A Time for Everything (31 page)

He walked to the door and opened it.
There was no other choice. He had gone into this battle knowing he
was outgunned, but hoping this power-hungry tyrant would
miraculously have a change of heart and prove to be a decent human
being. He had failed.

On the fifth chop, Lydia emerged from
the sitting room across the hall and came toward him. Her eyes were
wide with expectation, hope, and… love?

Whatever feelings he had for Portia,
he had to erase. She was a good teacher. Once he had the money, he
would pay her what he owed her and give her more to help her start
a life elsewhere. But how could he forget her heart or her spirit?
How could he forget how she had saved his son?

He took Lydia’s hands and smiled as
best he could. Lydia resembled Claire so much, he tried to picture
that day long ago when he had asked the question he never thought
he would ask another woman.

The woodcutter’s axe made one final
chop at the stroke of ten.

Beau got down on one knee.

On Wednesday night,
Portia picked at her supper, feeling an odd loss
of appetite. Beau avoided her gaze, like he’d been avoiding her all
day. Their tender moment had caused an awkward ripple in the whole
household, and she feared things would never be comfortable between
them again.

Ezra and Harry engaged in their own
conversation about squirrel hunting. Someone mentioned squirrel
brains and scrambled eggs. Polly listened in, sipping her soup with
little slurps. Portia grimaced, but the conversation at her end of
the table wasn’t any better.

Lydia talked non-stop with hardly a
breath in between. “Since our home is completely restored, we’ve
planned a lovely gala for Saturday night. You’re all invited, even
Jonathan and Portia.”

Well, isn’t that
nice?
“That’s very kind of you,” Portia
said.

Beau threw a glance at Lydia and
stared down at his plate, jaw clenched. He massaged his head where
the scar from the bullet wound still healed.

“
Don’t worry, Beau,” she
said, nudging his arm. “I won’t make you dance… much.” She turned
to Portia. “Our charity is going to be a huge success. Do you need
more yarn?”

“
No, thank
you.”

Lydia touched Beau’s hand, rubbing his
skin in feather-light circles. “Mama and I bought twenty more
skeins yesterday and several bolts of fabric. Those little socks
and bonnets you knitted are adorable.” She leaned as close to Beau
as she could without climbing in his lap. “I can’t wait to dress my
own babies in such things.”

Her fingers massaged his forearm like
she kneaded bread. He pinched the bridge of his nose and squeezed
his eyes shut. Did his head ache from the wound or from Lydia’s
mapped-out future plans?

“
All you all right?”
Portia asked. “I could get you some coffee or a cool cloth,
perhaps?”

He shook his head and opened one eye,
then the other, training them on her. She sat up straighter and
inhaled a quiet gasp as though someone had stepped on her toe
during church. Pain — not simply from the wound — emanated from his
eyes, and she felt it keenly. So much so that she reached for his
face. Her fingers brushed his cheek before she remembered they
weren’t alone.

Beau scooted away from the table.
“Excuse me,” he said and left the room without a word.

“
Beau, where are you
going? Are you ill?” Lydia called, craning her neck toward the
dining room door. She fought against her dinner dress until she
freed herself from the table and followed after him, giving Portia
a chilling glare on her way out.

Everyone’s eyes fell on Portia. Was
Beau so disgusted with her that he couldn’t even stand to stay in
the same room? Guilt crawled through her veins. She’d managed to
tear up this entire family with one almost-kiss and now
this.

Before her cheeks could ignite the
tablecloth, she muttered, “I’ll just clean up the dishes.” She got
up and gathered the two abandoned bowls along with her still full
one then hurried into the kitchen. To her disappointment, Bessie
wasn’t there. Neither was Lucy. She poured her soup in the slop
bucket and set the dishes in the basin. Come to think of it, she
hadn’t seen Lucy all day, and Bessie only briefly. She hoped one or
both of them weren’t ill. Sallie Mae had seemed fine when she
joined them for lessons that morning…

Harry interrupted her thoughts when he
came through the swinging door. “It would be my pleasure to
accompany you to the gala tomorrow night.”

