For Love's Sake (19 page)

“Hmmm…I guess the green.”

Flora nodded. Over the past few months, she came to accept, and even like, her new mistress. It was now just as important for her to see Laurel turned out as beautifully as if
she
were attending the dinner herself.

When Laurel was ready to go downstairs, she met Christopher in front of his room. He wore black evening clothes, which always seemed to become him, and a white bowtie and waistcoat.

“Promise me that you will let Jonathan handle Theresa tonight,” he said.

“Why?”

“Because she is going to rip you apart when she sees how beautiful you are.”

With that, he took her hand and led her down the winding staircase. Laurel had no idea where she was going, and without him, she would have gotten lost in the gigantic house. How he could have called this home was beyond her, as it seemed the darkest, dampest, most frightening place in the entire world.

 
“You don’t have any ghosts here, do you?”

Christopher smiled and said, “Only if you believe in that sort of thing.”

“Do you believe in them?”

“Of course not. None of us have ever seen or heard anything, but over-imaginative houseguests always seem to leave with a story to tell.”

Laurel swallowed. “I will be sleeping in your room tonight, won’t I?”

“I’m afraid you’d better stay where you are…for the time being.”

She wanted to ask why, but at that very moment, they turned a corner and swept into the Great Hall through a side door. The other guests mingled in front of the fire, awaiting the announcement of dinner. Everyone wore the best gowns that both money and taste could buy, but none of them held a candle to Laurel in her off-the-rack apple green silk ensemble. It clung tightly in all the right places, yet draped seductively off her milk-white shoulders. Around her neck, a long strand of pearls was looped numerous times, and the excess left to dangle almost to her waist. She was so young that she could not help but be beautiful, even as she was only beginning to enter into true womanhood.

To say that Theresa was jealous would have been an understatement.“
Est que diamant bague de votre mère?
” she asked Christopher.

“Yes.” Of course it was his mother’s diamond ring.

Theresa then turned to Laurel and spat, “
Vous êtes une fille très chanceuse!
”

“I’m sorry, I’m afraid I don’t know what that means.”

“She said you’re a fortunate girl,” Christopher explained. “In French.”

“Oh…we only speak English where I’m from.”

Everyone else seemed to understand the conversation, so the use of another language must have been used explicitly to exclude her. Whatever she said, Lady Amesbury drew attention to Laurel’s ignorance, and that hurt—she might not have the extensive education that they all did, but she still had feelings, and she still had her pride.

Numerous courses and copious amounts of champagne left Laurel feeling exhausted after dinner ended. It seemed that all she ever did those days was eat, and was so overstuffed that she hardly felt like herself anymore.

“If I keep this up,” she leaned over and whispered to Christopher, “I’ll be as big as a heifer!”

“You have a long way to go before that, Sweetheart.”

At the far end of the table, Jonathan started to doze off. Theresa left him propped up against his chair, and continued her conversation with Lady DePardieu. Only when his snoring interrupted her did she give him a sharp kick to the nearest shin. He awoke with a start and excused himself next door to the billiard room. Custom decreed that all of the male guests join him, but Christopher was wary of leaving Laurel alone.

“I’ll be fine,” she assured him. “What’s the worst she could do?”

Christopher planted a kiss on the top of her head. If anything, he had to admire her bravery. Grown men quaked in fear of Lady Amesbury’s vicious tongue, but Laurel refused to let her get the best of her.

CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

“So what do you think of her?”

Jonathan paused while the footman lit his cigar. “She’s very pretty.”

Refusing a cigar from the proffered box, Christopher reached into his pocket for a cigarette. “Of course she is pretty, anyone can see that. I want to know what you think of her…” He lowered his voice so that the other men would not hear, “…personality.”

“I think she’s further in over her head than she ought to be.”

Christopher leaned forward. “What do you mean?”

“For Christ’s sake, what do you plan to do with her? Keep her locked away? She’ll never cut it in society. You think Theresa is bad, but you and I both know that there are hundreds more women out there just like her, waiting to flay her alive.”

