The Engagement Party

by Barbara Boswell

  And then a young woman appeared, wearing a starched Laura Ashley floral dress that looked miles too big for her tall, thin frame, and bright yellow flats with bows on them. She had a yellow bow in her hair, which was sandy brown in color and cut in a short, straight bob.

  “Why, hello, Justine, my dear.” Lydia held out her hand and smiled warmly at the girl, whose big blue eyes were anxious and uncertain.

  “Mother will be joining you shortly. She asked me to—to keep you company.” Justine looked distressed and ill-at-ease. “That is, I’m delighted to keep you company. I’m glad she asked me to. I would’ve come down to see you, even if she hadn’t.”

  “We’re happy to see you, Justine,” Hannah reassured her. She felt a swift stab of guilt. “Uh, about that present Bay gave you yesterday...” She’d meant to hurt Bay’s chances at Wyndhamhood, not to hurt Justine personally. Seeing how fragile the young woman appeared, Hannah worried that she might have done just that.

  “First allow me to introduce you to Matthew Granger, Justine,” Lydia said smoothly, smiling from one to the other. “Matthew, this is Justine Wyndham Marshall, Alexandra’s daughter.”

  Matthew, who had been momentarily transfixed by the sight of Justine, sprang to his feet. The girl, who appeared much younger than her age, and looked vulnerable and skinny and scared of her own shadow, was his half sister. He’d grown up an only child, never dreaming that he had a sibling. But he had a little sister! A wave of emotion rolled over him as he took Justine’s hand in his. If anyone had ever been in need of an older brother’s protection, he decided it was Justine.

  There was an instant connection between them, he could feel it. He held on to her hand, his onyx eyes staring intently into hers.

  “Mother loved the mourning picture, Hannah,” Justine said breathlessly, withdrawing her hand from Matthew’s. She flushed under the piercing intensity of his gaze.

  “What?” Hannah gasped.

  “Back in the 1830s, there were two mourning pictures painted to commemorate two Wyndham children who died when they were three and seven years old. One of them actually has a lock of the little girl’s hair attached to the painting. Mother has always been fascinated by them. She keeps them in a special little gallery upstairs, and over the years she has collected three others. Not of Wyndhams, of course, but other mourning pictures of lost children. She was positively thrilled with Bay’s gift. She thinks he is one of the most perceptive, sensitive men she’s ever met.”

  “Our Bay? Perceptive and sensitive?” Lydia was incredulous. “Oh, gracious!”

  “I can’t believe it!” Hannah was staggered. “The plan backfired.” She began to pace the room in agitation. “Justine, I wanted to help you,” she confessed. “I thought that picture would put your mother off—I mean, who gives a mourning picture to a young bride-to-be? It’s a bizarre gift. But she liked it.”

  Justine stared at Hannah. “You don’t want me to marry your brother?”

  “Not unless you want to,” Hannah said earnestly. “And I can’t imagine that you do.”

  “Do you want to marry Bay Farley, Justine?” Matthew asked, meeting and holding his sister’s gaze.

  “No!” Justine cried, her blue eyes filling with tears. “But I have to. I have no choice. Mother says that I—”

  Matthew put his arm around his sister. “Come with me, Justine.” He walked her from the room, leaving a stunned Hannah and Lydia behind. By the time Hannah hurried to the threshold to peer down the hall, Matthew and Justine had disappeared from view.

  And Alexandra Wyndham, slender and beautiful in a blue silk suit that matched her vivid blue eyes, was walking down the hall toward them. She smiled at Hannah and gave a friendly little wave.

  Hannah turned to her grandmother in a panic. “Grandmother, Alexandra is coming and Matthew and Justine are gone!”

  “Oh my, this is a bit awkward, isn’t it?” Lydia was mildly dismayed.

  “What are we going to do, Grandmother? What are we going to say when she asks where they are?” Hannah whispered.

  “We will simply say that they stepped out of the room. Then we’ll talk—the usual social chitchat. And if, heaven forbid, Matthew and Justine still haven’t returned, we’ll discuss mourning pictures. You must insist that Alexandra show you her collection. Ask her many, many questions about them, Hannah Kaye. And so shall I.”

