Fortune's Bride

by Jane Peart

  When she had reentered the house, Jamison was impatiently waiting for his set of dances with her. And here is where Avril reproached herself most. She had deliberately used Jamison to vent her own frustration, had used his obvious devotion to soothe her wounded vanity. Applying every scrap of charm she possessed to captivate and enthrall him, she acted as if there were nothing she wanted more than to dance the rest of the night away with him as her partner.

  When the buffet supper was served, Avril suggested to Jamison that they take their plates to one of the secluded alcoves at the far end of the dining room where there would be more privacy.

  They had just started eating when Graham walked over and, looking down at her, asked sternly, “Don’t you think it’s rather rude to be so exclusive? Shouldn’t you be mingling with your other guests, Avril?”

  She titled her head up and let her eyes drift over him before she answered coolly, “Oh, I don’t know why, Graham. Everyone seems to be having a perfectly good time without me.”

  Then she deliberately turned away and smiled demurely at Jamison. He was so dazzled he did not see the flash of fire in Graham’s eyes, nor the flex of the muscle in his jaw as he glared at them both.

  Avril knew Graham was angry and for the first time in her life she did not care. Although she willed herself to keep up a flattering attentiveness focused on Jamison, Avril was churning with inner turmoil. She had never behaved with such calculated defiance toward her guardian. Her cheeks burned. Her nervousness made her more talkative. The laughter from their alcove brought many curious glances. The casual observer would get the impression that the two of them were totally absorbed in each other.

  “Would you like me to get some dessert or perhaps some more punch?” Jamison inquired.

  Avril handed hand him her plate, ignoring Graham’s presence. “Why don’t we take a walk in the garden instead?”

  There was a certain playful insinuation in her suggestion, and Jamie’s eyes lighted up. He needed no persuasion. They stood quickly and started toward the open French door.

  Over her shoulder Avril glimpsed Graham’s quickened pace. There was something in that forceful stride that both excited and frightened her. Tugging at his hand she hurried Jamison out onto the veranda and ran down the steps.

  Pulling him along the garden path, Avril glanced back and saw Graham’s tall figure in the doorway, silhouetted against the light from the drawing room.

  Knowing he could see them, a perverse streak of rebellion coursed through Avril. Without being quite sure why, she impulsively took both Jamie’s hands and placed them on her waist, then putting her arms around his neck, drew his head down to hers and kissed him on the mouth. For one stunned moment Jamison hesitated, then eagerly pulled her closer and kissed her again. His ardor startled them both and Avril drew back, but he held her fast.

  “Oh, Avril, I do love you with all my heart,” he whispered fervently.

  Before she could gather her wits, Graham’s voice cut through the soft evening. “Avril, will you please come inside. Your guests are waiting.”

  There was no mistaking the note of authority in Graham’s voice. There was something else as well—a steely hint of anger that Avril had heard only twice before. She shivered involuntarily.

  Immediately Jamison’s arm went around her in a protective gesture as Graham’s voice sounded for a second time, slashing like a whip. “Now, Avril.”

  “He has no right to speak to you like that!” Jamison muttered under his breath.

  “Yes. He has every right,” Avril corrected him. Already she was overwhelmed by self-reproach at her recklessness.

  Her heart hammered. Suddenly she realized how foolish she had been to deliberately provoke Graham. And to what end? To feed some selfish need? Instantly she was contrite.

  Graham remained on the veranda like a sentinel, waiting for them. When they reached the bottom step, he gave Avril one scathing look, then turned, marched to the door, and stood aside for them to pass through ahead of him.

  For Avril, the rest of the evening passed in a kind of miserable blur. When at last everyone had gone, she and Becky, who was staying over for a week’s visit, went upstairs to her bedroom. She was just grateful that Becky was too much in a romantic trance over Marshall Cameron to notice Avril’s depression.

  Long after Becky slept the slumber of the newly-in-love, Avril kept mentally flogging herself for her heedless actions. Why, oh why had she felt it necessary to flaunt herself so brazenly? She had given Jamison false encouragement. Worse, she had hurt and angered Graham.

