by Jane Peart
“Let me take your cloak, Avril,” Logan offered, ready to hand it to one of the servants standing nearby.
“Just a minute,” she said unpinning the fleur-de-lis from her collar and refastening it to her dress before surrendering her cape to him.
“A special Christmas gift?” he asked with lifted brow.
“Very special. Graham picked it out for me,” she replied, unable to keep from blushing.
Logan was about to respond when Marshall appeared to join them.
It was a trio Logan seemed to find tiresome, for after they had filled their plates from the sumptuous buffet and the three of them were seated together, he kept sending Marshall off on errands.
“Get Avril some cranberry punch, why don’t you, Marshall?” he would suggest.
“But she hasn’t finished what she has,” Marshall protested.
“A good host never allows a guest’s glass to get less than half full,” Logan said knowingly.
After Marshall’s somewhat disgruntled departure, Logan would engage Avril in a spirited conversation, ignoring his brother’s return with her refilled glass.
Avril was amused. It was rather fun to have her two former playmates vying for her favor. It was certainly a new experience to have Logan so attentive. She could not help feeling a sudden heady sensation of feminine power.
Then a gust of cold wind swept through the room and Avril experienced a sensation not unlike a woods creature’s instinctive awareness of a predator. Without knowing exactly why, she shivered. Then turning, she witnessed Clarice Fontayne’s arrival in a flurry of white fur and blue velvet.
The woman’s heart-shaped face was framed by the fox-trimmed hood of her flowing cape. Gentlemen were flocking to her side to help her divest herself of it. But to Avril’s dismay, it was to Graham that Clarice’s attention was directed. As she watched with a sinking heart, Graham offered his arm and the two of them made a slow promenade of the room as Clarice was greeted as if she were a visiting empress.
Music floated in from the other parlor, which had been cleared for dancing, and Logan leaned down and whispered in Avril’s ear, “Shall we venture in and see if our dancing skills are in practice?”
Anything seemed better than staying in the same room with Clarice and watching the men fluttering in her wake like moths drawn to an irresistible flame. How could Graham be taken in by her, let her use him so blatantly?
“You have a telltale face, Avril,” Logan chided her as he led her into the parlor.
“What do you mean?” she asked indignantly, flushing.
“Ah, perhaps I know you too well, but those eyes of yours were flashing dangerously just now when the beauteous widow of Williamsburg arrived.” His tone was bantering, but the eyes regarding her were grave.
Avril pressed her lips together, not knowing how to reply.
“Ladies must learn not to let their expressions betray their emotions. But I don’t suppose they teach such frivolous things at that strict school you attend, do they?”
Avril shrugged. In spite of herself she glanced over at Clarice and Graham, who were now sharing a glass of punch.
“It’s all part of growing up, you see, Avril,” Logan went on. “It’s even scriptural. Remember? ‘When I was a child, I thought as a child … but when I became a man—or woman,’ “ he paraphrased, “ ‘put away childish things.’ Grown-ups learn to dissemble.”
“Then, maybe I don’t want to be grown up!” she retorted. “Besides, you’re misquoting Scripture, and you know what they say about that and who does it and for what purpose!”
“Far be it from me to argue the Scriptures with you!” Logan laughed.
They were at the edge of the polished floor now and Logan bowed and they moved into the graceful measured steps of the dance. “See, there are some pleasurable advantages to adulthood. At least now we are allowed downstairs.”
Avril looked puzzled but before she could pursue his remark, she was swung into a twirl, her hand taken by another gentleman, before returning to Logan.
Logan was an excellent dancer. Probably he had had a great deal more practice than she, with the limited opportunities afforded by the Academy. But he led her through the steps with a gentle, sure touch, so that she found herself following with ease. He smiled his approval.
“So how does it feel to be all grown up, Avril?”
“Grown up?”
“Yes, have you forgotten the last time you and I danced together? It was on the balcony where we children were sent during the grown-up party.”
“Ah, yes! I remember. Although it seems a long time ago.” She smiled a trifle wistfully.
