Harper released a labored sigh. “Why don’t you begin by telling me exactly what Mummy told you?”
“Well”—Granny James slightly lifted her shoulders—“I guess I have to go back to last May. Georgiana called me after a row she’d had with you. She was very upset that you up and quit your job at the publishing house. Really, dear,” Granny scolded, “to quit your job without notice.”
Harper simmered. “Go on.”
“She was very upset that you’d refused to return to New York or even go to England to see me. I tried to calm her. I reminded her that you were not a child, after all. You’re a grown woman capable of making your own decisions.”
“Thank you.”
Granny James gave Harper a pointed look. “Though I admit, I would have appreciated a phone call from you this summer.”
“You’re right,” Harper apologized. “I was selfish and rude. I’m sorry.”
Granny James accepted the apology with a wave of her hand. “Anyway, summer passed, and then just this week Georgiana called again to tell me that not only were you staying here, but that your grandmother, Marietta Muir, was manipulating you to get your trust fund early so you could buy her house and help her financially. Georgiana made all sorts of slurs and comparisons to your father. Not at all kind, I’m afraid, and I won’t insult you by repeating them.”
“It’s all ridiculous!” Harper said, steaming. “Nothing could be farther from the truth.”
“Why don’t you tell me your side of this sordid story.”
“First of all, Mummy treated me horribly at the publishing house. I won’t go into my personal relationship, or lack of one, with her. We’ve been through that before. God knows how many times I’ve cried at your knee about it.”
“Yes, dear,” Granny James said in a softer tone, and reached out to touch Harper’s hand. “Your mother can be harsh.”
Harper released an unladylike snort. “She can be cruel. And an utter bitch of a boss. You’d expect her to be at least professional, but she treated me as her lackey, not her editorial assistant. It was embarrassing. She refused to promote me. I honestly believe she enjoys keeping me under her thumb. Last May we had words.” Harper didn’t add that the argument was about Granny James, how Georgiana had demanded Harper fly to England to be her nurse. “She told me my job was to do what she said, period.” Harper shrugged. “That was the last straw. I quit. You must believe me. It was all between her and me and had nothing to do with Mamaw.”
“Except that you happened to be at Sea Breeze when all this transpired.”
“I came here for Mamaw’s eightieth birthday party. Initially it was only supposed to be for a few days, but then she invited all of us girls to spend an entire last summer together at Sea Breeze. Like we did as children. Call it serendipity, but it just worked out that we could. You should know that Mamaw informed us from the start that she was putting the house on the market at the end of summer. That was why this summer was so important. To all of us. Mamaw does not need my money, nor does she need me to buy her home. In fact, she has two offers on the table at this very moment to buy it.”
“I see,” Granny James said doubtfully.
“It’s true. Oh, Granny, what can I tell you? I love it here. I belong here.” Harper waved an arm out toward the Cove. “Sea Breeze is a wonderful place and I wanted to buy it. I wanted to live here forever. I still do,” she added wistfully. “It feels like home.”
“And Greenfields Park? Don’t you have affection for that place? Don’t you feel it is your home?”
This was tender territory, and Harper didn’t want to upset her grandmother. “Yes, of course I do. I have strong feelings for Greenfields Park because it’s where you and Granddad live. Where I spent so much time growing up. But . . .” Harper looked at her grandmother, gauging her reaction.
Granny James sat as still as a cat but her eyes were watching Harper intently. “But . . .”
“But I don’t feel like it’s my home.” Harper could only offer the truth.
“I see,” Granny James said stoically. She looked at her hands.
There was a silent stretch. Harper heard the mournful creaking of wood as the dock moved with the tide, stretching tight the rope that bound it.
Granny James lifted her head and appeared ready for battle. “So you asked your mother for access to your trust fund.”
“Right. A purchase offer for Sea Breeze arrived. I panicked. I’d run out of time. I had to buy now or lose Sea Breeze forever. The trust fund was my idea. You have to believe me. I wasn’t asking for anything that wasn’t mine. So, I gathered my courage, swallowed my pride, and called my mother.”