  Avril rolled over and pounded her pillow. How could she ever undo the havoc she had caused by her own stupidity? How could she erase that look of disappointment on Graham’s face, his suppressed fury at her outrageous behavior?

  There was only one way. Apologize. First thing tomorrow she would go to him—grovel, if need be—and beg his forgiveness.

  Worn out with worry, Avril slept deeply.

  When she awoke, the room was bright with sunlight and she knew she had overslept. Hoping against hope that Graham had not already left the house on his plantation rounds, she dressed hurriedly and, leaving Becky still asleep, slipped out of the bedroom and down the stairs.

  To her dismay she discovered she was too late to catch her guardian alone. As she entered the dining room, Auntie May, who was sitting at the table with him, greeted her with smiling affection.

  “Well, here she is now! Good morning, birthday girl!” Then, turning to Graham, May asked, “Have you told her yet?”

  Bewildered, Avril demanded, ‘Told me what?”

  Auntie May seemed surprised. “You mean Graham hasn’t given you your special birthday present yet?” She eyed the tall man at her left. “May I tell her the exciting news?”

  “Why not?” Graham spoke indifferently, avoiding Avril’s searching gaze. He drew an envelope from the inner pocket of his jacket and slid it across the polished surface of the table.

  Still puzzled, Avril picked it up and withdrew the contents.

  “Isn’t it thrilling, Avril?” Auntie May exclaimed. “A year in Europe! Just imagine!”

  Avril lowered her eyes. She was holding in her suddenly shaking hands a passenger ticket on a ship with a September sailing date only three weeks away.

  “You see, darling, Hugh has to go to London—some complicated legal affair dealing with a client’s estate. It’s been held up in the courts for some time and the heirs are growing impatient for a settlement. So when I learned he might be gone for months, I decided to go along. We made some lovely friends when he took the boys over to enroll them in school, and of course Hugh has many friends in the legal profession there as well. So, quite naturally, we thought of you!”

  Confused enough, Avril did not really see what she had to do with Judge Cameron’s business. Before she could ask for an explanation, Auntie May went on. “A season in London, my dear! What a prospect. When I told Graham it was every young woman’s dream, he consented for you to go with us. Oh, there will be all sorts of parties, places to go, and of course, sightseeing. We’ve already received an invitation to a country house from the parents of a classmate of Logan’s there. So many people want to entertain us.”

  Avril turned stricken eyes on Graham. Surely he did not wish for her to be gone from Montclair—from him—for a full year?

  But his eyes meeting hers were cool and impersonal, and he offered no rescue.

  “And wait, my dear! The best part is that while Hugh attends to his business in London, we’re going to the Continent! Actually it was Graham’s suggestion. As long as we were already abroad, we should go on to France, Italy, and Switzerland!”

  Shock and disbelief compounded Avril’s already miserable state of mind. She wondered why they could not see it. But Auntie May did not seem to notice, and if Graham did, he ignored it.

  This is my punishment, Avril told herself numbly. Auntie May’s voice went on and on, but Avril was conscious only of an overwhelming paralysis o
f mind, heart, and body. She sat there like a stone while Hector placed her breakfast plate before her. Thus preoccupied, Avril was not aware that Becky had entered the room until Auntie May greeted her cordially.

  “Good morning, dear. Come in and join us. We’re just talking about the wonderful birthday present Avril’s guardian has given her. A trip to Europe! A year to travel, to visit all the beautiful museums, art galleries, and historical sites. She will be accompanying my husband and me. Isn’t that delightful?”

  Becky clasped her hands together. “Oh, how lucky you are, Avril! How I envy you!” Then her happy expression changed. “But I’m afraid someone I know will not be at all thrilled at the prospect of Avril being gone for such a long time. My brother had hoped to see a lot of her now that she was back at Montclair. Jamison is finishing up his last year at William & Mary College,” she explained to Auntie May.

  “Oh, I see.” Auntie May nodded and cast a questioning look at Avril. But Avril stared down at her untouched ham and eggs.

