Ambrosia

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Ambrosia Page 45

by Rosanne Kohake


  She bit her lip and closed her eyes, remembering the single Yankee party she had attended in Charleston, remembering how lovely Carolyn Craig had been in her daring evening gown, remembering how pretty her hair had been. Ambrosia felt small and unattractive compared to that memory. She opened her eyes again and considered her gown, feeling oddly detached from the woman in the looking glass. The dress was a blend of soft lavender and rose lace with a low, off-the-shoulder bodice made demure by a transparent, high-necked tucker of pink-tinged lace. The sleeves, which began just below the shoulder, fell loosely to a satin bow at the elbow and were fitted tightly from there to the wrist. A single wide flounce of delicate rose lace followed the low scoop of the actual neckline, dipping to a V at the center of the front to suggest the curves of her breasts. The skirt fell in an almost straight line from the tightly cinched waist, leaving little doubt as to the firm curves of her hips and slender legs. Her hair was a mass of soft black curls clustered at her crown with matching lace-trimmed ribbons of pink. The shiny coils spilled forward to her brow and tiny wisps of curl also softened the lines of her face, giving the effect of charming disarray. All was elegant, eye-catching, a captivating mixture of innocence and inherent sensuality. But as Ambrosia met her own somber green-gray eyes in the glass, she felt almost as if she were a child again, playing a silly game. She remembered the way Ledger had never noticed the gowns she had worn, the way he had always noticed Melissa’s every move. And then she remembered that Drayton had once looked at her with a hungry fire in his eyes, making her so very aware of her own femininity. But perhaps he looked at Carolyn that way now, she thought, and perhaps he would ignore her as all the young men had always ignored the sharp-featured, shapeless young girl so long ago.

  She lifted her chin and turned away from the glass. No matter what he said or did, she would somehow endure it quietly and then return to Elmwood and Mandy and try to forget. It was all she really wanted now. She couldn’t al­ low herself to hope for anything more.

  Just a few minutes before the mantel dock chimed the hour of seven, Ambrosia entered the parlor and forced a smile for Lily, who was perched comfortably on a dark red velvet settee. She glanced about nervously for Drayton, but he had not yet arrived. She began to pace the parlor like a caged animal, back and forth, back and forth, until Lily could bear no more. “Ambrosia,” she said softly, “do have a seat, won’t you?”

  Ambrosia stopped short and met Lily’s eyes. “I don’t feel much like sitting down, thank you.”

  “You look lovely tonight,” Lily told her. “Everyone will be impressed.”

  Ambrosia eyed Lily’s frothy pink-and-white gown of ruffles and bows, a combination that made her look almost girlish in spite of her years. “Thank you, Lily,” she returned quietly. “I’m afraid no one will notice me after they’ve seen you.”

  The clock began to chime, and as if on cue Drayton appeared on the threshold, cutting a striking figure in his black swallowtail coat and pressed trousers, complemented by a pleated white shirt. His eyes lingered critically for several moments on Ambrosia, as if seeking some flaw in her attire. He scowled, pulling his eyes away without a single word or gesture of approval. Ambrosia had not really expected any. She felt her stomach knotting as he moved to assist Lily to her feet, pointedly ignoring her. Bryson, the manservant who had earlier shown her to her room, stood waiting in the hallway with the ladies’ wraps. Drayton took Lily’s wrap and draped it over her shoulders, motioning Bryson to assist his wife. ‘’You look radiant this evening, Lily. Pink becomes you, you know.’’

  ‘’Thank you,’’ Lily returned with a tight smile, infuriated that Drayton was using her to slight Ambrosia. She would have liked very much to give him a good verbal thrashing, or at the very least a sharp jab with her elbow, but she was afraid Ambrosia would notice and feel that much worse. So she simply glared at him whenever she noticed that Ambrosia’s eyes were elsewhere and resolved that the thrashing would have to come later. His behavior was unforgivable and she intended to tell him so.

  The carriage ride proceeded in an uncomfortable silence though Lily tried to fill the void with her light­hearted chatter about who would be there and how long it had been since she’d seen this person or that. Both Ambrosia and Drayton seemed intent on staring at the passing houses and avoiding each other’s eyes.

