by Jane Peart
Rex seemed utterly unaware of the internal havoc he was causing. In contrast he seemed completely at ease. It was he who broke the silence that had fallen at Freda's departure.
"So, Miss Pride, how do you like California by this time?"
"It is very different—at least different from where I came from, what I'm used to. But then, I have only twice been out of the state of Virginia, so I haven't much to compare it with. It is very impressive, very big! Almost overpowering—the trees, the hills!"
"And the people? Do you find them very different as well?"
She thought a moment, wondering how honest she should be. He was looking at her with those clear gray eyes as if he was really interested in hearing what she had to say. It gave her a welcome sense of freedom to be frank and not merely polite.
"Yes, I think so. Much more outspoken, direct. I'm afraid Southerners tend to be—well, careful not to reveal too much of themselves, to not always say exactly what they mean—especially to strangers. Westerners do not seem to have that same wariness, I guess you'd call it."
"Does that bother you?"
Addie considered that for a few seconds.
"It takes some getting used to. But I believe that's all to the good. To mature, a person should be exposed to other ways of thinking, acting. Otherwise you become narrow in your outlook. It's important to take people as they are. Not to put them through the filter of your own prejudices or the way you may have been taught things were, to find out for yourself Oh dear, I am going on."
"Not at all. I find it fascinating how someone coming from another part of the country sees things, sees us. You see, I was born here. I've never lived anywhere else. Never traveled outside California. I wanted to, meant to b u t . . ." He paused; then clasping his hands in front of him on his knees, he leaned toward her. "Please, go on."
"What I was trying to say is that I'm used to—you might call it a polite tip-toeing, not coming right to the point about anything." She laughed. "I don't know what my relatives would think of my dissecting them like this and particularly to a stranger."
"I hope not to be a stranger long, Miss Pride," he said earnestly. "I would like very much for us to be . . . friends."
The hesitation before the word "friends" caused an unexpected little flutter underneath Addie's heart. Then suddenly, Freda entered with a tray on which was the silver coffee server and cups. The conversation became general, with Freda and Rex discussing local matters.
Finally, Rex reached for his hat and stood. "I should be going and leave you ladies to your visit. I'm afraid I barged in uninvited and—"
"Not at all, Rex. You know you're always welcome here," Freda assured. "Besides I was going to drive Miss Pride back into town. She tells me she has to be back by four."
Rex fingered the brim of his hat. "May I . . . , " he began, "perhaps, I could do the honor? And save you a trip, Freda. Since I was on my way into town anyway, I would be happy to take Miss Pride back to the hotel."
Freda looked askance at Addie who did not know where to look. Her heart had already jumped hopefully at Rex's suggestion.
"Is that all right with you, Addie?"
"If it isn't too much trouble—for Mr. Lyon, I mean."
"Not at all, a pleasure, Miss Pride."
The trip into town went all too fast although it seemed to Addie that Rex had slowed his horse as much as could be considered reasonable without walking him. The conversation was confined mostly to Rex pointing out the various vineyards along the way, telling Addie the names of the owners. Very conscious of the forced intimacy of the small buggy, Addie made only casual comments.
Addie felt both relief and regret when they reached Silver Springs. She still could hardly believe she had spent even this brief time with Rex Lyon.
"Thank you very much, Mr. Lyon," Addie said as he handed her down from the buggy.
"It was my pleasure, Miss Pride," he protested. His fingers closed around her hand, holding it tightly, as if he wanted to say something more. "I wonder if—would you like—may I . . . , " he began.
Before he could finish, Addie saw Mrs. Amberly and the Brunell sisters come out onto the verandah of the main building. With them was Louis Montand. Their expressions were frankly curious when they saw Addie and Rex together.
Aware that she was being stared at, Addie withdrew her hand from Rex's while wondering if this scene would become tonight's topic at the card table. "Thank you again, Mr. Lyon."
Ignoring the group on the porch Rex asked, "Perhaps, I could call some afternoon?"