  “Oh, yes, indeed!” Becky continued merrily, “Jamison has considered no one else since he first set eyes on Avril!”

  At this Graham shoved back his chair, stood, and flung down his napkin in a gesture Avril recognized as irritation. But when he spoke his voice was as calm and courteous as usual.

  “I’m sure you ladies will excuse me. I have an idea the subject of this conversation will soon turn to appropriate clothes for traveling and touring.” A brief smile touched his mouth but did not reach his eyes, Avril noted. The mention of Jamison, she suspected, had touched off his annoyance over the unfortunate incident of the evening before.

  Determined not to let him go without some chance to explain and apologize, Avril blurted out, “Graham, may I have a moment with you?”

  He frowned. “I’m late as it is, Avril.”

  “I’m afraid I delayed you, Graham, by coming over so early and gossiping about the party and our trip!” Auntie May interjected.

  “Not at all, May. You’re always welcome.”

  “I suppose you want to thank Graham for his generosity don’t you, dear?” May asked Avril. “Run along then. Becky and I shall have a nice chat.”

  Avril rose and followed Graham to the doorway. “Graham, about last night—I don’t know what got into me. I’m very sorry I behaved in such a manner. It was unforgivable.”

  His face was impassive as he regarded her gravely. “There’s no need for an apology, Avril.”

  “Oh, but there is! I know you were angry—”

  “Not angry. Disappointed.”

  She reached out to touch his arm, but at that moment Hector appeared in the hallway. “ ‘Scuse me, Mastuh Graham, but Miss Avril hab a caller.”

  Avril looked beyond and to her dismay saw Jamison standing inside the front door, his face aglow. He was holding a huge bouquet.

  Oh, no! Avril thought. Not now!

  Graham, following the direction of her gaze, turned and saw Jamison. He stiffened noticeably.

  “Good morning, Avril,” Jamison beamed. “Good morning, sir!”

  “Good morning,” Graham replied courteously, but he leveled an icy glare at Avril before continuing. “Since those obviously aren’t for me, Jamison, I beg you to excuse me. I have business to attend to.”

  Bowing slightly, Graham strode toward his plantation office without a backward look.

  chapter

  22

  AVRIL SAT at the desk in the apartment of the rented villa in Florence, her pen moving over the pages of the book in her lap.

  The windows of my bedroom overlook the whitewashed wall of a monastery. Sometimes I can see brown-robed monks moving in single file through the arched cloister as the deep, clanging bell calls them to prayer.

  The colors here are so beautiful, the light indescribable—a kind of inner sunsoaked radiance of the very stones.

  Avril paused, lifting her head to gaze out the window, watching the shadows on the hills deepen from violet to purple, touched by the fading rays of what had been a glorious sunset.

  Someday I shall have to come back to Florence when my heart is not so full of sadness.

  In the months since she had left Montclair to travel Europe with Auntie May there had not been a single day she had not felt the pangs of homesickness. Dutifully she had taken the tours, seen the sites, visited the museums, the castles, and even the catacombs in Rome. But in most of them, if only for a few minutes, she would think of Graham and wonder what he would make of this monument or that painting or this historical site. He was never far from her mind and heart, and now she began counting the weeks until they would be back in England and set sail again for America, for Virginia, for Montclair.

  The last three weeks before they had started on their journey had been torturous for Avril. With Becky a houseguest and Jamison a frequent caller, there had been no chance to seek a time alone with Graham when she could try, at least, to recover the affectionate base of their relationship. Of course, she wanted more than that—a new status. Failing that, she was content to settle for the familiar camaraderie they had enjoyed for so many years—anything but the cool aloofness into which Graham had withdrawn.

  With the frantic preparations for the tour, requiring several trips to Williamsburg, compounded by the appearance each day of Jamison, and Marshall, who was pursuing an eager courtship with Becky, Avril’s time was filled almost to the day of leavetaking.

  On the night before her departure from Montclair, Avril had dined alone with Graham. But she had been fearful of spoiling this rare occurrence by bringing up what had stood between them, unspoken, since the night of her debut. And yet to go without saying anything was like leaving an open wound unhealed.

