When the Splendor Falls

by Laurie McBain

  Euphemia glared at her son as Adam’s laughter filled the room, but for now Noelle was, after all, Euphemia’s only grandchild, and incorrigible as she was, she could not deny the child her pleasures. “Now, if you will watch me very carefully while I prepare this cup for your mama, then I will allow you to pour this other cup for your grandmama, then, if done properly, you may prepare one for your aunt.”

  “Mama!” Julia cried, becoming impatient herself as she eyed the steaming teapot.

  Noelle looked up, her eyes glowing, the tears already drying on her rosy cheeks as she watched her grandmother’s every move, then imitated her to perfection as she prepared a cup of fragrant tea. Her smiling mother watched proudly as her daughter placed a wedge of lemon on the rim before handing it to her, then attended to Julia’s cup, adding the proper amount, but not too generous, of sugar and cream.

  “You spoil that child, Mama,” Julia complained, eyeing with growing annoyance the brimming teacup Noelle was carefully bringing her way with a sloshing of its contents. “It had better be sweet enough, and as far as I’m concerned Noelle is still in disgrace for her behavior at Travers Hill yesterday morning. She was very unladylike and she should’ve been sent to bed without her supper. I’ll never go visiting with her again. No child of mine would act so rudely while with company, even if they are kinfolk. And look at this,” Julia complained, holding up a soggy and brown, tea-soaked cake.

  “That is what is known as a tea cake, and if I recall, dearest Julia,” Adam said, winking at Noelle, “the first time you served tea you missed the cup and poured scalding tea, Souchong, I believe, all over Reverend Culpepper’s lap. Poor man had to give his sermon the following Sunday in a falsetto, while you and Leigh giggled in the front pew. And just the Sunday before, he’d read his sermon almost doubled over with stomach cramps, having been gentlemanly enough to drink a goodly quantity of the tea Leigh had brewed when he’d called at Travers Hill. What did she use again? Mixed some of Jolie’s special purgative herbs? Senna leaves and slippery elm? No wonder the man could barely walk. A deadly combination.”

  “Leigh made a little mistake, and you tripped me, if you will recall further,” Julia reminded him. “Your feet are almost as big as your mouth.”

  “Now, children,” Euphemia said, repeating the reprimand spoken far too often over the years to carry any weight now.

  “I do recall the incident,” Adam said with a chuckle of appreciation.

  “Oh, Mama! I am so excited. You will never guess the news!” Julia said, turning a dismissive shoulder on her grinning brother.

  “What, dear?”

  “I will be returning to Charleston!”

  “Yes, dear, I know. We will all be staying there, and as guests of the Benjamin Leighs. I received their most cordial invitation today. Your mama, Althea Louise, insisted upon writing to them when she heard of our plans to tour England in the spring. We will have a nice visit with them while waiting for our ship to sail,” Euphemia told her, pleased at the prospect of visiting Europe again. “A pity they won’t be visiting this week, but Mr. Leigh has been under the weather.”

  “Oh, Mama! I know that. I was speaking of something altogether different. ’Twill be after we return from England, unless of course I have wed a duke or a count, and then I shall never return to Virginia, except to visit of course,” Julia said, sighing as her head filled with dreams.

  “Whatever are you talking about, dear?”

  “Mama, Leigh Alexandra Travers will announce her engagement this very weekend to Matthew Wycliffe, who only happens to be one of the wealthiest and most handsome gentlemen in all the Carolinas!” Julia cried out for all the room to hear, and still irritated with her cousin from the territories, she didn’t even glance his way, so she did not see the slight start of surprise that crossed his lean face at her news.

  But Adam had been watching his cousin, having glanced over curiously when Julia had mentioned Leigh’s name. He frowned now when he saw the startled expression quickly masked by one of apparent boredom as Neil listened to gossip that held little or no interest to him—or perhaps it did?

  “Really, Julia?” Euphemia asked, looking over at Althea for confirmation of such an exciting revelation, although she had hoped Julia would marry first. However, she was quite fond of Leigh Travers.

