Fire's Lady

by Bretton, Barbara

  There was a knock upon her door and Matthew, devastatingly handsome in his dove grey frock coat, entered her room. Janine winked conspiratorially at Alexandra, and then slipped out.

  "You're exquisite, Alex," he said, standing behind her and watching their reflection in the cheval mirror.

  She leaned back against him, resting the back of her head against his shoulder. "You are just accustomed to seeing me in my faded pink dress."

  "There is one thing your costume lacks." He dipped into his pocket and withdrew a long, flat box.

  Her eyes filled with foolish tears. "Oh, Matthew!"

  "Open it," he said gruffly. "We must be leaving for the ball."

  Hands trembling, she lifted the top and gasped. A single diamond, flashing fire in the candlelight, lay suspended upon a fragile golden chain. Matthew took it from her and she watched in the mirror as those huge hands of his manipulated the tiny clasp. The look of tenderness upon his handsome face moved her beyond all reason as the gem nestled in the hollow at the base of her throat.

  "It's magnificent, Matthew," she breathed. "How did you... I mean, I didn't think you could..."

  He silenced her with a kiss. "I can," he said, as he led her toward the door. "And I will again."

  She stopped and cradled his beloved face between her hands. "Why?" she asked, kissing the dimple in his chin. "I already have everything I could ever long for."

  A home.

  A family.

  A man she loved more than life itself.

  And if he had yet to speak of love and marriage, so be it. Nothing could change the truth: She would belong to him until the day she died.

  #

  The Maidstone Club was every wonderful thing Alexandra had imagined it would be. A large, graceful structure it boasted a pool, clubhouse, billiards room, bowling alley, and all manner of luxuries important to the upper classes. The club house was lighted with electric lights powered by a small generator located near the pond and Alexandra marveled at the clean, bright light it produced.

  In a spacious library off the main dining room, a tall black man played popular music on a massive grand piano situated before the open French doors.

  Scores of formally clad waiters quietly circulated throughout the many rooms, making certain the guests were well provided for. French champagne and Napoleon brandy, Spanish sherry and perfectly aged Scotch whiskey—only the finest could be found at Maidstone.

  As magnificent as the club house and surrounding grounds were, the ballroom far surpassed them. Enameled walls the color of heavy cream were overlaid with panels trimmed with pastel molding and papered with watered silk of the palest mauve and dove grey. Crystal chandeliers twinkled from the domed ceiling and a full orchestra barely made a dent on the enormous dance floor.

  Matthew introduced her to one well-known East Hamptonite after another: The Gallatins and the Bownes, the Hunttings and their friend Mrs. Harris, the entire Social Register paraded before her and before the first half hour was over, names and faces began to swirl together in a dazzling blend of silks and satins and fine perfumes.

  The waltz was the favored dance and Matthew possessively refused to yield her company to any of the other men who attempted to cut in upon them.

  "How cruel," she teased as he whirled her across the polished floor. "You selfishly prevent me from stepping on any toes but your own."

  "I want all of you, Alex," he said, dancing her close to the patio. "The good and the bad."

  They were whirling so fast she could scarcely catch her breath and she missed a dance step. "Matthew, I—"

  The dance floor somehow became the ceiling and she feared she would step upon the chandelier.

  "Alex?" His voice was hazy, indistinct. "Are you all right?"

  Her mouth formed the words yet nothing came out. Dear God, it was so hot in the ballroom. If only she could get some air. If only—

  #

  "I am so embarrassed," Alexandra moaned as Matthew drove the carriage back to Sea View an hour later. "Are you sure no one saw me faint?"

  "I am positive, Alex." Matthew glanced at her as they turned into the drive that led up to the main house. "I danced you out onto the terrace then carried you to the coach myself. No one saw."

  "The champagne," she said knowingly. "Champagne on an empty stomach will do it every time."

  "You will not feel particularly fine come morning," he warned. "Champagne has some nasty after-effects."

