by Carole King
Damien watched his father’s performance with equal parts of admiration and disgust. He confided later to Autumn that Hamilton St. John Fraser was a master at getting people to underestimate him. He also expressed the knowledge that his father’s visit was no “whim” and no accident.
“Antoinette sent for him,” he said one evening as he and Autumn strolled outside after supper. “It is quite plain. She hopes—and trusts—that he will exert some patriarchal pressure in the matter of her relationship with Dr. Byron.” Autumn remained silent as they took the path through the gardens down to the sea. “There is no one,” asserted Damien Fraser dryly, “who can exert patriarchal pressure better than our father.” Autumn glanced up at her companion.
“Does he mean for them to marry?” she asked.
Damien shrugged beneath his heavy cloak. “I can imagine no other explanation for his arrival. Antoinette and Dr. Byron have had what New York folks cheekily refer to as a ‘friendship’ for years. I believe,” he added shrewdly, “he was her first, if not her last, if you catch my implication.” Autumn glanced away. She very definitely understood Damien’s implication. He caught up her hand and placed it in the crook of his arm. “In my opinion, if I know my father—and I do—Antoinette and her reluctant suitor will be wed before this year is out.” They walked on in silence. The night was clear and cold. At last Autumn gave voice to something in Damien’s discourse that had struck her particularly.
“You mentioned that Dr. Byron is a reluctant suitor,” she noted.
“Oh, indeed,” returned Damien.
“How do you know he is reluctant?”
“He exhibits all the signs. Haven’t you noticed? Why he’s hardly spoken a word to her since we’ve been here. It wasn’t his idea, you know, that Antoinette should visit.”
“Really,” said Autumn. They stood now at the shoreline, and she feigned interest only in the black waters of the sea.
“Oh, no,” Damien told her. “The plan was that Dr. Beame should visit for the holidays. My sister rather invited herself along—and me.” He paused and regarded Autumn solemnly. “I am very glad I came.” Autumn drew her hand away.
“We are all glad that you came,” she said turning from him. He moved to her and took her shoulders in his hands, pulling her back against him.
“There is really only one person—”
“We should go back, Damien,” Autumn said hastily as she extricated herself from his caress.
“Oh, my,” he remarked blandly after a pause, “I had no idea. Well . . . I shouldn’t say quite that. Let me be frank, Miss Thackeray. You might as well give up any fantastic dreams you may have had about Cain Byron.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about, Damien Fraser,” she returned.
“Don’t you?” asked the young man. He laughed bitterly. “Do you imagine I have not noted those excrutiatingly yearning looks you cast on the good doctor when you think no one’s looking? Have I not noticed those little conclaves you and he hold every evening?”
“Those are meetings about his mother,” Autumn said firmly. “He is most anxious because she seems to be digressing from her former good health.”
“Be that as it may,” Damien cut in, “when my father—the imperious emperor of the Fraser household—wants someone out of the way, they might as well just evaporate. My mother is quite the perfect example of that. She became a bit too feisty for father’s taste and now she’s rarely seen.”
“Feisty?” Autumn inquired.
“Yes,” said Damien emphatically, “feisty. She had entirely too much nervous energy; so saith Hamilton St. John Fraser. In truth, my mother was a bold woman. Chained herself to the gate in front of City Hall one day to protest women’s lack of suffrage. She was arrested along with some other ladies. They were all released within the hour, and mother and I had a good laugh about it, but father deemed the incident a scandal. And mother was put to bed. Father called in your Dr. Beame, and mother was never arrested again. She was also never again fun, or frisky, or . . . irritating to anybody. She wasn’t, as a matter of fact, anything ever again.” Autumn looked up. Damien’s eyes were glazed in the moonlight with tears. For all his show of sophistication and worldly dispassion, he was really just a boy who’d lost his mother. Autumn placed her hand back into the crook of his arm. Her heart went out to him. She imagined that his mother and he had been very close. Perhaps they even looked alike. With his soft, pale hair, his gentle beauty, he was quite the antithesis of the robust Antoinette and their full-blooded sire. “In any event,” said Damien, swiping at his eyes and reestablishing his veneer of detachment, “one doesn’t want to get too close to someone to whom my father might take a dislike. They might just disappear. Father, despite his ‘good-old-boy’ façade, always gets what he wants, particularly if his adversaries are weak.” He glanced briefly at Autumn. “I am not for a moment suggesting that you are weak, dear Gypsy, but Cain Byron is. His weakness lies in his rock-hard commitment to our societal sensibilities. It is that very commitment that will bind him to my sister. He shall never marry you.”