“Why her? Why not me?”
“Because she is the executor of my trust fund. I asked her if I could get the principal of my trust fund early so that I could buy the house.” Harper paused, feeling the bitterness well up inside her again at her mother’s reaction. “I was naive to ask her for help. I don’t know why I thought she’d respond as a mother. Concerned. Wanting me to be happy. You’d think I’d have learned by now.”
Granny James didn’t respond.
“You know what happened next. What always happens with Mummy when she doesn’t get her way. She ranted and railed against me, Mamaw, and my father, and the whole Muir lineage. It was terrible. She threatened to cut me off if I didn’t return to New York immediately. You know her well enough to know that she’d do it, too. I was distraught. Confused. I’m ashamed to admit I was a breath away from being the meek daughter and returning home at her command. As I always have. As she expected.”
Granny James tilted her head, her eyes bright. “But you didn’t.”
“No.” Harper smiled a bit, embarrassed. “I told her to take her money and shove it.”
Granny James raised her brow.
“Then I got in my car and drove straight to see Taylor. It was instinctive. I knew I wanted to be with him. That I’d be safe with him.” Harper paused and said with tenderness, “That’s when he asked me to marry him.”
“Now we’re at the part that concerns me most.”
“My getting married?”
“Of course. You’re my only granddaughter.” Granny shifted her weight, frowning. “Georgiana told me that this man is, to put it mildly, a gold digger.”
Harper felt her blood begin to boil anew. “Is that all?” She smirked. “He wasn’t giving me drugs, too?”
“Don’t mock me. I’ve just flown thousands of miles across the ocean to—”
“To save me.”
“Quite frankly, yes.”
Harper saw that love in her grandmother’s eyes and lowered her shoulders. “I love you, but I don’t need saving.”
Her grandmother sighed heavily. “I love you, too, dear. But the rest remains to be seen.”
“Oh, please . . .” Harper put her face in her hands with a dramatic moan.
“Tell me. Does your young man, this Taylor McClellan”—Granny waited till Harper dropped her hands and was paying attention—“does he know about your trust fund?”
“Yes.”
Granny James looked like the cat who ate the canary. “I see.”
“I told him that I lost it when I decided to stay here. That I gave it all up.”
“But you haven’t lost it. You’ll inherit when you turn thirty.”
“I know that. Mummy told me. But Taylor does not.”
“Ah.”
“He asked a penniless, homeless girl to marry him.” Harper’s eyes suddenly filled with tears. “Oh, Granny, I’ve waited my whole life for this man. Someone who loved me.” Harper brought her fist to her heart. “Without my bloody fortune.”
“But you’ve only just met him.”
“But we’ve had a connection since the moment we met.”
“Oh, Harper . . .”
“Such things do happen, Granny,” Harper insisted stubbornly.
A winsome smile spread across Granny’s face, one laced with memory. “I know. But marriage
is not to be taken lightly. One mustn’t confuse love and lust with commitment. Love is a sprint. Marriage is a marathon. An endurance race, if you will.”
“I know all that, Granny, I’ve dated many men.”
“Please, spare me the details.”
Harper laughed.
“But what about Howard Salisbury?” Granny James asked in the tone of a last-ditch effort. “He’s such a nice young man. So handsome. And a peer! He’s quite taken with you, asks after you all the time. I thought you two were quite an item.”
“Howard is in love with Greenfields Park, not me.”
Granny James frowned. “Don’t be so sure. The Salisburys are a fine family.”
“And so are the McClellans. Granny, I’ve always known I would marry for love. That I wouldn’t settle.” Harper patted her grandmother’s hand in a manner that indicated the conversation was ending. “Why don’t you wait to meet him and form your own opinion?”
“Indeed. I’d like to meet this young man.”
“Super. Because he’s coming for dinner tonight.”
Chapter Twenty
It was a night for surprises.
