When the Splendor Falls (6 page)

“What is this?” Leigh Alexandra’s father demanded, apparently not as pleased as his wife in hearing this startling news. “Wycliffe said nothing to me of his intentions when we spoke last month. And no gentleman would dare to approach a young lady of good family with such a proposal without speaking to her father for permission first. Would have expected far better of Wycliffe. Comes of good stock. Hmmm,” he muttered to himself, “makes sense now, his generous offer to help. Although, ’twas a good business deal for him. Well, if that young buck has acted improperly, I’ll have his”—Mr. Travers choked off the last of his threat just in time to spare the ladies the indelicacy of his comment and sputtered instead—“I’ll geld that young stallion if he’s touched Leigh. Should never have agreed to packing Leigh off to Charleston. But you insisted, madam!”

“We sent Althea Louise ‘off to Charleston,’” Beatrice Amelia reminded her husband. “And she married our dear Nathan here.”

“That was different. Althea’s always been easily managed, but Leigh is a high-spirited little filly and will stray unless handled carefully,” he said, his anger beginning to simmer as he thought of those randy young bucks in Charleston.

“You do have the most irritating manner of speaking at times,
Mr. Travers
, and, for your information, I am not a broodmare, so please do not refer to my children in that manner.”

“
Mrs. Travers
, I’ll have you know that—”

“Please, Father, really, Matt has been a perfect gentleman, as indeed he always is,” Guy was quick to explain, calming his father’s fears and dousing what was quickly becoming a heated argument. “Actually, since Matt and I are old friends, and I am Leigh’s brother, I was taken into his confidence when in Charleston last,” Guy confessed. “He was very interested in hearing all about our family, and, indeed, said you and he had become involved in a number of business ventures. Said he felt like a member of the family already.

“He told me he was going to approach you this weekend and ask your permission to speak to Leigh. He believes his suit would be welcomed by my dear little sister. And she was asking me quite a few personal questions about him when last we spoke. And she danced almost every dance with him the night of the Craigmores’ barbecue. Ah, young love… However, Matt has neither tarnished his good name or sterling reputation nor sullied ours,” he said reassuringly, knowing his quick-tempered father would waste little time in confronting an innocent Matthew Wycliffe. “Told Matt I’d be proud to welcome him as a brother-in-law. And I would.”

“Now I recollect, he has visited more often of late than ever before, and Wycliffe Hall has one of the finest stables in the Carolinas. They were famous even when I was a girl,” Beatrice Amelia remarked, thinking Matthew Wycliffe would be a splendid match for her middle daughter, and making a mental note to have a serious chat with that young miss.

It had been quite the gossip in five counties when Althea had managed to catch the eligible Nathan Braedon; even if they had been sweethearts since youngsters and there’d never been any doubt in her mind that the marriage would take place, nevertheless, until Althea Louise Travers had become Mrs. Nathan Douglas Braedon of the Braedons of Royal Bay, nothing was certain, and it had done their family proud that day when she’d said her vows. Such a lovely bride…the reception had been unsurpassed…everyone, including the governor himself, had been there…and now, if Leigh were to marry a Wycliffe from the Carolinas, well…no more wild berry picking for her. A scratch on the cheek could ruin all of her chances, Beatrice Amelia fretted, thinking of those unfortunate freckles that were certain to appear across Leigh’s nose if she took off her straw bonnet, which she was certain to do. Leigh Alexandra could be so very difficult at times. Not nearly as agreeable as Blythe Lucinda—who was such a well-behaved little dear, much like her sister Althea, who’d always acted with such decorum and made such a splendid match.

Setting down her embroidery with a suddenness that sent the neatly grouped silk threads she’d been winding with mechanical precision for the last half an hour into a jumble, Beatrice Amelia decided to make up another bottle of lemon-and-cucumber lotion immediately. The sooner the better, she thought, a glint in her eye as she envisioned the party and imagined the competition to her girls, for Blythe would be turning sixteen on Friday and was already showing promise of great beauty. Her youngest daughter would capture her share of beaus before the week was over, the former Beatrice Amelia Leigh vowed with the same determination that had made her mistress of Travers Hill.

