“Well, I…” Devon looked up to find his eyes boring in to her, wiping all rational thought from her mind. Try to remember what you were going to say, she commanded herself. “I… I don’t like being patronized, and I’m afraid Helena does that sometimes.”
“I’m surprised she dares,” John said with a droll look. Devon did not seem the type of woman who would accept such behavior.
Devon simply smiled, annoyed that she couldn’t think of a witty rejoinder. She could again feel the turbulence rising in her body. She had to avoid looking into his eyes. If she could avoid that, she could remain composed. He must think I’m a tongue-tied ninny, Devon thought to herself.
But to John, who did not know her, Devon appeared composed. She would not meet his eyes, so that brief glimpse into her thoughts that had so aroused him was gone. And he was sorry for that. He had the sudden urge to speak to her of the unmistakable electricity between them, but he suppressed it, falling back on small talk instead.
“Tell me, Miss Richmond, do you like New York?” He was uttering conventional phrases, but his voice sent goose bumps through her, as though he were blowing on the back of her neck.
“Yes… yes, in a way.” What had he asked her? Oh, yes. New York. “We have a place there actually.” The home to which she so casually referred was a stylish five-story town house, purchased after the recent sale of the family’s Italianate villa on Fifth Avenue. Devon’s father, like many with old wealth, did not enjoy squandering it. He recognized that the era of Fifth Avenue mansions that occupied entire city blocks was coming to a close. The fact was, the Depression had caused many of the wealthy to scale down the wildly lavish socializing that had characterized the previous decade.
“Do you visit New York often?” John wondered why he had never met her before.
“Not too often,” Devon said. As she spoke, she began to feel more in control. “I like to visit, but there are too many people. Besides, this is my real home.”
“You don’t feel isolated here, living miles away from your nearest neighbor?” John asked.
“Not a bit. I rather like it. As you can see, we are a close-knit society.”
John found himself wanting to know more about what she thought, about what she did each day. He wanted to know everything about her. “Don’t you get bored in the country?”
Devon was growing intrigued with the conversation itself now. She was amused at the man’s assumptions about life in Virginia. “Mr. Alexander, I’ve never been bored a day in my life. The occupation of my mind does not depend on others.”
“No, I can believe that you do very well on your own.” He wondered if he dared ask the question that sprung to mind. Would she be insulted? It would be interesting to see her reaction. “Would it be impertinent of me to ask why someone as beautiful as you has not married?”
Devon, now completely unself-conscious, turned to face Alexander squarely. “Probably.” Her mouth turned up at the corners in a sly smile. “I suppose the Magraths have treated you to quite some amount of speculation on that subject?”
Alexander could not tell whether she was offended. As he was trying to decide, Devon burst out laughing. “Don’t feel uncomfortable. Everyone we know speculates on that. The fact of the matter is, I’ve never fallen in love with anyone. A very simple answer. Why everyone tries to complicate it is beyond me. I’m not going to give up my independence for someone I don’t truly love. And no matter how wonderful the rewards of marriage, one does give up a measure of independence, doesn’t one? Is that why you, Mr. Alexander, have never married?”
Now it was Alexander’s turn to laugh. He was thirty-two years old, and it was not uncommon for men his age to be unmarried. He was forward-thinking enough to know that it was unjust that Devon was questioned because she was unmarried while he could remain a perfectly respectable, even desirable, bachelor. Yet he was enough a man of his times to find her unconventional for even raising the point.
Turning serious, Alexander considered Devon’s question. He had loved women, even been in love. When he was nineteen he had wanted to marry a young Frenchwoman he had met while visiting Italy. Of course his family had been adamantly opposed to his marrying a Roman Catholic, as hers had been opposed to her marrying an Episcopalian, and somehow the two young people had not had the will to fight their families’ disapproval.