  Finally the coach rolled to a stop. Drayton moved to help Lily alight, then his wife. Ambrosia held her breath as he assisted her from the brougham, feeling herself tremble inside at the mere touch of his hands. His fingers did not loosen for a long moment after her feet had touched the ground, until her eyes lifted in a silent inquiry. ‘’I trust you will not feel compelled to discuss politics tonight.” His voice was low, his eyes challenging, almost taunting.

  Ambrosia turned away from him quickly, not wanting him to know how much the remark had hurt. To him, she was the same woman who had humiliated him in Charleston. He could not see that that woman had died, could not know how painful that death had been, how terribly vulnerable that death had left her.

  Drayton moved again to take Lily’s arm rather than Ambrosia’s as they moved up the steps to a grand front entrance, following a thick red carpet that had been unrolled to welcome guests. Just inside the elegant foyer, he took the ladies’ wraps and handed them to a man in starched black attire who greeted him by name, then nodded politely to the ladies. Drayton offered Ambrosia his arm with a cold smile. ‘’The charade begins,’’ he said just loud enough for her to hear.

  The guests of honor stood with Leanne’s parents just beyond the foyer, receiving guests as they arrived. Leanne stepped forward, smiling, to embrace Lily, as did her mother. When they had finished with their gushy welcome, Leanne made to extend her hand to Drayton, then stopped mid-motion when she saw the woman at his side. Matt had told her that Drayton’s wife would be making an appearance tonight, and she had been looking forward to meeting her as much as anything else, certain it would give her an opportunity to gloat over Drayton’s “mistake.” But she hadn’t been prepared for this-a woman of striking beauty, a woman who bore herself proudly, gracefully as she stepped forward for an introduction. For a moment Leanne couldn’t find her voice. ‘’And I believe you’ve already met Ambrosia,’’ Drayton said to Matt with a stiff smile.

  Matt smiled at her, his eyes warm with appreciative regard. “At Tiffany’s last week,” he affirmed, bowing over her hand.

  “Oh, yes,” Leanne managed finally, “I remember you mentioning that, darling. But you didn’t tell me how young and pretty Drayton’s wife was,” she went on, flashing Matt a brittle smile.

  “You’re very kind, I’m sure, Mrs. Desmond,” Ambrosia returned, her cool green eyes seeing through Leanne’s polite facade.

  “Not at all,” she shot back. “It’s just that I’m...surprised to see you looking so-so healthy after so long and serious an illness. Why, you’re all the picture of health! You must tell us later all about your remarkable recovery, my dear.”

  The foyer was filling with new arrivals, cutting short any further conversation, much to Ambrosia’s relief. With Drayton’s hand at her back, she passed a spectacular dining room that had been set for an elegant formal dinner, then several grand parlors to arrive finally at a huge ballroom where Lily insisted they remain for several minutes while she observed the dancers and listened to the music. It had been so very long!

  Ambrosia felt like a girl again as she watched the lovely colors swirling about the golden marble floor. Everything seemed to have a soft, yellow glow in the flickering gaslights, all reflected in the scores of mirrors that lined the ceilings.

  Ambrosia was introduced to many of Drayton’s friends and several of Lily’s as well, all of whom seemed quite surprised as they took in her appearance. The gossip had led them to expect something so very different. And the reality gave them so very little to say. She was neither ugly nor crude and uneducated; indeed, her every move suggested r
efinement and breeding. So after several moments of staring and conversing with her, most of them retreated.

  After some time had passed, Lily grew weary of observing the dancers and suggested they move to a nearby parlor. Ambrosia turned to leave the room, then stopped short as she encountered an all-too-familiar face. Carolyn Craig was standing just a short distance from where they stood. She was dressed in a scandalously cut gown of bright red silk that bared her shoulders and nearly all of her ample bosom, and her face was heavily painted. Ambrosia was taken aback for a moment, shocked that the woman who had appeared so lovely and fresh in Charleston now looked so garish and brazen. Carolyn was talking with a gentleman who was obviously quite taken with her, and she ran her fingers slowly over his lapel as she fluttered her lashes prettily. As if feeling Ambrosia’s eyes upon her, she glanced in that direction. A slow, deliberate smile curved her painted mouth as her eyes moved pointedly from Ambrosia to Drayton and back again. Though Ambrosia did not have the courage to look at Drayton, she felt certain that he had returned the smile because suddenly Carolyn’s smile widened.

