“That’s such a lovely story,” Marietta murmured and swiftly turned away, a sudden sorrow washing over her face.
Emily said, “Are you all right?”
“Oh, yes, I was just remembering … something similar that happened to me long ago. But it didn’t have your happy ending.”
“I’m sorry. Do you want to talk about it?”
“I don’t know—perhaps. Well, yes, why not?” Marietta sat down on the sofa as she spoke, and Emily joined her, listened attentively while Marietta confided one of the saddest stories she had ever heard.
She wanted them to leave—her father and her sisters.
Her mother was staying on for the birth of the twins, and this was fine with Evan. Her mother was comforting, soothing, and always loving. Her father and her sisters were irritants.
Well, no, not Elayne, who was as quiet as a mouse, sweet and simple and as adoring as she had always been. But Angharad was a dangerous presence.
As for her father, he was difficult and grudging these days, prone to temperamental outbursts if he didn’t like something. His first complaint was about Allington Hall. He was put out because it was a racing stable, one of the finest in England and forever busy, teeming with horses, stable boys and girls, other helpers, and jockeys. She loved the bustle at Allington Hall, especially during their week, when everything was flying at full speed, and she also shared Gideon’s pride and excitement when one of their horses had a big win.
Her father found the whole atmosphere distasteful, the stable staff a nuisance, and he had told her so the first time he had gone over there to meet her future in-laws, last September. And so she had not been surprised at his annoyance when he discovered he and Marietta were staying there for the period of the wedding, instead of at Lackland Priory with Robin.
Evan had endeavored to placate him, explaining, “Listen, Dad, Jonathan’s back in Yorkshire, and everyone feels it’s wiser for you and Mom to make Allington Hall your base. You see, if Jonathan should come over to visit his father and bump into you, there could be a lot of unpleasantness.”
“So what! I can handle that, handle him,” her father had blustered, and she had simply turned away, adding that the decision had already been made. She pointed out she could do nothing about it, and neither could he, unless he preferred to stay at a hotel in Harrogate. “It’s up to you,” she had added.
At one point, trying to engage his interest, she had told him some of the history of the stables, how they had been founded by Gideon’s grandfather Randolph Harte, who had become one of the most famous trainers and breeders in England. It was Randolph who had been in charge of Blackie O’Neill’s string of racehorses, which were stabled there, including the renowned mare Emerald Bow. This was the horse which Emma Harte had given to Blackie as a gift, and Randolph had specially trained her to run in the Grand National at Aintree. It was the greatest steeplechase in the world, a difficult course, with some hazardous obstacles, including the famed Beecher’s Brook, which had to be jumped twice during the race.
When Emerald Bow won the Grand National the year she was run, the three clans had been exultant, proud of the courageous young mare who had sailed over the difficult brook twice with the greatest of ease, winning the steeplechase and proving herself to be the best.
Now that Randolph Harte was dead, the stables were in the hands of the Colonel, as he was known. Colonel Humphrey Swale, formerly of the British army, was an extraordinary trainer who had worked with Randolph in the last years of his life and been handpicked by him to take over one day.
Winston, Toby, and Gideon loved the stables as much as Randolph had, but since they were occupied with the day-to-day running of the family-owned newspapers and television network, they were happy to leave the stables in the capable hands of the Colonel, who had maintained the success and profitability of Randolph’s years.
Evan remembered now how she had led her father into the study at Allington Hall one afternoon last week. It was her favorite room, a charming spot with dark green walls, green tartan carpet, comfy, worn-leather sofas and armchairs, and a collection of fine country antiques. Taking pride of place in the study were the many gleaming cups and colorful ribbons which proclaimed the stables to be one of the finest in Yorkshire, indeed in England. But he had shown no interest at all in the room, its decor, the Stubbs paintings, the antiques, or the trophies, had merely muttered that horses and horse racing bored him.
Evan let out a deep sigh, thinking how much her father had changed lately. Or perhaps he hadn’t. Perhaps she simply saw him through different eyes these days, perhaps clearer eyes … and how he did annoy her at times.