Rather breathlessly, Addie explained, "I'm not sure, Mr. Lyon. I'm rarely free to make plans. You see, I am employed as a companion and my time is really not my own—"
"Yes, I understand that. But surely—you have some time off. Some other Thursday?"
Even as Rex was speaking, out of the corner of her eye Addie saw Louis sauntering toward them. Before she could say another word he was within hearing distance.
"Good afternoon, Lyon," he spoke cordially to Rex, then turned to speak directly to Addie. "I hope I'm not intruding. But I've been waiting for you. Mrs. Amberly informed me you were visiting at the Wegner ranch. I was about to drive out there and escort you back to the hotel. I had to see you because I had something important to tell you."
Louis glanced at Rex as if to imply that this was going to be a private matter and the gentlemanly thing for Rex to do would be to leave. He paused, obviously waiting for Rex to do so.
Rex frowned slightly, but showed no irritation. He said to Addie, "Well, I must be off. It was a pleasure to be with you, Miss Pride. Have a pleasant evening." With a nod to both, he got back into his buggy and drove away, leaving Addie annoyed at Louis for interrupting. It had been a very unsatisfactory parting. She only hoped Rex would get in touch with her.
Louis's voice dragged her back to the present moment. Observing her closely, Louis said, "What I came to say, Addie, is that I'm sorry but I have to break our date for next Thursday. I have to go to San Francisco for a few days on business. I have to complete arrangements about hiring workers for our harvest. When I arrived here looking for you, Mrs. Amberly told me that Stanton had announced that tonight's dinner is going to be served early because there is going to be a magic lantern show for the guests, The Land of the Pharaohs.' It's supposed to be excellent, and Mrs. Amberly has kindly invited me to have dinner with you two. I hope that suits you?"
What else could Addie say but, "Of course."
He held out his arm. "Shall we join the others then?"
Having no alternative Addie took the arm Louis offered. She wished she had known before about the dinner hour being changed and the magic lantern show. It would have been a perfectly acceptable thing to invite Rex to stay for it. It would have been a way of thanking him for bringing her into town. But Louis had cleverly finessed that.
As soon as Addie was seated at the dinner table, Mrs. Amberly said acidly, "I thought you spent the day with Mrs. Wegner. But I see you must have made other plans after you left this morning."
All the relaxed enjoyment of her day faded under Mrs. Amberly's caustic tongue. The rest of the dinner hour was a strain with Mrs. Amberly succeeding in monopolizing most of the conversation.
Later, while watching the magic lantern program, Addie allowed her mind to wander back over the afternoon at Freda's. Freda Wegner had all the qualities Addie admired: courage, determination, faith. She was what Aunt Susan would call a woman of character. Her aunt often remarked that how we deal with adversity defines who we really are. It was reassuring to see living proof that any challenge can be met with faith and belief in our God-given strength.
After the program, Louis walked her and Mrs. Amberly to the cottage, said good night, and left. Addie felt worn out. The evening had been tiring. It had been an effort to keep up the polite and mostly artificial conversation while pretending not to catch Louis's subtle innuendoes. His over-attentiveness made her uneasy. How could she discourage him when Mrs. Amberly was so
obviously encouraging him—for her own reasons, of course. Still, as her employee, Addie could hardly avoid him if Mrs. Amberly made him so welcome.
She went to the window and looked out. Moonlight painted everything a luminous silver. The glass dome of the arboretum glistened like a giant jewel against the deep blue of the mountains in the background.
Old feelings of longing swept over her. In a few short years the age of thirty loomed ahead of her—the end of youth. Would it also be the end of possibly finding an enduring lifetime love?
She thought of Rex Lyon, remembered what Freda had told her about him. The family tragedies that had brought him back to the valley. That she thought he was unhappy. Why? she wondered. A broken romance? An impossible love affair? What was in his past?
How strange that their paths kept crossing. This time, not at a distance. They had sat together, talked, exchanged ideas, their hands had touched. Again she had experienced that eerie sense of recognition.
Addie sighed, closed the curtains, and got ready for bed.
