Hazel Andrews greeted them with reserved enthusiasm, but warmed considerably when she saw the picture of the dress they wanted her to make. “It’s been some time since I had a gown of this caliber to work on. Not since Mrs. Pierce quit ordering new dresses.” She studied Daisy with a critical eye, then nodded. “It has the perfect silhouette for you.”
“We were thinking something in blue or green would be best,” Abigail said.
“I agree. With an ivory trim perhaps.” The dressmaker’s eyes lit up. “Oh, and I have the perfect fabric for such a gown. I’ve stored it in the back for just such a special project as this. It’s a lovely blue-green shot silk that will complement your eyes and look quite elegant.”
Daisy quickly spoke up. “Please keep in mind that cost will be a factor. And that this dress will serve as my Sunday dress after the wedding. Perhaps we need to consider a more sensible fabric.”
Hazel and Abigail exchanged glances, then the seamstress gave Daisy a placating smile. “Let me fetch it for you to look at before you make up your mind.”
When the seamstress came out with the fabric, Daisy felt her resolve weaken. It truly was a lovely color, with a subtle sheen that made it seem almost fluid.
She touched it reverently, then pulled her hand back. “It looks mighty expensive. Perhaps you should show me something a little more practical.”
“Oh, but it’s your wedding dress,” Abigail argued. “You should forget practical. And this fabric is perfect—you know it is.”
Daisy cast a longing look at the fabric, then shook her head. “What else do you have that would be suitable?”
The seamstress didn’t move. “This fabric is not as expensive as you might think. And for your wedding dress, I’m willing to give you a discount.”
Daisy tried not to get her hopes up. But when the seamstress named her figure, she was pleasantly surprised. It would take most, but not all, of her carefully hoarded funds, but she could afford it.
And since Everett was so opposed to her restaurant idea, there was really no rush in replacing her funds.
* * *
During lunch, Abigail chattered away about the dress. Daisy figured Everett must be bored, so she filled in the conversational gaps with questions about what kind of stories he was working on for the next paper. And her interest was genuine. Even though he pretended disdain for the kind of news Turnabout provided him with, he always managed to give them a fair and interesting treatment. She liked his way of reporting, the way he found the tidbits that spoke to him and focused the light on them.
When the meal was over, Abigail jumped up. “Sorry I can’t help with the cleanup, but I promised to meet Constance downstairs to work on our library as soon as lunch was over.” She turned to her brother. “You’ll help Daisy in my place, won’t you?”
Daisy quickly protested. “That’s not necessary, I—”
“Of course I will.”
His response caught her by surprise. She’d never seen him wash dishes. But she supposed he must have before she came along.
As he carried a stack of dirty dishes from the table to the counter, Everett cleared his throat. “Is there anyone you’d like to invite to the wedding, other than the locals, I mean?”
What a thoughtful question. “I can’t think of anyone.”
“Are you certain? I understand your not wanting your father around after the way the two of you parted but, even if this is to be merely a marriage of necessity, I thought you might want to have some of your other family or friends around.”
“That’s very considerate of you, but unnecessary. I don’t think my grandmother would be interested in coming. And Uncle Phillip and his wife are pretty much under her thumb. As for friends, my friends are all here. Traveling the way we did, I didn’t have much chance to make friends on the road.”
She spread her hands. “So there you have it. What about you?”
“Abigail is the only family I have that matters. As for friends outside of Turnabout, I’m not certain anyone I left behind in Philadelphia would travel over a thousand miles just to see me get married.”
She smiled. “Then it seems we have similar circumstances. But we have the friends we’ve made here to witness our marriage vows, and I’m quite satisfied with that.”
He nodded agreement, then cut her a sideways look. “I don’t know what kind of relationship you wish to maintain with your father, but if you decide you want him here to walk you down the aisle, then we can try to find him before the wedding.
Did she want him here? She loved her father, but she didn’t like him very much these days. “It might be best if I just let him know about the wedding after the fact.”
“Whatever you decide, I’ll support you.”
She was touched by that statement, by the implied concern. “Thank you, but even if I wanted him here, I’m not sure I’d know where to look.”
Once Everett headed downstairs, Daisy’s thoughts turned back to the issue of her father. Ever since Abigail arrived, she’d been trying to help Everett see how very important family was, how he should cherish the time he spent with Abigail, despite any other irritations or concerns he might feel.
Was she willing to follow her own advice?
Feeling convicted, she headed downstairs to ask Everett for his help in sending a telegram—in fact, a series of them—to whichever towns her father would be most likely to be visiting right now. He might not get the news in time to attend her wedding, but he’d be passing back through here in a few months, and she didn’t want him to be surprised by her new status.
Halfway down the stairs, she paused as something else occurred to her. She should ask Everett for a sheet of paper, too. It was past time she wrote to her grandmother and at least attempted to mend fences there, as well.
