“The man, he say the matter was urgent,” Homer insisted.
Muttering under his breath, uncle Jervis rose to his feet. Homer held the door open for him as he stormed from the room.
Across the table, Edith’s gaze followed her father’s departure, a tiny smile forming on her lips. Lance merely refilled his glass, as if the intrusion was nothing out of the ordinary, but Gwen brand with curiosity. It took a desperate man, or an incredibly rude one, to barge in demanding an audience at the dinner hour.
“On your honor?” A voice erupted in the hallway. “I should be satisfied with that?”
When tensed, recognizing the voice of Michael. Surely the man was not so lost propriety that he would come seeking her here in her own home?
“Might as well after the moon,” Rafe went on, with anger. “I have yet to know a McCloud to keep his word.”
Lance, to0, seemed unnerved by the man’s presence, for he stiffened beside her. Knowing who their visitor was, she could understand Lance’s nervousness. He must hate knowing that there had been someone you best him in a fair fight. Pre-haps they had been children, but he must he wondering, even as she was, if Michael could best him again.
“Who do you think you are?” Jervis sputtered. “How dare you come into my home and speak thus to me. Get off my land at once.”
“Your land? I was under the impression the Willows still belonged to your brother.”
“It most assuredly does” came in third, more distinctive voice. The hoarseness was gone; her father’s assertion boomed in the hallway. Gwen smiled for she could picture her uncle bridging, having been caught once again playing the Lord of his brothers manor.
“I am still master of this house, sir,” John said, this time almost conversationally. “Is there some way I can help you?”
“This is the Williams boy, John.” Jervis broke and quickly, “here to stir up trouble. You go on back to your study and let me get rid of them. I know better how to deal with his kind.”
Gwen winced. “His kind.” Hearing Jervis utter the words, they didn’t seem quite so harmless. Indeed, she’d begun to see how Michael might despise them.
“I repeat,” daddy said sharply, “is there some way I can help you, sir?”
There was a pause, during which Gwen hoped Michael would enlighten them all as to why he was here. “This is between your brother and me,” said at last. “It’s is a private manner that will soon be resolved, one way or another. You have my word on that.”
Hearing the front door slam, Gwen frowned in frustration. How like Michael to leave without elaborating on why he had come to the house. “What a disagreeable man,” she said that instant she realized Lance was staring at her.
“Michael is a proud fool.” Frowning, Lance reached his glass. “I imagine he feels your father still owes him a living. I don’t suppose you ladies recall, but his father David, was once a tenant farmer here.”
Gwen intended ignorance. She saw no reason to let Lance think she remembered anything about his humiliating defeat.
“I remember his mother,” Edith said. “Such a lovely woman, and Amanda used to say it must be hard on her, so recently widowed and forced to find a new place for her and her children to live.”
Gwen stared at her in amazement, for she had known nothing about the family, spite being a few years her cousin’s senior. But then, Edith always did have a knack for finding information.
“No choice but to order his family off,” Lance grumbled on. “Even before the husband’s death, they had been failing on their rent. How could his wife hope to manage without him? No one blamed John, except Michael, but then, the boy always had ideas above his station. No doubt he has in nursing a grudge all these years.”
“Is that all he wants, to lease our land?” When asked, remembering her plan to generate income. “Maybe uncle should not be arguing with him. Why risk pushing away someone who is willing to pay us rent?”
“What nonsense is this?”
Unnerved by Lance’s obvious scorn, she toyed with her food. “It is just… Well, I thought, if we rented out land again, the money might buy the cane and the servants and other things we need to get the Willlows back on its feet.”
Lance smiled indulgently. “Oh darling, don’t fret your pretty little head over money. Didn’t we tell you to trust your menfolk to take care of such matters?”
“You might better apply yourself to learning how to cook and sew,” Edith told her smugly. “Women don’t have a head for business.
Gwen sat up in her chair. “I happen to think it’s a good plan.”
