Grey fervently wished he could ease everyone’s grief with the truth that Taylor lived … but how could he? He didn’t yet know who in this room crowded with Jameses and Talbotts he could trust with that knowledge. Perhaps the most troubling realization to Grey was that his mother had not yet mentioned that only today she’d met a Miss James at Grey’s town house. Grey had his own reasons for keeping quiet on that score, but what were hers? Was she waiting to see what, if anything, he’d say about Taylor?
Camilla sobbed, this time breaking down into tears. Stanley, her husband, turned to her, putting a comforting arm around her shoulder. He gently squeezed her hands, which were fisted around a tear-dampened handkerchief in her lap. “Now, dear, don’t upset yourself. You’ve been crying since this afternoon when Augusta told us about Charles’s unfortunate message. You’ll become ill again if you don’t get yourself under control.”
“I’m so sorry, Stanley. But this is all so upsetting.” Camilla James struggled for control and then pulled her hands free of her husband’s. She focused on Charles again. “Can we believe this message? To me, it’s no more than a cruel stunt. It has to be.” She dabbed at her eyes with her hankie. “What good does it do to renew your grief after all this time? This is twice you’ve had to grieve for your dear Taylor.”
“We all are grieving,” Charles replied, looking stricken. “But I believe the message. I do.”
“Why do you believe it, Charles?” Stanley asked his brother. The hardness in his voice captured Grey’s attention.
Charles stared at his brother, his color heightening. “Because her … her mother sent it.”
Just as Taylor surmised this morning, was Grey’s confirming thought.
“Did she indeed?” Stanley further prodded, his voice cold.
Grey noticed that Camilla James sat rigidly quiet at her husband’s side. Her face had drained of color. She stared wide-eyed at Charles … with a pleading expression on her face. Grey had no idea what to make of this.
“Yes, she did,” Charles said, his voice just as steely as his older brother’s had been. “And no, Stanley, she didn’t tell me why she’d allowed me to believe all these years that Taylor was already dead. Isn’t that what you were going to ask me?”
Stanley James gave a sly smirk. “Yes, of course. And how perfectly awful of her mother to let you think your daughter dead. Perfectly awful.”
Camilla hadn’t moved. But Charles’s color heightened. He looked away and then down. What in the world was Stanley driving at? And Charles … was that guilt marring his features? Grey stared at the man he’d been championing through all this. Was he hiding something?
Just then, Charles looked up, capturing his sister-in-law’s gaze. “I wanted to come tell you straightaway, Camilla. But I made it only as far as Grey’s this morning. I’m sorry. I just didn’t know how to tell you.” His eyes widened and he added, “All of you, I mean. I didn’t know how to tell all of you.”
Charles’s quick amendment heightened Grey’s suspicions. His last words drew attention now to the fact that up until now his words had essentially been private ones to Camilla. What could that mean?
“Yes, it must have been awfully hard for you, Charles,” Stanley James said, although his hard tone of voice belied his words of sympathy. “But why did you go to young Greyson here? I had no idea he knew anything at all about your … Taylor.”
“It’s no mystery, Stanley,” Charles said stiffly. “I told Grey one night long ago at the club when I was overcome with—forgive me, ladies—drink and my continuing grief. He’s been a true and faithful friend ever since.”
All eyes were on Grey now. He nodded his acknowledgment of the compliment.
“Yes,” Grey’s mother, Augusta, added, drawing everyone’s attention her way. “My elder son can be an excellent keeper of secrets.”
“A trait I learned from you, Mother.” Grey returned his mother’s pointed stare. She referred, no doubt, to his secret harboring of Taylor Christie James in his town house. “Or at least I thought you could keep a secret,” he amended. “That was before you apparently made your way to Charles’s after leaving my place this morning. I should think you’d be exhausted this evening, Mother, what with all your gadding about. First my place. Then Charles’s. And finally here with hurtful news that wasn’t yours to impart.”