“Believe it or not, Damien,” said Autumn firmly, “not every woman is on the prowl for a husband. I have no romantic hopes concerning Dr. Byron. Such hopes would be futile . . . whimsical. And I do not kowtow to my whimsy. I cannot afford to. A young woman in my position could place herself on perilous ground if she suddenly decided to make herself available to the master of the house—or his guests.” Damien eyed her slyly. “You receive my message well,” she assured him. “Let me ask you this; when you informed me some nights ago that you would like to ‘pluck’ me, were you offering marriage?”
The young man’s mouth fell open. “Wh . . . why, Autumn, I don’t know what to say.”
“Of course you don’t, Damien. You were flirting, merely that. And I suppose I should have been flattered. But I must be wary. My particular position does not allow me even the harmless luxury of a small flirtation. Someday, when you are nearing thirty and considering marriage, will you think of the likes of me? A servant? I doubt it. You will want a woman who has something to offer you, a woman of your own financial and social caste. That is the way of the world, and I accept it. I do not, for one moment, imagine that Dr. Byron—or you for that matter—would have even the slightest interest in marrying me. And I would settle for nothing less.” She patted his arm. “Let us go back to the house.”
“Wait,” said Damien as Autumn turned to the path. “You have delivered a challenge, and I accept.”
Autumn looked at him in surprise. “I have done no such thing,” she protested.
“I accept,” he repeated and strode past her up the path in the direction of the house. Autumn watched him, his cloak flaring behind him, before fully realizing his intention. She called out his name and when he did not respond, she hurried after him. The young couple erupted into the kitchen. Carrie eyed them in surprise. “Where is everyone?” Damien demanded.
“In the parlor, I think,” responded Carrie, “I believe they’re playing whist.”
“Good,” said Damien pointedly. “There is nothing like a game of cards to put Father in a docile mood.” Autumn regarded him worriedly.
“Damien,” she said as she drew off her cloak, “if you mean to prove some silly point, I would advise you—”
“I do not intend to prove a point, little Gypsy,” he told her excitedly, “I intend to marry you.” With that, he disappeared from the kitchen. Carrie gaped after him.
“Are you going to marry that young fellow?” she asked Autumn.
“I certainly hope not, Carrie,” she stated in some dismay. By the time she reached the parlor, it was apparent that Damien had delivered his news.
“Are you insane, brother!” Antoinette was gasping. “You are not seriously considering that dim little creature as a wife. Can’t you even, for heaven’s sake, get yourself a real woman?” Autumn stepped into the room and Antoinette silenced herself immediately. She attempted to cover her clumsy insult wit
h a giggle. Her father eyed her darkly in the ensuing embarrassed silence.
“So,” he said, regaining his composure, “here is the dear little lady who has captured the heart of my little boy.” He chuckled spiritedly. “You might have told a fellow, Damien,” he said addressing his son. His tone was amiable, but his words were followed by another disapproving glare at his daughter. When would the twit learn, he wondered, that there were far less ham-handed ways of showing one’s disfavor? She was a graceless creature and surely the most coarse of women. It was no wonder, he reflected briefly, that he’d been forced to come down to this godforsaken province to intercede in the matter of Cain Byron.
“We’ve only just decided ourselves, Father,” put in Damien. He glanced at his sister dismissively. “And despite the recent thoughtless outburst, my feelings for this very real woman are very real.”