  Eight

  “I hardly know what to say,” Alexandra Wyndham said, her soft, cultured tones unable to disguise her anger and growing fear. “This is so unlike Justine. To just...just take off with a stranger like this...” She set her teacup down in its saucer, the drink untouched.

  Hannah’s hand shook as she reached for her own cup of tea. Her mouth was so dry she needed something to soothe her parched lips and throat. She glanced surreptitiously at her watch. Matthew and Justine had been gone over an hour!

  She and her grandmother had followed their agenda, chatting politely with Alexandra, catching up on the latest news and sharing a memory or two. When conversation faltered and awkwardness loomed, Hannah had launched into the mourning-pictures discussion. She’d pleaded to see Alexandra’s collection and been taken upstairs to the tiny gallery where the pictures were carefully hung. The picture Bay had bought for Justine was already there, and Hannah mentally kicked herself for choosing such a successful gift.

  Ordinarily, Hannah would have been enchanted to see rare old pictures of a bygone era; she would’ve been delighted with Alexandra’s valuable collection of French and German antique dolls, which were also in the room. But her thoughts were too full of Matthew to fully appreciate the treasures.

  She kept replaying the scene of Matthew greeting Justine in the parlor—the way he’d looked into the girl’s eyes and taken her hand. Juxtaposed with it was the memory of the first time she’d met Matthew herself. His intense dark stare, the breathless way she’d responded to it, to him. Hadn’t Justine displayed a chillingly similar reaction?

  And then he’d hustled Justine out of the room—out of the house—and hadn’t been seen since. Hannah felt distinctly queasy. Was this his standard operating procedure? Mesmerize a woman with those eyes and then whisk her off to bed? It had happened to her only last night! Was it happening to Justine right now?

  Hannah took a gulp of hot tea, scalding her mouth. Perspiration beaded on her forehead and she reached for a napkin to fan herself. The memory of that map of Clover tucked in his copy of The First Families of South Carolina haunted her. She might’ve been off the mark by suspecting him as a thief, but suppose she had been right in assuming that he’d come to Clover with specific designs on the Wyndhams? On Justine! Perhaps he’d arrived in town knowing all about the sheltered young heiress. Being a bestselling author didn’t exempt him from being a first-class rat, and his earnings, however generous, could not compare to the Wyndham fortune.

  What if he had used her to meet the Wyndhams? What if she’d given him the opportunity to seduce innocent young Justine? It felt as if the fine hairs on the back of her neck were actually standing on end. Last night, on the eve of his mission, Matthew had casually taken her to bed because she’d made herself so pathetically available. And now...

  “Grandmother, I feel sick.” Hannah rose swiftly to her feet. “I have to go home right now.”

  “You do look a trifle peaked, darling,” agreed Lydia. She turned to Alexandra, her manners commendably intact. “Such a lovely visit, Alex dear. We must do it again soon.”

  “Lydia, I don’t know what’s going on.” Alexandra did not possess the older woman’s unflappable aplomb. Her face was pale and her lips quivered as she spoke. “I am absolutely horrified about Justine disappearing with—with your friends’ grandson, the writer. What must you think of her! Please don’t mention this to Bay, at least not until we have a chance to sort things out. The engagement is practically set and—”

  “You’re worried about Bay finding out?” Hannah was thunderstruck. “You’re worried about this insane engagement you�
�ve dreamed up when right now your daughter might be...being debauched by a—a—”

  “A libertine,” her grandmother supplied. “My granddaughter has made a telling point, Alexandra. Your priorities are skewed, and that, my dear, is putting it kindly.”

  “We’re getting out of here right now, Grandmother!” Hannah announced, so furious that she could barely form the words to speak. She grasped the handles of her grandmother’s wheelchair, but Lydia was already in full throttle. Hannah had to run to keep up with her. And it wasn’t easy, running in three-inch platform shoes.

  Alexandra scurried after them. “Please don’t go.” She followed them through the hall to the front door. “I am sure this is simply a terrible misunderstanding. We mustn’t act rashly. We can’t allow our—”

  She didn’t have the chance to finish. The front door opened wide, and Matthew Granger and Justine Wyndham Marshall strolled inside laughing, their arms around each other.