  “Are you coming, Ambrosia? Drayton?” Lily asked quietly, having noticed the exchange and guessed exactly who the woman in red was.

  “Yes.” Ambrosia turned quickly away from Carolyn’s smile to follow Lily into the parlor.

  Drayton saw Lily seated comfortably on an elegant settee of rose-gray velvet in one comer of the room, where she was quickly surrounded by friends and acquaintances from years past. Everyone, it seemed, was anxious to talk with her, to reminisce over old times. Ambrosia followed Drayton to a chair a fair distance away and took a seat, trying hard to regain the composure that had slipped the moment she saw Carolyn Craig. Drayton remained by her side but said nothing to her, like a guard, Ambrosia thought miserably, on duty for a single night. She could not know that he had hoped that Carolyn would not be present tonight, that he was trying to prepare himself for the scene she would almost surely try to make. Ambrosia only knew that her husband hardly looked at her while he threw countless glances in Carolyn’s direction. She swallowed hard against the tightness in her throat as she eyed the people who had gathered about Lily. Friends, some of them, from the warm smiles in their eyes. A few male admirers hovering close by. But there were also a few who had come to pat her hand sympathetically, as if they pitied her, even while Ambrosia saw clearly the jealousy in their eyes. Lily might be nearly sixty and partially paralyzed, but she was undeniably one of the loveliest ladies in the room, and hands down the liveliest conversationalist.

  Drayton took two glasses of champagne from a servant’s tray, offering one to Ambrosia and sipping at the other as he listened to Lily’s delightful ripostes.

  “I can’t really believe you enjoy life so far from the city!” remarked one homely woman with a pinched face. ‘’Why, it must be terribly boring for a woman like you.’’ “It’s not quite that bad, darling,” Lily interrupted before she could go on. “After all, life is what you make of it.’’ Lily smiled then and winked at the gentleman who bent to offer her a glass of champagne. Ambrosia noticed that a tiny flicker of a smile touched Drayton’s mouth as he caught Lily’s eyes and lifted his own glass in a silent toast. But he made no move to include Ambrosia in the exchange. Indeed, when Lily’s eyes drifted to hers and gave an encouraging smile, Drayton promptly looked away.

  A few moments later, Ambrosia saw Drayton straighten slightly and fix his attention on a tall, gray-haired gentleman who was entering the room. Drayton moved to greet the man and his wife, his face breaking into a warm smile as he took the man’s hand, then pressed a light kiss to the woman’s hand. After a brief exchange Drayton retraced his steps to Ambrosia’s side and introduced the couple as Kenneth and Muriel Galbraith. All the while he spoke his fingers rested on Ambrosia’s shoulder, tightening when it was proper for her to respond, as if in silent warning. But the warning was unnecessary. Ambrosia had no intention of causing Drayton any embarrassment on this night. She forced a smile that seemed genuine as she made all the right responses and even laughed softly as she fielded Mrs. Galbraith’s blunt queries about her background.

  “I even heard that you owned slaves, is that true?” Muriel wanted to know.

  “Why, it was all such a long time ago, I hardly even remember,” Ambrosia told her. “But I can assure you, Mrs. Galbraith, that I don’t own any now.”

  Irritated by the chuckles Ambrosia’s remark had generated, Mrs. Galbraith’s eyes narrowed. “Did you actually beat the poor, helpless things?”

  “Why, I never struck anyone I can recall,” Ambrosia returned innocently. “I was taught that a lady never behaves that way.’’

  The questions continued, though both Drayton and Mr. Galbraith tried their best to turn the conversation to other matters. Mrs. Galbraith stubbornly reverted to Ambrosia’s past life.

  Ambrosia felt more than a little relieved when dinner was announced, until she found that the seating arrangement could hardly have been worse. Not only were Mr. and Mrs. Galbraith placed directly across the table from Drayton and herself, but beside Mr. Galbraith Carolyn Craig eagerly took her seat. To Ambrosia’s other side sat an obnoxious, middle-aged man who reeked of liquor and constantly leaned close to speak in a loud, grating voice. Lily was seated somewhere at the far end of the table, completely out of sight.

