Authors: Nora Roberts
Dream Trilogy (65 page)
“I haven’t told you enough how lovely you look tonight.”
“Thank you.” She treasured those warm, liquid pulls of anticipation. “I wanted to. For you.”
He smiled and held her tenderly, letting her head rest against his heart. She was so perfect for him, he thought. Young, lovely, well bred. Malleable. Through the slats he spotted Margo, flashy in her clinging red dress, laughing bawdily at some joke.
Even though his glands stirred, his sensibilities were offended. The housekeeper’s daughter. Every man’s wet dream.
His gaze shifted to Kate. The prickly ward, with more brains than style. It amazed him that Laura felt this childish attachment for those two. But he was sure it would fade in time. She was, after all, sensible, with a dignity admirable in one so young. Once she fully understood her place in society—and her place with him—she could be gently weaned from inappropriate attachments.
He had no doubt she was in love with him. She had so little experience in coyness or deception. Her parents might not completely approve, but he was confident that their devotion to their daughter would sway them in his favor.
They would find no fault with him personally or professionally, he was certain. He did his job, and did it well. He would make a suitable son-in-law. With Laura beside him, with the Templeton name, he would have everything he wanted. Everything he deserved. The proper wife, the unshakable position in society, sons. Wealth and success.
“We haven’t known each other long,” he began.
“It feels like forever.”
Over her head, he smiled. She was so sweetly romantic. “Only a few months, Laura. And I’m nearly ten years older than you are.”
She only pressed closer. “What does it matter?”
“I should give you more time. God, you’re still in high school.”
“Only for a few more months.” Her heart beat wildly with anticipation as she lifted her head. “I’m not a child, Peter.”
“No, you’re not.”
“I know what I want. I’ve always known.”
He believed her. And he, also, knew what he wanted. Had always known. That, too, he mused, they had in common.
“Still, I told myself I would wait.” He brought her hands to his lips, watched her eyes. “Another year, at least.”
She knew this was what she had dreamed of, had waited for. “I don’t want you to wait,” she whispered. “I love you, Peter.”
“I love you, Laura. Too much to wait even another hour, much less another year.”
He eased her down onto the padded bench. Her hands trembled. With all her heart she absorbed every aspect of the moment. The sound of music in the distance that carried over the clear night air in quiet notes. The scent of night-blooming jasmine and hints of the sea. The way the shadows and lights played through the sheltering lattice.
He got down on one knee, as she’d known he would. His face was so beautiful in the delicate, dreamy light, it broke her heart. Her eyes were swimming with tears when he took a small black-velvet box from his pocket, opened it. The tears made the light that glinted off the diamond refract into rainbows.
“Will you marry me, Laura?”
She knew what every woman felt at this one shining moment of her life. And held out her hand. “Yes.”
Chapter Two
Twelve years later
When a woman turned thirty, Laura supposed, it was a time for reflection, for taking stock, for not only shuddering because middle age was certainly creeping closer and closer around that blind corner, but for looking back over her accomplishments.
She was trying to.
But the fact was, when she awoke that morning in January on her thirtieth birthday to gray skies and unrelenting rain, the weather perfectly mirrored her mood.
She was thirty years old and divorced. She had lost the lion’s share of her personal wealth through her own naïveté and was struggling mightily to fulfill her responsibilities to her family home, raise two daughters alone, hold down two part-time jobs—neither of which she had prepared herself for—and still be a Templeton.
Crowding the minus side was the failure to hold her marriage together, the personal and somewhat embarrassing fact that she had slept with only one man in her life, worry that her children were being penalized by her lack, and fear that the house of cards she was rebuilding so carefully would tumble at the first brisk wind.
Her life—the unrelenting reality of it—bore little resemblance to the one she had dreamed of. Was it any wonder she wanted to huddle in bed and pull the covers over her head?
Instead, she prepared to do what she always did. Get up, face the day, and try to somehow get through the complicated mess she’d made out of her life. There were people depending on her.
