The Willows

by Mathew Sperle

  But in her heart, she knew the last thing Lance wished to hear was that he was mixing things up, entangling their childhood games with reality. He saw himself as the heir to Camelot, and he’d despise her for saying otherwise. If only Uncle John and Aunt Amanda had not made their home seem such a glittering palace. Even now, with all that had happened, Lance still felt driven to catch parts of their dream for himself.

  Gazing at him, overwhelmed with longing, Edith resented her cousin more than ever, for she knew, deep down, that Gwen do not love Lance. She couldn’t, not like she did, or she would not be flirting so freely with his friends. Her cousin was just being her spoiled and stubborn self, clinging to Lance rather than surrounding dreams of her own.

  When made a sudden shooing motion, and surprisingly, Lance left her side, his friends follow the suit. Had her cousin it tired of his attention, and was now looking to flirt elsewhere? If so, Edith meant to encourage her. Once Lance learned his precious Gwen was far from a saint, he might begin noticing the one truly loved him.

  One way or another, Edith meant to break them apart.

  ***

  Gwen gave a yawn. Between the heat and the men’s droning voices, it was a wonder she hadn’t drifted off to sleep. The men laughed, proving Lance’s stories must the entertaining, but she’d stopped truly listening some time ago. Aside from an occasional comment, and her past on smile, he didn’t seem to require her attention anymore.

  It was with relief-and no little amusement- that she’d greeted the suggestion that they should pay their respects to their host. Watching them saunter off to the study, she knew it was less Mr. Foster they sought, and more the bourbon bottle in the cabinet.

  Some things never change, she thought with a grin but as she glanced around and saw how much truly had changed. She used to love the fun and excitement of these grand balls, and now merely felt bored? She’d the oddest feeling she no longer belonged here.

  Where were the girls with whom she’d shared her come out? Most were not only wed, but starting families with the boys she’d once danced and flirted with. Even Charlie Foster, whom she’d painstakingly avoided for years, had wasted no time being alone in her absence. He’d been married over four years now, she’d learned, through a pretty little Creole girl who’d given him two healthy sons.

  Seeing Charlie gaze at his young wife with such obvious devotion left Gwen feeling empty. Not that she’d ever considered seriously as a suitor, but it had been nice to know he’d be there, if all else failed. To have that prop yanked out from under her root a trifle daunting.

  I have Lance, she told herself firmly.

  “Gwen Elizabeth, whatever are you doing, hiding here in the corner?”

  Gwen bristled as Edith sashayed up, a breathing reminder of what she had lost. In her trunks, she had a dress much like that mauve satin, with its huge hoop skirt bailing out from an impossibly narrow waist, the dainty Belgium lace forming a tantalizing décolletage. Her own heavy velvet, without their hoop seemed to hang on her like a shroud.

  “I wasn’t hiding,” Gwen answered, casting her smile back in place. “I’ve been standing near the doorway, hoping to catch a breeze.”

  “I know what you mean.” Edith waived her ornate fan, no doubt taunting her, knowing full well Gwen’s fans were on their way to Argentina. “And poor you, trapped here by Lance and his friends. Or to tell which is more stifling. The heat, or their boring discussions. What were they talking about, politics?”

  There was an archness in her question, one she didn’t respond to. She coveted that fan, its ivory sticks and fancy pearl handle, and its wonderful ability to stir the air. Could she swallow her pride and beg Edith for the use of it.

  “Of course, not all the gentlemen discussed politics,” her cousin went on. “I’ve found the boys have gotten to be such a loud lot. Their silly flirtations-don’t you line it near impossible to escape them?”

  Gwen refused to be outdone. “The same old boys, with same tired phrases. I declare, just once I’d like the challenge of flirting with an absolute stranger.” A face came to mind, but she instantly dismissed it, along with the quick little thrill of statements that the accompanied the thought.

  “A stranger? You wouldn’t dare,” eyes glowing, Edith watched her over the top of the fan. “Where would you ever find one?”

  “Perhaps I could pick one off the street.”

