Jubilee Bride

by Jane Peart

  "Darling, how wonderful to see you!" Blythe said, reaching up to kiss her tall son's cheek and checking the urge to brush back the stubborn lock of dark hair that fell forward on his brow.

  She took his hand and led him to one of the small sofas in a windowed alcove on the far side of the lobby, then seated herself and patted the plump cushion beside her.

  "We'll have a few minutes by ourselves before Rod brings the children back from the park," she told him. 'Time for a nice, cozy chat."

  Jeff had to smile at his mother's choice of words, groping mentally for just what they might mean. He rather suspected her "chat" would be a thinly veiled "suggestion" that he be properly deferential and respectful to his stepfather.

  He regarded her indulgently. Not too long ago, Jeff might have rebuffed any such efforts on her part to restrain him from expressing an opinion that might clash with Rod's. Then he would have felt it necessary to assert himself and say something outlandish just to prove his independence.

  Jeff recognized a maturity in himself now that made that kind of response unnecessary. A hard-won self-confidence, to be sure, but a validation that gave him a comfortable reassurance that he was his own man. Rod no longer intimidated him.

  As it turned out, the coveted private chat was soon interrupted by the sight of Rod's towering figure striding through the hotel entrance with the children. As soon as Scott saw Jeff, he broke into a run and flung himself enthusiastically at him. The little boy had formed a strong attachment for his older half brother during the summer. The little girls were bubbling over with excitement, their words tumbling over one another.

  "Mama, Mama, we saw the Queen!"

  "She went right by us in her carriage!"

  "We saw her! We saw her! Truly!"

  "People said that Princess Beatrice was with her!"

  Over the twins' heads, Blythe looked inquiringly at Rod.

  "Really?"

  He smiled and nodded. "Yes, indeed, everyone in London seems to recognize the royal carriage on sight, and everyone crowded to the edge of the street, lining up to get a glimpse of Her Majesty," he said casually.

  "You really saw her? What does she look like?" asked Blythe, trying to imagine the reigning monarch on parade.

  "Well, actually, I couldn't see her all that well," Rod admitted with a shrug. "All I saw was the flutter of a black-gloved hand and some movement beyond the carriage window. It was the comments of people around us that gave me most of my information."

  "Oh, now, Papa, don't tease! It really was the Queen, Mama," Kitty assured Blythe.

  "Wouldn't Evalee be pea green with envy if she knew that we had seen the Queen and she hadn't?" said Cara smugly.

  "Now, Carmella, don't be unkind," admonished Blythe automatically as she reached out to straighten her daughter's ruffled collar.

  Jeff had risen to his feet and his eyes met Rod's. There was a split-second as they mutually took stock, then Jeff thrust out his hand, and his stepfather took it in a strong grasp.

  "I believe that congratulations are in order," Rod said in a gruff voice.

  "Thank you, sir," Jeff acknowledged. Then, looking down at the twins, his voice assumed a tone of mock astonishment. "And who are these pretty, grown-up-looking ladies!"

  The little girls giggled and squirmed and preened themselves under Jeffs teasing scrutiny.

  They do look adorable, Blythe thought with understandable pleasure. All her children were handsome, but the twins were certainly unique—alike and yet remarkably different, with the same copper curls, the same heavily lashed brown eyes, except that Kitty's were soft and warm, while Cara's flashed with fire. They were dressed identically in white French lawn dresses. Only their hair ribbons were different—Kitty's blue, Cara's red.

  "Well, shall we all go in for a celebration before we visit the Gallery again to see Jeff's painting?" Blythe suggested. She got to her feet, putting one hand through her son's arm and the other through the one that Rod offered.

  When they parted a few hours later, Rod extended an invitation to Jeff that he knew in advance would be turned down. The boy had no interest in accompanying them to Dublin for the horse show. But he was pleased to see the new maturity in his son, and their farewell was amiable.

  Then Blythe kissed Jeff good-bye. "I hope we'll see you in Virginia before too long, darling."

  Jeff gave her a vague reply but thought to himself, Maybe sooner than you think, Mother dear. Maybe sooner than you think.

