When the Splendor Falls (26 page)

Nothing ever changed, he mused, listening for a moment to his uncle’s reminiscences now about a horse race he’d lost nearly a quarter of a century ago, and yet it could have been yesterday for all that had changed during those years in between. Just like the river beyond the green willows, flowing gently and peacefully—never-ending, never altering its course toward the sea.

That was the way of life in Virginia, in all of the South, and he knew a sudden resentment of it, of these families of gentle blood, of their almost courtly existence while living off the sweat of others less fortunate, of their patrician airs and graces, of their exalted positions that discouraged trespass by interlopers. They seldom stepped from that elite circle of family and friends that surrounded them, the intermarrying of families creating a larger circle, a continuity that would never be broken. It had become a heritage, handed down from generation to generation, of pride and honor, of graceful manners and gallantries, of duty and dignity, and of ladies fair and gentlemen brave, their affability tinged with condescension.

And that was her heritage too. Not his, he reflected as he thought of Riovado, and the cabin he lived in. The wind was not a gentle, soft breeze, sweet-scented from the gardens, but a cold, gusting wind from the High Plains that wailed plaintively outside the cabin walls, then found its way through chinks in the mud between the rough-hewn logs. The small windows covered by animal skins were practical, not decorative like these delicate, multipaned French windows with their silken hangings. Riovado’s fireplace of rock kept the one-room interior warm, and the single black pot hanging over the fire served up a hearty, simple meal to the hungry. But there were no collectibles gracing its mantelpiece, no family portraits, except for one, hanging from the bare walls. The floor with its random planking of heart pine had no brilliant sheen of wax, nor finely woven carpet, but it was dry, and the bear rug before the hearth was soft underfoot, and the heavy door, with its sturdy iron hinges, was barred at night, keeping intruders from trespass.

But Riovado, like Royal Bay and River Oaks, and Travers Hill, was more than a crudely built cabin or an elegant mansion overlooking the river. Riovado was a way of life that was a part of him now. Riovado was the mountains and the sky that surrounded it. It could embrace you, taking you into its heart; but, if you feared it, or made a careless mistake, it could just as easily destroy you.

Neil glanced across the room at Adam, raising his brandy in a silent toast to his cousin, who nodded in polite acceptance of the honor due him. The slight curl to Neil’s lips and the patient expression in the pale eyes warned Adam that he had not yet been forgiven and should be on his guard. Adam sighed, for he knew Neil too well, and his cousin would not easily forgive and forget his coup of yesterday.

Had Neil not been so surprised himself at discovering Leigh Travers’s true identity, then he might have enjoyed a moment’s pleasure at the start of surprise that had crossed her lovely face when she’d been apprised of
his
true identity.

But even Adam did not realize how complete his cousin’s defeat had been yesterday. And Neil, remembering anew, felt again the desolateness that had surged through him as Leigh Alexandra Travers had been surrounded by her loving family. Invited to stay for breakfast and polite conversation in the parlor afterward, he’d remained apart, as he did now, watching and listening to the gentle banter between family members who were so close to one another that a remark tinged slightly with ridicule or sarcasm was greeted with nothing more than good-natured laughter, and seldom did an offhand comment need to be explained further, for there were no secrets, no surprises amongst these family members.

Well…almost none, he thought now, as he remembered the feel of Leigh Travers’s body against his and the taste of her lips pressed to his.

He’d watched almost jealously as her brother Guy, a handsome, rather arrogant young gentleman of fashion, sat on the arm of her chair, his hand resting on her slender shoulder now and again with the ease of one who was held in great affection and knew his touch would not be spurned. Time and time again she’d glanced up at him in response, her dark blue eyes full of laughter, but their warmth had turned cool whenever she’d happened to glance his way, and, by chance, their eyes had met.

The young dark-haired girl, now known to him as Blythe Travers, had stared at him from wide hazel eyes brimming with curiosity, her lips quivering uncontrollably too often for her to muffle completely the giggles that escaped into the room whenever she met her sister’s warning glance. Perched on a low footstool in front of her sister, at least when she managed to still herself long enough to remain seated on the embroidered seat, she had barraged him tirelessly with questions about his home in the New Mexico Territory and his life with the Comanche. Neil had answered patiently, for it had given him the chance to stare at her sister sitting so quietly behind her and listening with polite interest to their conversation.

