April of Enchantment (Sweetly Contemporary Collection) (21 page)

“Laura? What are you doing still here? You should be home resting.”

She jerked around, summoning a smile as she faced Justin, trying to collect her scattered wits. “It’s — the florist. They haven’t delivered the flowers.”

“A hitch in the plans? I suppose it’s to be expected; everything else has been so perfect that something had to go wrong somewhere.”

“He should be along soon,” Laura answered, and told him of her call to the shop.

“At this rate, you would have been better off to have brought your clothes and changed here, instead of having to run back to town.”

She shook her head. “I would have had to go for my mother anyway. It’s a little hard to climb into a panel truck with one of those long, full dresses.”

“So I would imagine,” he said, amusement rising to his dark eyes, “though it can’t be too easy to drive in one either.”

“I’ll just have to do my best.”

“That should be more than enough. Your best is hard to beat, something you have proven more than once here at Crapemyrtle. I’ve been wanting to tell you, Laura, that you have done an excellent job of the restoration. I appreciate the work and dedication you have given this house.”

Laura’s surprise was so great she could not think what to say. “I — thank you. I’ve enjoyed every moment.”

“I think in all fairness that I ought to take back all the slighting things I said to you that first day we met. You are more than just competent. You are an expert in your field, on top of which you have something that is rare these days, a classic sense of taste.”

How she would have loved to hear him say these things with such quiet sincerity not so long ago. It pleased her now, but there were other more important things she yearned to hear. Her tone a little lame, she said, “Crapemyrtle has always been special to me.”

“I know. It’s your showcase.”

“I didn’t mean just that —”

“Regardless, I hope you will always feel free to use it that way, no matter what happens, as an example of your ability.”

The wording of his offer had been a little odd, but there was no time to analyze it. “That’s very generous of you.”

“Not at all,” he said, his tone short before he went on, reverting to the original subject. “If you will give me any instructions you think necessary for the florist, I’ll pass them on when the delivery comes. In the meantime, you can go home and rest before you dress. If you don’t mind, you can return a little early to see if I have everything right. Too, my mother and father never managed to get here while you were working, and I would like to have a few minutes before the other guests arrive to introduce you.”

“Yes, all right.”

As he spoke, he swung back toward the house. She fell into step beside him. He glanced down at her. “I’m almost sorry,” he said after a minute, a pensive note in his voice, “that the house is finished.”

“I would have thought you would be glad. You bought it to live in, didn’t you?”

“Yes, I suppose so.”

“It will be quieter now that the workmen have all gone. As soon as the party is over, you can relax.”

“I wish there wasn’t going to be a party.”

“So do I,” Laura said without thinking.

“You do? But I thought it was your idea?” He stopped, swinging to face her.

“No, it was —” she began, then stopped, a frown between her eyes.

“Myra,” he finished for her. “I should have known.” Laura wished she had not spoken, though it was obvious that Myra had tried once more to put forth her own wishes as those of someone else. Why she should have done so, Laura could not imagine, unless she had suspected Justin would not like it, or had wanted to see how it all went before she claimed credit for the idea. “She hoped you would be pleased with the antebellum look of it.”

“I suppose so,” he said, and ran his hand over his hair, clasping the back of his neck before he let it fall. “But don’t tell me she came up with all the correct touches, the hand-delivered invitations, the flambeaux along the driveway and extra lanterns on the front gallery, the retiring room complete with maid for the ladies?”

“Well, no,” Laura was forced to agree. “But surely you didn’t think I would have arranged all this without consulting you for permission?”

He smiled down at her. “I did give you carte blanche.”

“I would never use it for something like this!” “No,” he said, the look in his eyes wry, “I don’t suppose you would.”

Beside them there was the graceful, arching cane of a gallica with new blooms just opening along its stem. The rich violet-red roses perfumed the air, demanding attention. With a faint quirk at one corner of his finely chiseled mouth, Justin glanced at the rose, then reached out to pluck one. He turned the stem in his fingers a moment, carefully removing the thorns. Then, his expression whimsical, he held it out to Laura in formal presentation.

There was a tremor in Laura’s fingers as she took it. With her lashes lowered, she stared into the deeply frilled, purple-tinged double flower with its yellow-stamen heart. Did Justin realize what he had done? Did he know? That question was of such importance that she could not bring herself to look up and search his face for the answer. What she might see could mean so much, or nothing at all. Design or accident? Did he know, was he aware, that the rose he had placed in her hand was a Cardinal de Richelieu, the same rose Lorinda carried in her Healy portrait, a rose that had been her favorite? It was also a rose that, according to one of the most touching passages in the diary, Jean had broken from a branch in this very garden and given to her the day they parted.

The sound of a truck horn blared out, breaking into their absorption. A soft imprecation fell from Justin’s lips as the horn blasted the quiet again. He moved away from her a few feet down the path.

“It’s the florist.”

“I had better go and let them in,” Laura said, and brushed past him, moving with swift, almost running steps toward the house. He did not try to stop her.

It did not take long to direct the placement of the flowers and greenery. At last, she could leave. She got into her car and turned it back toward town; the rose Justin had given her lay beside her on the seat, its stem carefully wrapped in a wet paper towel. When she reached the Nichols mansion, she carried it along with her tote into the house. The first thing she did when she reached the upstairs apartments was to carry it into the kitchen, fill a glass with cool water, recut the broken stem, and place the luxurious violet-red blossom in the glass.