John’s second love had been a young married woman of his own set. She had told him that her husband was cruel to her. Captivated as much by his role as savior as he was by the lady herself, he had willingly begun a passionate affair with her. He had begged Janine to leave her husband so that he, John, could marry her. He smiled to think of his naiveté at age twenty-three. Of course she had refused. Only when her attention began to wander to another young man of his circle did he realize how stupid he had been.
Since then, he was rarely without at least one mistress, but he never again had the desire to marry. John enjoyed being free to travel, to explore new interests, to go out when he felt like it. He did not want to answer to anyone. Furthermore, as more of his friends married, he noticed that their wives, no matter how exciting before marriage, all seemed to turn themselves into replicas of one another. They occupied themselves in the same ways and had the same thoughts and standards.
“I’m pleased to see that you’re taking my question seriously, but you needn’t take it too seriously,” said Devon, breaking into his thoughts.
John laughed. “I’m sorry. I was trying to come up with an honest answer. Suffice it to say that judging from my friends, people turn dull when they marry.”
For a moment Devon forgot her attraction to John. The generalization annoyed her. “I do not intend to turn dull!” Dull! She thought about her parents. They were content, but not dull. She thought about her sister, married to a diplomat and living in Paris. That wasn’t dull.
“So you do intend to marry?” John asked, sensing her annoyance and anxious to move the conversation along.
“If I fall in love. And I’m certain I will.” Devon felt suddenly shy as she said the words. Her conversation with this stranger had taken a surprisingly intimate turn!
“And what will you do to prevent your marriage from becoming dull?” He asked the question with real curiosity, all mockery gone from his voice.
Devon thought the question presumptuous, and was about to say so, but something in the seriousness of Alexander’s tone, the studious curiosity in his eyes, stopped her rebuke. Instead, she mulled over her response, allowing the silence between them to lengthen.
Finally, she said in a thoughtful tone, “You see, Mr. Alexander, you and I disagree on a fundamental point. You say that the institution of marriage turns people dull. I disagree. I believe dull people give the institution a bad name. Maybe they attribute their dullness, their lack of adventure, to the inhibiting influence of their spouse. People do what they want to do, Mr. Alexander. When interesting people marry, and they retain their independent interests even after they are married, I see no reason why their marriages should not be equally interesting.”
“Well spoken, Miss Richmond. It is a point of view well worth considering.”
The Magraths’ butler entered the room at that moment to announce dinner. John turned to Devon. She knew he would take her arm, as custom required, but she was not prepared for the wave of desire that swept over her at the contact. For in that second, John Alexander gave her a taste of the secret, exquisite possibilities from which she had been so carefully sheltered—a sudden understanding of what it meant to share a man’s bed.
Devon raised her eyes to his and this time he refused to release them. She could read his message of seduction as easily as if he had spoken it aloud. Her body tingled, as though anticipating his touch. For one dizzy moment, she thought he was going to kiss her.
Her face was upturned, inviting. He had only to bend down and… He wanted to rip through the conventions that prevented him from doing what he felt. And his eyes signaled this clearly. He didn’t
kiss her, though. He did much, much more than that in his imagination. And Devon knew it.
CHAPTER 3
DEVON was not surprised when she returned from her ride the next afternoon to find John Alexander having tea with her parents. Opening the heavy double doors that led to the library, Devon found the three cozily sitting in front of a crackling fire. John lounged on a burgundy leather love seat that faced the fireplace, while the Richmonds, as usual, occupied the matching wing chairs that flanked the little sofa.
The butler had told Devon that Alexander was visiting, but, once again, she was utterly unprepared for the physical impact of his presence.
“Mr. Alexander, what a pleasant surprise,” said Devon. To her own ears, her voice sounded unforgivably shaky. She couldn’t let him affect her this way!
“I see you’ve been riding, Miss Richmond. I’m sorry I didn’t arrive sooner. I don’t get a chance to ride frequently enough in New York.”