  As soon as he had seen his family off, Jeff went directly to Victoria Station and took the next train down to Birchfields. All the way, thinking of the last enigmatic conversation with Faith, he argued with himself. After all the heady publicity about the "Guinevere" painting, he had been too excited to catch the subtle undertones of that conversation. Too much press, too many questions . . . and of course, with all the reporters surrounding a celebrity like Victor Ridgeway, who had turned out to be "Grace Comfort"!

  Jeff shook his head. Who would ever have thought it? And the announcement that Ridgeway had been the "anonymous buyer" of his painting because it reminded him of his fiancee, had compounded the shock. This, followed by Ridgeway's engagement to Lenora, had taken everyone by surprise and increased the madness.

  No matter, thought Jeff. The painting had received more notice than it ever would have otherwise, with himself the beneficiary. Not that the critics had not been extraordinarily kind and generous—

  Two recent articles by notable critics had appeared in two separate art magazines. One had praised his "technique, his style, reminiscent of the best of the pre- Raphaelites." The other had compared his work favorably with that of Millais and Burne-Jones.

  Jeff had almost memorized the article in Art World, and the words ran through his mind now:

  The entry of the painting by Geoffrey Montrose, "Guinevere," far outshone any of the others by new artists. Although some may have thought it imitative of the pre-Raphaelites with their allegorical themes and medieval romanticism, Montrose's rendition of the legendary beloved of King Arthur has a freshness, an originality that is unique, for he has given us the ideal of nineteenth century beauty.

  Certainly none can gainsay the technical skill of the artist. The brushstrokes, the exquisite rendition of fabric, hair, skin tones is well done. And his background of the castle, painted as if a prison for the Queen, shines with an aura of particular mystical beauty. He has also caught the subtle sadness of expression on Guinevere's face that tells us of her inner conflict between loyalty and love.

  I can say only "Bravo!" The artist's prize is well deserved, and I feel we can expect further outstanding work from young Geoffrey Montrose.

  Recalling the praise from a difficult critic, Jeff's spirits soared again. This was his breakthrough. How many artists had such luck? So many struggled for years in poverty and obscurity without attracting any attention at all. And he had been prepared to do that, too, determined to do whatever it took to become recognized as an artist.

  But Lenora had changed all that. Lenora, who had walked down the terrace steps at Birchfields and into his life. He had recognized her instantly—his "Guinevere." He owed her a lot—more than he could ever repay—

  And now thanks to this incredible stroke of luck—well, talent and luck—he at last dared speak what was in his heart. He could not wait to share all this with Faith.

  How loyal she had always been. Believed in him, encouraged him, supported his dreams. Her steadfast enthusiasm for his talent had never wavered. She had never faltered in her belief that one day he would be a famous artist. Now he had fulfilled that faith. Suddenly Jeff realized how much he had missed being with Faith this summer, how much he needed her. Impatiently, he willed the train to go faster.

  chapter

  26

  LEAVING the village, Faith took a secret path through the woods. She and Jeff had discovered it years ago, and she followed it now until it emerged just above the graveyard at one side of the small stone church.

&n
bsp; The vanishing sun had left slowly, trailing gold streaks among the dark, gathering clouds. As Faith passed the little cemetery where she and Jeff had sometimes wandered, reading the markers, she felt a weird sense of unreality in the strange light of approaching autumn dusk. How short a time ago all that seemed. How quickly life goes by, leaving youth and hopes and dreams behind, she thought. She shivered and hurried on.

  "Don't be so morbid!" she told herself aloud. "What would Grace Comfort say?" Grace Comfort, indeed! She laughed at her own foolishness.

  Thinking of the revelation of the popular columnist's real identity, followed by the even more startling revelation that Lenora and Victor Ridgeway had been carrying on a secret romance for months was mind-boggling. Their private wedding had taken place in a small church in London, with only the immediate family present. In fact, no announcement had been made until the couple was safely en route to Italy for their honeymoon.