Lance shook his head sadly. “Honey? What would your unc-er , daddy want with some no-account folk littering up his land? Those rents would hardly be worth the bother, not with the work needed to get the shacks habitable. Besides, it is not exactly a gentlemanly occupation, living off rents. People expect the McCloud’s to be planters, not landlords.” Seeing her frown, he added with a smile, “Though I must say, it was sweet of you to suggest it. If you want, I will mention your little plan to your uncle. I imagine he will appreciate knowing your heart is in the right place.”
As he patted her hand, Gwen bristled. It was true, she had not thought it all the way through, and she did not much like the idea of the men laughing at her when they retired for their smoke after dinner. “Do not bother,” she said stiffly, returning her attention to pushing her food about the plate, “if you think it is such a terrible idea.”
Jervis suddenly swung open the dining room door. “Look everyone,” said loudly as he gestured behind him to his brother. “See who is joining us for dinner?”
Gwen forgot her plans, stunned to see her father. It must be a rare occasion for John McCloud to sit down to a family meal, for everyone acted too delighted, too eager to please him, even while it was obvious they wished she had decided elsewhere.
Feeling guilty that she must include herself in their number, Gwen watched her daddy limp to the head of the table, tottering on his cane. He tried sit and would have missed the chair completely, had Homer not pushed it behind him, a process so skilled and swift, it spoke of long practice. The part servants must be over-accustomed to covering his master’s limitations.
Seeing this, Gwen stared at this stranger inhabiting her father’s body. It had been difficult to face his rejection this afternoon, but she found it far worse to watch him now. Laughing too loud, he ignored Edith’s cooking, choosing instead fill up on alcohol. His brother, Gwen noticed with resentment, did nothing to stop him, but then, Jervis was drinking quite freely himself.
They began reminiscing about the past, acting as if the room still held its lovely furnishings and that nasty scene in the hallway had never happened. A confused Gwen wondered if she had merely imagined Michael’s presence, if his threatening tone was merely a guilt-provoked prodding from the past.
The talk strayed too earlier years, when both brothers have been youths on their parents’ plantation in Virginia. “Remember the tournaments,” Jervis said slowly. “Can’t know how frustrating it was for me, trying my damnedest, yet knowing my big brother was bound to win.”
Daddy chuckled, and in that moment, Gwen saw a ghost of his former self.
“Go on, laugh, but tell the truth, John. Was there ever a man who could best you at the tournament?”
“No, I suppose not.” Daddy stared into his glass, as if he could see the past within the dark liquid. “I retired as champion when I left home.”
“Just like our young Lance here. A shame, really, that the Willows’ own tournaments had to end.”
Daddy was not listening to his brother. “I remember that last tournament,” he said, his voice as distant as his gaze. “The one where I won my Amanda.”
Another awkward silence ensued. It was ever thus when mother’s name was mentioned.
But it could be a good sign, Gwen thought hopefully. If John talked about his beloved wife, perhaps his grief could begin to heal. He could stop drinking, and perhaps even forgive
his daughter.
“I recall that day.” Jervis grinned at his brother. “No one expected you to show-by then, you’d gone off to Louisiana start your own plantation. My hopes were high, since the field was now wide open, but I should have known my big brother would never miss tournament.”
“How could I, with my Amanda offering herself as the prize?”
Gwen had heard this story a thousand times, but she never tired of listening to it. It seemed so wonderfully romantic that her father would ride all that distance merely to claim his bride.
“Lovely Amanda Maitland,” Jervis side, yet sound held a bitter sound. “Was there a buck among us would not battle to win her? Though many of us would have bothered to enter the lists, I had been aware that she had written to you? She knew you. She knew you would win.”
“That was my Amanda.” With a sigh of his own, daddy chugged his glass. “Knew what she wanted, and ultimately found a way to get it.” He frowned, starts going inward.
“I say,” Jervis said suddenly, “wouldn’t another turn them it be fun?”
Daddy snorted, reaching for the bottle to refill his glass. “Who would calm? For that matter, how would we pay for it?”
“I reckon we could draw a large enough crowd, if we offered a prize.”