Before she could toss the covers aside, there was a soft knock at the door. Ann Sullivan poked her head in first, then smiled. “Happy birthday, Miss Laura.”
The Templetons’ longtime housekeeper stepped inside the room, carrying a fully loaded breakfast tray accented with a vase of Michaelmas daisies.
“Breakfast in bed!” Scrambling to reorganize her schedule, which had room for a quick cup of coffee at best, Laura sat back. “I feel like a queen.”
“It isn’t every day a woman turns thirty.”
Laura’s attempt at a smile wobbled. “Tell me about it.”
“Now don’t you start that nonsense.”
Brisk and efficient, Ann settled the tray over Laura’s lap. She’d seen thirty herself—and forty, and Lord help her, she’d just run smack into fifty. And because she understood just how those decades affected a woman, she brushed Laura’s sigh aside.
She had been fretting after this girl, as well as her own and Miss Kate besides, for more than twenty years. She knew just how to handle them.
Ann went to rekindle the fire in the hearth not only to chase away the January chill but to add light and cheer. “You’re a beautiful young woman with the best of her life ahead of her.”
“And thirty years of it behind her.”
Ann methodically pushed the right buttons. “And nothing to show for it but two beautiful children, a thriving business, a lovely home, and family and friends who adore you.”
Ouch, Laura thought. “I’m feeling sorry for myself.” She tried the smile again. “Pathetic and typical. Thank you, Annie. This is lovely.”
“Drink some coffee.” As the fire caught, crackling briskly, Ann poured the coffee herself, then patted Laura’s hand. “You know what you need? A day off. A full day just for yourself, to do exactly as you choose.”
It was a fine fantasy, and one that not so many years before she would have been able to indulge. But now, she had the girls to ready for school, a morning in her office at Templeton Monterey, and an afternoon at Pretenses, the shop she and Margo and Kate had started together.
Then it was a quick dash to take the girls to their dance class, time out to go over the bills and to pay them. Then there was homework to oversee, as well as dealing with any and all of the myriad problems her daughters might have encountered during the day.
And she needed to carve out time to check on old Joe, the gardener. She was worried about him but didn’t want him to know it.
“You’re not listening, Miss Laura.”
At the faintly censorious tone, Laura pulled herself back. “I’m sorry. The girls need to get up for school.”
“They’re up. As a matter of fact . . .”leased with her surprise, Ann walked to the door. At the signal, the room filled with people and noise.
“Mama.” The girls came first, rushing in to jump on the bed and rattle plates on the tray. At seven and ten they weren’t babies any longer, but she cuddled them just the same. Kayla, the younger, was always ready for a hug, but Allison had been growing distant. Laura knew the extended embrace from her elder daughter was one of the best gifts she would receive that day.
“Annie said we could all come and start your birthday off right.” Kayla bounced, her smoky gray eyes bright with excitement. “And everybody’s here.”
“So they are.” With an arm around each girl, Laura grinned at the crowd. Margo was already passing her three-month-old son to his grandmother so she could supervise as Josh opened a bottle of champagne. Kate slipped away from her husband to help herself to one of the croissants on Laura’s tray.
“So how does it feel, champ?” Kate asked with her mouth full. “The big three-oh?”
“It was feeling lousy until a minute ago. Mimosas?” She raised a brow at Margo.
“You betcha. And, no,” she said, anticipating Ali, “straight o.j. for you and your sister.”
“It’s a special occasion,” Ali complained.
“So, you’re going to drink your o.j. in a champagne flute.” With a flourish, she passed juice to the girls. “For a toast,” she added, then hooked an arm through her husband’s. “Right, Josh?”
“To Laura Templeton,” he began, “a woman of many talents—which includes looking pretty great for a kid sister on the morning of her thirtieth birthday.”
“And if anyone brought a camera in here,” Laura said, pushing back her tumbled hair, “I’ll kill them.”
“I knew I forgot something.” Kate shook her head, then shrugged. “Well—let’s get to the first gift. Byron?”