Sitting up straighter on the stool, she pushed this thought away at once, remembering Gideon’s earlier words. He was right. It was their wedding day, and she should not be annoyed with anyone. It should be a day of happiness and joy. After all, it was the most important day of her life; she wasn’t going to spoil it for herself. Nor was she going to permit her father or Angharad to spoil it.
Leaning forward, Evan stared at her image in the mirror. She was pale, washed out, needed to make herself look pretty for her husband. And so, armed with foundations, powders, blushes, and eye makeup, she set to work bringing color and life to her face. Then she brushed the dark cloud of hair away from her face and forehead, took it back and around her ears, coaxed it into a soft, sleek pageboy.
A few moments later she stood up, went to open the door into the sitting room, announced to her mother and mother-in-law, “Mom, Emily, I’m ready. Can you help me into my dress, please?”
The two women jumped up and hurried to join her, and both exclaimed, almost in unison, “You look beautiful!”
Within seconds Evan was stepping into her gown and being zipped up, and then she slowly turned around to show Marietta and Emily the overall effect of her special creation. They gasped in surprise.
The gown was cut in the French Empire style, which had been favored by Empress Josephine. It had a square neck, a very high waistline, and long, narrow sleeves. The dress was created from several layers of chiffon, and these fell away from under the bustline, the fullness cleverly camouflaging her pregnancy.
The design was lovely, but it was the color that stunned. It was not one color in actuality but various shades of blue to green, each one ombréed into the next, deep pavonian blue shading into pale sky blue, the sky blue changing to turquoise, the turquoise ombréed into the palest of greens. The effect was sensational.
As Evan turned again, very slowly, the chiffon drifted around her in an eye-catching mélange of sea colors, and Emily said softly, “It’s like that wonderful beaded cocktail dress of Grandy’s, Evan, the one Linnet and you used in the fashion retrospective last year. It inspired you, didn’t it?”
“Yes it did, Emily,” she acknowledged and smiled. “I just loved the colors of that gown, and I was lucky when I stumbled onto this ombréed blue chiffon at the Renaud Brantes fabric showroom. Very lucky, I thought.”
“It’s exceptional, Evan,” Marietta said, “all the colors of the sea.” Her voice was low, almost inaudible, and she continued to stare at her daughter almost in awe, thinking how beautiful Evan truly looked, and then Marietta suddenly exclaimed, “But it’s also the colors found in a peacock’s tail, isn’t it?”
“Why, yes it is,” Emily said, and Evan nodded in agreement.
“Don’t you have a coat?” Marietta then asked, suddenly worried.
“Yes, I do.” Evan walked across to the armoire, opened the door, and took the coat off the hanger. “It’s made of the same chiffon, three layers,” Evan explained and handed it to her mother. “If you can hold it for me, Mom, please.”
Marietta did as she asked, and Evan slipped into the floor-length coat, then turned toward the cheval mirror and settled it on her shoulders properly. It was a simple design, with a full swing back and straight panels at the front; the collar, cuffs, and edges were trimmed with a rolled band of bugle beads, which reiterated all the s
hades of blue and green in the gown.
“Honey, it’s just lovely,” Marietta murmured, “but I do hope you’ll be warm enough. Emily says the house is drafty.”
“I’ll be fine,” Evan reassured her mother. “Actually, it’s silk chiffon, which is quite warm when it’s layered. Now, all I need are Emily’s diamond earrings and Paula’s diamond star pin, and I’m ready.”
“Your earrings, your pin,” Emily corrected. She moved across the room, leaned closer to Evan, and kissed her on the cheek. “You are indeed the most beautiful bride, Evan, and I’m happy and proud to have you as my new daughter.”
17
Nettled by what he perceived as his daughter’s extreme indifference to him, and still feeling slighted because he had not been invited to the early morning wedding ceremony, Owen Hughes meandered into the Stone Hall looking unhappy, even morose.
As he glanced around, he forgot about his displeasure for a moment, impressed by the beauty of the hall this afternoon. It had been transformed in the last few hours. He had to give Paula and Emily their due. No two ways about it, the Stone Hall was looking fantastic, had a fairy-tale feeling.