“You haven’t answered my question.”
She thought for a long moment. “It’s a little frightening.”
Logan gazed at her as they circled, took the measured steps, bowed, and he twirled her around. Then without her noticing, he danced her into the shadowed archway that led into the music room off the parlor.
“Don’t be frightened, Avril,” Logan said softly. “Being grown up can be quite delightful.”
With that, he bent down and kissed her full on the lips. It was not at all like the awkward kiss Jamie Buchanan had bestowed that Christmas at Woodlawn.
“Logan!” she gasped when it ended.
But he already had his hand on her waist and was leading her back into the lighted parlor. He was smiling, a look of amused triumph on his handsome face.
When the music stopped Avril felt flushed and warm. She had been excited by Logan’s kiss, but mostly confused by the feelings it had stirred in her. She excused herself to go into the downstairs bedroom that had been turned into a cloak and “retiring” room for the ladies. On the table under a wide mirror lighted by an elegant six-branched candelabra, she found bottles of cologne and dampened linen towels for the guests to use in refreshing themselves.
She was standing there lifting her heavy hair to cool her neck when Clarice’s reflection appeared beside hers in the mirror. Even while acknowledging the woman’s ravishing beauty, she could not stem the helpless tide of animosity that flooded her.
“Why, Avril!” Even Clarice’s exclamations were delivered in smooth honeyed tones. “I hardly knew you!”
Slowly Avril turned to face her, knowing in her heart that she could never compete with this polished charm, this sophisticated confidence.
To her surprise Clarice seemed to be appraising her with a different kind of interest. Eyes narrowed speculatively, her glance swept over Avril, not missing an inch of the girl’s slender height, the soft new roundness of her bosom, her creamy skin, and auburn hair. It was as if she realized she was confronting a young woman instead of a child, one whose emerging beauty rivaled her own.
In a matter of seconds, a swift exchange of looks passed between them, then a shrewd half-smile touched Clarice’s lips.
“So, how is it to be home after all this time?” she asked indifferenty, moving on to observe herself in the mirror with evident satisfaction.
“Oh, it’s quite wonderful, Mrs. Fontayne,” Avril replied, feeling an urge to somehow squelch that studied ennui Clarice always affected. “Graham and I have been having some lovely times together.” This seemed to elicit a little response from Clarice, who glanced her way again. Avril, sensing this, felt her courage soar. “We ride together almost every day and read or play chess or just discuss books we’ve read or music we like—” She gained momentum as she thought of Graham’s obvious pleasure in having her back at Montclair, his delight in their shared interests. For a moment she enjoyed a feeling of superiority. Clarice did not ride nor did she read. In fact, according to Auntie May, the lovely widow’s days were filled with shopping and visiting, her conversation limited to fashions, fads, and trivial gossip.
But that brief feeling of confidence was snatched from her. Clarice, finished admiring herself, turned slowly toward Avril and, seeing the fleur-de-lis pin, reached out and touched it lightly.
“Oh, I see you are wearing the
pretty pin. Do you like it? I so hoped you would. I was with Graham when he bought it for you.” Beneath the smooth sweetness of her softly modulated voice was an underlying mockery.
Clarice might as well have slapped her. The casual remark, implying that she, not Graham, had selected the jewel for her, wounded Avril to the quick. More than the lovely pin itself, the fact that Graham had chosen it for her himself meant most to Avril.
Avril felt the stinging rush of tears, but she willed them away. She whirled around, her back to Clarice, and picked up one of the silver-handled brushes provided for guests and began to brush her hair vigorously.
Clarice was patting her creamy neck and shoulders with a maribou powder puff, apparently indifferent that her careless comment had broken Avril’s vulnerable heart and ruined Christmas Day for her.
chapter
15
“WELL, THAT’S OVER!” declared Avril, sighing, as she dropped into a chair, slipped her feet out of her yellow satin slippers, and began unbuttoning her long kid gloves.