  Faith drew in a deep breath. It had been a summer of surprises, she thought, a season of weddings and happy brides. Except for me. And Jeff. He must be heartbroken.

  Feeling chilled, she picked up her pace. What would happen now? Jeff would probably take off for some remote place to heal his wounds and paint his heart out. But what was to become of her? What direction would her life take now? By all standards of society, a young woman who had been "out" for three seasons should be married by now or, at the very least, engaged. According to her mother, she had let one opportunity after the other slip by. Faith was sure that her mother despaired of her ever making a good match.

  So what now? For such a long time Faith had believed that her destiny was intertwined with Jeff's. Now that must be put behind. The "Guinevere" painting, if nothing else, had convinced her of that.

  But Faith still firmly believed that God had a purpose and plan for her life. If not love and marriage—and she still felt if she could not have Jeff, there could never be anyone else—then there was some other path He wanted her to take. It was up to her to pray until she found it, even if it meant being alone and lonely for the rest of her life. It didn't matter. All that mattered now was finding what God had planned for her.

  As she left the main road, the golden afternoon was quickly evaporating in the cold, clammy mist rising from the river. Suppressing a shudder, Faith turned into the gates of Birchfields.

  The wind rose, scattering the vari-colored leaves over the garden now bereft of most of its color. Then she saw one single golden rose—summer's last glorious gift, she thought.

  She paused for a moment to bend down and inhale its deep fragrance. It seemed somehow a symbol of hope, a talisman of courage, a sign that she should take heart.

  Walking up the driveway toward the house, her step was lighter. Suddenly she was startled to see a tall, familiar figure, pacing impatiently on the stone terrace. It was Jeff! Her heart hammered.

  Seeing her, Jeff began to wave his hands. Then he broke into a dead run. "Faith, Faith!"

  In the fading light, his face seemed different somehow. Illuminated by the last brilliant rays of the dying sun, his complexion took on a golden cast, molding his features with new strength, bringing a new depth to his eyes.

  "Oh, Faith, I've so much to tell you that I don't know where to begin. Just wait until you hear my plans!" He was grinning, his eyes sparkling, and he put his hands on Faith's shoulders, as much to steady himself as to get her attention. "You see, because of "Guinevere," the Waverly Gallery will take all the paintings I can do! Isn't that marvelous? Isn't it crazy!"

  Faith tried to say something, but Jeff rushed on. "I've enough money to last at least a year while I build up my inventory of paintings. But the main thing is that I don't want to stay there anyway. London's no place to inspire the kind of paintings I want to do." His eyes blazed with new intensity. "I want to go to Virginia and live at Avalon! I know I can paint there!"

  So Jeff had come to say good-bye. Faith closed her eyes, steeling herself to be brave all over again.

  "So, what I'm really getting at is this—will you marry me, Faith? We'll have to do it right away. But that's no problem . . . we can get a special license. I know I'm rushing you, but I had to be sure of my future before I could ask."

  Faith could not believe what she was hearing. "Wh-what are you saying, Jeff?"

  "Well, I couldn't possibly have asked you to live with me in my shabby studio digs, but you have no idea how beautiful it is at Avalon—the island, the house, the woods. Oh, Faith, I can't wait to show you everything! And I'll paint wonderful paintings, and we'll be happy for the rest of our lives! It's what I've always dreamed, Faith—you and me at Avalon!" He put his arms around her waist and swung her around, hugging her hard before he set her back down on her feet. Then he stopped, suddenly serious. "You will, won't you? Marry me and come live with me in Virginia?"

  "But, Jeff!" she protested when she had caught her breath. "You haven't even said that you love me."

  He looked at her blankly for a second. "But of course I love you, Faith. Didn't you know that? But how could you help knowing? I've always loved you."

  "But you never said—you never told me—" She turned away from him. "Why didn't you say something . . . before now?"

  "I didn't think it was necessary. I thought it was understood. It was always understood between us—" He turned her back around to face him. "Or . . . at least I thought it was."