Amid the gasps that followed his chastising speech, Grey’s mother drew herself up in outrage. “First of all, I went to Charles out of concern, to see what was the matter and if I could help. He was so distraught, I told him I would come here to break the news and to offer my support at such a hard time. And furthermore, Stanley—and Camilla, of course—are dear friends who are about to become our family. I never meant to hurt anyone. I thought only of the scandal that would attach itself to such a revelation, if it were to get out. Of course we must consider Franklin and Amanda’s upcoming wedding. As well as Franklin’s campaign for mayor. Something like this, if it isn’t handled properly, could ruin us all socially, as well as politically. And I have no intention of allowing that to happen.”
“That was quite a speech, Mother.” How well he knew her fervent aspirations to be the toast of St. Louis and at the very top of the social stratosphere. Franklin’s upcoming brilliant marriage to Amanda James, as well as his being elected mayor, would cement that position for Augusta. Grey wondered how far she would go if anyone or anything threatened to upset those two applecarts for her. She could be ruthless. It was a chilling thought. “Forgive me for questioning your motives. I should have known you would place friendship and concern above political and social expediency.”
Augusta Talbott forced tears to her eyes, which was how Grey always thought of his mother’s shows of emotion. “Greyson, you always assign me the lowest of motives.” She turned to the elder Jameses. “I assure you that I rushed here forthwith only out of concern for you and, as I said, to offer you my support and whatever comfort I could.”
Everyone, all at once, rushed to assure her that they believed her. Everyone except Grey. Instead, he focused his attention inward as he mulled over the many unasked questions he still had for his mother, questions he couldn’t ask in this company. For instance, how had she known about Taylor to begin with? Through her friendship with Camilla James? That made sense. After all, his mother was always over here, it seemed. More intriguing to Grey was why it had seemed his mother already hated the young woman—before she ever found out from Charles the nature of the message he’d received. Even more nagging was his original question: why hadn’t she told anyone here that she had seen Taylor alive only today?
“Now, Grey, do apologize,” Amanda remonstrated above the ebbing tide of indignant sputterings. Her gentle yet reproving voice quieted them all. “We’re here tonight at your instigation, after all. To help Uncle Charles especially. But also to support each other through this time of grief for us all. And not to deal with our own personalities.”
Grey raised his crystal glass of whiskey to Amanda in a salute. He then turned to his mother. “I do apologize, Mother, if I’ve upset you. I meant no harm. I will endeavor to show our family and friends that I can behave as well as the next person.”
Thus sustained, Augusta Talbott regally ducked her head. But not before Grey saw the angry gleam in her dark eyes. He was not forgiven. Nor would she forget. Neither would he.
“I agree with Amanda, Grey,” Franklin suddenly put in needlessly, like a true politician. “Please exert some control over your behavior. This is a most exceptional circumstance, one requiring all our attention. There are many factors at play here, as Mother has duly and accurately pointed out. Things we need to consider in the cool light of reason, in order to form a more perfect response to any—”
“Oh, dear God, spare us the campaign rhetoric, Franklin. We’re all going to vote for you, I’m sure. Besides, you’re being exceedingly boring, little brother. Even Mother says so.” Grey skewered his mother with a grin and a glare. “Don’t you, Mother?”
> Well, that got everyone talking and protesting at once. And got Grey ignored, again. That was fine with him. He spent his time sipping his whiskey and studying his family and friends. Clustered together in a C-shaped sitting arrangement facing the huge marble-inlaid fireplace sat the fair-haired and blue-eyed Stanley with his lovely wife, Camilla, a dark-haired, elegant woman and a sweet, gentle soul. In the upholstered chair next to their settee sat Amanda, their blond and beautiful daughter, who took after her father. Behind her chair, his hand resting lightly on her shoulder, stood Franklin, Grey’s brother, a younger version of Grey, only a boring one. On a medallion-back sofa and opposite the elder Jameses sat Charles James—Amanda’s uncle and Taylor’s father. Next to him was Grey’s own mother, the coolly elegant Augusta Talbott.
For his part, Grey still stood beside the fireplace, an elbow perched atop its polished mantel, a whiskey in his hand. His inspired plan, one that had come to him earlier as he’d sat in his library at home, was to get them all here where he could watch them. He had no doubt in his mind that the person or persons responsible for the troubles surrounding Taylor were sitting in this room. These people were everyone in St. Louis who knew of her existence, everyone to whom she was related, and everyone who would have a reason to love her, to hate her, or to harbor a desire to harm her. Nothing could have made Grey sicker, either. He also knew and loved every person present. But one or more of them meant harm to Taylor and maybe her father.