  Again the fan still, covering Edith’s mouth. “Gwen, you say the most outrageous things. Not even you would dare talk to a stranger. Why, there is no predicting what he might do.”

  When warmed to the topic. Something in her had always spotted, to the phrase you wouldn’t dare. “I bet I could charm just about any man I set my mind to.”

  “It could be dangerous.”

  Yes, it could, be but Gwen ignored that, too. “I’d just wrap him around my little finger, and he wouldn’t dream of doing me harm.”

  Edith waved the fan vehemently. “I can just imagine what Lance would say, hearing you talk this way.”

  “Then maybe he shouldn’t be off in the study with friends and a bottle of bourbon.”

  Her cousins’ smirk made it harder than ever to ask for that fan.

  “Ah, now there’s a dangerous-looking man,” Edith said suddenly, pointing behind them to the front door way.

  Turning, Gwen found the stranger from the dock.

  Shock rippled through her, as did another quick thrill. Whatever could he be doing here in the Fosters’ hallway? How dark he seemed, in his black shirt and trousers, a stark contrast to the sea of white cotton and linen the other men wore. Did he feel it too, that sense of not belonging?

  Apparently not. He stood by the door, waiting, yet despite his rough clothing, there was nothing servile in his stance. Arrogant lout, she thought, trying her best to dismiss him.

  “There is one you will never charm. Not the way he’s scowling you.”

  “I can’t see why I bother,” Gwen said with what she hoped was a casual shrug. “The man is just two steps from the gutter.”

  “He seems terribly handsome to me.” Edith eyed over the fan. “If I didn’t know you, Gwen, I swear you were afraid. Finding it too much of a challenge?”

  That stopped her. Gwen had been accused of many things, but never of action down from a dare. “I am not afraid. I could charm him, if I wanted to. I just don’t care to.”

  “Really? Well, I am ready to bet that you can’t wheedle your way around that one. Why, he looks to fierce right now, I’d wager you can’t even get him to crack a smile.”

  They were fighting words, and far too tempting. “A wager, Edith? Are you willing to bet your fan?”

  The girls stared at the stranger and then at the fan. Clicking its closed, she tapped the Ivory sticks against the locket at Gwen’s neck. “All right. Charm him, and you get my fan. Fail, and the locket is mine.

  Gwen hesitated. If she lost her mother’s likeness, what would she have left?

  “Scared?” Edith taunted.

  “You just keep that fan in plain sight” Gwen said, goaded past common sense, “because in a few short minutes, I’ll be back to collected it.”

  Sweeping up her skirts, she was in the hallway and facing the now familiar scowl, before she took time to realize where her impulsiveness had led her. Charm this man? She’d be lucky if he didn’t bite off her head.

  “When I saw you just now,” she started hesitantly, forcing herself to smile, “I realized I never think you properly for returning my bag. Please forgive me if I seems a tad bit ungrateful this morning, but I’d been having a most trying day.”

  “A tad bit ungrateful, Miss McCloud? Is that what you call branding me a thief?”

  Gwen wished she had the fan now to hide behind. Hard to keep a smile fixed in place, with the man set on being impossible. “It was thoughtful of you to bring me my bag. I wish you’d let me repay you.”

  He looked at her suspiciously. “Just what did you have in mind?”

  Conscious of he
r cousin’s watchful gaze, Gwen batted her lashes and flashed her best smile. “Surely one favor deserves another.”

  “Is this more of your crazy nonsense? Let me guess. As your gallant knight, I’m to be rewarded with some scrap of silk or lace that I can drag about as a token of my Lady’s favor.”

  She had no desire to give him anything, but since he asked, she supposed she could spare her handkerchief. If he took it, if she could get him to smile as he did so, that should be proof enough for Edith.

  Reluctantly, she pulled a lacy square from her reticule. “My aunt gave this to me. The tiny shamrocks or for good luck.”

  He glanced at it briefly, then stared into her eyes. “You’d offer me a good luck token?” He seemed puzzled, and for a moment, approachable. “Won’t Lance objects to your offering gifts to another man?”

  All at once, she found the prospect of Lance being moved to jealousy most attractive. “Lance has no hold over me,” she said defiantly. “I can grant tokens where ever I may.”