* * *
Much to Abigail’s delight, the furniture they’d ordered arrived two days before the wedding. Daisy instructed the deliverymen to place the sewing machine in her sitting room and the laundry equipment in her storeroom. The bed that had been ordered for Abigail went into her room. Everything else was carted up to Everett’s living quarters.
Abigail dragged Daisy into Everett’s much-enlarged bedchamber to help with arranging the new furnishings in just the right places.
Daisy felt uncomfortable as she entered what, until now, had been Everett’s private domain. “I really think Everett should have some say in how the furnishings are placed.”
“Don’t be a goose. As if my brother gives a fig for such things. That’s the lady of the house’s responsibility.”
Daisy raised a brow. “At the moment, that’s still you.”
“Don’t be tiresome.” Abigail nudged her arm. “We both know I’m just a placeholder for you. Now let’s get to it. If we’re quick, we can get it done before Everett comes up for lunch. Believe me, he’ll be glad to have it all taken care of without having to be bothered with it himself.”
Daisy wasn’t so sure of that. She knew how organized Everett liked to be, how he liked his things arranged just so. But she supposed he could always rearrange things if he didn’t like what they came up with.
As they worked, Daisy was especially careful about the placement of the chaise lounge, situating it beneath the window of what was formally the spare room. That would give them enough space between their beds for some semblance of privacy, if that was what they wanted. She also placed a small trunk nearby that would be perfect for storing the bed linens when not in use.
The dressing table and other items of furniture she let Abigail have some say in, and the girl happily tried several arrangements before she pronounced herself pleased.
When it was finally arranged, Abigail stepped back with a pleased smile. “Won’t Everett be surprised when he sees what we’ve done?”
It was obvious how much Abigail craved her brother’s approval. Why was it so hard for Everett to see it?
“Let’s hope he’s pleasantly surprised,” Daisy said dryly.
�
�Oh, you know my brother.” Abigail waved a hand airily. “It takes him a while to adjust to new things, but he’ll come around in time.”
Not the most encouraging of reassurances, but Daisy accepted it as the best they could hope for.
“I suppose we must wait until after the wedding to move all of your things in here, but perhaps there are one or two items you’d like to add now to give it a more womanly touch.”
Daisy immediately balked. She wasn’t ready to intrude on his domain just yet. “I don’t know. That seems a bit presumptuous.”
“Nonsense. Everett needs to get used to sharing.” Abigail took Daisy’s arm and gave it a gentle tug. “Come on. I’ll help you pick out some things.”
Despite her reluctance, Daisy allowed herself to be swayed by Abigail. In the end, they settled on one of her mother’s stitch-work pieces and the toy horse.
When they stepped back and studied the final effect, Abigail smiled. “The perfect hint of a woman’s touch to offset my brother’s somber decor.” She turned and gave Daisy an impulsive hug. “Oh, I’m so happy for Everett. You’re going to be so good for him.”
Daisy certainly hoped the girl was right.
When Everett came upstairs for lunch, Abigail insisted he view the newly furnished room. Daisy stayed in the kitchen, letting Abigail do the honors.
When they came back out, Abigail’s face fairly glowed.
“I told you he’d like it,” she said to Daisy.
“Who am I to question the taste of two such well-traveled ladies?” Everett said with a straight face.
Daisy felt her own spirits rise. Was Everett actually learning to unbend enough to tease his sister?
* * *
Everett’s conscience was troubling him, had been for a number of days. Daisy deserved to know his background now, before they were married. But would she go through with the wedding if she knew? Because it was vital, if they were to salvage her reputation, that the wedding take place.
That was his dilemma.
But this morning he’d decided he couldn’t in good conscience not tell her.
So that afternoon, when Daisy stepped out of her building to take her dog for a walk, he was waiting for her.
“Oh, hello.” She looked understandably surprised.
“Do you mind if I come along on your walk?”
“Not at all.” She gave him a speculative look but didn’t ask questions.
They strolled along in silence for a while, until he finally spoke up. “I think you have a right to know who it is you’re marrying.”
Daisy smiled. “I know exactly who I’m marrying—Everett Fulton, newspaper man, good neighbor, respected citizen of Turnabout. A man who is perhaps too much of a stickler and takes himself too seriously, but who has a good heart, is a loving brother, and has a strong sense of what is right and honorable and does his duty without question.”
Her words took him by surprise. Was that truly how she saw him? But he pushed that question away. “What I mean is, you have a right to know my background, where I come from, so to speak.”
She nodded solemnly. “I would love to hear your story, but only if you really want to share it with me.”
He took a deep breath. He hadn’t spoken of this to anyone before. Even Abigail didn’t know the full story. “My father is a member of the English nobility, born the second son of an earl to be more exact.”
* * *
His admission took Daisy by surprise, but it made sense. English nobility—no wonder he seemed so aloof at times. But he was waiting for her response. “Does that mean you’re a member of the nobility, as well?”
“Not exactly.” His smile twisted. “You see, my father never married my mother. She was an actress and considered quite beneath him. Which means I was illegitimate.”
Daisy wasn’t sure what to say to this. But he didn’t give her time to respond.