Mamaw was dressed to the nines, as Edward had liked to say whenever she stepped out of her dressing room in a new gown and paraded for him like a runway model. It was a silly game, but one they’d both enjoyed.
She let her palm rest against the waist of the raspberry-colored silk gown that, like all her other gowns, held her so tight she could barely breathe. She inhaled, feeling the constricting cloth against her belly. Why did everything she ate seem to go directly to her belly?
She released her breath and let her gaze survey her sage-green dining room. A satisfied smile eased across her face. At least here everything was perfect. She’d outdone herself tonight. The long Sheraton table was draped with her finest Belgian linen. She’d polished her silver until it shone under the crystal chandelier like fallen stars. Penta, roses, and other flowers from Harper’s garden were in low vases trimmed with leathery, dark Magnolia leaves. From the kitchen she heard the clatter of dishes as the caterer prepared their meal.
She rested her hands on the back of a Chippendale chair as memories of other dinner parties flitted through her mind. Back in the day, at her great house on East Bay, her parties were legendary in Charleston. She was reputed to be a favorite hostess south of Broad. She felt a flush of pleasure at the memory.
Far fewer parties had been held here at Sea Breeze. Her life had changed dramatically after Edward died. Goodness, she could count on one hand the number of parties she’d thrown here. The last was the previous May, when her granddaughters arrived to celebrate her eightieth birthday. She chuckled, remembering. What a night that had been! The laughter and secrets had flowed with the brut rose champagne.
Yes, she loved parties. Loved an excuse to throw one. She had to seize this moment while Sea Breeze was still in her hands for one last hurrah. Harper wanted to introduce her young man to her grandmother. And, she thought with a smile, she wanted to take this opportunity to introduce a gentleman friend of her own . . . Girard.
She glanced at her watch. He would be arriving soon. Straightening, she walked through the living room, smiling at her granddaughters, Taylor, Devlin, and Imogene as she passed to the foyer. There she stood by the front door, hidden from view, and waited, gathering her thoughts. It was perfectly normal for her to invite a dear friend to the dinner party, she told herself. Nothing to feel nervous about. Yet, pressing her palm flat against her jittery stomach, she felt just that. Like a young girl on her first date. The girls had all met Girard before, of course. But this was the first time she was bringing him into their home as an invited guest. The invitation implied more than neighborliness. She only hoped Dora would keep her tongue.
The doorbell rang, startling her. Taking a calming breath, Mamaw opened the door. The sight of Girard had her releasing the breath in a sigh. He looked especially handsome tonight, even debonair in his navy jacket and red tie. His blue eyes shone with warmth against his dark tan.
“Marietta,” he said, handing her a bouquet of roses and freesia. The scent rose up, heady and sweet. “You look beautiful tonight.”
“Thank you, Girard. Please come in,” she said nervously, and stepped aside.
Girard waited in the foyer until she closed the door. “It’s been a very long time since I’ve been inside Sea Breeze. I’ve stared at the back of the house from my dock for years. I’d forgotten how charming this house is.” He winked at her. “Like its mistress.”
Mamaw felt a brush creeping up her neck. “You silly coot. Come, let me introduce you to my family. Before you turn my head.”
When she stepped into the living room with Girard by her side, all talking ceased as heads turned their way. The girls stared back with obvious curiosity and surprise. Mamaw noticed Imogene’s brow rise with interest as she sipped her drink.
“You remember Girard Bellows?” she asked the girls. “Our neighbor.”
“Oh, you mean . . .” Dora, on the direct line of a freezing glare by Mamaw, cut her comment short. She’d been about to call him by Nate’s nickname from earlier that summer, Old Man Bellows. Dora held out her hand and smoothly shifted to “You’re the kind man who helped Nate with his fishing.”
“How is that young man?” Girard asked.
“Very well, thank you. You’ll see him at dinner.”
“Good.”
Carson and Devlin stepped up for an introduction, both on their best behavior. After a few polite queries, they stepped aside for Taylor and Harper.