  Matthew’s gaze met Hannah’s. He dropped his arm from Justine’s shoulders and held out both his hands to Hannah. “Come here, honey. I have some—”

  “Merciful heavens, what a bounder!” exclaimed Lydia. “Young man, you should be ashamed of yourself! You are a disgrace to your dear grandparents.”

  Matthew thought she was kidding. He and Justine exchanged glances and burst into another round of laughter.

  “Now I feel ill,” Alexandra murmured, leaning against the wall.

  “As do I,” Lydia agreed. “Hannah, my dear, there is an infectious agent on the premises and we must be on our way.” Holding her head high, Lydia powered her chair onto the porch, accompanied by her grand-daughter.

  “Hannah, wait,” Matthew called after her. His reunion with his little sister had him feeling on top of the world, but he was fast becoming earthbound. Something was very, very wrong. He couldn’t let Hannah storm off without trying to explain what had just transpired between him and his newfound, long-lost sister.

  But Hannah and her grandmother didn’t wait. The wheelchair zoomed across the smooth concrete driveway to the big gray tank parked in front of a flower bed of begonias. Hannah stayed close to the chair, not looking back.

  “Justine, go to your room immediately,” Alexandra ordered, her eyes a cold arctic blue. “I shall deal with you when I can bear to look at you without wanting to—”

  “She’s too old to be sent to her room,” Matthew snapped, as Justine shrank against him. He started after Hannah with Justine at his heels. “Hannah,” he called again.

  Hannah made the mistake of turning to see him hurrying toward her. Justine, whose thin face was positively glowing, was with him, still holding on to Matthew and clinging to him as if he was a lifeline. Or her new lover, perhaps her first lover?

  Pain ripped through Hannah. Last night she had looked at Matthew through the clouded eyes of love. Now she had to watch poor Justine suffer the same symptoms, while still acutely infected herself. Hannah glowered at the human plague that was Matthew Granger.

  “Grandmother, excuse me a moment. There’s something I have to do,” Hannah said, her voice eerily calm. “It’s essential to the cure.”

  “By all means do it, child. You must cure what is ailing you,” her grandmother agreed.

  Hannah walked toward Matthew. He smiled his relief and slowed his pace.

  “She looks awfully mad, Matthew,” Justine whispered nervously.

  “Don’t worry. I can handle her,” Matthew assured his sister. “We’re going to work everything out.”

  He and Hannah stopped and stared at each other for a long, silent moment, just an arm’s length apart.

  “Hannah, I know that we’ve—” Matthew began.

  “Not even the most talented spin doctor could come up with a plausible explanation, so don’t even try,” Hannah said coolly and took a step toward him. “But I do have a message to deliver to you.” She swung back her hand and slapped his cheek with bone-jarring might.

  Matthew staggered backward a few steps. Hers was no ladylike little slap, administered for dramatic effect. She’d walloped him with every ounce of strength she possessed. Stars danced before his eyes, which watered from the sheer force of the blow. There was a ringing in his ears. He leaned heavily on Justine, who could barely support his weight with her thin frame.

  “Dammit, Hannah, I think you broke my jaw,” he groaned.

  “I hope I did! It’s nothing less than you deserve, you gold-digging snake.” Hannah restrained the urge to hit him again. He was looking a bit pale. Instead, she turned her attention to the pitiful young woman struggling to hold Matthew up. “Justine, I know my brother is obnoxious, but you’ve gone from the frying pan into the fire with this—this—”

  “I believe the term you used was gold-digging snake,” Matthew finished for her.

  He was furious with her, disillusioned, too. On this monumental and emotional day in his life, he could have used some kindness, some understanding and support, but Hannah Kaye Farley had none to give him. “Well, if I’m a snake, you’re an evil-tempered, heartless little shrew.”

  After everything he’d done, he actually had the nerve to insult her? Hannah was crushed. Never had she been so terribly wrong about anyone. She was certain it would be years before she trusted her own judgment again.

  Hannah turned and ran back to her grandmother, who was avidly observing the proceedings from her place beside the car. “Bravo, my dear,” Lydia commended her. “I do hope you’re feeling better now.”