All eyes went to her father. He merely stared at Jervis, glass stuck midway to his lips. “What have you got brewing in that devious head of yours now, brother?” He said at last, finishing the alcohol in one loud drink.
“Brewing?” Jervis laughed, drawing everyone’s attention. “Why, John, the thought just struck me. Imagine the money we could raise to save the Willows, if we charged an entry fee for the competition. After five long years, everyone should be demanding to participate.”
Excited at the idea, Gwen told them how Missy said everyone wished they’d hold another tournament.
“See,” Jervis said, flashing a smile at her. “The interest is there. And once they see the prize, five will get you ten that the contestants will be happy to pay whatever we ask.”
Daddy raised a brow, his drink forgotten. Jervis leaned forward, as if to imbue him with his own enthusiasm. “After all, how many men get a shot at marrying the beautiful Gwen?”
Gwen’s own excitement when cold. They meant to offer her without her consent? “No” said loudly, rising from her chair. “It would be like-“she was reminded of the bazaar she’d mention to Missy. “It would be like setting me up on the auction block, and offering me to the highest bidder.”
Jervis looked up at her, his manner consoling. “Gwen, dear child, it is nothing of the sort. Your daddy would not allow anything against your best interests. Besides, how can it be wrong, when your own mother did such the same?” He looked to his brother for approval.
Fearing he was about to get it, Gwen tossed her napkin on the table. “Do you think I can tolerate the entire countryside talking about me, and sneering behind my back? I will not be the object of scandal. I won’t.”
As a Harden glint came into father’s gaze, Gwen saw her mistake. She recognized that look, for in her more honest moments, she knew her own stubborn streak came from him. “I hope you don’t mean to imply that you’re better than your mother. That you’re above doing what she did.”
“John, I am certain Gwen did not mean-“
“I am still man of this house,” that he said with a new and frightening intensity. “If I decide in favor of the competition, my daughter will adhere to my wishes, and that will be that.”
Gwen’s bottom lip began to quiver. “You cannot truly hate me so. If this has anything to do with mama’s-“
He, too, stood, napkin landed on his plate. “You are never, ever to mention her name in this house again. Have I made myself clear?”
Gwen was acutely conscious of Edith watching, unable to stifle her satisfaction.
“Is it clear?”
Jumping slightly at his bark, she nodded.
“Good.” Grabbing the bottle, he turned to his brother. “Come to my study, Jervis. You and I must discuss this further.”
He quit the room, leaving a strong silence in his wake. Gwen sat slowly, aware of glance at her side. Never had she been so humiliated.
Jervis walked around places hand on her shoulders. “Try to understand, Gwen honey. John is going through a rough patch now. He needs his baby girl’s help. Can’t see that?”
Of course, she could-she was up to her eyebrows in guilt.
“Besides, who will be scandalized?” Jervis went on. “Why, for years, have of Louisiana has been mooning over our Gwen. What better way to settle her future than with a friendly little competition? There is not a bachelor in the parish who don’t know and like, and more importantly, there is no way Lance can best any in a fair fight.”
Lance reached over and covered her hand with his own.
“Just think,” Jervis pressed. “Upon your marriage, Lance can take over management of the Willows, with you as its lady. Can anyone ask for a better solution?”
Across the table, Edith’s body went white. “What if Lance does not win?” She asked, to which Lance looked positively affronted.
Jervis merely laughed. “Come now, sweetie, who can beat our Lancelot?” He removed his hands from Gwen’s shoulder to give Lance a nudge. “Talk to her, while I try and placate my brother. Edith, you go on out to the kitchen now, and help Lavinia with the dishes.
Her cousin flushed red, and Gwen thought she might refuse, but it was not like Edith to defy her father’s wishes. Frowning fiercely, the girl followed her father out of the room.
“He is right,” Lance insisted, that instant they were alone. “It might be my only chance to win your hand.”
“But don’t you think it’s so tasteless? I would feel like a piece of meat, hanging in some butchers dirty window.”
