by Carole King
“Has she,” stated Vanessa evenly.
“Yes,” Cain responded quirking his brows. His mother’s attitude was puzzling and not altogether expected. He had misgivings about pursuing the subject with her at all. “Let it stand,” he said patiently. “Your objection is duly noted, Mother. But I assure you that as long as Antoinette wishes it so, the wedding will go on. There is nothing I can do about it.”
“The wedding,” returned Vanessa flatly, “is the machination of a proud old patriarchal poop and his spoiled brat of a daughter.” Startled, Cain regarded his mother in wonder. He had no idea that she harbored such strong opinions, and her language was colorful, if less than decorous. A smile curved his lips unchecked.
“Mother,” he said mirthfully, “we really must not speak about Antoinette and her father in such terms—”
“Antoinette and her father be pickled in brine,” remarked Vanessa dismissively. She moved from the window and placed herself before her mirror. Adjusting an errant curl, she commented, “You play the gentleman, Cain, most unstintingly. And that is admirable. Your father would be proud, if that thought gives you any consolation. But as your mother, I would remind you that a gentleman is first a man—a human being. And no human being should be made to endure a life with that venomous woman.”
Cain’s mouth gaped and his brows lifted in astonishment. “Mother,” he intoned, “if your judgment is based on the incident concerning the emerald bracelet, you must understand that no matter how any of us feel about it, nothing can be absolutely proven. Antoinette attempted something that is unforgivable, but it is not grounds for—”
She turned to him, halting further comment. Her regard softened. “I heard, Cain,” she told him gently. “I heard it all.” Her son averted his gaze. How like a boy he seemed—this proud, aggressive, authoritative man.
“I am not sure I understand,” he said hesitantly.
“You understand me well, son,” Vanessa returned. “I had taken my breakfast in my room that morning, but I became restless and decided to go down into my parlor. You and Antoinette were at the dining table. I did not wish to eavesdrop, Cain, but your voices became so loud that I could not help but hear the argument. Antoinette does not love you—she admitted herself that she is incapable of love. Further, she has colluded with her father to engineer a marriage for herself, and I find that repugnant.” She paused. “I never liked her in the first place,” she sniffed. “But after the incident with the emerald bracelet—and especially after that morning—I could no longer tolerate her in my home. And I wouldn’t have either, had you not been so relentlessly noble about everything.”
Cain sighed softly. His proud shoulders drooped. He could not look at his mother as he said, “I have not been . . . altogether noble.”
“Have you not,” Vanessa said, her tone heavy with irony. Cain lifted his gaze.
“No,” he said rigidly. “I have done things of which my father would not be proud.” Vanessa was reminded of the times when Cain was a boy and had done something he was ashamed to admit.
“Listen to me,” she said in sympathy, “you men make entirely too much of your supposed responsibility toward ‘frail womanhood.’ We are not so frail as you imagine, Cain. I blame myself for many of your assumptions about women; I have not been the sturdiest example for you. But, please believe me, we are stronger than you think.”
“Mother,” Cain said quietly, “I have caused myself an obligation to Antoinette—”
“Did you cause that obligation, Cain,” asked Vanessa, “or did she? Did you take her by force?”
Cain regarded her in bewilderment and surprise. “Of course not, Mother,” he said. “You surely know me better than that.”
“I do, Cain,” she acknowledged. “My question was rhetorical.” Cain’s interest was piqued. He folded his hands behind his back and listened further to his mother’s comments. “Did you seduce her?” she asked. “Did you promise marriage, or anything else? Did you ask anything of Antoinette other than an intimacy that is—or should be—most welcomed by people who love each other? You approached your intimacy with Antoinette in the spirit of love. She did not.
“You men, and some women, too, see intimacy as a monumental gift offered by a woman in return for your protection. Believe me, my darling Cain, a woman is as feeling a creature as a man, and unless she is a prostitute, she offers intimacy freely and with no expectation of reward except that inherent in the moment.” She moved to him and continued in earnest. “I know I am speaking more plainly than you may wish or expect me to, but I desperately want you to realize that you owe Antoinette nothing.
