Love and Dreams: The Coltrane Saga, Book 6

by Patricia Hagan

  The happy glow that had surrounded Jade like an aura evaporated all at once. More and more, Bryan was saying things like that, and it was starting to annoy her.

  “Why should we?” she said, her voice edged with resentment. “You said yourself people seem to like me, and that means they like me for who I am—not what I came from. Let’s just leave it at that.”

  A shadow fell across Bryan’s eyes, and his own voice was tense. “What’s wrong, Jade? It’s not like you to be so sensitive.”

  She turned away, back to the mirror in the foyer, and plucked absently at the lace brushing against her throat. “I don’t know. Maybe I’m getting tired of feeling like I’m on display all the time, constantly trying to impress people. I want to be me, the way I really am, and not put on airs and do things I really don’t want to do…go places I really don’t want to go, just because it’s…“ she paused, made a face at him in the mirror, then tartly quipped, “… the proper thing to do!”

  He glared at her incredulously. “Oh, for heaven’s sake! It’s an honor to be invited to Mrs. Cummings’ party. I told you that. Are you saying you don’t want to go? Seems all you want to do lately is work on the house, and that’s not proper for a lady.”

  “What?” She whirled around to face him, stunned. “What did you say? Not proper? To choose the way I want to decorate my own house?”

  Hotly, he replied, “To choose the decor, yes, of course. That’s perfectly all right, but Lita told me you were actually working yesterday—hanging wallpaper, for God’s sake, and—” He took a deep breath of disgust, then coldly accused, “She said you were wearing men’s clothing!”

  At that, Jade exploded. “Let me tell you something, Bryan Stevens! In the first place, I don’t have to justify what I do to you or anybody else, and I’ll thank Lita to stop her gossiping, or so help me, she’ll find herself looking for another job!”

  Bryan stared at her in amazement; he’d never seen her so angry.

  “Yes, dammit, I did work on my house,” she fumed. “I showed the paperhanger how I wanted the pattern of the wallpaper hung in a particular alcove because I wanted a different effect there, and I borrowed his helper’s coveralls to do it because I didn’t have anything else to wear except a long dress. And do you know something, Bryan?” Jade-green eyes flashed with red and gold sparks of fury. “I liked those coveralls. I went to a men’s store this morning and ordered several pairs—because I like working around the house! And I’ll work around the house any time I damn well please! So there!” She looked up at him with cheeks flushed angrily, hands on her hips, feet apart in a defiant stance.

  For a moment, Bryan was speechless, astonished. Then he gave a contemptuous nod of his head. “Perhaps we’d better just stay here this evening. I don’t know if it’s advisable to take you to a party, the mood you’re in.”

  “The mood I’m in,” she echoed, sputtering in wonder. “What about the mood you’re in? And who do you think you are saying you don’t think it’s advisable to take me out? I was the one invited to the party. Not you. And just because I don’t want you putting me on display like—like a Dresden doll, you start criticizing me for doing something I enjoy—like hanging wallpaper, for God’s sake, in my own house, and—”

  “I bought the house,” he interjected coolly, pointedly. “I should think that would give me the right to express my feelings.”

  Jade felt an icy wave of indignant ire and at once turned toward her desk, where she kept her checkbook. “I might’ve known sooner or later you’d throw that up to me. Well, we’ll just take care of that right now. I’ll write you a check for the full amount, and then if I want to climb up on the roof and nail shingles, it won’t be any of your business.”

  “Jade, stop it!” Bryan grabbed her, whirled her around, held her viselike in his arms “I don’t want it like this, and neither do you. Now, let’s both calm down before we say things we’ll regret later.”

  She tried to twist from his grasp, but he held her tightly.

  “You’ve already said some things you should regret, Bryan.”

  Abruptly, he released her. “Maybe you’re right,” he curtly conceded. “Maybe I’m the one who’s in a bad mood. Waiting around for you to make up your mind to marry me doesn’t exactly make me all charm and grace. Even my secretary is griping about the way I’ve been lately. You’re driving me crazy, Jade, and you know it,” he added angrily.

  “That’s not fair. You know it’s not a matter of my having to make up my mind—it’s a matter of deciding when.”