“Over!” exclaimed Becky, with a shocked expression. “You make it sound as though we’ve just come from a funeral, not a ball!”
Avril pressed her lips together as she cast a look at her friend’s shining face. No use to spoil her guest’s afterglow of happiness with her own dismal mood. She herself could not wait to leave Clarice’s party and come back to the Barnwells’ home where they were sharing the guest room at Aunt Laura’s. The ball had not been over until much too late to return to Montclair that evening.
Avril would have preferred her original plan to hold a small New Year’s Eve party at Montclair instead, but once Becky had heard about the extravagant gala from Logan and Marshall, she had been eager to go. So in spite of Avril’s premonition of disaster, she had been forced to consider her guest’s wishes instead of her own.
“Why do you say that, Avril? You looked perfectly beautiful in that stunning dress! And every time I saw you—why you danced every dance!”
Not waiting for an answer, Becky held out her own pink sarcenet skirt and spun around happily. “It was the most marvelous party I’ve ever been to and I had a splendid time!”
“I’m glad, Becky. Maybe I’m just tired. I’ve the beginning of a headache, that’s all.” And worse still, a heartache, Avril admitted silently.
She stood to unfasten the row of tiny looped buttons on the bodice of her dress of jonquil silk barege. Becky was right. It was a lovely gown, the neckline corded in deeper yellow satin, the skirt and tiny puffed sleeves ornamented with satin bows, the color enormously becoming.
There was no use explaining to Becky that it was not the party itself but the hostess she wished to avoid—especially after that shattering encounter with Mrs. Fontayne at the Camerons’ on Christmas Day. But of course she had to go. There had been no possibility of escape after Becky’s arrival. As soon as she learned about the glittering social event, her friend had talked of little else. Clarice’s parties had become widely known in Williamsburg and beyond, providing weeks of anticipation and months of gossip afterwards.
But Becky’s spirits were not easily dampened. As they got ready for bed, she chattered endlessly about the party.
“I think Logan Cameron is very handsome and gallant, but Marshall is so much nicer, really. Maybe he’s more like my brothers, not so formal, so I feel more comfortable with him. They were both extremely flattering, though, and filled my dance card with the names of many other young gentlemen. Marshall made sure he had the dance before supper and the last dance of the evening and—well, I do believe I liked him best.”
Avril’s mind was wandering and it was only Becky’s next remark that brought her sharply back to the present.
“Don’t you agree? I’m hardly ever mistaken about such things.”
“What on earth are you saying?” demanded Avril.
“It’s as plain as the nose on your face!” retorted Becky. “There is something going on between Mrs. Fontayne and your guardian.”
“What do you mean? What did you notice?”
“Oh, it’s very obvious. At least to me. Didn’t you see how she singled him out all evening, how she looks at him, flirting and yet very possessive as if there is no need to flirt. The kind of intimate teasing that only exists between people who are very close? And your guardian, too. Didn’t you notice how solicitous he was of her? He went to fetch her shawl, brought her supper, kept her punch cup filled all evening—all the little things that people do who care deeply for each other.”
“But that’s the way Graham is!” protested Avril. “He has impeccable manners. He treats all ladies graciously.”
“Perhaps. But there was a difference in the way he was acting with Mrs. Fontayne,” said Becky with a wise air. “Just watch them the next time they’re together. You’ll see. I know she is interested in him. But, if as you say, he conducts himself in the same way toward every lady”—There was a definite touch of doubt in Becky’s tone—“then I’m not sure about him.”
“You’re imagining things,” sniffed Avril. “I don’t believe a word of it.”
“It’s because you don’t want to.” Becky gave an indifferent little shrug. “But, mark my words, Mrs. Fontayne strikes me as being a very clever lady. If she wants something, I’m sure she would do anything to get it.”
Avril felt a growing sense of uneasiness. Becky was often remarkably perceptive. And it was true that her observation was something Avril would rather not believe. Now she felt cold and numb at her friend’s words.