  So it was with studied caution that Avril kept the dinner conversation lighthearted in spite of her inner melancholy. Graham seemed to relax, dropping his guarded demeanor.

  “You know, Avril, this is the opportunity of a lifetime. May has planned an itinerary that should increase your knowledge and appreciation of the art and culture of centuries of our civilization.”

  “Yes, I know, Graham. I only wish—”

  “Wish what, Avril?”

  “It would be even more pleasant if you could show me in person the things that meant most to you when you traveled in Europe.”

  “Ah, but I didn’t see nearly as much as you will see. My time was limited and you will have a year.”

  His words struck like a knife into her heart. A year—a whole year before she would see him again.

  After dinner they had walked for a while in the garden. The night was soft as blue velvet, the air fragrantly scented with the aroma of late-blooming roses. They strolled leisurely, though Avril knew the dreaded time for saying good-bye had come.

  At length they walked back to the house. Graham leaned against the pillar of the veranda, the moonlight illuminating the noble structure of his profile as he studied the night sky.

  Avril wanted to speak, to say something that would linger in his heart long after she had gone. But the words would not come. She stood there, memorizing his face, sensing that to express her love would only serve to drive him further from her. Should she then attempt another apology for the debacle on the night of her debut?

  Graham himself had never brought up the incident again—not her arrogant behavior nor the scene in the garden with Jamison. She shuddered, even in the warmth of the soft Italian evening, remembering the cold fury in Graham’s eyes when she had flaunted before him Jamison’s open adoration.

  At the core of it, she knew, was her jealousy of Clarice Fontayne. She had prayed for forgiveness for her smoldering resentment of that lady. She knew it was wrong—perhaps even groundless. Graham had only been fulfilling his role as a gracious host, perhaps escorting Clarice to the garden at her request. He had never given Avril reason to believe he harbored deep feelings for Clarice.

  She picked up the travel diary Graham had given her on that evening, idly riffling through its pages. She had tried to
write in it every day, if even just a sentence or two. She stopped here and there to reread what she had written:

  Paris

  Mont-Saint-Michel

  The idea of such a cathedral stuns the imagination of one used to country churches. Standing on granite rock towering over a restless, churning sea, one looks two hundred and thirty-five feet down. Auntie May was quite overcome with vertigo. I felt as if we had somehow tumbled into the twelfth century.

  Versailles

  History comes alive here. When I think that it is not so long ago that Marie Antoinette lost her beautifull head, and the horrors of the guillotine are not so far removed from today, I felt faint. The Tuileries Gardens are lovely, or, I imagine, would be in full bloom. But with the approaching winter, Paris is much grayer and damper than I had expected. Everyone tells us we must come back in the spring. But all I can think of is Montclair in the spring, wearing a “bridal veil” of pink and white dogwood blossoms….

  Switzerland

  Lake Leman

  We are staying in a lakeside chalet in a charming village. From our hotel we can walk down to a spot where little benches are placed for one to enjoy the serene beauty of the vivid blue lake.

  All Switzerland is sublimely clean and sparkling, its snowcapped mountains, its “toy towns” nestled in the valleys. All so peaceful and perfect, and yet I find myself thinking of the early Christian martyr, John Hits, whom we studied about at the Academy. Eager to bring about reforms in the church, he traveled to present his case to a council meeting in a town not far from here, in 1415. Having been promised safe conduct, he instead was cruelly betrayed and burned at the stake. What horrible things have been done in God’s name throughout history.

  Rome

  The Eternal City. I know tourists are supposed to be awestruck by the buildings, the statues, the ruins here, but perhaps I was expecting too much, for I felt vaguely disappointed. Being herded along with crowds of people, often stepping on each other’s heels as we were rushed from one site to the next, was most unsatisfactory. Then, too, there was so much to see that the mind cannot take it all in. However, I take notes wherever we go so that at tea back at Montclair, I can make adequate conversation: “Oh, yes, when I was in Rome, I saw….”