  “Oh, really?” He raised an eyebrow, a crooked smile on his lips. “That’s not the way I see it.”

  “Well, that’s the way it is.” She walked briskly out of the parlor and into her bedroom, returning with a white fur cape, which she held out to him to drape about her shoulders. “Do what you want, but I’m going to the party.”

  Grimly, he declared, “Not without me, you aren’t!”

  They did not speak during the hackney ride to Mrs. Cummings’ home, an imposing brownstone surrounded by an ornate black wrought-iron fence, overlooking Central Park. A butler admitted them, and as they stepped into the gleaming parquet-floored foyer, Bryan caught Jade’s hand. “Okay, I’m sorry,” he whispered. “Let’s have a nice evening, and we’ll talk about it later, all right?”

  Jade thought he sounded sincere, looked at him, and decided maybe he really was. She smiled, squeezed his hand. “Okay. We’ll have time to fight later.”

  “There’s no need to fight,” he murmured against her ear as Mrs. Cummings made her way through the other guests toward them. “Just set a wedding date, and I’ll be fine. No more bad moods. I promise.”

  Jade laughed, adoring him when he was like this. She was about to let him know she was no longer angry when Mrs. Cummings descended upon them. She was wearing an elegant silver brocade gown encrusted with a fortune in pearls and diamond chips amidst the netting and lace. Even her hair was adorned with huge gems and bands of expensive pearls. “My darling,” she cried, clutching Jade’s shoulders and kissing each cheek in turn. “Oh, I’m delighted you could make it. You’re like a breath of fresh air among us old fogies, Miss O’Bannon.”

  “Do call me Jade,” she directed, then turned to Bryan. “I believe you know my escort, Bryan Stevens?”

  “Oh, I’ve had the pleasure.” Mrs. Cummings smiled at Bryan. “It’s so nice to see you out once more. I hope you know how all of us shared your grief, and—”

  “Yes, yes,” he cut her off impatiently. “I recall you sent a very kind message. Now, then, could we see your lovely home? Meet the rest of your guests?”

  Jade nodded to ladies she knew, politely shook hands in introduction to their husbands, but was actually more interested in studying the house. She was not surprised to see that Mrs. Cummings was a typical wealthy Victorian matron who abhorred empty space anywhere in her home. She had stuffed every room from floor to fanlight with a collection of wicker rockers, lamps, cushions, coat racks, china cabinets, umbrella stands, plaster busts, and countless knickknacks.

  Jade viewed her objets d’art as too conservative or old-fashioned for her liking, but she did marvel over an Aubusson rug and a Dutch marquetry long-case clock.

  As they entered the third parlor, walking past the rows of tiny, square mahogany tables, Mrs. Cummings noted Jade’s interest and asked, “Do you collect antiques also, or do you just like to look at them?”

  “Both,” Jade replied simply, smiling to herself at a statue covered with a cloth. She knew “proper ladies” covered their nude statues when they had guests, to guard against anyone’s being offended. She’d bought several herself but had no intention of ever draping them.

  Mrs. Cummings’ voice took on a special note of pride as she gestured at the tables. “You’ll be interested, then, to hear about my waffle tables. They belonged to a relative of mine, you know—John Jacob Astor himself.”

  Jade’s and Bryan’s eyes met in quiet amusement, but they politely l
istened, appearing dutifully impressed. Then they were shown to their own little waffle table and seated with a couple Jade did not know.

  The woman held out her hand and crisply said, “Hello. I’m Mrs. Geneva Stokes, and this is my husband, Edgar. Bryan…” She nodded to him.

  Jade sat down, groaning inwardly. The woman’s syrupy crocodile smile, her narrowed, malicious-looking eyes—she reminded her of someone, but Jade couldn’t remember who, only that it had to be someone she hadn’t enjoyed being around.

  Edgar Stokes was turned sideways, elbow propped on the little table as he puffed on a smelly cigar. He grunted when introduced, then turned his attention back to the conversation at the next table.

  A waiter set a plate before them, and Jade looked down and saw her first waffle—a heart-shaped crispy cake with little square indentions baked into it. It looked delicious, and she reached for a silver pitcher of raspberry sauce to pour over the top, as she saw how Bryan was dolloping his from a bowl of cherry preserves.