Of course, it was to be expected, for hadn’t she herself been an acclaimed beauty at seventeen and had her dance card filled for months in advance of any ball? Why, it had been almost scandalous the way all the eligible gentlemen, and some not so eligible, had sought her favors, Beatrice Amelia remembered with a slight smile of pleasure curving her lips as she thought of that Season so long ago. That had been the very same spring, when she’d been attending Madame Talvande’s French School for Young Ladies, that she’d first caught sight of Stuart Travers. She could still remember hearing about that handsome young gentleman from Virginia, rumored to be one of
the
Travers family, famous for their Thoroughbreds, and had decided without hesitation that he was to have the honor of becoming her special beau. And later, after an exciting Season of tea parties, and race parties, and hunt parties, and picnics, and balls, and masques—after all, it had been her very first Season—she would graciously accept his offer for her hand in marriage, for Beatrice Amelia Leigh had no doubt at all that Stuart Travers would become her husband one day. It was always so nice when things turned out the way one planned, she thought, glancing around at her family gathered close about her—and each having fulfilled her dearest wishes. But one couldn’t count on good fortune always lending a hand; ’twas far wiser to plan every detail very carefully, then there could be no unpleasant surprises waiting around the corner—that was Beatrice Amelia Leigh Travers’s maxim on life.

“Better add an extra tablespoon of lemon,” she murmured beneath her breath, politely excusing herself as she hurried inside, her smile tight as the unwelcomed thought of blackberry juice staining her daughters’ pale, delicate hands struck her. Of course, they would be wearing gloves, she thought, momentarily relieved.

Beatrice Amelia did not see the amusement flicker across Althea’s face. But Althea had seen that look of consternation suddenly cross her mother’s formerly serene countenance, and, having seen that determined expression many times before, she knew none of them would get any rest until after the party. Praying that her sisters were acting with propriety, Althea returned her attention to the conversation at hand, but in the back of her mind she couldn’t help but remember the last time Leigh had disappeared for the afternoon. She’d gone in search of honey and brought a hornets’ nest down on her head instead. Althea sighed, and placing a kiss on top of Noelle’s soft curls, she wondered if the afternoon could possibly continue so peacefully.

Two

And the heart that is soonest awake to the flowers

Is always the first to be touch’d by the thorns.

Thomas Moore

Her arms full of wild lavender, Leigh Alexandra Travers was strolling gracefully through the tall green grasses of the meadow. It appeared the perfect pastoral scene: a lovely young woman, the feathery blue flowers of love-in-a-mist catching at the hem of her gown of light summer muslin, a chestnut mare following beside her while a frisky colt raced ahead, and the only cloud in the deep blue sky, a fleecy one that had already drifted by without casting a shadow. Beatrice Amelia would have given a thankful sigh of relief could she have seen her daughter, because the wide brim of Leigh’s straw bonnet was shielding the rose petal creaminess of the ivory complexion so treasured by ladies of leisure.

The young Misses Julia Elayne Braedon and Blythe Lucinda Travers were seated comfortably in a two-wheeled cart being drawn by a sturdy Shetland pony. No guiding hand was needed on the reins. The fat little pony had followed this path across the meadow many times over the years as the Travers children had explored the countryside. More often than not his services had been needed to haul back the children’s treasures, whether they’d been picking blackberries, hunting crawfish, or searching for Jolie’s special healing herbs. The cart and pony had served well over the years. The cart had lost one of its big wheels only once, sending the squealing children tumbling onto the ground. And the pony had rarely displayed his temper, since Leigh usually handled him, but on one occasion he’d taken a punishing bite out of an impatient Stuart James when he’d tried to prod the stubborn pony forward.

“Are you certain, Leigh, this is where we’ll find blackberries?” Julia inquired, and not for the first time since they’d left the lane and followed the narrow path into the woods. “I don’t think this rickety ol’ cart will go any farther without losing a wheel, and I’m not getting out and walking,” Julia warned as she stared at the field of undulating tall grasses and wondered what snakes might be lurking in the tangled undergrowth.

“This is the very best place for blackberries. The Travers family, since before even my grandfather’s time, has always found the juiciest, sweetest berries in this meadow,” Leigh told her, glancing toward the thick brambles at the far end of the meadow with a professional eye. Leigh dropped her bundle of lavender in the cart next to the woven split-oak basket that held the picnic lunch carefully packed by Jolie. Wrapped inside a green-checked gingham cloth were the treats Jolie could prepare so well—shrimp-stuffed tomatoes, sausage rolls, pâté and biscuits, crabmeat pasties, pear tarts—and which would entice three young misses to eat properly and temporarily forget to worry about how tiny their waists should be. Next to the basket, empty pails, waiting to be filled with glistening blackberries, rattled together noisily as the cart rumbled along the path.