It had not escaped Gray’s attention, either, that the one thing no one had done yet this evening was talk about Taylor herself. Not one good memory. Not one bad one. Nothing sweet or tender or loving. Nothing. Of course, they hadn’t seen Taylor, according to her and borne out here this evening, since she was nine years old. But still, Grey mused, there wasn’t one happy memory these people had of her as a baby, as a child? Did no one know her at all? He would have thought that Camilla and Amanda would remember her. After all, they had lived with Taylor and her mother for several formative years of both girls’ lives.
In fact, Taylor alleged that she and Amanda had been raised practically as sisters. If that was true, then this lack of sharing of memories made no sense … unless a reason existed for their not wanting to talk about Taylor among themselves. Could that be it? That was entirely possible. My God, poor Taylor. What are these secrets and mysteries that surround her? Such a pretty girl. Grey shook his head. Taylor wasn’t pretty, not in the conventional sense of beauty. Striking. Arresting. Heart-stopping. Those were words better suited to her. Grey sighed. God, a liar or not, charlatan or not, how he missed her. How he wondered where she was tonight. Was she safe? Hungry? Warm? Dry?
“Are you all right, Grey? You look a little … I don’t know … pensive, I suppose. And you’re sighing.”
“Not possible. I don’t sigh, I assure you.” Still, Grey spared a smile for Amanda. The others talked on around them. Franklin excused himself from Amanda’s side to go speak with his mother.
When he did, Amanda gave Grey a gentle reproof. “You shouldn’t be so mean to your brother, you scoundrel. And don’t think I don’t see through you. You love him.”
Grey pretended shock. “I hardly think so.” Then he grinned. “You won’t tell him, will you?”
Amanda’s dark eyes, though red-rimmed with recent tears, sparkled with amusement. “Your secret’s safe with me.”
Grey leaned in toward Amanda. “Have I said lately how lucky a fellow I believe my younger brother to be? To have such a lovely and intelligent young woman such as yourself love him must mean he has some redeeming qualities.”
Amanda squeezed Grey’s hand affectionately. “You’re too kind.”
“Now that is the worst thing you could say about me. It would quite ruin my reputation.” He chuckled along with her and then sobered, adding, “Amanda, if I haven’t said so before now, I’m so very sorry for your, uh, loss.”
Amanda sobered, too. This time she was the one to sigh. “Oh, Grey, it’s so sad. I loved Taylor fiercely when I was a little girl.”
Even in the face of her crumpling expression, but knowing as he did that Taylor lived, excitement sped through Grey. He swallowed and tried not to sound too fiercely interested. “That’s the spirit, Amanda. Tell me something about her. I hear it’s good for the bereaved to talk about the, uh, deceased.”
“I would love to talk about her with someone, Grey. Mother is too distraught. Father simply won’t allow her name to be brought up. And poor Franklin, he becomes too upset for me if I cry over her.” Amanda stopped … a dawning thought evidently washing her features in a heightened color. She put a hand on Grey’s arm. “Oh, how callous of me. I am so sorry. You’ve suffered a loss, too, and aren’t comfortable talking about this, are you?”
Confused, Grey frowned and couldn’t think who the devil—“Oh, you mean my father? That was seven years ago, Amanda. I assure you I’ve come to terms with his demise. He was elderly and sick most of my life and is now in a much better place, the old rascal. God rest his soul.”
Amanda smiled sweetly. “You men. You have such a hard time admitting your feelings of a tender nature.”
“We men know it’s best to leave the tenderness in capable female hands.” Grey returned her smile and endeavored to get them back to the subject that most interested him tonight—anything at all he could learn about Taylor, anything that would tell him she was real or even that she was playing him false. “I would love to hear you talk about your cousin, Amanda. Anything at all you remember. Like the color of her eyes.”
Amanda plunked her hands together in her lap, smiling dreamily. “Blue. Like her father’s.”
“That’s the first thing I noticed—” Grey cut his words off just in time. His heart thumped rapidly in his chest. With effort, he composed his features. “I’m sorry. Go ahead.”