  Geneva Stokes airily commented, “Arista makes it her personal quest each summer to buy up all the choicest fruit in New York so her cook can make up these preserves and syrups for her little waffle parties. No one else bothers anymore,” she added with a carping little snicker.

  Jade was quick to remark, “Well, I’m glad she does bother.” She’d just taken her first bite. “It’s delicious. A nice change from all those dry cookies and crumpets everyone else serves.”

  A devoted cookie-and-crumpet server, Geneva Stokes stiffened. “Well, waffle parties are outdated,” she said tightly. “Cookies and crumpets aren’t.”

  “A pity.” Jade met her frosty glare with one of her own, inwardly chastising herself for taking such an instant dislike to the woman. Whom did she remind her of? Jade racked her brains but could not remember.

  Geneva laid aside her fork, took a dainty sip of tea, then folded her diamond-laden fingers beneath her pointed chin and began her interrogation of Jade. “I’ve heard that you’re a distant cousin of Bryan’s late wife.” Bryan glanced up sharply. “How are you related?”

  Bryan interceded, “It’s very distant. We met when I went to Ireland while in mourning to visit Marnia’s relatives there.”

  “How nice,” Geneva murmured, as though she really didn’t think so. “And she came back here with you to see you through your grief? Very kind. But don’t you have family there that you miss, my dear?”

  Jade shook her head, enjoying her waffle but not the conversation, and so was not going to add anything more to it than she could help. She was, however, surprised to hear that Mrs. Stokes knew of her having hired Lita.

  “I understand she’s very competent. She used to work for a friend of mine.”

  Jade did not miss the way her eyes seemed to glitter with pleasure, and she made another mental note to have a talk with Lita about her gossiping. No doubt she was friends with other household servants in New York, and Jade wasn’t about to have her passing along tidbits about her.

  Someone came up to the table to speak to Edgar. Geneva joined in that conversation. Jade noticed Bryan looked uncomfortable. He had eaten only half his waffle when he got to his feet and whispered he was going to join some of the men outside for a breath of fresh air and the favorite drink of American men—beer. He’d told her earlier that Mrs. Cummings didn’t allow spirits in her house, so it was understood the men would slip outside to imbibe.

  “Hurry back,” she told him, sending a firm message with her eyes that she didn’t like being left alone with the unpleasant Mrs. Stokes. He nodded, smiling with understanding.

  Jade was about to excuse herself to go and speak to a lady she recognized at another table, someone she enjoyed talking with when she’d visited in the past, but the person speaking with Geneva and Edgar walked away, and Geneva picked up her conversation before Jade could escape. “It was such a tragedy for poor Bryan, losing his son. It’s nice that you were able to leave your own country and come over here to help him rebuild his life.”

  “A double tragedy,” Jade corrected, sensing she was deliberately omitting Marnia’s name all of a sudden.

  “Well, true,” she said reluctantly, the hint of a deprecating smile on her lips, “but I suppose you know they weren’t as happy as people thought.”

  Jade blinked, wondering if she’d heard right. “Whatever makes you say that? Bryan loved Marnia very much. They were very happy together.”

  “Oh, I didn’t mean it like that.” Geneva gave an airy wave of her hand. “I’m sure they loved each other. I mean, they seemed happy in that sense, but you must understand that once they married, Bryan was unofficially dropped from the Social Register because Marnia didn’t come from a proper background and was never truly accepted.”

  This time Jade blinked in disbelief. “What did you say?” she asked with raised eyebrows.

  Geneva’s laugh was nervous, sharp, and brittle. “Why, my dear, you’re related to her, so I’m sure you’re aware that her father was the caretaker for the Stevens estate. It wasn’t exactly a match made in heaven, as society and class go. As I said, anyone who ever saw Bryan and Marnia together knew they were very much in love, but friends of Bryan’s parents knew how dismayed they were that he’d married beneath him. He’d never admit it, of course, but the truth is, Bryan was quite unhappy to find himself excluded from the guest list of the finer families of New York.”

  If what Geneva Stokes said was true, Jade thought, it explained why Bryan was always pushing her to climb the social ladder. He’d missed being invited to all the really big and worthwhile parties, and he wanted to be included again—with her.

