The Willows (5 page)

“
Oh, but think of all the
fun she will miss.” Edith smile proved she wasn’t thinking of Gwen
at all but of all the good time she meant to have in her absence.
Cataloging the night activities, she spoke to Lance alone, as if
Gwen were not even there.

Watching how easily her lifelong love
laughed with her cousin, Gwen felt a prick of unease. Things had
changed while she was away, uncle Jervis had warned. Have these
two, in burying their differences, discovered a good deal more
alert beneath their animosity?

All at once, the loss of her wardrobe
seemed unimportant. She was Gwyneth Elizabeth McCloud, the bell of
seven parishes; she could go to a bowl in a potato sack if she
chose to. Lance was hers-always had been, always would be-and no
female, be she cousin or otherwise, would be allowed to steal him
away.

***

Patrick gave a sideways glance to Jude,
sitting on the other side of the bouncing wagon, visibly angry that
they were being sent back to the cabin. Knowing that there was
generally trouble when Jude got in one of these moves, Patrick
tried to point out the advantages of going home. “Can’t wait to be
fishing,” he said, forcing a smile. “And it sure will be good to
see Jeffery again.”

Jude merely scowled. “Our first trip to
New Orleans in months and we had to leave early. It’s all her
fault, that clumsy cow.”

“
Come on, you know weren’t
going to stay long anyway. It’s not safe for us in the
city.”

“
Yes, maybe, but she’s the
one got us in trouble. No one would have noticed us, if she hadn’t
started screeching. I still say I showed been able to keep that
locket. She owed us.”

Patrick was shocked.” But that would be
stealing. No mama would want us taking what’s isn’t
ours-“

he regretted that outburst, for Jude’s
face went instantly rigid, as it always did whenever their mama was
mentioned. He was glad the younger boys were sleeping in the straw
between them, for even now, nearly a year later, they all had
trouble dealing with mother’s death.

“
That lady in the locket,”
Jude said quietly, “didn’t she remind you a little of
mother?”

Jude said nothing else, going as
silence as their three brothers, but Patrick understood. It wasn’t
easy, living without a mother.

Looking up at the stars, he offered a
prayer, the same one he prayed for some time now. Somewhere in all
the world, he believed, there had to be one special woman, meant
for them alone.

“
Send us a new mother,” he
begged silently, “and I promise, we will love her
always.”

Chapter 3

Edith stood in the shadows at the rear
of the Fosters ballroom, watching Gwen. She found it hard keep her
resentment under control. She’d dreamed of this night for so long,
and printed and preened and planned, Gwen appeared, and in a few
short moments, ruined everything.

Draped with streamers, the ballroom
reeked of camellias and carnations, but Edith barely caught a
whiff. Small orchestra played unheeded, lavish dresses of myriad
colors waltzed by on the dance floor put all her concentration
remains centered on spot near the doorway, where when it flirted
with Lance and his friends. Each laugh seemed to pierce Edith’s
heart, every smiled turned green with envy.

Ever since the day her daddy first
brought them to the Willows, Edith had been jealous of her cousin.
Everyone they met, everywhere they went, treated Gwen like a
princess. She had the best looks, the best clothes…Even her name
was prettier.

And tonight, Gwen should be home,
hiding her head under a pillow, like any other woman who lost her
clothes would do. Instead, she’d dusted off that outmoded burgundy
velvet and strolled into the ballroom with Royal applause, behaving
as if by wearing her mother’s locket, she’d donned the crown
jewels. It wasn’t fair. On the night when Edith had expected to
shine, when it had not only once again stolen the show, her cousin
seemed well on her way to stealing the one man she
loved.

To keep others from guessing the truth,
she pretended to swoon over Beau, but from the first day she seen
Lance riding his dads white stallion across their joining fields,
her dreams had focused on their golden-haired neighbor. He was Sir
Lancelot, knight extraordinaire, and if she could but snatch him
away from her cousin, perhaps she would become queen of the castle
instead.