“
I don’t think that’s a
good idea,” she said and at his frown added, “I don’t have anything
fancy to wear, and I can’t dance.”

“
You look pretty in
anything, darlin’. That dress with the green stripes fits you real
nice.”

“
Thanks, but…” Had she not
made herself clear in letting him know she didn’t want courtship?
He must have known what happened between her and Beau, so why would
he still want her?

He leaned one elbow casually on the
counter. “Just friends, nothing more. Trust me, if you get invited
to a Clemons’ party, you want to go.” He grinned and winked. “More
food than you could ever eat.”

Her stomach rumbled at the thought.
She glanced at the slop bucket, now wishing she hadn’t dumped her
soup.

Harry chuckled. “Don’t worry about
Oliver or any of the party-goers either. After a few drinks, they
won’t care what you’re wearing. I won’t even ask you to dance.
Jonny will be there, too. We can just eat our fill, come home, and
sleep it off. What do you say?”

She considered Harry’s offer while
pumping water into the basin. Beau would be with Lydia for the
evening, so she wasn’t likely to run into him and stir up a
scandal. Plus, Harry talked enough for the both of them, so she
wouldn’t have to worry about socializing much. And she’d never been
one to turn down free food.

“
All right. I’ll go with
you.”

He took her hand and kissed it then
gave her a wink. “You won’t regret it, darlin’. G’Night,
Portia.”

“
Goodnight,
Harry.”

Once in her room, she hung her dress
from a hook on the wardrobe to air it out, trying not to think
about the gala or Beau or Harry or anything for that matter. On
impulse, she took Jake’s picture from the drawer and set it on top
of the dresser. It didn’t hurt so much to see his image now. She
smiled at his stern face, knowing all too well the seriousness was
a farce. The laughter in his eyes was unmistakable. She could hear
him in her head — Jake, always laughing and joking, playing pranks
on his brother — and she laughed quietly as the memories
passed.

Maybe she had finally started healing,
was finally ready to start living again, but the future was still
one blurry mess. She had no idea where she would be in the next
five years or even tomorrow.

Hugging Jake’s picture to her chest,
she closed her eyes, and though she hadn’t done it in a long time,
she prayed. “Lord, if you’re out there and care to hear me at all,
could you grant me strength? Help me take things one day at a
time.”

With Jake’s picture gracing the top of
the dresser, she changed into her nightclothes and heard a gentle
tap on the door. Maybe Jonny had a nightmare or felt ill. Her heart
sank at the mere thought of him being sick. She cracked open the
door.

“
Pardon me,” Lydia said,
glancing over her shoulder toward the stairs. “May I have a word
with you?”

“
I suppose,” Portia said
hesitantly. Lydia paying her a visit at that time of night couldn’t
be a good thing. But since this wasn’t her house, she had to play
nice. She opened the door wide, and Lydia sashayed into the room,
leaving a trail of gardenia perfume in her wake.

“
Would you close the door,
please?” The perfectly primped blonde said. “We need to speak in
private.”

“
All right.” Portia did as
is Lydia requested. With her back against the door, she smiled
politely and asked, “What is it?”

Facing the window, Lydia took a deep,
shaky breath. “Don’t take Beau from me.”

“
What?” She had heard her
clearly, but the statement took her by surprise
nonetheless.

“
I’ve been in love with
him my whole life.” With a tremulous smile, Lydia turned to face
her presumed rival. “Don’t you see? I loved my cousin Claire
dearly. Yet not a day passed that I didn’t envy her — the way he
looked at her — I wanted that for myself.”

Had this conversation been started by
someone less… privileged, Portia would have felt more empathy. She
tried to keep the irksome tone from her voice but failed. “Sorry if
I misunderstood you, but I thought you had claimed him already. He
seems plenty attracted to you.”

“
Of course he is. He asked
me to marry him last night.”