“If she loved you, Cain, then or now, we would not be discussing this, for your obligation to her would be clear. It would be an honest one, born of mutual respect. But that is not the case. This obligation you feel toward her has been designed, imposed on your relationship by conventions so time-worn and so out-of-date that they fairly reek with their own decay and corruption. And those conventions are corrupting, Cain. They stifle honesty between men and women.”
Cain did not attempt to conceal his admiration for his mother’s observations. His mind grasped with enlightening clarity the contrast between the very true obligation he felt toward Autumn and the false one, the one designed for him by societal convention, that he felt toward Antoinette. However, it did not change the facts. “I am afraid Antoinette and her father would see this matter in an entirely different light,” he said.
“I agree. They see it according to their own design. But their design need not be yours, Cain. It seems to me that our ‘pathetic little family,’ as Antoinette describes us, needs a small change in perspective.” Vanessa paused and returned to her mirror. Straightening her bodice, she said almost casually, “I shall not pressure you or attempt to advise you any further, Cain, but I am quite certain of one thing. That self-centered little creature who is so anxious to marry a wealthy and sophisticated man-about-town would not be equally anxious to marry a provincial doctor.” She glanced at her son, allowing the significance of her words to penetrate his, up to now, extremely narrow perception. “What if,” she resumed, “I held you to the terms of your father’s will? Do you recall those terms?” Cain’s brows furrowed. “I shall remind you of them. In order to receive your full inheritance, you were to set up a medical practice here in Cape May. That was your father’s promise to the city, as it was his father’s before him. Your father may have been misguided, but he was in earnest, Cain. He wished the city to have a Dr. Byron to serve it in perpetuity. I never held you to the terms of your inheritance, because I never believed you motivated in that direction. But I do ask the question. What if I decided to do so? As importantly, Cain, what if you yourself decided to comply with those terms? And what if you announced your compliance at, say, a party here at Byron Hall? I should say your future would take on a completely different design. Wouldn’t you?” Vanessa neither expected nor waited for an immediate answer. She knew her son well enough to realize that he needed time to examine and absorb these notions. And she prayed she knew him well enough to count on his making the right choice. “Now,” she said, apparently satisfied with her appearance, “I shall leave it to you to design your own future, my darling.” She held out her hand. “Will you escort your mother downstairs?”
Cain offered his arm and they proceeded regally—the queen and the handsome young prince—across the second floor gallery and down the grand staircase to receive their guests. The carriages were already arriving.
Antoinette had chosen the city’s elite to people this most auspicious affair. On her father’s exquisitely coated arm, she greeted Cain and Vanessa as they stepped down into the entry hall.
“We shall need you both right here,” she called brightly, indicating the place to her father’s left. “You must be first, Mrs. Byron, then Cain, then me, and then daddy.” When Vanessa and her son had obediently taken their places, Antoinette dimpled a proud smile. “We make the handsomest receiving line in the world,�
� she bubbled.
“Indeed we do,” agreed Hamilton St. John Fraser, bowing gallantly and lifting Vanessa’s hand to his lips. “Damien would have enjoyed sharing his sister’s joy, but as you know, Mrs. Byron, he is at school in Europe.”
“Now don’t anyone spoil our lovely picture by not smiling,” Antoinette instructed.
All through the afternoon the crème of Cape May society passed beneath the great entry arches of Byron Hall. Commenting cordially on this most unprecedented event, the mayor assured Vanessa that she was as beautiful as ever she had been, and he kissed Antoinette’s hand warmly and told her that she was a welcome addition to the formerly reclusive household. Selectmen and their wives greeted Vanessa with barely suppressed curiosity and congratulated Cain on his good fortune in securing the affection of the distinguished daughter of Hamilton St. John Fraser.
