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 v
eranda 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.
A smile, that might have seemed sly had it not been dimpled, tugged at Blythe’s lips as she caught her sister’s eye. Only she and Leigh, not even Julia, knew how happy Leigh had been to return home to Virginia from Charleston.
“I could just gaze for hours upon hours at that beautiful painting of Charleston that your mama has in the foyer of Travers Hill. I declare, Leigh, tears come to my eyes when I think of all that we’re missing. I wonder if any of my beaus even remember me. That spiteful cat Libby St. Martins was always trying to steal them away from me,” Julia fretted, her full-lipped mouth forming a petulant pout as she watched with a disagreeable eye the dragonfly hovering over her flower-trimmed bonnet. “La dee, but I’ve been so excited, Leigh, since Mama’s been feeling under the weather. It’s this heat. Mama swears she will expire, and I do believe she is serious. You should see the way her hair cannot hold even the tiniest curl. Well, she will not accept it another day! Papa says we’ll be going to Newport sometime in August. And you’ll never guess, Leigh, but Papa is planning to take Mama and me to England! Isn’t it just too wonderful for words,” Julia exclaimed, clapping her hands and causing her parasol to tip precariously close to the pony’s fat rump before she jerked it back, nearly poking Blythe in the eye. “We’ll take the boat from Charleston, of course, so I’ll get to see all of our dearest friends again. I suppose you couldn’t sweet-talk your papa into allowing you to accompany us? It would be so amusing if we could both be in London at the same time. Think of the secrets we can share. I think we’ll even cross the Channel and visit Paris, and in the spring, Leigh! Can you imagine the romance of it? All of our dreams will come true.
“I dare say I’ll have my portrait painted by a handsome, dissolute young English lord who has been disinherited by his father, the duke of something-or-other, and has been banished to the Continent. He will be maddened by my unparalleled beauty and won’t be able to stay away from me. Why, I could return to Virginia a duchess! La dee, that Libby St. Martins would turn pea green with envy, wouldn’t she. I’d even marry a fat ol’ duke, ugly as my second cousin, Harmon Cawley, on my mama’s side of the family—you remember him, don’t you, Leigh?—he has such bulging eyes and he’s always gulping between words…well, I’d do it just to see Libby St. Martins’s face turn all red and mottled trying to catch her breath. She’d be so ugly then she couldn’t catch even a fish, or even poor ol’ Harmon,” she said with a laugh of wicked delight. “Why, come to think of it, Harmon does look like a fish. But then, all the Cawleys do. You ought to see my cousin Eulalie, Harmon’s sister. Her mama just despairs of ever finding that girl a husband. And if they do, I wouldn’t be at all surprised if he isn’t in trade. It will be quite the scandal and I dare say the Cawleys will never be invited to Royal Bay again.
“I do believe Libby St. Martins thinks she’s going to wed that Matthew Wycliffe,” Julia continued, casting a curious glance at her quiet friend, but Leigh had her face slightly averted and Julia couldn’t see her expression. “Not that I’m interested in him, even if he is one of the wealthiest gentlemen in the Carolinas, because I’m only going to marry a handsome, titled Englishman. Oh, Leigh, I’ve just got to be engaged by Christmas. I don’t know what I’ll do if I’m not. Grandmama was married by the time she was seventeen and she was in the family way before she was eighteen. I’m almost eighteen, and so are you, and I haven’t even received a proposal. At least not one I’d accept. I’ll just die if Libby St. Martins gets engaged before I do. Mama didn’t marry until she was almost an old maid. I won’t wait that long, I just won’t!
“Leigh! Did I tell you about my gown for the party?” Julia cried out as she suddenly remembered the package that had arrived at Royal Bay just the day before. “Why, it just took my breath away. It arrived yesterday—and unfortunately so did Adam—and from Charleston! I told Mama upon my arrival home that I insisted on keeping that French dressmaker or I would never leave my room! And she knew I meant it. Even though I’ve had to return to Virginia, at least I will still be dressed in the height of fashion. Blond lace, Leigh,” she told her friend with a widening smile, her light gray eyes wide with the wonder of it all. “Yards and yards of it! And it is quite décolleté. Scandalous, even. Cream satin, flounced all around the skirt and draped with bunches of blushing pink satin rosebuds and ribbons! And I’ll be wearing my necklace of pearl beads that I got for Christmas last, and I’ll have my hair arranged à la—oh, and you’ll never believe what Adam said when he saw me yesterday eve! I had to try on my new gown so Mama would have time to sew the alterations if need be, but Simone is such a fine seamstress that not an extra stitch had to be taken, although I was quite despairing that Mama was going to add an extra inch of lace to my bodice.
“And Adam, standing there with that grin of his, well, he can say the most outrageous things! I’ll have you know I had ol’ Bella check my linens before I got into bed last night. Well, I was close to tears worrying about what trick he had up his sleeve. I dare say he’s lurking around here somewhere right now waiting to pounce on us. He threatened as much. You will remember.”
Blythe glanced over her shoulder, hiding her yawn as Julia continued with her usual patter about anything and everythin
g that came and went in her head. In the last few days, Blythe had come to the conclusion that she’d liked Julia far more before she and Leigh had gone off to finishing school in Charleston—especially since Julia had returned wearing one of the roundest steel-hooped crinolines Blythe had ever seen, and if that was what Adam Braedon had jested about, then she could certainly understand. Julia hadn’t even been able to get through the front door of Travers Hill. Poor Stephen would never be the same, Blythe thought, remembering the expression on his face when Julia had gotten caught half in and half out of the doorway, her crinoline flying high in back and baring her pantaloons for all to view. And trying to share a small seat with Julia, fashionably dressed in her prized crinoline, was anything but pleasant, Blythe thought as she pushed down the wave of striped muslin, fluffy petticoat, and rigid crinoline that spread out around Julia and threatened to engulf the cart.
Leigh, however, had come home from Charleston the same beloved sister who’d left, and still wearing the same unfashionable crinoline she’d left home in, much to Stephen’s relief. Although, for the first couple of weeks, Blythe had known a certain consternation when her sister had used French phrases when asking for potatoes at the dinner table, but their mother had been delighted. Leigh had even declined to play croquet on the lawn in favor of reading a book, An Essay…or something equally dull, Blythe remembered with a grimace, and then her sister had made an incredible fuss over the childish bodice of one of her favorite gowns, which had sent their father into an ominous silence when he’d seen the new cut of the décolletage of Leigh’s once modest blue gown.
But last week, when Leigh had grabbed a sweet roll on her way out the door, unable to linger for a proper breakfast in her haste for a ride across country with Guy, and Saturday last, when she’d stayed up until well past midnight helping with a difficult breech delivery of a foal, and this morning, when she’d suggested they go blackberry picking, Blythe had known that her sister’s sojourn in Charleston had not had any damaging effects.
When the Splendor Falls Page 5