Her mother was busy pan-broiling two small steaks. “Very pretty,” she said, eyeing the rose. “May I smell?” As Laura held it for her, she inhaled the scent. “Umm, lovely. It will be perfect with your dress.”

“Yes, I thought so,” Laura agreed, avoiding her mother’s eyes.

Mrs. Nichols hesitated a moment. “Russ called.”

“Did he?”

“He said he couldn’t find a carriage, but he would be honored if the two of us would allow him to drive us to Crapemyrtle tonight. He talked to Justin a few minutes ago and discovered that you were leaving from here in your costume instead of dressing out at the house. From something Myra said earlier in the week when he spoke to her, Russ assumed both you and she would be out at the house all day and would have no need for transportation.”

“Is that so?” Laura said. If the other girl had intended any such thing, she must have changed her mind, for Laura had not seen her all day, and she didn’t believe Justin was expecting her. From what Myra had said when they spoke last, she thought the other girl meant to arrive with her father, rather than force Justin to make an extra journey into Baton Rouge. Was it just a mix-up that had nearly left Laura to drive herself, or had it been the result of a deliberate plan, a casually vicious slight for Laura. No, surely not. Myra wasn’t entirely reasonable where Justin was concerned, but surely she wouldn’t stoop to such a petty means of inconveniencing and embarrassing Laura.

“At any rate,” her mother was saying, “I told Russ we would be glad to go with him.”

“That’s fine,” Laura said. “Did he say when he would be here?”

“No, but I assume he means to get us all there on time.”

“I need to go a little early,” she said, and explained the reason.

“You’ll have to call and tell him, though I don’t suppose he will mind.” Her mother slanted her a shrewd glance. “You’ve been seeing a lot of Russ in the last few weeks, haven’t you?”

“Have I?” For something to do, Laura turned to the refrigerator and took out lettuce and tomato for a salad to go with their steak dinner.

“Yes, you have. Is it serious or are you just at loose ends?”

“Does it have to be one or the other, Mom? We have been going together for ages.”

“But not so regularly, or so exclusively. Russ is a nice man, Laura. I would hate to see him hurt.”

Laura put the lettuce and tomato on the cabinet, her violet-blue eyes meeting her mother’s concerned gaze. She took a deep breath, letting it out slowly. “So would I.”

Mrs. Nichols nodded. “So long as you know what you are doing.”

“That’s just it; I’m not sure.”

“It does make it harder,” her mother said, then added, “Maybe it will be easier now that the project at Crapemyrtle is over.”

“Maybe.”

“I’m glad it’s finished. You’ve been working too hard. I can almost see you losing weight, and I hear you tossing and turning at night.”

Laura stirred, reaching for a pair of salad bowls, unwrapping the lettuce, holding it under the water. “I’m glad, too, in a way, though I don’t know what I’m going to do with myself now.”

“It isn’t necessary for you to do anything. Give it time. You don’t have to make up your mind now.”

Her mother was speaking of more than a career decision, Laura knew. Her mother also knew that she understood without being told. Did everyone suspect how she felt about Justin? Closing her eyes, fighting a sudden rush of tears as she ripped lettuce to bits, Laura did not answer.

Ten

Crapemyrtle was ablaze with lights. The flambeaux flickered along the length of the driveway, casting yellow-orange gleams up into the canopy of the overhanging live oaks. The rays of the lanterns under the lower gallery sent slanting beams of welcome into the darkness, and every window on both floors glowed. Two cars were drawn up in front of the house, a black limousine that could only belong to Myra’s father, Mr. Devol, and another more sedate town car that had probably been driven by Justin’s parents.

The chauffeur of the limousine, the same man who had delivered the invitations for the party, had been pressed into service as butler. Dressed impeccably, he opened the door to Russ, Laura, and her mother.

Justin came from the direction of the double parlors at their entrance. He paused a moment in the doorway, his appearance striking in a black tailcoat with a velvet collar, a carefully tied white cravat, gray trousers fastened under the instep of polished half-boots, and a darker-gray waistcoat embroidered in silver thread and crossed from pocket to pocket by a heavy gold watch chain. Turning back into the room he had just left, he beckoned to someone, then stepped toward Laura.

The gold flecks in the depths of his dark eyes gleamed as he bowed, taking her hand, lifting it to his lips. As he straightened, his gaze held hers for an instant, then dropped to the violet-red rose at the neckline of her bodice. It flicked down over the gown of soft, flowing white material caught at the waist and full sleeves with lavender ribbon, before coming to rest on her golden-blond hair held back with a lavender ribbon, falling in soft, shining ringlets over her shoulders.

“Welcome to Crapemyrtle, Laura,” he murmured, his voice soft, “or should I say Lorinda?”

It was a moment Laura had been both anticipating and dreading ever since she had donned the dress copied from her great-great-grandmother’s portrait. She had ordered it a month before in rueful self-knowledge of her feelings, so like those of her great-great-grandmother for the man who had then owned Crapemyrtle. Now it seemed a naked admission of her love, one impossible to retract. Dropping a curtsy, she answered with forced lightness, “Whichever you prefer.”

“Laura, I think,” he said, and smiling, passed on to her mother, complimenting her on her gown of soft pewter-gray trimmed in deeper blue, before turning to greet Russ, accusing him of looking like a headwaiter new on the job.