From the kitchen, Autumn listened to the jocularity of the arriving guests, and she and Carrie and the many servants hired for the occasion prepared themselves for the most wearying of afternoons. It had been decided that Autumn would hire and then supervise the servants. She’d accepted the job gratefully, though Cain had protested. Autumn would have done almost anything to absent herself from the public rooms of the house that day; she had no desire to face this pronounced evidence of Cain’s coming marriage to Antoinette. The thought of losing Cain to the triumphant and fierce-hearted Antoinette was painful enough, but the thought that she would be mistress and not wife—an appendage to Cain’s life and not its heart—stung Autumn’s pride and played havoc with her self-perception. She had not been raised to be a mistress; Autumn was not sure she even knew how to be one. But mistress she would be, she had determined, if that were the only way that she and Cain could be together. Autumn had watched herself grow thin and pale and wondered at Cain’s continuing desire for her. Surely mistresses were expected to be something more than wan slips of girls. Mistresses of Autumn’s imagination were vivacious creatures, full-spirited and certainly full-bodied—like Antoinette, she thought wryly. She sighed inwardly and stuffed a tiny meat-filled pie into her mouth.
Adding to the stress of the day was another concern. Autumn had penned a very unofficial invitation to someone and had delivered it herself. Now she wondered at the advisability of what she had done. Every half hour or so, she made her way around the back of the house to the side garden off the front parlor to furtively examine the milling guests. Undaunted by the swarms of people, she made her circuit, searching relentlessly for the one she alone was awaiting. Each time, she came back to the kitchen disappointed and a little less hopeful that Robert Moffat would attend. Autumn could well understand his hesitancy, but she prayed, nevertheless, that he would find the courage in his proud heart to come. She felt that, seeing him once, Vanessa would set convention aside and perhaps seize some happiness for herself.
“The announcement’s going to be made, Miss Autumn,” said Carrie as she hurriedly made her way into the kitchen with an empty tray. “And Dr. Byron wants you in there. He told me.” Autumn winced.
“Oh, Carrie,” she moaned, “you can’t mean that.” Carrie affirmed the request—or order—with an emphatic nod.
“He does, Miss Autumn. He sought me out and told me to get you into the front parlor. Him and Miss Fraser’s going to stand on the side porch. Folks are already gatherin’ in the garden and the parlor. They left the French doors open so everybody could see.” Autumn’s brows drew together as she set about folding tea napkins with a vengeance.
“Well, if he expects me to witness that particular announcement, he’s got quite another think coming,” she muttered.
“But, Miss Autumn,” Carrie persisted darkly, “Dr. Byron was real insistent—you know how he can be—and if you don’t come, he’ll think that I—”
“I shall let him know that you delivered the message, Carrie. I shall make it very clear,” she added categorically, “that you are not at fault—” At that moment, Vanessa appeared in the doorway.
“Autumn,” she said with uncustomary assertiveness, “I am in great need of your assistance.”
“What is the trouble, Vanessa?” she asked worriedly.
“I’ve left my walking stick upstairs, and I am feeling very weak.”
“But you haven’t used your walking stick in weeks,” Autumn pointed out as she went to her. Vanessa took her arm firmly.
“Today I need it,” she responded flatly.
“I shall get it for you.”
“No. Just take me to a chair.” The two women made their way from the kitchen arm in arm. Autumn’s hopeful gaze scanned the crowd. Had Robert come? Had Vanessa seen him and become weakened by the encounter? It was not until Vanessa had steered her to a chair near the tall parlor windows, not until Cain and Antoinette and Mr. Hamilton Fraser appeared on the side porch, that Autumn realized she had been manipulated. She shot an accusing glance toward Vanessa, and that woman, settling herself comfortably into the chair, merely smiled.
“You can’t leave now,” Vanessa told her in a low tone. Horrified, Autumn realized she was right. Everyone was gathering about the doors, spilling from the parlor out onto the lawn. They were smiling and murmuring expectantly and watching Vanessa for her reaction. Autumn’s sudden departure would cause a stir—and quite possibly some unwelcome speculation. With a furious frown toward her employer, Autumn stood her ground next to Vanessa’s chair.
“We all know why we are here,” began Mr. Fraser with an air of merriment. “But nothing is ever quite official until it has been officially announced.” He droned on for several moments about the joys and hardships of fatherhood, causing rippling and indulgent laughter. Autumn lost track of his words until she realized the guests had raised their glasses in salute and were offering a cheer. Her heart twisted in pain, and her hand instinctively went to rest on Vanessa’s shoulder. Her hand lifted in response and took Autumn’s gently.