  Althea frowned slightly, wondering how Julia had heard the news, for even Leigh was not certain of the proposal and had been reluctant even to admit to her feelings for Matthew Wycliffe. She wished Julia had kept her silence until it could have been announced by her own family, if there was to be an announcement, but at least she had not blurted out the news before any strangers.

  “Althea?” Euphemia questioned, glancing back at Julia with a doubtful expression.

  “It is true! It is, Althea, isn’t it?” Julia demanded. “Leigh herself told me how much in love she is with Matthew Wycliffe. She talked of nothing else at our picnic day before yesterday. It’s the truth! And he could not keep his eyes from her when in Charleston. He was calling every single day, and as a suitor he is completely acceptable to your mama and papa. The Benjamin Leighs think most highly of him, and they could not do enough for him when he came to call on Leigh. It was quite an honor. Half of Charleston was drooling, for he is quite particular about his acquaintances. You cannot deny that he is without fault.”

  Althea shook her head. “No, I cannot. And I believe Leigh does indeed care for Matthew, more than for any other gentleman of her acquaintance. She told me that herself just yesterday. And apparently Matthew Wycliffe is very much in love with Leigh, which does not surprise me in the least, for she is very lovely and sweet. And, yes, he would be perfectly acceptable to my parents as a son-in-law, they have already said as much. But whether he will ask for Leigh’s hand in marriage this weekend or not, we shall just have to wait and see, Julia, and I would not speak further of this until then, lest you look foolish should the announcement not be made,” Althea advised, not willing to admit all of what she knew. But if Guy were correct in his information, then Matthew Wycliffe would indeed ask Leigh to marry him, and she suspected Leigh would say yes.

  “There! I told you so!” Julia claimed, dismissing the last of Althea’s statement with a careless shrug, for she had heard what she wanted to hear. “And Leigh has promised me, as her dearest friend—why, we are almost like sisters—that I can come to stay with her and Matthew in Charleston. Matthew has a town house there, and an estate overlooking the Ashley River, and, of course, his plantation is supposed to be magnificent. The house sits on a cliff overlooking the sea, and he owns half the coastline. I dare say it will be the wedding of the Season, perhaps of the century. Leigh will make such a beautiful bride. She’ll be dressed in ivory taffeta with layers and layers of lace and a long train held in place with a wreath of orange blossoms. Oh, I can see it all now. They’ll probably be wed in Charleston, with dignitaries coming all the way from Europe to attend. And we will be so beautiful walking down the aisle, because as one of her bridesmaids, I will be gowned in robin’s egg blue. ’Tis one of my favorite shades and most becoming to me.”

  Adam looked skyward, wishing a robin would fly over his sister’s silly head.

  “If you have indeed been privy to Leigh’s confidences concerning Matthew Wycliffe, I would suggest you keep her secret until she announces the news. ’Tis her right,” Althea suggested gently, not wishing to have Leigh’s day spoiled by Julia’s indiscreet comments.

  “Of course I am in her confidence. We always tell each other our deepest secrets. Neither one of us would dare to fall in love with someone without telling the other one first. But this is no secret, after all, everyone will know this weekend. I suspect they will announce it at little Lucy’s party, or at the barbecue on Sunday. What a celebration we shall have. Anyway, we’re all family here,” Julia said, defending herself. “Well, almost,” she added, glancing over at the tall man standing alone. Even if he was her cousin, a fact she seriously doubted, then he was still a stran
ger in their home. Not at all like his half brother Justin, who was a gentleman and had been accepted as one of the family. And he at least had never threatened to scalp her, she thought, touching one of her fair curls lovingly.

  “Well, this is indeed wonderful news. The Wycliffe name is highly thought of in the Carolinas, and we have had dealings with the Wycliffes in the past. My father bought a number of mares from the Wycliffe stables when Carlton Wycliffe, Matthew’s grandfather, was alive.”

  “That was long before your father and I came to an agreement,” Noble reminded her. “Any of the River Oaks horses that won the honors were out of the Royal Bay stables. But I will allow that they raise good Thoroughbreds in the Wycliffe stables now. This Sea Racer of Wycliffe’s may give Royal Blood a run for the money come Sunday,” the master of Royal Bay admitted with reluctance, staring down gravely into his empty brandy snifter. “Might even beat Travers’s Tuscany,” he predicted gloomily.