Her father had been a genial fellow, quick to laughter and just as quick to anger as the conversation had veered from horse racing to politics, from religion to the best recipe for mint juleps, but with his cheeks flushed from a steady flow of bourbon, his brown eyes twinkling with mischief, he had an easy charm about him that had been passed down to several of his offspring.

Beatrice Amelia, the matriarch of the family, and, Neil suspicioned, the person who held the tightest reins on all the family members, including Stuart Travers, was a soft-spoken, gracious woman of unfading beauty. Glancing between the mistress of Travers Hill and her three daughters, Neil could see the graceful airs and classical features they had inherited from their mother.

Althea Travers Braedon was truly more beautiful today than she had been when on her honeymoon over six years ago, Neil had thought. And he had not lied when he’d complimented her when meeting her in the foyer earlier. She was a very self-possessed woman, her slender hands at rest in her lap, her smile indulgent, her expression contented as she listened to those around her. And he suspected she had never been as daring and high-spirited as her two younger sisters, not because she was so very proper, but because it was not her nature. Noelle, her daughter, and his cousin Nathan’s only child, was as quick-witted as her father, and would one day have the beauty her mother possessed.

What had initially amused him, then troubled him, however, had been the strange look the mulatto maid had given him when he’d seen her passing by the door, craning her long neck to see inside the parlor, her slanting yellow eyes piercing as they settled on him as if in recognition, and he would have sworn she’d mumbled an incantation beneath her breath as she hurried from his sight, bumping into the grizzle-haired butler and nearly overbalancing the tray of juleps he carried.

“There you are, Nathan.” Euphemia greeted her eldest son as he entered the library, her words drawing Neil from his thoughts of Travers Hill.

“Papa! Papa! I poured the tea, just like a proper lady, Gran’mama said,” Noelle cried out proudly, her flying feet carrying her into her father’s outstretched arms with unladylike speed.

“What an armful you’ve become,” he complained with a deep laugh, thinking his daughter was growing up far too fast for his peace of mind. His gaze traveled across her dark head to meet his wife’s, and the warmth exchanged between them was as declarative as if they’d spoken aloud of their love.

Neil moved uncomfortably as he witnessed the gentle meeting of glances, and he looked out the window again, his restless gaze seeking something unknown in the peaceful landscape beyond.

“I fear becoming a representative has brought me rather more work than I suspected. Never realized there were quite so many people who wanted attention,” Nathan said, accepting the brandy Adam had poured for him.

“Or favors,” Adam said. “I warned you against becoming successful,” he reminded him. “Brings you nothing but trouble. You will never be able to please everyone.”

“You’ve finished your correspondence for the day, then?” Althea asked, thinking Nathan had time for little else nowadays, even his practice. “Come here, dear,” she said, holding out her hand to Noelle. “One of your ribbons has come untied.”

“Completely, at least for now. I fear I shall have to hire a secretary by year’s end, though,” Nathan said, joining Neil by the French windows. “Ah,” he sighed, taking a deep swallow of his brandy. “Never knew a fellow could work up such a thirst at so quiet a task, nor that I would look longingly at dusty law books. It’s good to see you looking so well, Neil.”

“And you,” Neil returned, a smile of genuine warmth momentarily softening the hardness of his mouth as he raised his glass.

“I did not have a chance to tell you yesterday how very sorry we were to hear of your wife’s death.”

“Thank you.”

“It must have been very difficult for you, and for your wife’s family. Something so tragic, well—”

“Yes,” Neil interrupted, his almost rude abruptness usually discouraging further questions or offers of sympathy, but Nathan was his cousin, and a lawyer used to getting information out of difficult witnesses or defendants on the stand. Nathan ran a hand through his hair, leaving it standing on end, which was a sure sign to those who knew him that he was troubled. And he was, for he was suddenly thinking of his own cousin as if he were a criminal he was trying to get a confession from. And yet his lawyer’s instinct told him that Neil was hiding something from him. But what?