Paula’s pride and joy were her glass houses where she grew her orchids, many of which were exotic and rare. She had given him a tour the other day, and he had been amazed by the extent of her collection and the variety of the hundreds of plants.
Now some sixty or so of these orchids in glazed cream ceramic pots graced the Stone Hall. There were snow-white orchids, white orchids tinged with pink or with deep pink centers, all kinds of pink orchids, solid in color, or speckled or veined with white; mixtures of these were grouped on the mantelpieces, and on chests and tables placed around the hall; or stood in corners on special wooden stands of different heights. Others were used as centerpieces on the round tables which had been set out for the wedding luncheon.
The latter were covered with floor-length pink silk cloths; there were pink silk cushions on the small gold chairs, which were trimmed with large pink satin bows. These tables and chairs were grouped around a small dance floor, which had been put down in the middle of the Stone Hall, near the fireplace. Already lamps had been turned on, a huge fire blazed in the tall stone hearth, and overall the scene was lovely, had a welcoming warmth to it.
It pleased Owen that Paula and Emily had created this setting for Evan, and he felt a lifting of his bellicose mood. As he moved amongst the tables, heading for the library, he noticed that his place card was on one of the large tables. He saw at once that he was seated between Emily and Paula, and this cheered him even more. It was a place of honor, befitting the father of the bride.
Marietta had been seated between Robin, his father, and Shane. That would please her; she liked both men, particularly Shane O’Neill, with whom she flirted outrageously he had noticed, much to his chagrin.
Owen frowned as he moved on, thinking of the way Marietta had brushed aside his complaints this morning. She hadn’t seemed to care that Evan had gone off and married Gideon without asking them to be present. But then that was just like Marietta these days … she was something else. How she had changed, how independent she had become. It was the inheritance; her aunt’s will had made her a rich woman, given her a new lease on life and certainly a wholly different attitude. It was an attitude he didn’t particularly like. Because she was childless, her Aunt Dottie had left Marietta everything, her apartment in California, all of her money and investments. It was the aunt who had even convinced her to go to a new doctor before she’d died.
It irritated him that his wife was staying on in London, that he hadn’t been able to persuade her to leave with him next week. She fully intended to remain in England for the birth of the twins, who were not due until the end of February, or early March. So be it, he thought, and then paused as he heard his name being called.
Owen swung around, found himself almost, but not quite, face-to-face with Priscilla Marney, the caterer, whom he had met earlier in the week.
He smiled at her. “Hello, Miss Marney.”
“Good afternoon, Mr. Hughes. And you must call me Priscilla, or better, Prissy, as everyone does. Can I get you anything? Would you like a drink, perhaps? The waiters will be coming out in fifteen to twenty minutes, but I can go to the kitchen, bring you a glass of wine.”
“No, no, Priscilla, but thanks anyway. I was just strolling through, admiring the Stone Hall.”
“It’s charming, isn’t it? Paula and Emily have done a great job.”
“Yes indeed,” he said, wondering why she called them by their first names.
As if reading his thoughts, Prissy said, “That must sound rude to you, my use of their Christian names, but—”
“Oh, no, it doesn’t,” he cut in swiftly, smiling at her. He liked her.
“You see, we all grew up together. My mother was Mrs. Harte’s summer secretary when she was at Heron’s Nest, her seaside house in Scarborough. She always had her grandchildren to stay: Paula and Philip; Emily and her brother, Sandy, who’s dead now; Sarah and Jonathan, and her great-nephew Winston. And Shane always came, too, and sometimes Michael Kallinski. Anyway, we all played together, shared our summers when we were youngsters.”
“It must have been a lot of fun.”
“It was. We were great chums.” A faint smile played across her mouth as she added, “Paula and Emily have been good to me, using my catering service.”
. “You’re good at what you do, Priscilla, the dinner was terrific the other night. Very good indeed.”
“Thank you, that’s kind of you to say so.”
“So you know my half brother, Jonathan …” He let the sentence slide away, not wanting to probe too much.