  Matthew and Justine watched them speed out of the driveway, Hannah looking small behind the wheel of the mighty vehicle. He touched his cheek, which was painfully throbbing. The skin was hot, and he knew her handprint must be visibly red.

  “You’re probably going to have a bruise, Matthew,” Justine murmured anxiously. “And here comes Mother. Oh, her face! She looks like she would like to kill us both.”

  “Don’t worry. I’ll handle her.”

  A faint gleam of humor lit Justine’s blue eyes. “That’s what you said about Hannah, and she clobbered you.”

  “Hannah is a spoiled brat,” growled Matthew.

  “I like her,” countered Justine. “She’s the only person who has ever tried to thwart one of Mother’s plans and I appreciate her efforts, even if the mourning picture did backfire.” Her expression saddened. “But I think she hates us now. If only you could make her understand! But how can you do that when she won’t listen or speak to you?”

  “Justine! I order you to go into the house immediately!” Alexandra approached them, her face a mask of rage.

  Matthew opened his mouth to speak up in his sister’s defense, but Justine beat him to the punch. Holding tightly to her brother’s hand, she drew herself to her full height and said firmly, “I am never obeying any of your orders again, Mother. From now on, if you want me to do something, you can ask me in a civilized way and I’ll consider it and make my own decision.”

  “Don’t you dare disobey me, you little tramp!” Alexandra’s voice rose shrilly.

  “I’m not a tramp, and I won’t let you call me one ever again,” Justine said bravely. She glanced up at Matthew and he gave a silent nod. “I’m not the one who slept with a Polk, Mother! That was you! And I didn’t have a baby when I was only sixteen years old. You did! And here he is, all grown up!” She pointed to Matthew. “He’s my half brother. And he’s your son, Mother! The son you had with a Polk!”

  Alexandra blanched. And then in a scene that Matthew would have found clichéd in a soap opera, his mother swayed forward, her knees buckling in a faint.

  He was positive that the faint was staged, a histrionic ploy to gain sympathy and attention, but he dutifully stepped forward and caught his mother in his arms. She was very slender, and he compared her slight girlish frame to the figure of the woman who had raised him. His mom. He remembered how good it always felt to hug her, and grief spasmed through him. As Alexandra opened her eyes and stared into his, he silently thanked her for giving him to Eden Gra
nger, his real mother in every sense of the word.

  Alexandra straightened and pulled away from him. “Is it possible? Can you really be the child that I—that we...Oh, God. Jesse!”

  Matthew reached into the pocket of his suit coat and removed the birth certificate he’d shown Justine earlier. Alexandra took it and examined it, her hands shaking. “I remember filling it out,” she said, her voice faraway as if in a dream. “Signing it. I wanted to name the baby Jesse but the nurse suggested that I let the adoptive parents name him. She said it would be harder for me to detach myself from the child, harder to forget him if I associated a name with him.” Her eyes filled with tears. “So I wrote Baby Boy in that space.”

  “His name is Matthew, Mother,” Justine said. “Matthew Granger. He came here to meet us, not to interview us for a book commissioned by the historical society.”

  “Do the Farleys know?” Alexandra’s voice faltered.

  “No,” Matthew said coldly. “I haven’t told anyone your ‘shameful secret’, Alexandra. Nobody knows but you, Justine and me. And Jesse Polk, of course. Unless you didn’t bother to inform him that he was a father?”

  Alexandra stared at the birth certificate another long moment and then handed it back to Matthew. Her face was hard, her blue eyes twin chips of ice. “I don’t know what to say. Do you want money? The family might be willing to offer you a modest settlement, but blackmail—”

  “Matthew isn’t here to blackmail us, Mother,” Justine interrupted, bristling with indignation on her brother’s behalf. “He’s successful in his own right, he doesn’t want money.”

  “You are so gullible, Justine,” Alexandra said disparagingly.

  “No, she isn’t,” Matthew countered. He stared at Alexandra, his onyx eyes cool. “I want to know about my father, Jesse Polk. That’s why I’m here. For information. I don’t want a penny of your money. I’ve heard plenty about the exalted Wyndhams but I want to know about my father. And now that I know I have a sister, I’m going to be a part of her life, whether it meets with your approval or not, Alexandra.”