John had been afraid that in the light of day Devon wouldn’t live up to his memory of her, but she actually surpassed it. He smiled at her. A smile that absorbed her utterly. His teeth flashed white against his tan features and a lethally charming dimple showed on one side of his mouth.
“You like to ride?” asked Devon, a little breathlessly. “Perhaps you’d like to see our stables after you’ve finished your tea.”
“I’d like that very much.”
“If you’ll excuse me, then, I’ll just freshen up. I’ll be back in a few minutes.”
Laurel and Chase exchanged a look. They were pleased to see the effect John Alexander had on their daughter. For once, she seemed flustered, a condition perhaps more attractive to suitors than her usual no-nonsense self-assurance.
“Alexander, what brings you to our part of Virginia?” asked Chase. He knew the answer already, for it had been the subject of discussion among the men of his circle.
“Mr. Magrath owns some real estate in New York I’ve been considering taking off his hands,” replied John casually. Unlike many of the gentlemen of his day, John chose to work. He bought tenements in New York, renovated them, and resold them at low cost, but profit nonetheless, to former tenants. The hardworking immigrants who became John’s buyers were given their first chance at living decently in the United States, and John made money from the sheer volume of buyers.
“A rather tough time for investors nowadays,” said Chase.
“A time of opportunity, provided one was wise enough to avoid the stock-buying craze.”
“Amen. Land is always the best investment.”
Devon reappeared in the doorway. She had used the time alone to calm herself, and she felt more in control now. Still, the pounding of her heart was unnaturally fast. “Shall we have a look at the stables?” She was anxious to escape the confines of the house, the scrutiny of her parents. She wondered if they could see the effect Alexander had on her.
“By all means,” replied John. He rose and crossed the room-sized Persian rug to reach Devon.
When the two had left, Laurel picked up her embroidery, while Chase simply stared into the fire. They did not speak for a long time. Finally, Chase looked up to find Laurel looking at him, a satisfied smile on her face.
“How long do you expect to be in Virginia, Mr. Alexander?” asked Devon. Visitors to the vast estates of the South often stayed for weeks, even months at a time. Devon hoped that would be the case with John.
“Until my business here is concluded,” he replied cryptically.
Devon did not feel that she knew John well enough to pry further, so she asked nothing more about his business. John noticed this and admired her discretion.
“You say you like to ride. Do you like to hunt?” asked Devon, gesturing to the rolling meadows around them. Indeed, the graceful brick manor house surrounded by century-old boxwoods was only a small portion of Evergreen. The Richmonds’ land stretched to every horizon.
“Very much. Do you enjoy horseracing? That’s more our sport in New York.”
“I don’t really know a great deal about it, but it seems a very exciting sport.” In the brisk afternoon air, the atmosphere between them was less charged. They could relax somewhat, get to know each other.
The stables were some distance from the house and it was a cool day, so Devon walked down the flagstone path at a speed that had John hurrying to keep up. Even so, John absorbed with interest the details of the meticulous grounds. The path’s boxwood border was carefully trimmed so that not a leaf was out of place. In front of the hedge, flanking the little path, was a perennial flower bed, artfully designed so that something was almost always in bloom no matter what the season. John paused a moment and turned back toward the house, appreciating the casual richness of the ivy growing over the back portico and up the chimney, of the Palladian windows that graced the facade of the structure. Everything about the Richmond home bespoke quiet elegance, order, and care. There was nothing ostentatious about Evergreen—it had a comfortable, cozy aspect despite its size—but every detail was of the highest quality. And there was serenity to the place that John found a marked contrast to New York.
“What do you do here for excitement, Miss Richmond?” asked Alexander.
Devon reflected for a moment. “I’m not sure how to answer. Excitement isn’t necessarily what we seek here. We travel for that,” Devon added with a smile.
“You seem a very intelligent young woman. What do you do to occupy your time?”
“Well, for a while I was away at school, so I’ve enjoyed becoming reacquainted with our place.”