Chapter 10
Addie's personal tour of Chateau Montand was postponed. From the prestigious San Francisco hotel where he was staying, Louis wrote a note saying that his business in the city would take longer than he had anticipated and that his return to Calistoga would be delayed.
Within a few days she received another note. In it Addie thought she read some irritation between the lines. While he was away, without consulting him, Estelle had set the date of their housewarming party and invitations were already printed ready to be sent. Since many of the preparations and arrangements still had to be completed, he would regretfully have to forgo the pleasure of seeing her until the night of the party. He would, with her permission, come to escort her and Mrs. Amberly out to their housewarming.
A week later, when, as usual, she and Mrs. Amberly stopped in the lobby to check for mail before going to the dining hall for the noon meal, Addie's formal invitation was in her box. She opened the envelope, noted the date, then put it in her handbag. Mrs. Amberly finished a conversation with one of the Brunell sisters, then asked the clerk for her mail. When she found hers in her box, her reaction was jubilant. She made a great show of displaying the handsomely engraved card to the Brunell sisters. From their reaction it was clear they had not been invited and they walked off in a huff.
Later when Addie and Mrs. Amberly were seated at their regular table in the dining hall, Mrs. Amberly placed the envelope prominently in front of her plate with a self-pleased smirk at having been singled out over most of the other Silver Springs guests.
"I don't suppose you could do my hair, could you?" she skewered Addie with a calculating look. "I doubt if there's a decent hairdresser in this size town. I'll have to check the livery stable see if I can rent a carriage; their house is quite a distance from town, you know."
"Louis said he would send his for us," Addie said quietly.
Mrs. Amberly's jaw dropped. "What do you mean—for us?"
"He enclosed a note in my invitation assuring me we had no need to worry about transportation—he plans to come in and escort us to the party."
Mrs. Amberly could not hide her chagrin that Addie had received such special treatment from people with whom she had tried so hard to promote a friendship. Making no attempt to conceal her pique she pouted for the rest of the meal refusing to speak. She would have been even more affronted had she known that the only reason she was included was to make sure Addie would come.
Her annoyance at the situation displayed itself in various ways almost up to the evening of the housewarming. Addie could do nothing right nor could anyone else. Nothing pleased, nothing suited, nothing satisfied. If Addie had not become used to such childish behavior, she would have been at the end of her rope. But she had learned it was best to ignore Mrs. Amberly's fits of temper and maintain her own composure. She refused to let a selfish old woman spoil her own anticipation of what promised to be an interesting evening.
Addie had to admit she was curious to see the Montands' mansion at last. She had certainly heard enough about it. From what she knew of Louis and observed of Estelle this party would certainly be an outstanding occasion.
It had been a long time since she had been to such an occasion, had a chance to dress up, and to look forward to an evening of music and dancing. It had been even longer since she had felt young and lighthearted.
Addie was glad now she'd given in to Aunt Susan's urging her to bring a party dress. "You just never know when you'll have an opportunity to wear it. Better be safe than sorry." It had been her wise advice. Against Addie's protest the dress had been packed in her trunk. Now a week before the Montands' housewarming, Addie took it out from the layers of tissue, shaking out the dried rose petals in which it had been packed, filling the room with the nostalgic scent of summer gardens.
The dress had a history of its own. It had been made for her to wear at the ball at Oakleigh to formally announce her engagement. But then the war had come, and within months Ran had been killed and the dress packed away unworn.
Addie examined it carefully. It was in perfect condition, still lovely—a rosy-gold satin with a net overskirt embroidered with gold thread, the rounded décolletage outlined with stiffened net ruffles edged with ecru lace.
Of course, she would not be wearing it with a hoop or layers of starched petticoats underneath as she would have in 1862. Nonetheless, the gown itself was so beautiful that perhaps no one would notice it was somewhat passé. Her mother's opals in their delicate gold filigree setting would be exactly right with the color of the dress. Excitedly she put in the earrings and fastened the clasp of the necklace, then studied her reflection in the mirror.