Byron De Witt, Kate’s husband of six weeks and the executive director of Templeton California, stepped forward. He touched his glass lightly to Laura’s and grinned. “Ms. Templeton, if I see you anywhere on hotel property before midnight tonight, I’ll be forced to pull rank and fire you.”
“But I have two accounts I have to—”
“Not today you don’t. Consider your office closed. Somehow Conventions and Special Events will have to limp along without you for twenty-four hours.”
“I appreciate the thought, Byron, but—”
“All right.” He sighed. “If you insist on going over my head. Mr. Templeton?”
Enjoying himself, Josh joined ranks with Byron. “As executive vice president, Templeton, I’m ordering you to take the day off. And if you’ve got some idea about going over my head, I’ve already talked to Mom and Dad. They’ll be calling you later.”
“Fine.” When she discovered she was getting ready to pout, she shrugged instead. “It’ll give me a chance to—”
“Nope.” Reading Laura well, Kate shook her head. “You’re not setting foot in the shop today.”
“Oh, come on. This is just silly. I can—”
“Lie in bed,” Margo continued, “walk the cliffs, read a book, get a facial.” Over the sheets, she grabbed Laura’s foot, waggled it. “Pick up a sailor and . . .” Remembering the girls, she backtracked. “Go for a sail. Mrs. Williamson is planning an elaborate birthday feast for you tonight, to which we have all invited ourselves. At that time, if you’ve been a good girl, you’ll get the rest of your presents.”
“I have something for you, Mama. I have something and so does Ali. Annie helped us pick them out. You have to be good so you can open them tonight.”
“Outnumbered.” Laura took a contemplative sip of her mimosa. “All right, I’ll be lazy. And if I do something foolish, it’ll be your fault. All of you.”
“Always willing to take the credit.” Margo took J. T. back as he began to fuss. “He’s wet,” she discovered and, laughing, handed him to his father. “And it’s your turn, Josh. We’ll be back at seven sharp. Oh, and if you decide on that sailor, I’ll want to hear every detail.”
“Gotta go,” Kate announced. “See you tonight.”
They went out as quickly and as noisily as they had come in, leaving Laura alone with a bottle of champagne and a cooling breakfast.
She was so lucky, she thought, as she settled back against the pillows. She had family and friends who loved her. She had two beautiful daughters, and a home she had always called her own.
Then why, she wondered as her eyes swam with sudden tears, did she feel so useless?
The trouble with having free time, Laura decided, was that it reminded her of the days when most of her free time had been eaten up by committees. Some she had joined because she enjoyed them—the people, the projects, the causes. Others, she knew, she’d involved herself with because of pressure from Peter.
She had, for too many years, found it easier to bend than to stand.
And when she had rediscovered her backbone, she had also discovered that the man she had married didn’t love her, or the children. It had been the Templeton name he had married; he had never wanted the life she dreamed of.
Sometime between Ali’s birth and Kayla’s, he dropped even the pretense of loving her. Still, she stuck with it, maintained the illusion of marriage and family. And the pretense was all hers.
Until the day she walked in on that most pathetic of clichés: her husband in bed with another woman.
Thinking of it now, Laura crossed the beautifully tended lawn, strolled through the south gardens and into the grove beside the old stables. The rain had subsided to a mist that merged with the swirl of fog crawling along the ground. It was, she thought, like walking through a cool, thin river.
She rarely walked here, rarely had time. Yet she had always loved the play of sunlight or shadow through the trees, the scent of the forest, the rustling of small animals. There had been times during her youth when she imagined it was a fairy-tale woods and she was the enchanted princess, searching for the one true love who would rescue her from the spell cast upon her.
A harmless fantasy, she thought now, for a young girl. But perhaps she had wanted that fairy-tale ending too badly, believed in it too strongly. As she had believed in Peter.
He had crushed her. Quite literally he had crushed her heart with simple neglect, with casual disinterest. Then he had scattered the pieces that were left with betrayal. At last, he had eradicated even the dust when he had taken not only her money but the children’s too.
For that, she would never forgive or forget.
And that, Laura thought as she wandered a path under an arch of lazily dripping branches, made her bitter.
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