“Well, then,” piped Antoinette, “I suppose congratulations are in order.” Hamilton St. John Fraser might have sighed audibly, but he did not. Instead he smiled thinly at his daughter.
“I believe, Nettie dear, we might save the congratulations for a later time.” He looked back at Autumn with an indulgent regard. “Have you a parent or guardian with whom my son and I might speak, my dear?” he asked.
“My father, sir, is not alive,” replied Autumn hastily, “and, anyway—”
“Any anyway,” Damien interrupted, “her family are in Philadelphia. We shall simply have to write them and apprise them of our plans—”
Hamilton Fraser raised a thick, dark brow. “You are not of the Philadelphia Thackerays!” His voice was nearly a growl.
“I am, sir,” Autumn replied.
“I had a great respect for your grandfather, Miss Thackeray.” Implied was the fact that Hamilton Fraser had no respect for the chance-taking and overextension of investment revenue funds practiced by her father. His arched brow and stern demeanor told of his contempt for such liberal business practices. The man’s suicide had been a scandal but surely no surprise to knowledgeable men.
“My grandfather was a great man, Mr. Fraser,” Autumn was saying, “and so was my father.” Her countenance held a determination that silenced Fraser’s further consideration of this most embarrassing subject. He wished no confrontation with the indigent daughter of a failed maverick financier. He smiled with forced warmth.
“Both men great in their own sphere,” he agreed. “I never could count myself in their class.” He stood and took a cigar offered by Cain as that man eyed Autumn keenly. At last the older man took his ease in a chair by the fire. “Oh, these children of ours,” he said addressing Vanessa, “they do keep us young and on our toes, Mrs. Byron,” he said composedly. That lady shifted uneasily.
“Yes, Mr. Fraser,” she agreed, “they surely do keep us on our toes.” She glanced at Autumn and then at Cain.
“Now, Damien,” said Hamilton Fraser, turning his attention to his son, “you will allow some discussion on this matter, I presume.” He smiled benignly in Autumn’s direction. “A marriage is not to be entered lightly. All sorts of preparations are necessary. Naturally,” he added, “the protection of the lady is of primary importance. We cannot have our feminine treasures entering such a serious and abiding contract willy-nilly.” Assuming Damien’s assent, he rose. “I should think tomorrow will be time enough for that.” Hamilton looked to his daughter. “Won’t you accompany me upstairs, Antoinette,” he said. It was not a question.
“Of course, Father,” she murmured, with no hint of the shudder that raced up her spine. She knew she was in for a browbeating for her graceless reaction to her brother’s announcement.
“And you, dear son,” said Hamilton mildly, “please join us.” He bid the rest of the company good evening, and followed by his children, he left the room.
Before anyone could address the bemused Autumn, Cain Byron rose from his chair and impaled her with a black regard.
“I wish to see you in my study, Miss Thackeray.” Obediently, with only a discreet rolling of her eyes in Vanessa’s direction, she withdrew in Cain’s striding wake.
“Well,” stated Winslow Beame, dismayed, “I should say that’s the end of whist for tonight.”
Autumn reached Cain Byron’s study to find him leaning with both arms on the mantelpiece. His gaze was riveted on the flaring hearth fire. His hard jaw in the dancing light was marked by a deep line of concentrated vexation. He turned his gaze as she entered and anchored it firmly upon her.
“You will, of course, not marry that feckless lad,” he said. His tone was surly and forbidding. The Fraser siblings, it seemed, were not the only ones in for a browbeating this evening.
“Damien Fraser is not feckless,” Autumn responded, drawing the doors closed. “He is young.”
“Yes,” said Cain. He pushed himself away from the hearth and took a cigar from a box on his desk. He lit it, and with the same match, lighted the lamp that hung above his desk. The room became sheathed in a dusky golden lamplight. Cain regarded Autumn with penetrating shrewdness as he blew out the match. “You have not answered my question.”