Yet it would not happen tonight, not
with the way Lance danced attendance on her cousin.

It made it Edith sick
inside, watching his determined pursuit
you
do not love Gwen,
she wanted to shout at
him.
All you ever truly wanted is the
Willows.

But in her heart, she knew the last
thing Lance wished to hear was that he was mixing things up,
entangling their childhood games with reality. He saw himself as
the heir to Camelot, and he’d despise her for saying otherwise. If
only Uncle John and Aunt Amanda had not made their home seem such a
glittering palace. Even now, with all that had happened, Lance
still felt driven to catch parts of their dream for
himself.

Gazing at him, overwhelmed with
longing, Edith resented her cousin more than ever, for she knew,
deep down, that Gwen do not love Lance. She couldn’t, not like she
did, or she would not be flirting so freely with his friends. Her
cousin was just being her spoiled and stubborn self, clinging to
Lance rather than surrounding dreams of her own.

When made a sudden shooing motion, and
surprisingly, Lance left her side, his friends follow the suit. Had
her cousin it tired of his attention, and was now looking to flirt
elsewhere? If so, Edith meant to encourage her. Once Lance learned
his precious Gwen was far from a saint, he might begin noticing the
one truly loved him.

One way or another, Edith meant to
break them apart.

***

Gwen gave a yawn. Between the heat and
the men’s droning voices, it was a wonder she hadn’t drifted off to
sleep. The men laughed, proving Lance’s stories must the
entertaining, but she’d stopped truly listening some time ago.
Aside from an occasional comment, and her past on smile, he didn’t
seem to require her attention anymore.

It was with relief-and no little
amusement- that she’d greeted the suggestion that they should pay
their respects to their host. Watching them saunter off to the
study, she knew it was less Mr. Foster they sought, and more the
bourbon bottle in the cabinet.

Some things never change, she thought
with a grin but as she glanced around and saw how much truly had
changed. She used to love the fun and excitement of these grand
balls, and now merely felt bored? She’d the oddest feeling she no
longer belonged here.

Where were the girls with whom she’d
shared her come out? Most were not only wed, but starting families
with the boys she’d once danced and flirted with. Even Charlie
Foster, whom she’d painstakingly avoided for years, had wasted no
time being alone in her absence. He’d been married over four years
now, she’d learned, through a pretty little Creole girl who’d given
him two healthy sons.

Seeing Charlie gaze at his young wife
with such obvious devotion left Gwen feeling empty. Not that she’d
ever considered seriously as a suitor, but it had been nice to know
he’d be there, if all else failed. To have that prop yanked out
from under her root a trifle daunting.

I have Lance, she told herself
firmly.

“
Gwen Elizabeth, whatever
are you doing, hiding here in the corner?”

Gwen bristled as Edith sashayed up, a
breathing reminder of what she had lost. In her trunks, she had a
dress much like that mauve satin, with its huge hoop skirt bailing
out from an impossibly narrow waist, the dainty Belgium lace
forming a tantalizing décolletage. Her own heavy velvet, without
their hoop seemed to hang on her like a shroud.

“
I wasn’t hiding,” Gwen
answered, casting her smile back in place. “I’ve been standing near
the doorway, hoping to catch a breeze.”

“
I know what you mean.”
Edith waived her ornate fan, no doubt taunting her, knowing full
well Gwen’s fans were on their way to Argentina. “And poor you,
trapped here by Lance and his friends. Or to tell which is more
stifling. The heat, or their boring discussions. What were they
talking about, politics?”

There was an archness in her question,
one she didn’t respond to. She coveted that fan, its ivory sticks
and fancy pearl handle, and its wonderful ability to stir the air.
Could she swallow her pride and beg Edith for the use of
it.

“
Of course, not all the
gentlemen discussed politics,” her cousin went on. “I’ve found the
boys have gotten to be such a loud lot. Their silly
flirtations-don’t you line it near impossible to escape
them?”