“Father set her up in a nice cottage at his country estate, and when I came along, he saw that I had tutors, nice clothes, ponies—everything the grandson of an earl should have. But I knew from the outset that I was illegitimate and had no real standing in the family. In fact, I was a bit of an embarrassment and was kept hidden away in the country.”
“Oh, Everett, I’m so sorry.”
He shrugged. “No need to be. As I said, I led a very easy and privileged life. My mother often returned to London to continue her acting career. I was left in the care of servants, and they all catered to me quite nicely.”
This was somehow so much worse than what she’d endured from her grandmother. Daisy tried to match his matter-of-fact tone. “How did you end up in America? Did you get tired of being ignored by your parents?”
“Nothing so noble. When I turned twelve, my father’s older brother died in a boating accident, making him the heir apparent. It became his duty to take a wife in order to provide the family line with a legitimate heir.”
It all sounded so polite, so sterile. Is that where he got his notions of what marriage was all about?
Without any conscious decision, they had arrived at the same log in the same field where Daisy had questioned him about sleeping arrangements.
Everett handed her down then continued his story. “Father’s new wife was understandably loath to share her husband with a mistress and his by-blow. So Mother and I were shipped to America, along with the funds to make sure we would be provided for. He even hired someone to make certain we settled in nicely.”
Everett didn’t sound particularly grateful.
“As luck would have it,” he continued, “Mother was already carrying Abigail when we set sail. However, she didn’t discover this until we were well underway, and eventually my sister was born after we arrived in America.”
“What happened to your mother?”
“She married a playwright who drank too much and spent all her money. She died when Abigail was five.”
She placed a hand over his. “I’m so sorry.”
“Again, there’s no reason for you to be. By that time I was on my own and making enough to get by. I’d been worried about Abigail for some time—the home my mother made for her was not the most nurturing of environments. When Mother passed on, I got her out of there—my stepfather didn’t object—and I scraped together enough money to enroll her in Miss Haversham’s school for girls. And I’ve managed to scrape up enough to keep her there ever since.”
Daisy straightened. “My goodness. Your sister has been at that school since she was five?”
His posture took on a slightly defensive cast. “It was the best thing for her. We had no other relatives, at least none we could count on. And she certainly couldn’t live with me, not in the places I was living back then.”
“And now?”
“What do you mean?”
“Now you have a nice home. You’re about to have a wife. Don’t you think this is a good place for her now?”
“There’s nothing for her here.”
“There’s you.” And me.
“I don’t want to talk about that right now.”
Daisy wanted to shout at him that he never seemed to want to talk about it. But she could sense there was more to his story, and that it wasn’t an easy thing for him to tell it. So she pulled her thoughts back to the conversation at hand. “Do you ever hear from your father?”
“Not directly. Up until I turned twenty-one, his man of business sent me a letter with a small stipend each year on my birthday. He never acknowledged that Abigail was his. And for all I know, he was right. But he supported her, anyway. Because all the money he sent me went directly to Miss Haversham’s to help pay Abigail’s tuition.”
That sounded just like him—not one to take a handout from the father who had rejected him.
“Last I heard,” he added, “he had inherited the title and had two sons and a daughter by his wife.”
“Your half brothers and half sister. And you’ve never met them?” That seemed so sad to her.
He merely shr
ugged.
She straightened and met his gaze. “Now I know your story, and it doesn’t change any of those things I said about you.”
Was that relief flashing in his expression? Had he truly been worried about how she would react?
But then his expression closed off again. “There’s more.” She saw his fist clench at his side. “I debated about whether or not to tell you this part.”
Chapter Twenty-One
Daisy saw the uncharacteristic uncertainty on Everett’s face, and she braced herself. Whatever was coming was going to be worse than what he’d already told her. She said a quick prayer that she would react properly.
He reached down and plucked a blade of grass. “It is at the heart of why I left Philadelphia last year. I did something I’m not very proud of.”
“Oh?” She knew he tended to be hard on himself. Perhaps it wasn’t as bad as he thought.
“I told you I was a reporter for a large newspaper there, and left because the editor and I had a major disagreement. What I didn’t tell you was that he was right to fire me. I would have done the same thing in his place and not lost a minute of sleep over it.”
Goodness, what in the world had he done? Still, she held her peace and let him do the talking.
“I had a lead on a story, a very big story, ripe with the kind of notoriety that sells newspapers. I’d gotten wind of rumors that a prominent local politician had taken a mistress and that the woman bore him a child. This man was married, mind you, and he and his wife had two children.”
Given what she’d just learned of his own history, she could see where such a story would have captured his attention, reporter or not.
“When I looked deeper, I found snippets of information that indicated he had covered up his affair by sending the woman and child to England.” His lips curled in a self-mocking smile. “You can just imagine the irony of such a story falling in my lap. I checked the facts, and they seemed solid. And such was my fervor to expose this dishonorable dignitary that I didn’t keep digging and checking as thoroughly as I usually do.”
Winnie Griggs Page 20