  "Why do people drink? It simply isn't worth it if it makes one feel so wretched afterwards."

  But Matthew said nothing and Alexandra could only wonder what his own reasons had been.

  #

  Unfortunately, Matthew's prediction had been all-too-right and come morning, Alexandra did indeed feel wretched. Matthew was already out exercising the horses with Johnny when she awoke and she was thoroughly pleased he was not there to witness her humiliation.

  A thousand tiny hammers pounded behind her eyes while the slightest movement brought great distress to her beleaguered stomach. She lay there motionless in the feather bed for a long while, praying for a miraculous recovery, but none was in the offing. She had to get up—why, she could tell by the angle of the sunlight streaming through the bedroom windows that it was near to ten in the morning and she had not so much as combed her hair yet.

  Gingerly she sat upright, wincing as a vicious throbbing commenced at the base of her skull. She eased her legs out of the bed then stood up on shaky legs.

  There. That wasn't so terrible. She was standing up and nothing dreadful had happened to her. More confident, she headed toward her chest of drawers when a storm of nausea swooped down upon her and she barely made it to the washstand before she retched violently again and again.

  A cold sweat broke out on her forehead and she leaned over the washstand, gasping for breath, wondering if she could live through another assault such as that.

  She lived through a second assault and a third before she sank to the floor and leaned against the bed.

  There was a knock at her door and she closed her eyes and groaned silently.

  "Go away, Janine!" she called out, her voice weak and trembling. "I never want to see breakfast again."

  Again, a knock at the door.

  "I am quite serious, Janine! You cannot make me change my mind."

  "It is not Janine," Dayla said softly. "May I see you?"

  Alexandra pulled herself up until she was perched on the very edge of the feather bed. "Come in," she managed.

  As always, Dayla looked fresh and serene in an immaculate white dress of gauzy cotton. Her straight black hair was carefully plaited and the long braid hung nearly to her narrow waist.

  "You are unwell," she said, looking at Alexandra. "I wondered when it would begin."

  "Champagne should be outlawed," she said, massaging her temples. "What a devious people the French are to invent such a wicked indulgence."

  Dayla smiled and shook her head. "Your problem, Alexandra, is that you are with child."

  Chapter Twenty

  "Ridiculous!" Alexandra exclaimed. "That's simply not possible."

  "You and Matthew love," said Dayla gently. "When you love, it is always possible."

  "You don't understand." How on earth could she explain the things she'd learned from Esme and the gypsies of Provence? "I have—I have been taking certain precautions to see that does not happen."

  But not that first time . . .

  "I do not think I make a mistake," said the older woman, "but perhaps..."

  Another wave of nausea flooded Alexandra and she swallowed against the fear rising inside her.

  "What makes you believe it is so?" she asked, voice trembling.

  "Your breasts ready themselves," she said bluntly, "and your waist begins to grow wider."

  Alexandra glanced toward the drawer where she kept her corset—the same corset she had pulled tight as could be just the night before.

  "Perhaps I eat too much."

  "You
eat like a sparrow."

  "I have enjoyed Mrs. Lawrence's strawberry ice cream one time too many."

  "I think not, Alexandra." Dayla crossed the room and sat down on the bed next to her. "Your woman cycle, does it come?

  "I don't know," said Alexandra, near panic. "I can't remember." Think, you fool! Think!

  Dayla patted her hand. "Think quietly, Alexandra. Do not be so upset."

  "Do not be so upset?" A strangled laugh tore from Alexandra's throat. "How am I to feel when you tell me I may be with child?"

  "It is God's will."

  "What kind of God would wish this upon a child?" Could the woman not see how her own illegitimacy had changed both her own life and her mother's? "Perhaps you were born into a kinder world, Dayla, for this world will not tolerate it."

  Compassion was etched in Dayla's features as she took Alexandra's hand in her own and squeezed it. "It may not be so," she soothed Alexandra. "It may be the heat."