As they drew closer to the far end of the meadow, a white-tailed deer bolted from concealment in a grove of maple. Its sudden flight startled the daydreaming Julia, and her high-pitched squeal cut across the peacefulness of the afternoon, reverberating through the trees and sending a flock of wood pigeons scattering into the sky.

The mare neighed nervously and Leigh patted her velvety muzzle reassuringly. “There, there, girl. He won’t hurt you, Damascena,” she said softly, quieting the mare with her gentle touch. “He’s far more frightened than you are, my beauty,” Leigh told her, and the mare, named for one of Beatrice Amelia’s roses, as most of the horses at Travers Hill had been, nudged her young mistress’s shoulder affectionately, but Leigh wasn’t fooled and pulled off her bonnet just in time to save it from a crunching bite. “I’ve got an apple for you in the basket, so you will just have to be patient.”

“I’m famished too, and thirsty, and I’m not nearly so patient as that ol’ horse of yours, Leigh. This isn’t enjoyable at all. I’m certain we’re lost. Why, I’m being baked like a field hand under this sun. Certainly not like going for a stroll along the Battery,” Julia complained, thinking of the handsome young gentlemen who would surely have been in attendance, if she and Leigh had been in Charleston this Sunday afternoon and not lost in the backwoods of Virginia. “I don’t know how I let you talk me into this, except that you can talk the devil out of his tail and horns when you want something. I had forgotten how hot and sticky it gets in Virginia, but a picnic sounded so nice. And I do hope Jolie remembered how fond of pâté and buttermilk biscuits I am. I have to admit I didn’t find any to compare with hers in Charleston. Of course”—she sighed—“Jolie did come with your mama from Charleston. You will be pleased to know that I remembered to bring some of my mama’s deviled eggs and sponge cake.”

Trying to fan herself and tip her parasol to provide better shade for her flushed cheeks, while balancing the basket on her lap, Julia continued sadly, “We did have the nicest sea breezes in the afternoons. Do you remember, Leigh, how wonderfully delightful it was to sit on the veranda of your cousins the Benjamin Leighs’s house and watch the ships in the harbor?”

Leigh glanced back at her friend in amazement. “I don’t recall you ever showing that much interest in the ships, Julia,” she responded, remembering only too well Julia dragging her along the Battery at an unladylike trot in order to catch up to a couple of blue-uniformed sea captains. “If I recollect correctly, it was the crew aboard ship you were more interested in.”

Julia giggled, twirling her parasol with remembered pleasure. “Well, of course, silly, who cares about some horrible, smelly ol’ boat. And I nearly fainted when you wanted to go aboard. Thank goodness your cousin, Mr. Leigh, thought it entirely improper. You will, of course, remember the captain who was so insistent we come aboard was considered quite disreputable and to have been seen in his company—despite how handsome he was—well…’twould have been the ruin of both of our reputations. Besides, who needs to go aboard to meet the crew? I’ve never set foot off dry land, and I can count three captains and any number of handsome young officers, five of them British, as my beaus, and they are all gentlemen because I made their acquaintance at very proper soirees.

“I declare, I do feel so sorry for Blythe having to attend school in Richmond instead of Charleston. She’ll never meet anyone interesting there. ’Tis so…so provincial, don’t you think, Leigh, to attend finishing school in Virginia? I dare say she hasn’t learned French with a proper accent. Mademoiselle Dubois, who tutored us in French, was originally from Martinique. And I dare say there isn’t a single British officer in Richmond, perhaps even in all of Virginia! How will she ever expect to learn about the world? Poor little Lucy,” Julia said, using Blythe’s childhood nickname as she sighed with commiseration over her friend’s misfortune.

Blythe Lucinda remained quiet, knowing it would do little good to assure Julia that she was very happy attending school in Richmond and seriously doubted she’d ever have need of a proper French accent. She hadn’t been in the least disappointed when her parents had broken the sad news to her that they couldn’t afford, this year at least, to send her to the same finishing school her sister Leigh, and Althea before her, had attended. Her mother had been heartbroken, unable to speak without dabbing at her red-rimmed eyes with her lace-edged handkerchief as she tearfully informed her of the tragedy. Watching her mother’s ineffective efforts to dry her tears with the damp, delicate piece of lace, Blythe had felt momentarily ashamed of herself. The news that she wouldn’t have to leave Virginia had gladdened her heart, but when her mother had been forced to retire early to her bedchamber, with Jolie drawing the shades and administering a soothing mint balm for her moaning mistress’s migraine, Blythe had felt a twinge of conscience—after all, her mother only wanted the best for her, as she had for all of her children.