Amanda eyed him askance but continued. “Well, her eyes were blue. That bright and striking blue you can’t help but notice. They just take your breath away. Even as a little girl, I envied her those eyes. Alas, mine are the same mud brown as my mother’s.”
“Nonsense, Amanda. You have the soft and winsome eyes of a doe. A man could lose himself in them.”
Amanda pulled back and grinned. “If I didn’t know better, Greyson Talbott, I’d say you were trying to turn my head. And aren’t you the romantic?”
“Hardly. Now, my dear sister-in-law-to-be, what’s your best memory of this little girl of Charles’s?”
Amanda chuckled softly. “She was wild, Grey. Bold and strong and outspoken. Very intelligent. Mother says Taylor was reading in two languages by the time she was five. At that age, I was still at my mother’s knee, but Taylor was off riding a full-grown horse bareback all over the countryside. Mother, of course, remembers her better and is always talking about her to me.”
“But you must have some memories of her of your own,” Grey immediately prompted. “Search your memory.” The truth was, he simply wanted to hear more. He tried to convince himself that he was merely seeking the truth about Taylor. Apparently she hadn’t lied about her relationship with Amanda or the living arrangement between the two women and their daughters all those years ago. Something else occurred to him. He counted backward and came up with the War Between the States. That may have had something to do with the women being alone together. But in the Cherokee Nation? “Amanda,” Grey began, “what was your mother doing with the Indians?”
“Mostly trying to educate them and convert them, I suppose. Her parents were Baptist missionaries working amongst the Cherokee.”
Grey absently rubbed at his chin. “I see. That makes sense, then.”
Amanda nodded. “You should talk to Mother about her. All I can tell you is Taylor was everything I wasn’t. I was quiet and timid and shy. Always in Taylor’s shadow—and gladly so.” Amanda clasped her hands together. Her expression was the most animated one Grey had ever seen on her lovely face. “Oh, Grey, I would give anything if I could just see her one more time. I loved her with all
my soul. I did. I’ll bet she was the most beautiful woman on the face of the earth. Just full of spit and passion like she was at nine when I last saw her.”
Amanda suddenly tugged Grey close to her and whispered, “I confess I was terrified of her. Yet I adored her at the same time.”
Once again Grey had to bite back words that had almost slipped past his lips. “I know just how you feel,” he’d almost said. Still not trusting his ability to keep from blurting something provocative, Grey stood up again. And realized the room had grown quiet at some point. Everyone else present had been listening to Amanda talk to him about Taylor. Grey cleared his throat and looked at each of them in turn. He finally focused on Charles. “Your daughter sounds as if she was a magnificent girl.”
The man looked as if Grey had hit him in the stomach. His expression twisted and his color heightened. “I wouldn’t know, Grey,” he said, giving a sad shake of his blond head. “I only saw her a few times in her entire life. And now … she’s lost to me forever. My only child.”
Camilla James immediately burst into tears. Stanley once again comforted her. Charles James crumpled. Grey’s mother patted his hand comfortingly and glared at Grey. Amanda was again sobbing, her hands over her face. Franklin scurried back to her side and began uttering boring, useless little clichés about being a brave girl and so on.
And Grey felt terrible. Well, he’d certainly made a fine showing of it here tonight. What an ass he could be. But on the other hand, he’d learned quite a bit, too. Quite a revealing and interesting bit. Once again, all eyes—reproachful eyes—were on him. He bowed to the sad assemblage and said, “I am profoundly sorry for your loss. And I am sorry if I’ve deepened your sorrow in any way. It was never my intention. I think it would be best if I said good night now. Please, don’t get up. I’ll show myself out.”
* * *
For as long as she lived, Taylor vowed, she would never understand white people.
Once she’d arrived back at Greyson Talbott’s town house and boldly entered his property through the coach yard, just as she’d done last night, Taylor had been beset by a joyously confusing homecoming. Much to her astonishment, she’d been greeted like a victorious warrior by Calvin and the remainder of the men in the yard. They’d actually cheered when they spied her, which had caused Red Sky to rear and the men to scatter. A lesser rider than Taylor would have been unseated.
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