  With a faint smile, he reached out for the handkerchief, his large callused hands closing over her own. His gaze met hers, claiming her, making her forget the world around them. As he brought her fingers to his lips, Gwen found it harder and harder draw a decent breath.

  “I am your vassal,” said, kissing her trembling hand. “I live to serve you, my lady Gwyneth.”

  Gwen froze. They were the words they used as children, secret password for playing Camelot. “How could you know-“scared to ask, but was silence by a rather loud, “Unhand her” from behind.

  Lance strode toward them, his face tight with anger. “What do you think you were doing, sir?” He said, clearly outraged.

  “If you will excuse us,” stranger said, keeping his gaze trained on Gwen. “I was talking to the lady.”

  “How dare you barge into this house.”

  He looked at Lance then, gaze turned cold. “Have I missed something? Have you become master here, Lance?”

  Lance stiffened. “I am, as you well know, and honored guest which is more than anyone can say for you. We can’t have your kind bothering our ladies. Unhand Miss Gwen and get out of here at once, or be prepared to suffer the consequences.”

  Gwen knew she could speak up, she could tell Lance she’d been the one of bothering him, but then she’d lose her wager with Edith. Besides, Lance clearly didn’t like this man. How could she admit she been engaged in flirtation?

  The stranger glared to her, his face giving away nothing, yet she could sense his disappointments all the same. He nodded, as if unsurprised by her failure to explain. “I see, it’s all just another game,” he said quietly. “Though you should take better care in choosing your playmates, my lady. Not all men act with a sense of honor.”

  Lance step forward, moving between them to reach out and strike the other man. “For such audacity, I demand satisfaction.”

  Still as a statue, eyes glittering dangerously, the stranger shook his head. “I have no intention of fighting with you.”

  “Coward” Lance spit out. “But then, what can we expect from the likes of you? One so ready to compromise Miss McCloud’s good name.”

  The man stood firm, facing Lance eye to eye. “If her name becomes soiled, it won’t be my doing. Go find someone else upon whom to prove you’re a man, Lance. I have no wish to hurt you.”

  “What audacity. As if the likes of you could best be in a fight.”

  “And as if you even know the likes of me.” The man shook his head, clearly disgusted. “Still claim to be the champion of parish? Lucky for you, I vowed never to fight again?”

  “Just what are you implying?”

  Before the stranger could answer, Mrs. Foster both sold into the hallway. “Sir?” She said, purring toward Rafe. “I’m told you were asking for some sort of package?”

  Smile completely transform the man’s features. Why, he quite devastatingly charming, Gwen thought in amazement, he bit chagrined that she never seemed to spare any of that charm for her.

  “It wasn’t mentioned that you be having a party,” he said pleasantly. “Sorry for barging in on you, ma’am. I’ll just take my package and be on my way.”

  Mrs. Foster shook her head, clearly flustered. “But there is no package, sir. Nor were we informed of its arrival. Who ever said it would be here has lied to you.”

  “Why doesn’t that surprised me?” The man said under his breath, before flashing an apologetic smile. “Please forgive the intrusion, ma’am. Sorry to have troubled you.”

  As the door closed behind him, Gwen touched her hand, feeling lost and confused. What package at he been talking about, and who had promised it, and why were her hands still trembling?

  Lance began muttering about everything, while Edith, close enough to be his shadow, second every complaint. Not liking how her cousin touched his arm, Gwen announced that the scene had upset her and would Lance please get her a glass of punch? You frowned, she thought she might refuse, but with a tight smile, marched off to the buffet table.

  “He’s not your trained pet, you know,” Edith said irritatingly when he’d gone. “Not all men want to jump through hoops for you.”

  “You’re just angry that I got the stranger to smile at me” grabbing her skirts, Gwen waltzed into the ballroom, letting Edith trail behind her.

  “But you had to give him your handkerchief,” Edith reminded nastily. “Whatever will you do when Lance learns you gave it away?”