  He drew her toward him and, under his touch, she felt a slow weakening of limbs and resistance. If this were all a dream—-well, she would enjoy it while it lasted. Capturing her chin with one hand, he tilted her face upward until they were looking into each other's eyes. For a moment they stood as still as one of the garden statues. Then his lips found hers and Jeff was kissing her, and Faith knew it was not a dream, but all the dreams of her lifetime come true.

  Gradually the doubts and heartaches of the last few months disappeared. Jeff loved her! Jeff loved her!

  At length he released her, spun her around, and gave a jubilant "Hurrah!"

  'We've all sorts of plans to make," Jeff told her as they walked together, arms around each other, into the house. "I took the risk of ordering our steamship tickets. All we have to do is pick them up. We'll be married right away. I don't want the fuss of a wedding, do you?"

  Again he did not wait for Faith's reply but rushed on impetuously. "We'll spend our honeymoon in Virginia. You've never seen anything as spectacular as Virginia in the fall—"

  Faith was in a complete daze, therefore the minor details of her marriage, the trip to America, the rest of her life with Jeff fell on deaf ears. All she really knew was that Jeff loved her and that there would never be anyone else for her. Whatever came, she loved him now and always.

  It was raining hard when the hack they had hired from the small village train station drew up in front of the cottage loaned to them by one of Jeff's friends. Making a run for it through the gate of the picket fence and up the crooked flagstone path to the door, Faith felt the hood of her cape slip back and the rain whipping her hair into her eyes and against her wet cheeks.

  Once inside, she stood huddled in the entry, the door behind her open to the wind-driven rain while Jeff paid the driver and pulled the baggage from inside the cab.

  Suddenly the enormity of what they had done struck Faith and she began to shiver uncontrollably. The last twenty-four hours had passed in a blur of unreality.

  Only yesterday afternoon she had been at Birchfields. Events had moved swiftly since then. With a wide-eyed Annie's help, Faith had packed two suitcases while Jeff waited impatiently downstairs.

  "Whatever will your mother and father say, Miss Faith?" Annie had asked over and over as Faith ran back and forth from armoire to dresser, pulling out clothes, emptying drawers, piling things on the bed for Annie to place neatly inside the suitcases.

  "I hope they'll be happy for us, Annie!"

  "But why not wait and tell them and have a proper weddin'?" the maid demanded, shaking her head disapprovingly. "Your mum
will be so disappointed—"

  "She's put on two weddings already this summer. I should think she'd be grateful not to have to do it again," declared Faith, laughing almost hysterically.

  "But her own daughter's weddin' would be different, surely."

  Faith stopped her frantic pace for a minute and turned to her little maid.

  "Oh, Annie, stop fussing, please, and be glad for me! Don't you realize I am getting my heart's desire—the secret petitions of my soul?" Faith flung out her hands dramatically. "If I don't go now with Jeff—maybe—well, just maybe I won't have another chance. Don't you see?" She paused. "Maybe it would be better to do things differently. But I can't take that chance. Please say that you understand."

  Annie pursed her mouth and folded her arms. "It isn't my place to say, miss, but—"

  "Well, then don't say it, Annie. Please! Don't spoil this for me." Faith hurriedly put the last few items in her suitcase, closed the lid, and snapped the lock.

  Now as she stood in the cold draft coming in the cottage door, Faith recalled that scene in her bedroom the day before and felt a deep, shuddering regret. Of course, she would have 198 loved a wedding like Lalage Bondurant's in the little stone church where she had worshiped most of her life. She could see it now—sunlight slanting through the arched windows, flowers from her mother's garden banked in front of the altar, herself in her mother's heirloom lace veil—

  But it wasn't to be so—not if she were to have Jeff. And there had been no contest, no debate in her heart about that. Even so, the brief, unsentimental marriage ceremony—if you could call it that—in the drab registry office had been rather bleak. That is, it would have been bleak without Jeff's firm handclasp, his confident smile.

  On the train into London, she had timidly proposed that perhaps the Ainsleys should be told and invited to come with them, but Jeff had quickly countered her idea by saying Lydia would probably try to talk them out of their plans.