“And now I have an announcement.” Cain’s voice resonated above the gay approval of the guests, and Antoinette and her father glanced at him in surprise. “As you know,” Cain continued, “Antoinette and I had planned to live in New York City. My soon-to-be father-in-law has generously provided us with a house there, and I am most grateful. However, I am going to suggest to him that he sell that house.” Antoinette’s mouth fell open, and Autumn’s brows knitted. Vanessa only sighed with relief. Cain went on in the attending silence. “It has been my observation that, since my father’s passing, Cape May has been without a general practitioner. With your approval, I would like to serve you in that capacity.” The crowd roared its appreciation. “It is my intention to set up my practice,” Cain added above the din, “right here at Byron Hall. And to show my sincerity and my commitment to this endeavor, it is also my intention to turn over my inheritance to my mother. I will be one of you, serving among you for as long as you will have me!” Tears came to Vanessa’s eyes then, and she felt the warmth of love encloak her. Her son, precious to her as gold, had not only taken her suggestion, he had taken it to another plane entirely. He had done her one better.
“We are returning to the days of your grandfather!” cried one applauding gentleman, who remembered those days well.
“I’ll be your first patient!” called out an otherwise dignified lady delightedly, and everyone laughed. Autumn barely heard the shouts and the applause and the crescendos of laughter, so stunned was she. She watched as Cain led Antoinette from the porch and into the parlor. He held her trapped in the circle of one strong arm, and “trapped” was exactly the way her astonished expression made her appear. Her green gaze was wide and uncomprehending, and her lips were parted in unspoken disbelief as they passed into the crowd that fought to congratulate them on both their marriage and Cain’s altruism. She did hear Cain’s murmured exhortation to her as they passed.
“Smile, Antoinette,” he intoned, “or you’ll spoil everything.” Autumn looked down at Vanessa. Both ladies’ eyes were welling with tears.
Winslow Beame had dri
fted back through the gaily mingling guests to stand beside them. “Gracious,” he said, “how long has your devil of a son been planning this surprise?”
“I haven’t the faintest idea, Win,” Vanessa responded almost giddily. “He never mentioned a word of it to me.”
Chapter 15
“I did not attend the party, little one, because I could not.”
“Why?” Autumn prodded. “I was so disappointed. I just know that once you and Vanessa see each other you will—”
“It is not that simple,” Robert interjected tolerantly. “I know it seems so, but it is not. Your disappointment aside, Autumn,” he said with a small quirk of his brow, “there are considerations that you know nothing about.” Autumn lowered her lashes.
“Thank you, Captain Moffat. I am properly chastised.” Robert laughed softly, and Autumn looked up. “I really did not mean to sound so selfish, but it took a great deal of thought for me to imagine how to get you two together.”
“I know,” Robert said, patting her cheek. “And I am most grateful.” They stood together on the shoreline where it met the sea, the lighthouse rising crystal-flecked in the sun behind them.
“Please understand, Robert, I’ve watched Vanessa regain her health only to see her mental state decline steadily since the day I presented your gift to her. It wasn’t hard to guess that she longs for something she feels she can never have.” The man’s gaze lingered on Autumn for long moments and then drifted out to the farthest swells of the rolling ocean. At last, he indicated a bench above the shoreline at the base of the lighthouse.
“Let us sit down, little one,” he said. As they settled themselves, Robert leaned forward, his forearms resting on his thighs, and rubbed his big weathered hands together. Autumn waited for him to speak. She waited a long time. Robert seemed to be forming his tale cautiously. The soft wash of the glittering spume upon the shore seemed to capture his attention. “I told you some of what happened between Vanessa and me—but not all,” he began slowly. “All those years ago, after we had lived for a time with our secret love, we gave each other the most complete expression of that love. We shared perfect nights in our perfect love.” He bowed his head. The sun shone on his silvered curls and he raked his fingers through them. “I am ashamed to tell you this, little one. I do not mind for myself, but for Vanessa . . .”