John looked around him appreciatively. Freshly painted white fences in perfect repair stretched over rolling green hills. A small pond in a valley about half a mile away mirrored graceful weeping willows and the deep blue sky. Several horses, their coats gleaming in the sun, grazed in another field filled with yellow flowers.
Following his gaze, Devon remarked, “Those always bloom here in autumn. They make my sister sneeze terribly.”
“Does your sister live nearby?”
“No, she lives in Paris now. Her husband is a diplomat.”
“And what do you do when you are here?”
“Mostly I ride. I also train my own horses.” Devon paused before continuing, “After our conversation at the Magraths’, I can’t help feeling that you seem unusually worried about the possibility that I may be vegetating here, Mr. Alexander. Is there a reason for that?”
Actually, Alexander expected someone as intriguing as Devon to be occupied with intriguing pastimes. That she did nothing that he classified as exceptional was a slight disappointment to him. “No… no. You just don’t seem like the sort of person who would be content with life in the country.”
Devon stopped, turned to face John, and looked keenly at him. Under her scrutiny, he felt embarrassed by his judgmental attitude. “I suppose I know very little about it,” he admitted, looking down.
His embarrassment amused Devon, who said coolly but gently, “Then we’ll have to familiarize you with the charms of country life. That way, you can make educated judgments about its attributes relative to city living.”
“You make me feel quite provincial,” said John in an apologetic tone, looking at her from under his brows. “Can you forgive my narrowmindedness?”
Devon could not suppress a smile. “If you’ll pardon me for making a generality,” she said, not unkindly, “I find that many New Yorkers share your outlook. They can’t believe that there is intellectual stimulation outside Manhattan, except, of course, in France or England. As you’ve pointed out, it is a provincial point of view.” Devon concluded her words as they arrived at the stable, a massive white wooden structure with room for at least forty horses. Like the rest of the farm, it was spotless. “In fact, I’ll show you a perfect example right now of how stimulating country life can be,” she added, her smile growing larger.
Devon led John to a spacious stall. At first, John could not see within, then he spotted the most magnificent horse he
had ever seen. The creature was entirely black, a shining, ebony vision.
“This is my baby,” said Devon, caressing the horse’s nose as it nuzzled her fondly.
“What a superb creature!” said John, in awe. “A Thoroughbred?”
Devon nodded. “A stallion. Sirocco is his name. Perhaps you’d like to come over tomorrow for a ride? We can even have a picnic if the weather is nice. You can take Sirocco,” she said, giving him a sidelong glance. “I think you’ll agree then that life in the country can be exciting after all.”
“I’m not sure I should take you up on that offer, but I can’t resist,” said John, smiling. He was actually an excellent rider, and had even played polo at university.
Devon showed him several more horses before leading him to a large greenhouse beyond the stables. Stepping inside, John was overwhelmed by the perfumes that filled the air. Exotic flowers grew from hanging pots, as well as from flat trays and large planters on the floor. John observed species he had never before seen, even in the most exclusive florists in New York.
“What are all these?” he asked in wonder.
“Orchids mostly. Some gardenias that I bring inside for the winter. I love their scent. I grow jasmine too, for the same reason.”
“You mean all this is yours?”
“It is. I experiment with plant breeding. Some of these species are found only in one place in the world.” Devon walked over to a planter suspended from the ceiling. Over its side tumbled a mass of large red flowers, about four inches in diameter, that had petals like swallows wings. Devon plucked one and handed it to John. On closer observation, he saw that each flowers innermost petals were a delicate waxy white with pink around the edges. “For example, this orchid grows only on the Caribbean island of Tobago. Nowhere else. Can you imagine that?” Devon asked dreamily.
“It’s beautiful,” said John. “How did you find it?”
“I went and got it,” said Devon in a matter-of-fact tone. John looked at her in surprise. But without further elaboration, Devon turned and led him back to the house.
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