  Gwen felt chilled. Lance expected his wife to be a lady, and ladies did not go around giving out personal items to strange men. “I shall soon have it back,” he said blissfully, not wanting her cousin to see how it worried her. “In the meantime,” she added, hoping to distract her cousin, “please hand over your fan. I’ve won it fair and square.”

  Lips pursed, Edith slapped the fan in Gwen’s hand and did her own flouncing to the other side of the room.

  Gwen took as deep a breath as her corset would allow. My, but the past hour seemed a blur, things happening too fast, being too charged with emotion. But then, she’d been un able to get her thoughts straight all three times she’d been near that stranger.

  As heat flooded her thoughts, she open the fan, blaming the warmth on her heavy velvet gown. Worse, the skin beneath her corset was beginning to itch. With longing, she ran for the French doors across the room, but the candlelit veranda was too crowded with strolling couples for privacy. More promising words the floor to ceiling windows to her right, for no one had bothered to provide light for that side of the house. No doubt they felt the women’s wide skirts wouldn’t fit through the narrow openings.

  Hers would, she thought, but even as she stepped forward, she was caught by Missy Mae Benson. Hot and tired and irritated by life in general, Gwen was in no mood to listen to Missy’s whining about how too few legible bachelors had chosen to attend this ball.

  What a tedious summer, Missy droned on, with all the desirable boys either married or otherwise engaged. Robert Summer might as well have died like his father, for he’d become a virtual ghost in his attempt to manage Rivers Edge. And that Drew Summer? Why on earth would a girl flirt with someone who’d abandon them and gone up north to school?

  Gwen said a silent goodbye to more of her would be suitors. Glancing about, she realized that she hadn’t seen Beau either. She made the mistake of mentioning this to Misty.

  “My heavens, Gwen, didn’t you hear?” The girl gasped. “His family is gone.”

  “Gone? How can that be? They ran River Edge or years.”

  Shaking her mousy brown ringlits, Missy lowered her voice to a suitable whisper. “My daddy tells me they been courting financial disaster, getting deeper in debt just trying to keep up pretenses. I find it terribly cheeky of them, don’t you, to trick us into thinking all was well?”

  Gwen felt uneasy. After all, Lance’s family had been “keeping up pretenses” for years.

  Missy sniffed with indignation. “Why, when I think of how I almost considered that Beau
for a suitor, I can’t be sorry their house burned down. I’ve heard that Beau’s gone to Mobile, angling for an Heiress, but between you and me, I can’t see how that boy stands a chance. All that drinking has robbed him of his looks.

  My court is rapidly dwindling, Gwen thought with dismay. There had been no rush to find a husband in Boston, so many admirers waiting at home. Find they hadn’t waited, that they’d scattered about the country, left her vaguely unsettled. Could nothing go the way she planned?

  “Can’t help but be curious about the new owners,” Missy went on. “No one has seen them, though I’m told the fields are being worked, and Dave set the foundation for a house. Wouldn’t it be perfect if they had boys our age?”

  Is there our age, there are hardly boys left, Gwen nearly blurted, but she saw no real benefit calling attention to her own advancing years. Poor Missy might be doomed to spinsterhood but Gwen still had Lance.

  “Though they would probably suffer in our company anyway?” Missy droned on. “River Society has become so boring in your absence, Gwen. I declare, if I must have the Misses Beauchamps to tea one more time, I’m liable to take for the hills on my daddy’s new mare. If we hope to draw decent boys to our parties, we need more exhilarating entertainments than an afternoon social. Remember those worrying tournaments our families used to hold? Now there was fun and excitement. Whatever happens that your daddy stopped having them?

  Mother’s death happened

  Even as the thought and intruded, Gwen cut it off. She was here to enjoy herself, not dwell on the unpleasant past. “We need something new and unique,” she said flippantly to change the subject. “Maybe we should hold a bazaar and set up a special booth for all the unmarried ladies. Anyone wanting a husband could auction herself off to the highest bidder.

  Missy pretended to be shocked, but behind her fluttering fan, pale eyes glittered with interest. “Why, Gwen, we’d be like slaves on the market. My daddy would never dream of letting me make myself so.”