“The guests of honor,” Mamaw announced, ushering them closer. “Girard, my granddaughter, Harper, and her fiancé, Taylor.” The word fiancé slipped easily from her lips, feeling right. She noticed, however, that Imogene stiffened slightly with disapproval at hearing the introduction.
Finally, Mamaw drew Girard toward Imogene, standing alone a few feet away, clutching her drink with both hands. Imogene was wrapped in a cocoon of midnight-blue silk that accentuated her well-kept figure. The diamonds in her ears and on her wrist shone like stars. Or small planets, Mamaw thought with distaste. Imogene looked up as they approached, her gaze settling on Girard.
“Imogene, I’d like you to meet my friend Girard Bellows.”
Imogene smiled then, quite coquettishly. “The neighbor,” she said. “But I do not detect a southern accent.”
“Guilty as charged,” Girard replied. “I’m from the North. Connecticut.”
“Really?” Imogene said, her gaze appraising. “Charming.”
A waitress in black pants and white shirt stepped closer to Mamaw. “There’s a question for you in the kitchen.”
“Thank you.” She turned to Girard. “Excuse me a moment. Will you freshen Imogene’s drink?”
While the final preparations for dinner were being readied, Granny James guided Taylor to the back porch, away from curious ears, for a private discussion. On this lovely night the humidity was low, the moon was high, and Imogene thought, glancing around the porch, that Marietta had been wise enough to set out those Tahitian-looking candles that kept the mosquitoes at bay.
Imogene sipped her vodka martini and studied the man standing across from her. He was handsome, to be sure. A tall, strapping young man who would turn any girl’s head. He was neatly dressed in tan pants, an ironed shirt, and a navy-blue jacket. Though not well tailored, she noticed. Unquestionably off-the-rack. Unlike Dora’s young man, who looked quite smart in his nicely tailored jacket and silk polo shirt. Still, that was hardly a condemnation of Taylor. And unlike the haircut on Dora’s man, Taylor’s head was shorn as a sheep.
She’d picked up a few details more important than his style of dress. He certainly wasn’t skilled at making idle conversation, but then neither was Harper. But like Harper, he seemed to be bright enough—sharp minded and quick-witted. Imogene prided herself on being skilled at wheedling out important information from unsuspecting guests—their family ties, connections, and address (al
ways a clue to status). Taylor was unabashedly open about all these things. There were no surprises.
Sadly, she thought as she took a bracing sip of her martini, he was just as Georgiana described. The son of a fisherman, a soldier . . . or rather, a Marine. He’d corrected her on that distinction. He had little money, lived with his parents, and was all around not a suitable candidate for her granddaughter. Though overall he seemed to be a nice young man.
A waitress with lavender hair came out on the porch to announce that dinner would be served in ten minutes’ time.
Best to get started, then, Imogene thought with a sigh. She took a final swallow of her drink and handed the young woman her empty glass. The woman’s arm was covered with tattoos. When she left, Imogene sniffed derisively, “I don’t know how they can hire a woman with purple hair and tattoos to serve dinner. It’s absolutely off-putting.”
Taylor half smiled. “I don’t think that will have any effect on her performance.”
“Rather a bold comment, coming from an officer.”
“How so?”
“I understand that tattoos are not permitted among officers in the military.”
“In some branches of the service, that’s true. But the lady in question is not in the military.”
“Do you have a tattoo?”
“I do not.”
Granny James nodded yes, as though proving her point. “Neither are you in service any longer.”
“No, ma’am.”
“We British always admire a man’s sense of duty. The Prince of Wales served in the military service. As well as Prince Harry. If I’d had a son, I’d like to think he, too, would have done his duty.” She paused. “I don’t mean to be a nosey parker, but now, what is it you do?”
Though her tone was mildly insulting, intended to be, he answered with a composure that impressed her despite her best intentions. “I’m a project manager.”
“Yes, but what does that mean, exactly?”
“I manage men.”
Granny James narrowed her eyes. “Ah, like you did in the military, I suppose?”
The Summer's End Page 28