  Alexandra glanced out the window toward the ocean crashing against the shoreline. "The heat," she whispered. The heat that rose inside her body each time Matthew said her name. The flame that fired her blood each time he touched her.

  The hot rush of shame she felt that her mother's sin may well be her own.

  Her fears multiplied with each day that passed and each night she prayed to God above for an answer only to awaken in the morning to find no answer at all.

  Dayla's eyes were gentle with understanding but she did not broach the topic again. It was also apparent that Dayla had not betrayed her confidence and spoken to Andrew about her suspicions for Andrew was as irascible and demanding as ever.

  The heat wave finally broke a week after Labor Day when a violent thunderstorm blew in off the ocean, bringing with it black skies and jagged bolts of lightning that felled trees from one side of the Island to the other. Two oaks on the Sea View estate toppled then caught fire and Matthew and Johnny put out the flames with water from the pump near the carriage house.

  With the end of the heat wave came a new harmony within the house. Janine and Cook ceased their open warfare. Andrew's bad temper cooled as the mercury came down. The letters from San Francisco ceased and Matthew turned away from the whiskey bottle once again.

  And Alexandra faced up to the reality of her situation: she was going to bear Matthew's child.

  Two weeks after her confrontation with Dayla, Alexandra finally gathered nerve enough to look at her body in the mirror. Her belly had grown perceptibly rounder. Her breasts were swollen; just the brush of Matthew's lips upon them was enough to make her cry out. The sight of herself nude sent a thrill of fear mixed with wonder up her spine and she realized the changes were happening not only to her body; they were happening to her heart as well.

  Deep inside, Matthew's child was forming. A child their love had created. A child who might have Matthew's eyes and his smile and be the embodiment of everything she could hope for the future.

  The day after the thunderstorm she accompanied Matthew into town to collect the mail and to purchase some yard goods for the gowns Janine offered to sew for her. Evangeline Ames was in a chatty mood, telling both Alexandra and Matthew about the summer people who were returning to the city and the broken hearts they'd left behind.

  It took all of Alexandra's self-possession to keep from weeping when she saw the familiar San Francisco postmark on a large ivory envelope—and the all-too-familiar black cloud descend over Matthew's mood.

  She had planned to tell him on the drive back to Sea View but he was unapproachable and she kept her own counsel.

  Truth to tell, she was grateful for the reprieve.

  At dinnertime Matthew seemed more relaxed and she entertained him with stories of her childhood spent half running barefoot in Provence and half in starched uniforms at the Aynsley School in London. A brisk breeze was blowing off the ocean and after their meal she fetched a wrap and they went down the rickety wooden steps to the beach. They held hands as they walked, talking little, and when she grew tired they sat on a small rise and watched the sun drop into the Atlantic.

  And because she knew no other way, she simply told him.

  "Matthew," she said, looking into his eyes, "I am with child."

  His expression did not vary. "What did you say?"

  Her hands trembled and she hid them inside the folds of her cape. "I am going to have your child."

  Kiss me, Matthew. Hold me close. Tell me how you've longed for a son to be proud of, a daughter to protect.

  His features seemed hewn from granite. "How long have you known?"

  She swallowed around an enormous lump of fear in her throat. "I have suspected for two weeks. I only became certain this morning." Haltingly, she explained about the sporadic nausea, the absence of her monthly flow, the unmistakable changes in her body.

  "When is the child due?"

  "Dayla said it shall be right after the new year."

  "Dayla?" His voice rose angrily on the name. "And what in hell has Dayla to do with this?"

  Heat rose to her face despite the chill wind. "Dayla was the first to realize I was enceinte."

  "Who else knows about this, Alex? Is Andrew preparing for his first grandchild? Is Janine knitting booties?"

  His accusations stung. "I did not tell Dayla. She told me." Where were the kisses and the concern and the sweetness she always thought to be part of such a grand announcement?

  He looked angry and his anger cut through her like a sword.

  "Say something," she begged. "Please tell me what you are thinking." Don't look at me like that, Matthew. Do you not know this isn't the way I planned my life either?