“Did you ask me a question?” Autumn’s defenses were firmly poised.
“I asked if you were going to marry Damien.”
“You did not ‘ask,’ Dr. Byron. You made a declarative statement.” Cain might have smiled but for the weight of his impatience.
“I am attempting,” he stated, “to discover your feelings toward the boy. You said nothing in there, while he was all enthusiasm and decision. Your face, in truth, displayed bemusement. Did you expect his proposal? Did you accept it?”
“There was no proposal,” Autumn said calmly.
“That tears it,” Cain growled, almost to himself. “I have not trusted that youngster since he entered this house.” He stopped suddenly. “Unless,” he intoned, regarding Autumn cannily. “Have you encouraged the boy to assume you would consider him?” Autumn knitted her brows.
“I cannot think what you mean, Dr. Byron,” she replied.
“Oh, come now, Miss Thackeray, most men do not up and propose marriage on a whim.”
“As I mentioned, sir, Damien did not propose.”
“Then you must have done something to cause him to make such an announcement. Women have ways of making men assume they would make willing wives.”
Autumn flushed, her anger becoming apparent. Still, she kept her voice calm. “I will not dignify that comment with a response,” she said, adding, “and how dare you make such an accusation.” She turned, intending to leave the room.
“I make it, lady,” Cain growled, striding to her and grasping her arm roughly, “because that boy is a guest in my house, and because you, as my employee, owe me an answer.”
“As your employee,” Autumn returned, her eyes flashing golden sparks as fiery as those in the hearth, “I owe you the services for which you pay me. Now unhand me.” The words were ground out. Cain loosed his hold, stunned by her vehemence. Autumn swiped at a curl the lout’s manhandling had displaced and turned once again to leave.
“Wait,” said Cain Byron. “Just . . . wait.”
“For what am I waiting, sir?” asked Autumn, pausing before the door.
“I’m not sure,” he said, his gaze downcast.
“Am I waiting for an apology?” Autumn inquired.
“Yes. Yes, I do apologize,” he answered quietly. Hard won, the expressed regret extended both Autumn’s decision to stay and her curiosity. Cain’s explanation for his brutality would speak directly to the nature of the man. “I have a temper,” he resumed, “which I am hard-pressed to control.” Autumn may have made an obvious rejoinder, but she reined that impulse. “Up to now, I’ve had no check upon my angry responses. But I am most sincere in my efforts to control them.” He stopped, then finally continued. “I am hoping to get to the bottom of your feelings for young Fraser—and his for you.”
“Mr. Fraser’s feelings are his own, sir,” Autumn said evenly, “I have no access to them. As to my feelings, yo
u have no right to ask me about them. Be about your own business, Dr. Byron.” Cain looked at her directly. In his regard she saw . . . what? Confusion? Conflict? Everything but the characteristic confidence he usually conveyed. He rolled his head back and raked his fingers through his dark curls.
“Autumn,” he said wearily, “don’t you know that you are my business?” The words gave her pause. She regarded him steadily. “Don’t you know?” Know what? “If you are in love with Fraser, I shall speak not a word against the marriage. If you are not, you must tell me.” He again riveted her with his regard, and Autumn saw that his eyes were not black at all, but a clear, unclouded indigo.
“I . . . am not in love with Damien Fraser,” she said evenly. “And I have extended him no encouragement.”
“Then, why? Why, Autumn, did he make that announcement tonight—and why did you not refute it?” Before answering, Autumn made her way to the little horned chair and sat heavily.
“Damien has been making flirtatious gestures toward me since he arrived,” she began. “I suppose I was flattered at first. But, tonight, I told him that he must stop. I told him that a young lady in my position could not afford to succumb to even a harmless flirtation, lest she be considered . . . available. I explained to him that a wealthy man does not make overtures to a female servant with the intention of marriage—and that I would consider nothing less. Damien thought that I had issued him a challenge. That is why he barged into the parlor with his wild and ill-considered announcement.” She looked up to find Cain Byron watching her intently.