  Geneva took on an expression of deep sympathy and regret as she whispered, hand going to her throat, “Oh, dear, I hope I haven’t hurt your feelings. Why, reminding you that Marnia Stevens came from a family of the lower classes is indirectly saying the same of you, and that was not my intent.”

  “No, I suppose not,” Jade was able to retort with acid sweetness. “After all, you and I both were invited here tonight, weren’t we? And I understand only the crème de la crème is invited to one of Mrs. Cummings’ waffle parties.”

  Geneva’s eyes widened with awareness. Her attempt to put Jade in her place had been thwarted. “I—I suppose that’s true,” she stammered nervously. “But I never meant—”

  “Oh, I know you weren’t trying to be unkind, Mrs. Stokes,” Jade interjected in a tone that belied her sincerity, “and I certainly realize I haven’t been altogether accepted into the rigid society of New York, that I’m merely being ‘scrutinized’, but let me assure you I’m not really concerned about it. The people I’ve met before tonight have seemed quite nice, and I don’t think they care that they don’t know anything about my family. They seem to like me for me, and that makes me very happy.” She laced her fingertips beneath her chin; mimicking Mrs. Stokes’ pose, eyelashes fluttering.

  “But you know,” she went on, “I was just thinking what a terrible waste of your time it is to be invited to these little waffle parties. You said yourself they’re so outdated. Maybe I should tell Mrs. Cummings how you feel, and that would clear two seats for another couple next time who might enjoy such delicacies.”

  Geneva Stokes’ mouth fell open, and she could only stare at Jade, aghast.

  Leaving her that way, Jade murmured, “Excuse me,” and got up from the table.

  She was about to go in search of Bryan and suggest that they leave, but Arista Cummings saw her walk across the second parlor and called out, “Jade, there you are! I was waiting till you’d finished eating.” She came closer to say that she’d purposely had the guests in the main parlor served first, and now they were finished and the room had been cleared. A string ensemble was taking its place, she happily informed her.

  “Now we’re ready for you to give us lessons in the waltz!’’

  Before Jade could say anything, Mrs. Cummings whirled about and dramatically clapped her hands. When she had everyone’s attention, she announc
ed with a flourish, “I want all of you to know how thrilled I am to have a very special guest tonight—Miss Jade O’Bannon of Ireland.”

  There was a spattering of applause, but Mrs. Cummings frowned, never liking to be interrupted when she was the center of attention, and waved her arms for silence once more. “Miss O’Bannon, as you probably all know, is a distant relation”—elation left her voice as she gradually approached a sober note—“of the dear, departed wife of Mr. Bryan Stevens.”

  Jade followed the gesture of her hand, her nod, to the direction of the foyer. Bryan was standing there, glowing with pride, and suddenly Jade was struck anew by Mrs. Stokes’ allegation that he’d been miserable over his ostracism from society due to his marriage. Was he now looking so happy and lofty because it appeared he was once more included, thanks to her? No, she knew that instinctively Bryan loved her and was merely delighted people liked her. That’s all it was…all it could be. She would not allow herself to think otherwise.

  Mrs. Cummings then led Jade to a cleared space in front of the musicians. She was wondering how to begin when a man politely called out a request. “Miss O’Bannon, explain to us first, please, what kind of dance this is. A lot of us have never heard of it.”

  Deciding that was a wonderful way to start, she quietly told the story of how the waltz could be considered a revolutionary dance. “Young people,” she explained, “have always led the way in creating new forms, and those who lived through the French Revolution, it’s believed, looked to dance as a way to unleash deeper emotions and satisfy the needs of both body and soul, as well as to mobilize more vital and dynamic expressions than those permitted by the more sober rules of the minuet.

  “Thus,” she went on with a sweeping smile at her rapt audience, who’d formed a half circle around her, “the waltz was born, but, strangely, it was of German origin. It was the poet Johann von Goethe, by the way, who wrote in his novel Die Leiden des Jungen Werther, back in 1774, ‘Never have I moved so lightly. I was no longer a human being…to hold the most adorable creature in one’s arms and fly around with her like the wind, so that everything around us fades away.’”