  “Not really, sir?” Adam questioned, surprised to hear such an admission from his father.

  “No one’s beaten Royal Blood yet, but…there’s always a first time. Yes, sir, might be the beginning of the end of Royal Bay to have that little filly, the chestnut-haired girl, the one who can ride so well, marry into the Wycliffe family. Pretty little thing. Has a slender, long neck and trim flanks. Like the way she walks, nice and light on her feet. What’s that child’s name?” Noble demanded irritably, thinking Stuart Travers had sired far too many children, and he never could keep them all straight, just like all the hounds that always seemed to be underfoot at Travers Hill.

  “Leigh Alexandra,” Althea said patiently.

  “That’s right. The high-spirited little one with the colt. Wycliffe will have his hands full with her. Reckon he’s marrying her just to get his hands on that lil’ cap’n of hers? Could start a whole new stable. One way of keeping the colt from stealing any races from you one day. Heard tell from her papa that she won’t sell him to anyone. Turned down that swine Canby. Remembered his name, same way I do most any horse’s as—ah, name,” Noble said with a wheezing chuckle. “Never forget, no, sir! But I’d rather be beat by one of Wycliffe’s bloods than one bred in Kentucky. Gettin’ too high-handed, them folks, thinking their bluegrass is sweet as their corn whiskey and better than ours. Did I tell you about the time I went North, back in ’23, it was, and all the way up to New York to see the race between Eclipse and Virginia’s Henry? We should never have lost that race, but them Northerners…”

  Neil turned his back on the room and its occupants. He stared out across the covered veranda, past the white columns entwined with wisteria and crape myrtle, toward the sweeping view of the river beyond. It flowed quietly and lazily by, with nothing more than an occasional sandbar to disrupt its flow. Indeed, nothing seemed to interrupt the genteel quality of life that flowed around Royal Bay, or their nearest neighbors at Travers Hill.

  Leigh Alexandra Travers. Neil silently spoke the name, and would have cursed it beneath his breath except he liked the sound of it too much. What an incredible fool he had been, he remembered now, seeing again the breathtaking beauty of the young woman descending the staircase at Travers Hill. There had been no mistaking her this time for a lowly groom’s daughter or a lady’s maid. From the neatly braided chestnut hair atop her proudly held head, to the fine kid slippers on her high-arched feet, to the triumphant glint in her dark blue eyes, she had been every inch the beloved and cosseted daughter of the manse.

  And with each step she had taken, drawing closer to him as he stood waiting at the bottom of the stairs, she had moved farther out of his reach. He hadn’t even won her yet, and already he had lost her. She was a part of this life, as much as the pampered, blooded mares grazing in fields of sweet bluegrass.

  Nothing ever changed, he mused, listening for a moment to his uncle’s reminiscences now about a horse race he’d lost nearly a quarter of a century ago, and yet it could have been yesterday for all that had changed during those years in between. Just like the river beyond the green willows, flowing gently and peacefully—never-ending, never altering its course toward the sea.

  That was the way of life in Virginia, in all of the South, and he knew a sudden resentment of it, of these families of gentle blood, of their almost courtly existence while living off the sweat of others less fortunate, of their patrician airs and graces, of their exalted positions that discouraged trespass by interlopers. They seldom stepped from that elite circle of family and friends that surrounded them, the intermarrying of families creating a larger circle, a continuity that would never be broken. It had become a heritage, handed down from generation to generation, of pride and honor, of graceful manners and gallantries, of duty and dignity, and of ladies fair and gentlemen brave, their affability tinged with condescension.

  And that was her heritage too. Not his, he reflected as he thought of Riovado, and the cabin he lived in. The wind was not a gentle, soft breeze, sweet-scented from the gardens, but a cold, gusting wind from the High Plains that wailed plaintively outside the cabin walls, then found its way through chinks in the mud between the rough-hewn logs. The small windows covered by animal skins were practical, not decorative like these delicate, multipaned French windows with their silken hangings. Riovado’s fireplace of rock kept the one-room interior warm, and the single black pot hanging over the fire served up a hearty, simple meal to the hungry. But there were no collectibles gracing its mantelpiece, no family portraits, except for one, hanging from the bare walls. The floor with its random planking of heart pine had no brilliant sheen of wax, nor finely woven carpet, but it was dry, and the bear rug before the hearth was soft underfoot, and the heavy door, with its sturdy iron hinges, was barred at night, keeping intruders from trespass.