  "I am thinking I would like to go for a walk."

  A red mist of fury descended upon her. "And I am thinking that is not a good idea."

  "At this moment, Alex, staying here with you doesn't seem a good idea." He rose and headed down the beach.

  Was this how it had been for her mother? Had Marisa been flooded with the same terrifying fear as Andrew turned away from her twenty years ago? How little the world had changed.

  She hurried after him through the still-warm sand. "Don't turn from me this way!"

  Matthew ignored her and kept walking as anger exploded behind her eyes. Her mouth and her throat were filled with the taste of rage as Andrew's words echoed inside her head: Mary Margaret was on her hands and knees... begging....

  "You cannot walk away from this, Matthew. I will not allow it!" The life of her mother would not be hers, no matter the obvious parallels.

  "I need time." He dragged his hand through his hair and the gesture tore at her soul. "I need to think."

  "Damn you!" Before she could weigh the consequences, she slapped him in a terrifying rush of anger. "You will not walk away from me, McKenna for I shall be the first to leave."

  #

  Stop her! his mind screamed. Stop her before she runs from your life forever.

  This was the moment he'd dreaded, the moment they'd been racing toward from that day they met in the main hall of Sea View and she'd dressed him down in no uncertain terms. He'd fallen in love with her spirit, her wit, her vulnerability. He'd loved her body and fallen beneath the spell of her soul. She was as much a part of him as the air he breathed, as much a part of him as the blood pounding fiercely in his veins.

  And if he didn't go after her now, she would be forever lost to him.

  "Alex!" Her name tore from the depths of his aching heart.

  She kept running, her dark cloud of hair flowing behind her like a banner unfurled.

  "Alexandra!" He sprang forward, muscles coiled and tight, his strides long and powerful. She stumbled over a patch of dune grass and pitched forward and in an instant he was next to her, holding her, taking the fall himself as he cradled her to his chest.

  "Damn you, McKenna! Let me go."

  His grip tightened as she struggled in his arms. "No, Alex. Listen to me—"

  She swung out wildly with her fists, her anguish piercing his hea
rt. "I have listened!" she screamed, her voice ragged with emotion. "I have listened and listened and listened and still I have heard nothing at all! Nothing about how you feel or what you think—" A sob broke through and she lowered her head.

  "Look at me, Alex," he urged as her struggling ceased. "You know I care—you must know that!"

  "I know nothing, Matthew. Nothing of what matters. You are the father of my child and I don't know where you were born or where you grew up. I don't know your dreams or your plans." A wild laugh tore through. "For all I know you may have a wife hidden somewhere—"

  He couldn't prevent the jerk of surprise that ripped through his body. "Alex, I—"

  Her eyes—those beautiful eyes of deepest gold—clouded with pain and he would offer ten years of his life if he could only wipe it away. "Oh, my God!"

  "It's not what you think, Alex. Madolyn is—"

  "No! Don't say it, Matthew... I can't bear it..."

  "Madolyn and I have not lived together for many years."

  She covered her ears with her trembling hands. "Say no more. I refuse to listen to you. You're vile... I will not allow our child to—"

  "You want to know everything?" he roared. "Then listen because before this night is over you'll wish you had never asked."

  #

  San Francisco - some years ago

  The marriage was dead and had been so for a very long time.

  Matthew leaned back on the veranda of their country house north of San Francisco and watched his wife and his son and his wife's current lover playing croquet on the lawn. Madolyn didn't realize Matthew knew the gentleman was her lover but then intellect had never been Madolyn's greatest attribute.

  No, her attributes appealed to a man's baser instincts. She'd taken her first extramarital lover soon after Christopher was born and, in a way, Matthew could not blame her for his work consumed him. He'd often considered divorce but Madolyn had been quite plain in her threats. Madolyn liked being Mrs. Matthew McKenna and if he left, she would make certain he never saw Christopher again and he would endure any humiliation before he would allow that to happen.