“Oh, yes, we’re great friends.” Immediately Priscilla knew she’d said too much and quickly corrected herself. “What I mean is, we were good friends, a long time ago. I haven’t seen him in years.” She always felt the need to protect Jonny and their special relationship; he had warned her not to let anyone in the family know about them. Or anyone else, for that matter. And she would never let Jonny down. She thought of their date for next Wednesday, and a little thrill ran through her. “Well, I must be off, Mr. Hughes!” she exclaimed. “I’ve got my hands full today.”
“I understand. And call me Owen,” he said to her retreating figure.
Elayne Hughes stood in the grand, very formal dining room at Pennistone Royal, where all of the wedding presents were on show, laid out on the long mahogany dining table, and on other tables set up for this purpose. She was staring at the picture she had painted herself as a wedding present for Evan and Gideon, studying it really.
It was displayed in a prominent place, propped up on an easel which stood on top of a Georgian chest. She nodded, liking it even more than she had when she had finished it. She had chosen to paint a spot Evan knew, a field near the family farm in Kent, Connecticut, golden corn blowing in the breeze, set against the dark green Litch-field Hills, a bright blue sky filled with puffball white clouds floating high above, and, in one corner, three red barns and two gray silos, so very typical of the area where they had grown up. She was glad now that she had had the painting framed; somehow, the ornate, gilded frame made all the difference, gave the painting a sense of substance, even of importance, and this pleased her.
Elayne knew that Evan and Gideon loved it, especially Evan, since it was a reminder of home for her. Home. No, Connecticut wasn’t home anymore, not for Evan. Yorkshire was her home now. And London, of course, where her beloved Harte’s store stood in Knightsbridge. Elayne had the feeling that Evan had come into her own skin here, in this beautiful county, in this extraordinary and quite magnificent house. She was happy for Evan, who had always been special, and so loving and protective of her when she was growing up. Unlike Angharad. Their younger sister had been mean-spirited, constantly playing pranks on them both, telling lies about them to their grandmother Glynnis, and getting them into trouble with their mother. Deep down, Elayne disliked Angharad intense
ly, although she tried not to show it. Angharad was not the kind of person she had any desire to upset.
Stepping away from the painting, Elayne moved slowly around the table, admiring the other gifts. Their parents had given Evan and Gideon a beautiful silver tea service, Georgian naturally, since their father was an expert on everything from the Georgian period. Leaning closer, peering at the card propped up against the silver teapot, Elayne saw that Angharad’s name was on it as well. So their sister hadn’t wanted to give Evan a separate gift after all. How typical of her. Elayne knew she was jealous of Evan, and of her; Angharad thought they had been forever favored, usually referred to herself as “the low girl on the totem pole.” How ridiculous she was at times. And how ridiculous she looked with her dyed, platinum blond hair, all that heavy makeup, and such gaudy clothes.
At least today Angharad was dressed elegantly, since she was wearing her bridesmaid outfit. Evan had designed it, a simple, floor-length A-line gown with a tight bodice and long sleeves. It had a high-standing collar at the sides and back, somewhat like a half ruff, and the style and cut of the gown were Elizabethan. Made of an expensive moire taffeta, pearl gray in color, it was worn over a stiffened petticoat, which made the skirt stand out properly. Angharad looked good in the gown, but then they all did. She and Natalie, Gideon’s sister, and Emsie were the other grown-up bridesmaids, while Adele, Tessa’s little daughter, was the flower girl. She had the same gown in miniature; Elayne thought she looked adorable, and the soft gray suited them all.
The wedding present from Robin, Evan’s grandfather and Gideon’s great-uncle, was spectacular, a huge, red leather box lined in black velvet, and holding twenty chased silver wine goblets. Instantly, Elayne thought of Jonathan. Angharad was convinced he would be at the wedding, was itching to meet him again after having run into him in the newspaper shop in the village. But he wouldn’t be there. He wasn’t invited because he was the black sheep of the family and Paula’s bitter enemy. Evan had confided this to Elayne the other day. But Elayne hadn’t repeated it to Angharad. Why would she break a confidence? Anyway, let Angharad look for him and be disappointed; he was old enough to be her father. Her sister had apparently flirted with him in the shop. She was more than ridiculous, she was crazy. Not to mention promiscuous.
Just Rewards (Harte Family Saga) Page 18