  But Riovado, like Royal Bay and River Oaks, and Travers Hill, was more than a crudely built cabin or an elegant mansion overlooking the river. Riovado was a way of life that was a part of him now. Riovado was the mountains and the sky that surrounded it. It could embrace you, taking you into its heart; but, if you feared it, or made a careless mistake, it could just as easily destroy you.

  Neil glanced across the room at Adam, raising his brandy in a silent toast to his cousin, who nodded in polite acceptance of the honor due him. The slight curl to Neil’s lips and the patient expression in the pale eyes warned Adam that he had not yet been forgiven and should be on his guard. Adam sighed, for he knew Neil too well, and his cousin would not easily forgive and forget his coup of yesterday.

  Had Neil not been so surprised himself at discovering Leigh Travers’s true identity, then he might have enjoyed a moment’s pleasure at the start of surprise that had crossed her lovely face when she’d been apprised of his true identity.

  But even Adam did not realize how complete his cousin’s defeat had been yesterday. And Neil, remembering anew, felt again the desolateness that had surged through him as Leigh Alexandra Travers had been surrounded by her loving family. Invited to stay for breakfast and polite conversation in the parlor afterward, he’d remained apart, as he did now, watching and listening to the gentle banter between family members who were so close to one another that a remark tinged slightly with ridicule or sarcasm was greeted with nothing more than good-natured laughter, and seldom did an offhand comment need to be explained further, for there were no secrets, no surprises amongst these family members.

  Well…almost none, he thought now, as he remembered the feel of Leigh Travers’s body against his and the taste of her lips pressed to his.

  He’d watched almost jealously as her brother Guy, a handsome, rather arrogant young gentleman of fashion, sat on the arm of her chair, his hand resting on her slender shoulder now and again with the ease of one who was held in great affection and knew his touch would not be spurned. Time and time again she’d glanced up at him in response, her dark blue eyes full of laughter, but their warmth had turned cool whenever she’d happened to glance his way, and, by chance, their eyes had met.

  The young dark-hai
red girl, now known to him as Blythe Travers, had stared at him from wide hazel eyes brimming with curiosity, her lips quivering uncontrollably too often for her to muffle completely the giggles that escaped into the room whenever she met her sister’s warning glance. Perched on a low footstool in front of her sister, at least when she managed to still herself long enough to remain seated on the embroidered seat, she had barraged him tirelessly with questions about his home in the New Mexico Territory and his life with the Comanche. Neil had answered patiently, for it had given him the chance to stare at her sister sitting so quietly behind her and listening with polite interest to their conversation.

  Her father had been a genial fellow, quick to laughter and just as quick to anger as the conversation had veered from horse racing to politics, from religion to the best recipe for mint juleps, but with his cheeks flushed from a steady flow of bourbon, his brown eyes twinkling with mischief, he had an easy charm about him that had been passed down to several of his offspring.

  Beatrice Amelia, the matriarch of the family, and, Neil suspicioned, the person who held the tightest reins on all the family members, including Stuart Travers, was a soft-spoken, gracious woman of unfading beauty. Glancing between the mistress of Travers Hill and her three daughters, Neil could see the graceful airs and classical features they had inherited from their mother.

  Althea Travers Braedon was truly more beautiful today than she had been when on her honeymoon over six years ago, Neil had thought. And he had not lied when he’d complimented her when meeting her in the foyer earlier. She was a very self-possessed woman, her slender hands at rest in her lap, her smile indulgent, her expression contented as she listened to those around her. And he suspected she had never been as daring and high-spirited as her two younger sisters, not because she was so very proper, but because it was not her nature. Noelle, her daughter, and his cousin Nathan’s only child, was as quick-witted as her father, and would one day have the beauty her mother possessed.