Gradually her dismay took the form of anger. For a few minutes she even wished she had never invited Becky to Montclair for the holidays. Then she would not have attended the ball tonight and noticed whatever it was Becky saw between Clarice and Graham. She certainly could not have repeated it!
Resentment flared within her and she said crossly, “Let’s not talk any more tonight. I’m tired and want to go to sleep.” And with that, Avril snuffed out the candle on her side of the bed and burrowed under the covers, turning her back on Becky.
She heard Becky moving about the room, finishing undressing, making deliberate little noises—the bang of a hairbrush, the scrape of the armoire door as she hung her ball gown—taking longer to settle as if in silent protest to Avril’s behavior.
Finally the bed creaked, the mattress jiggling as Becky climbed in beside her in the big, four-poster canopy bed. But tonight they didn’t warm each other with conversation, nor did they sleep curled up like spoons.
Soon Avril heard Becky sigh and in awhile she could tell by her friend’s breathing that she had fallen asleep. But there was no rest for Avril. The headache she had pretended was now a throbbing reality. All the impressions of the evening came flashing back into her mind punishingly. For in spite of the disbelief she had professed to Becky, she, too, had been aware of the disturbing appearance of Graham’s attentiveness to Clarice.
She recalled coming downstairs and seeing Graham in the hall waiting to escort them to the carriage for the ride to Mrs. Fontayne’s townhouse. How splendid he looked in a dark sateen waistcoat, cream silk cravat, high stiff collar. But there was no joy in her heart, only dread premonition of the evening ahead.
He had complimented both of them, but the words seem to drift by Avril as if she had not heard them. She remembered little of the ride—only that Graham and Becky kept up a lighthearted patter into which she rarely entered though they prodded her with an occasional question.
But arriving at Clarice Fontayne’s home was a distinct image. She would never forget her first impression of the grandeur. A liveried butler opened the door for them and Avril had the sensation of dazzling light, the sound of music, the murmur of voices. She heard Becky’s own awed little intake of breath.
The house was even more lavishly decorated than Cameron Hall, which Avril had always considered the most luxurious of homes. Here were rose brocade draperies, elaborate crystal chandeliers with tinkling pendants dangling like fine jewels from a lady’s ears
—no doubt an import from one of the foreign countries in which Clarice had lived. There were parquet floors, graceful French furniture, exquisite Persian rugs. No expense had been spared. Indeed, when Avril glanced into the drawing room, she had the impression that all of this elegance was only a setting to complement the rare jewel who occupied these quarters.
There, Clarice was seated in a high-backed, throne-like chair, as if posed for a portrait. She was gorgeously gowned, something gold and blue, with a filmy tulle stole about her sloping ivory shoulders. In her stylishly coiffed hair was a sparkling jeweled star.
In an adjoining room guests were playing cards, seated at small card tables of polished wood, with brackets at each corner for lighted candles. Crimson-liveried servants were moving about with serving trays of delicacies and wine carafes. Stationed in one corner was a quartet of musicians, playing soft music.
Avril was grateful when she saw Logan and Marshall heading toward them from across the room. Marshall immediately claimed Becky for the first dance, and just as Logan bowed and was about to ask Avril, Avril spied Jamison Buchanan over his shoulder. She knew, of course, that he had escorted his sister as far as Williamsburg on her way to Montclair, but she had not expected to see him at the party.
That was soon explained. As the houseguest of the Langleys, he had been included in their invitation.
In his well-tailored evening clothes, Jamison made a strikingly handsome figure. He was taller now, but the merry blue eyes, so like his sister’s, had not changed, nor had the engaging smile and easygoing, natural manner.
His eyes sparkled with excitement as he told Avril, “I’m enrolling at the College of William & Mary for my next year. Then I plan to read law with a friend of my father’s here. So I shall be around when you graduate from the Academy and come back to Virginia.”
He stepped beside her as a line formed to greet their hostess. After that, Jamison rarely left Avril’s side all evening. To distract herself from the ever-present irritation of Clarice, Avril flirted outrageously with Jamison as well as the many other young gentlemen who requested her as a partner.