  The meal proceeded with agonizing slowness. The man beside Ambrosia became more and more obnoxious, bending ever closer to Ambrosia’s ear and speaking louder than before, placing his hand on hers at every opportunity. Each time she hurriedly pulled away from him and turned her attention back to her dinner, though she could hardly bear the thought of eating with her stomach so twisted in knots. She made a valiant attempt to converse with Mrs. Galbraith again, but that proved a very bad mistake. Once again the woman began to question her about the South, then brought up a subject meant to back Ambrosia into a corner-Jefferson Davis. Carolyn joined the conversation, scolding Muriel for making Drayton’s “war bride” uncomfortable with her talk about such things.

  “My only brother was killed at Gettysburg,” Muriel returned sharply, her eyes bright with hostility. Ken Galbraith quickly seized his wife’s hand. “Muriel, please.”

  She snatched her hand away and went on. “I’d like to see every one of those no-good Confederates hung to pay for that. Hanging’s just punishment for treason. But instead, they’re left to live. Pardoned for their crimes. While my brother lies in his grave.”

  For a moment the entire section of the table quieted, and all eyes riveted expectantly on Ambrosia’s face. “I am sorry about your brother,’’ Ambrosia said softly, her eyes showing sadness and regret. She was remembering that she had once judged all Yankees as this woman was now judging her. And though she had felt a surge of indignation when Mrs. Galbraith suggested that all Confederates ought to die, she kept it hidden. Nothing would ever be gained by an ugly exchange of words, and rekindling her own bitterness would never bring back what was gone. Admitting that to herself did not heal the wounds in her heart, a heart that had loved the South, and Heritage, and her father, and Ledger. Yet, as she felt Drayton’s eyes upon her and turned to find him regarding her steadily, she realized that that very same heart now loved her husband and child more than she had ever loved anything in her past. For a moment their eyes locked. Then Ambrosia looked away.

  Deeply disappointed that Ambrosia had not jumped at the bait, Carolyn promptly sought to change the subject to an amusing incident that had occurred at a party a few weeks before. She hoped that, since Ambrosia was the only person who had not been present then, she would feel a particular alienation now. But neither Drayton nor Ambrosia seemed interested in what she was saying. Both of them had turned their attention to their dinners. Directly after dinner, Drayton located Lily and escorted her back to the parlor with Ambrosia. They had only been there a short while when Matt Desmond approached them. “Ah! Here you are.” He smiled warmly.

&
nbsp; “I am about to impose on you, Drayton.”

  Drayton lifted a mildly curious brow. “How so?” “I’m going to ask your permission to dance with the loveliest woman at the party.’’

  Ambrosia’s eyes widened in surprise, then flew to Drayton’s face, hoping desperately that he would refuse. The only man she remembered ever having danced with was Ledger, and that was so very long ago. She wasn’t even certain she remembered how. But she was certain about one thing. Matt Desmond’s eyes held a spark of something that made her uneasy, uncomfortable. Surely Drayton saw that as well.

  Drayton gave a disinterested shrug. “Be my guest.” Feeling the color flare in her cheeks at Drayton’s dismissal, she rose and placed her hand into the one Matt Desmond had extended. “My pleasure, Mr. Desmond,” she forced herself to say graciously, giving him her most attractive smile.

  She followed him toward the dance floor, her smile fading quickly as nervousness overtook her. He stopped, his hand lifting hers, his arm encircling her waist. The music began and suddenly she was whirling about the floor in a quick, dizzying design of steps, remembering it all as she followed Matt’s graceful lead, feeling giddy as a schoolgirl in spite of herself.

  “Why, Mrs. Rambert! I do believe you’re enjoying this!”

  She met Matt’s laughing brown eyes with a look of dismay. Had her reluctance been so obvious? she wondered. “I-It’s been a long time since I’ve danced,” she admitted carefully.

  ‘’Then your husband is even more of a fool than I thought,” he returned promptly.

  Ambrosia felt herself tensing at how intently he regarded her, at how closely he danced with her. She bit her lip and lowered her eyes.

 

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