“On the contrary.” With a flourish, Lance Rose to stand beside her chair. “I think it’s utterly romantic. Only imagine the scene. Knights gathered from far and wide, all rushing to battle for your hand. Not that they have a prayer, of course, as long as I am in the competition.”
“You are quite certain you can win?”
“You cannot doubt my skill?”
For a guilty moments, Gwen thought of Michael. But that had been a childhood addle, and besides, why would he compete? He hated this family, he thought her selfish and shallow. “No I do not doubt you,” she answered Lance, her hesitation nonetheless plain.
“Keep in mind,” said, “I have twice the will of any man alive, for this is the only way I can when you. Darlin’ Do you think I would squander the one chance we have?”
Spoke so proudly, Gwen could hardly doubt him. He was asking for her trust, but this was her reputation at stake, her future. “Oh, I do not know.”
“Fate has given me this chance to win your hand, and I mean to capture it.” He dropped to a knee, taking her hand in his, and she cannot help but be touched I his sincerity. “Poor Gwen. You are frightened, and how can I blame you? But think of this. If your daddy agrees to the terms of the tournament, he can no longer stop our marriage. Lancelot shall ride onto the field and at long last claim his Queen. It shall be you and I, winning the Willows, making all our dreams come true forever.”
As words conjured up the excitement, the pageantry, until the prospect seemed suddenly even more romantic than daddy’s pursuit of mama. In truth, had any girl ever received so dramatic a proposal of marriage? Looking down at his dear, familiar face, she felt a rush of affection. Her amazing Lance, steadfast and loyal, who vowed to love and protect her always. “Lance, if you were certain you can win…”
Bringing her hand to his lips, he spoke with the blood of emotion. “You are mine, my lady, and I shall fight the death before I will let any other man have you.”
He stared with such intensity, she grew certain he’d kiss her. She waited breathlessly, praying he’d banish the sweet, tingling magic with which Michael had given her lips.
Instead, inhaling deeply, Lance rose
to his feet and pulled her up to stand beside him. “I’ll go tell your menfolk the good news. We must plan the tournament. The sooner I have one it, after all, the sooner we can wed.”
He dropped her hands, already pulling away. Overwhelms by the enormity of what she had just agreed to, when reached out to keep him near. “Do not go. I am afraid-“
“Fear not.” Smiling gently, he touched her for head with fingertips. “Am I not here in your mind, in your heart? Dream of me tonight, my darling. Dream of the future we shall soon share.”
With that, spun on eight heal and left the room, leaving a confused and frightened Gwen to stare after him, fingers stealing up to touch her lips.
***
Edith stood in the darkness, back propped against the empty stall. She’d still been seething when she finished her work in the kitchen, and she knew of no better place to fume event in the stable. With the auction block claiming all the once prized stock-save for a mare her daddy had kept for himself-the stable was the only spot she could be alone.
Tonight, she directed most of her anger at her father. She had kept quiet while he sold his brothers furnishings to settle his own collection of debts, but this… This treachery, was beyond overlooking. By now, her father must sense how she felt about Lance. How could he just hand them over to Gwen on a silver platter?
She flushed, thinking of the night last week she had been with Lance in this very stall. As he’d stroked her, telling her how beautiful she was, how desirable, she let herself believe him. When he’d kissed her, touched her, she’d known in her heart it had to be love. Her father would never approve, but oh, how exciting it had been all the same. Indeed, she might have let him touch more than her breasts, had the mare not snorted in the next stall. Jolted to her senses, she stopped Lance-stopped herself-but from the smoldering looks he’d given her ever since, she knew the scene must inevitably be repeated.
Or so she had thought before tonight.
All through dinner, intercepting the glances heard that he had shot at Lance, Edith had known with a sinking sensation that’s his marriage to Gwen was a foregone conclusion. She could almost see how Lance, lost in the joy dreams of Camelot and past glories, could overlook the damage the Willows was in no better shape than his own Bella Oaks-but what was her father’s motive? What compelled him to bring those two together? It might be her father, but she had few allusions left about the man.
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