Gwen refused to be outdone. “The same
old boys, with same tired phrases. I declare, just once I’d like
the challenge of flirting with an absolute stranger.” A face came
to mind, but she instantly dismissed it, along with the quick
little thrill of statements that the accompanied the
thought.

“
A stranger? You wouldn’t
dare,” eyes glowing, Edith watched her over the top of the fan.
“Where would you ever find one?”

“
Perhaps I could pick one
off the street.”

Again the fan still, covering Edith’s
mouth. “Gwen, you say the most outrageous things. Not even you
would dare talk to a stranger. Why, there is no predicting what he
might do.”

When warmed to the topic. Something in
her had always spotted, to the phrase you wouldn’t dare. “I bet I
could charm just about any man I set my mind to.”

“
It could be
dangerous.”

Yes, it could, be but Gwen ignored
that, too. “I’d just wrap him around my little finger, and he
wouldn’t dream of doing me harm.”

Edith waved the fan vehemently. “I can
just imagine what Lance would say, hearing you talk this
way.”

“
Then maybe he shouldn’t be
off in the study with friends and a bottle of bourbon.”

Her cousins’ smirk made it harder than
ever to ask for that fan.

“
Ah, now there’s a
dangerous-looking man,” Edith said suddenly, pointing behind them
to the front door way.

Turning, Gwen found the stranger from
the dock.

Shock rippled through her, as did
another quick thrill. Whatever could he be doing here in the
Fosters’ hallway? How dark he seemed, in his black shirt and
trousers, a stark contrast to the sea of white cotton and linen the
other men wore. Did he feel it too, that sense of not
belonging?

Apparently not. He stood by the door,
waiting, yet despite his rough clothing, there was nothing servile
in his stance. Arrogant lout, she thought, trying her best to
dismiss him.

“
There is one you will never
charm. Not the way he’s scowling you.”

“
I can’t see why I bother,”
Gwen said with what she hoped was a casual shrug. “The man is just
two steps from the gutter.”

“
He seems terribly handsome
to me.” Edith eyed over the fan. “If I didn’t know you, Gwen, I
swear you were afraid. Finding it too much of a
challenge?”

That stopped her. Gwen had been accused
of many things, but never of action down from a dare. “I am not
afraid. I could charm him, if I wanted to. I just don’t care
to.”

“
Really? Well, I am ready to
bet that you can’t wheedle your way around that one. Why, he looks
to fierce right now, I’d wager you can’t even get him to crack a
smile.”

They were fighting words, and far too
tempting. “A wager, Edith? Are you willing to bet your
fan?”

The girls stared at the stranger and
then at the fan. Clicking its closed, she tapped the Ivory sticks
against the locket at Gwen’s neck. “All right. Charm him, and you
get my fan. Fail, and the locket is mine.

Gwen hesitated. If she lost her
mother’s likeness, what would she have left?

“
Scared?” Edith
taunted.

“
You just keep that fan in
plain sight” Gwen said, goaded past common sense, “because in a few
short minutes, I’ll be back to collected it.”

Sweeping up her skirts, she was in the
hallway and facing the now familiar scowl, before she took time to
realize where her impulsiveness had led her. Charm this man? She’d
be lucky if he didn’t bite off her head.

“
When I saw you just now,”
she started hesitantly, forcing herself to smile, “I realized I
never think you properly for returning my bag. Please forgive me if
I seems a tad bit ungrateful this morning, but I’d been having a
most trying day.”

“
A tad bit ungrateful, Miss
McCloud? Is that what you call branding me a thief?”

Gwen wished she had the fan now to hide
behind. Hard to keep a smile fixed in place, with the man set on
being impossible. “It was thoughtful of you to bring me my bag. I
wish you’d let me repay you.”

He looked at her suspiciously. “Just
what did you have in mind?”