No…
Portia’s heart felt like it might sink from her chest, plumb
out her feet, and into the floor. But she forced herself to
maintain some semblance of pride.

“
Attraction is one thing,
you see,” Lydia continued with an upturned hand, “but how
long-lasting can it be if it doesn’t come from here?” She patted
the top of her full bosom for emphasis.

Feeling a headache coming on, Portia
rubbed the brow bone over her left eye. “You’re saying what,
exactly? That Beau doesn’t love you? I don’t know what it’s like
back in Philadelphia, but from what I know of love, it’s not
something you can force. If you were so concerned about it, why not
choose from a suitor in Philadelphia instead of gambling on Beau’s
affections?”

Lydia drummed her fingers
on her collarbone with a quiet
thump,
thump, thump
. The tremulous smile
disappeared, replaced with a tight-lipped frown. Take off a few
years, and Portia would have been looking at a petulant toddler on
the verge of a tantrum. Nothing she hadn’t dealt with before, but
tonight she lacked the patience to contend with such behavior,
especially from a twenty-one-year-old socialite. She expected
Portia to concede in a heap of groveling humility, to play the part
of timid mouse and servant under Her Majesty’s rule. Well, the
queen was about to be terribly disappointed.

“
You did have suitors in
Philadelphia, I presume?” Portia prompted, hoping to send the brat
stomping from her room in a huff. “I mean, to look at you, one
would imagine…”

“
Yes, yes, of course I had
suitors,” Lydia blurted out. “I amassed so many calling cards, I
couldn’t keep count. Some of those gentlemen, I even courted
briefly, but none of them compared to Beau.”

“
Then we are back to the
question of how or why you think I might take him from you. Do I
look like someone who has the resources to do such a
thing?”

Oh how badly Lydia must have wanted to
shout, “No!” to the rooftops. Rather disappointingly, she dropped
her hands and lifted her chin, standing perfectly straight, as
she’d most likely been taught in that finishing school she
attended.

“
Your resources have no
bearing on this matter.” Her clipped words were as haughty as her
upturned nose. “We all witnessed how he almost kissed you. He…
noticed you long before that. A man like him — upstanding and
unselfish — how can he not notice a woman who arrives with so much
grief upon her? He feels guilty for leaving Claire here to die
alone, so his protective nature is exaggerated when it comes to
you.”

“
Has he told you
this?”

“
No, but it’s obvious.
I’ve known Beau much longer than you have. I can tell how he feels.
Beau needs someone who can meet his needs, someone with an
undamaged spirit. I know he takes pity on you now, but he’ll soon
grow weary of your dependence. Normally, I wouldn’t confide these
things to anyone, but I want you to be aware of what he’s like
before you act on any… urges.”

Deciding the ridiculous
exchange had gone on long enough, Portia opened the door with an
impatient swish. She forced herself to remain civil, though her
tongue longed to throw a few choice words at Madame Peacock. “How
kind of you, Miss Clemons, to be concerned for my welfare, but
unless you can read Beau’s mind, how can you presume to know what
he needs or what guilt he bears if he has not shared this with you?
And I don’t need protecting, nor do I act on any
urges
without careful
thought, so your worry is misplaced. Now, it’s late, and I’m tired.
Unless there’s anything else you’d like to discuss…”

Lydia glided toward the door, but
instead of leaving, she twirled around and leaned against the door
frame. Her pretty face wilted into a well-practiced
pout.

“
Please,” she whispered.
“If I lose Beau, I lose everything I’ve ever dreamed of. I’ll have
nothing left.”

Portia clung to the door to keep
herself from slapping some reality into this girl. She couldn’t
take any more of this nonsense.

Forcing herself to maintain her
crumbling composure, she whispered harshly, “You have no idea what
it means to have nothing or to lose everything. You cannot fathom
the pain of true loss, what it feels like to wake up day after day
just to wish you were dead. Furthermore, I don’t know how Beau
feels about you, me, or anything else, nor do I care. Good
night.”