Neil swirled the brandy around in the crystal globe of the glass, warming it against his palm, then he emptied the contents. “I did not murder Serena, if that is what is troubling you so.”

“Good Lord! Certainly not,” Nathan said, wondering whether he should feel more offended or guilty by his cousin’s offhand remark. Either way, it made him all the more uneasy. “I did not think anything of the kind, Neil.”

“Then I apologize,” he said, inclining his golden head slightly in deference. “But there were many who thought as much. It is no secret that I came close to being lynched by an angry mob of my wife’s bereaved relations, and others who saw a chance to rid themselves of my presence.”

“So I gathered.”

“Yes, of course, your mother and my stepmother have few secrets and their will to correspond is without equal. But as you can see, I survived, as I always seem to.”

Nathan wanted to reach out and comfort his cousin, and his friend, but he knew his gesture would seem pitying, and Neil was not a man to be pitied; feared, yes, but never pitied, even though Nathan could sense the deep wound that Neil carried within and allowed no one to heal.

“It would seem as if I timed my arrival perfectly. I understand that there will be quite a celebration this weekend when one of the Travers daughters announces her engagement on Friday. Perhaps Stuart Travers will know a generosity of spirit, and prove his hospitality to a stranger by not trying to rob me when selling his bloods,” he commented dryly, wishing to change the subject.

And Nathan, this time, was willing to allow him to do so. Looking surprised, he said, “That news, which has yet to be announced, certainly traveled fast. I would not be in the least bit surprised to learn you heard about it in the territories,” he declared, then following Neil’s glance, he nodded good-naturedly. “I should have realized that Julayne would not be able to hold her tongue concerning so momentous an occasion about to occur in the county.”

“Then it is true?” Neil asked casually, as if amused by the whole affair.

“Yes,” Nathan confirmed, and having glanced away to watch his daughter pirouetting across the carpet, he didn’t notice the tightening of Neil’s mouth. “Althea told me last night that Matthew Wycliffe will ask permission of her father this weekend for Leigh’s hand in marriage. And from what Althea confided in me concerning her sister’s feelings, I would say Leigh will accept without hesitation. If anyone knew the truth of the matter, or of Leigh’s heart, then it would be Althea. They are quite close, even for sisters.”

“A love match?” Neil murmured.

Nathan looked at his cousin thoughtfully, for he had not missed the edge of sarcasm in his voice.

“Yes, I believe so. Although, even were it not, they would be well suited to one another, and it could prove most providential for Travers Hill.”

“Really? In what way? Travers Hill looked quite prosperous when I rode in yesterday. And I was in the stables. One can usually tell the state of affairs from the condition of the stables, and I’ve seldom seen any finer.”

Nathan laughed. “That is because Stuart Travers loves his horses almost as much as he does his family, and to Sweet John, his handler, those horses
are
his children. This is in confidence, and I would not speak of it outside of our family, but Stuart Travers is dangerously in debt. He has even mortgaged Travers Hill to pay off his most outstanding debts, and were not the man who held the mortgage a gentleman, and soon to become his future son-in-law, then, well…” Nathan shook his head, amazed anew at how quickly a man’s fortunes could change.

“How very convenient, and farsighted of this Wycliffe fellow. Having met Leigh Travers, I can understand the man’s determination, despite the cost, to make her his wife. She is exquisite, and quite extraordinary,” he added.

“Yes, Leigh is a lovely young woman, and much sought after. She has countless beaus, and would be welcomed as a daughter-in-law in any family in the county, despite the Travers family’s reputation for being slightly unconventional. But since they are so well liked, and have one of the best stables in the South, and Beatrice Amelia Travers is so very proper, they are forgiven their little eccentricities.”

“Then this Wycliffe is even smarter than I suspected. For how better to ensure his position of favor than to have the daughter of the family, whom he hopes to wed, feel indebted to him for saving the family home and fortunes,” Neil said, his eyes narrowed in thought, an unpleasant twist to his lips as he speculated upon Matthew Wycliffe.