Aunt Susan, bless her heart, had tucked in appropriate accessories as well: a small beaded evening bag, a lace and ivory fan, elbow-length kid gloves in their original box—never worn either. Addie smiled, feeling like Cinderella and that Aunt Susan was a veritable fairy godmother.
"I'll do you proud, Auntie!" Addie promised as she whirled around the room a few times holding out her skirt. "At least for one night I'll be Adelaide Pride again! Adelaide Pride of Oakleigh!"
She laughed at her own silliness but her happy mood lasted up until the night of the party when she donned her finery again.
Mrs. Amberly had somehow managed to find someone to "do" her hair and was closeted in her bedroom the whole afternoon. When she finally appeared, Addie had to employ rigid self-control not to betray her reaction to her employer's appearance. Mrs. Amberly looked like a walking jewelry counter. Her dress was ruby-red taffeta; her plump shoulders were bare except for a tulle stole. An elaborate coiffeur sparkled with brilliants and the rest of her shone with an array of diamonds, from a huge sunburst brooch on her breast to bracelets and rings.
Fortunately, Addie was not required to comment. It had taken Mrs. Amberly so long to assemble herself that it was already late when one of the hotel maids came running over to breathlessly tell them that the Montand carriage and driver had arrived and were waiting for them.
Brook, splendid in evening clothes, was standing outside the main building. He gave them a sweeping bow, complimenting them both extravagantly. But it was Addie on whom his gaze fixed. With a practiced eye he made a kind of inventory of her—not missing a detail—his approval apparent.
Mrs. Amberly was panting from hurrying and it took both Brook and the Montands' man to assist her into the barouche. Then Brook held out his hand to Addie, murmuring, "Absolutely beautiful, Miss Pride. If I'm not mistaken, tonight will determine Montand's decision—"
Addie sent a quick anxious glance toward Mrs. Amberly, hoping she had not heard this. But she was fanning herself from the exertion of getting settled and had not overheard.
"You look like a fairy princess," Brook said, his glance took in the fire opal necklace and earrings. "Are those the crown jewels?"
"They are heirlooms. They belonged to my mother."
"Perfect."
"Thank you, Mr. Sta
nton. I trust we'll see you later?"
"Indeed, yes. I wouldn't miss it." Brook's expression was enigmatic. What his real feelings were about coming to the Montands' party she could not guess. Did he feel the Montands were outdoing even him with this lavish affair?
"Save me a dance," he said as he waved them off.
The minute Rex entered the Montand house he saw Adelaide Pride. She was standing in the front hall talking to Louis. The glow from the glistening crystal prisms of the chandelier overhead sent dancing lights upon her dark hair. Her dress, a golden color of some filmy material shot with gold threads, reminded him of a sparkling champagne.
She looked so beautiful that momentarily he was stunned. It had almost physical impact, as if he had been thrown from his horse, his breath knocked out of him.
Rex had been undecided whether to come to this party tonight. He did not like Louis Montand. That was probably unfair because he did not really know the man. But he had heard some unsettling rumors that made him suspicious of Montand's motives for coming to the valley, taking over the Caldez ranch. But at the last minute he had decided to come, if just to avoid another solitary evening.
He had not been sure she would be here tonight. He had hoped she might be—had been almost afraid to hope—but was grateful for whatever had brought him here tonight. He took a few steps into the foyer, surveying the scene, then stood absolutely still.
At that very moment, as if drawn by some invisible cord, Addie turned her head and saw him. Instantly her heart turned over. She felt that same uncanny sense of recognition, leaving her again breathless and confused. Nervously, she unfurled her fan, trying to listen to what Louis was saying to her.
"I may have to devote myself to my guests tonight. Estelle has already warned me I must circulate, not spend too much time with one person more than another." He pressed her hand to indicate who that one might be, then continued, "Feelings in these provincial towns are easily hurt, she tells me. And I suppose she's right. People get offended, imagining slights where none were intended." He gave a little shrug. "Since we have to live here and there are people I may need—I must heed her admonitions." He smiled beseechingly. "I hope you understand?"