now. No more wild behavior. We expect you to act like the young lady we reared you to be. Not some wild party girl.”

Daisy swallowed in an effort to hold back the bile. She couldn’t believe the baby had chosen now to give her her very first episode of morning sickness. Not that it was unusual for her to be feeling a little sick when her father criticized her like this, the force of his dis
approval had always had the power to twist her stomach into knots. “And if I say no?” Daisy asked, wondering if her face was as green as it felt.

“Then you’ll have no hope of ever regaining access to the annual allowance from your trust fund.”

Daisy shrugged and wondered if some fresh air would help. “Maybe I don’t want it,” she said, praying she wouldn’t throw up all over her father’s shoes.

“You’ll change your mind.” Richard snorted in disgust. “When it comes to money, women always do.”

Daisy wasn’t surprised by her father’s attitude. Richard was a chauvinist and then some. But there was no use arguing about his antiquated sexist views. He wasn’t going to change his mind. She drew another deep breath and perched on the edge of an authentic Chinese silk–covered chaise, hoping the lack of motion might help. “I thought I was here to pick out a wedding gift.”

“You are looking at it.” Richard turned and gestured to the magnificent carved cherry-wood bed with the half-tester. Daisy didn’t need to know anything about antiques to know the piece was worth tens of thousands. “Of course, we would send the bureau, the washstand and writing table along with it. Even the chaise if you want it.”

“That’s very generous of you.” Daisy said politely, counting the seconds until she could leave. “But it would never fit in Jack’s beach house. The tester alone is taller than the ceiling in his bedroom.”

“Then we’ll find something else,” Richard said as footsteps sounded in the hall, and seconds later, Iris walked in. “Here you are,” Iris said pleasantly, giving Richard a look heavy with a meaning Daisy couldn’t begin to read. “I need to talk to you, Father.”

Richard looked immensely irritated again. “It can wait until Daisy and I finish,” he said stonily.

“No. It can’t,” Iris disagreed with surprising force. “Daisy, please excuse us and go downstairs and wait there. Father and I have some very confidential things to say to one another.”

Daisy wondered what was going on. Iris, usually so cool and collected, looked rattled. Deciding she needed some air if she was going to keep from puking, Daisy stood and said, “Sure thing.” Turning on her heel, she left the room and walked shakily down the stairs, feeling increasingly less able to breathe and more nauseous with every step she took.

Thinking if she could just get to her car and sit there for a while, with the air-conditioner vents blowing in her face, might help her to feel better, Daisy walked out the front door.

To her dismay, the shimmering summer heat and humidity hit her like a blast furnace in the face. The precarious hold she’d had on herself slipped. The taste of bile moved up her throat. Daisy swore and lurched toward the edge of the porch.

J
ACK SAW
D
AISY COME OUT
the front door of the mansion. She was moving slowly and seemed to be having some sort of difficulty as she lifted a hand to her face. Wondering what the heck was wrong, he parked in front of the house just as she staggered over to the edge of the porch, grabbed on to one of the tall white columns with one hand and leaned forward into the bushes. By the time he got out of the car, she was already losing her lunch, and from the sounds of it, breakfast, as well.