By then, the room was heavy with smoke. Mr. Bruce and Lord Forrest engrossed themselves in a game of billiards while Lord DePardieu looked on. Christopher and Jonathan had to speak loudly over the crack of balls, and were interrupted by shouts of throaty, masculine laughter.

“Mother likes her,” Christopher said. “If she were here, Laurel would have an ally. The two of them got on famously over Christmas.”

“But you cannot rely on Mother to solve your problems.”

He took a long drag from his cigarette. “Are you saying Laurel is a problem?”

“Christopher, how well do you know this girl? What type of family is she from? And what if she’s only after your money?”

“I know Laurel well enough to be certain she is not after my money. But even if she were, what right have
you
to talk? I distinctly remember having this exact conversation with you almost ten years ago!”

Jonathan placed a firm hand on his brother’s shoulder. “I know, and I don’t want you to make the same mistake.”

The next morning, in the front hall, two young boys argued over a small black box. Their blonde hair was cut identically, as were their clothes, but it took Laurel a moment to realize that they were twins.

“Boys!” Christopher called. “What are you fighting over?”

“The Brownie,” one of them said. “It’s
my
turn!”

“Give it here,” their uncle ordered.

They handed over the box.

“How do you use it?” Christopher asked, turning it over in his hands.

“Just press the button.”

Without warning, he turned and pointed the camera in Laurel’s direction, taking a snapshot of her before she had time to protest.

“Christopher!”

He smiled and handed it back to the children. “Dearest, I’d like you to meet Raymond and Reginald. Boys, this is my fiancée, Laurel.”

One of them stepped forward and extended his hand. “I’m Reginald.”

“No you’re not!
I
am Reginald!” the other said, pushing him aside.

“He’s lying!”

“Am not!”

Christopher separated them before a fight broke out. “Whoever you are, don’t hit your brother. Do you want Miss Graham to think she’s marrying into a family of heathens?”

At the sound of yelling, a frazzled young nanny appeared. “I apologize, Lord Christopher. They are supposed to be upstairs, aren’t you boys?”

“
Yes, Nanny,”
they said in unison.

When they were gone, Laurel turned to him. “If they’re twins, who’s the heir?”

“Reginald. He was born fifteen minutes before Raymond.”

She was even more confused. “But how do you tell which one is which?”

“You can’t, and that is how they like to keep it.”

Outside, the sun was bright and warm. A game of lawn tennis was underway, and those guests who were not playing watched from wicker basket chairs. When Christopher and Laurel reached the group, a footman held out a tennis racket and a silver tray. Christopher took the racket, and then inspected the contents of the tray.

“You have a letter,” he said, handing a weathered envelope to Laurel.

She tore it open. “It’s from Deirdre! Her and Danny got married!”

“Did they?” Christopher asked, almost as excited as she was. “You’ll have to send my congratulations!”

“I bet their momma’s are tickled pink!” Laurel said. “Too bad we weren’t there to see the wedding. I know Deirdre has been building up her hope chest for years.”

Christopher spun his racket in his hand. “What is a hope chest?”

“It’s what you put all the things for life after your wedding in—linens, dishes, and such.”

“Do we need to get you one?”

“It isn’t exactly something you can
get
,” Laurel explained. “You’re supposed to fill it up as you get older, you know, in anticipation of your wedding day.”

 
Lady Ampherst spoke up. “Why don’t you just go to Paris for your trousseau?”

“Or better yet,” Christopher said, “Why don’t we just bring Danny and Deirdre over and the two of you can pick out everything in London?”

Theresa snorted. “Oh dear God, don’t tell me there are going to be
more
of them!”

“Mind your own business!” Christopher said, turning on her.

“What do you think your father would say about you muddling this family?” she asked. “He probably rolls over in his grave every time you go to bed with her!”

Mrs. Hartley almost spit out her tea, and her daughter’s face turned scarlet. It took all of Christopher’s self control not to bash his sister-in-law’s face in with his tennis racket.

CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

“Christopher, I want to go home.”

He smiled at her and fished his cigarette case out of his pocket. “Wonderful. I’ll send for Humphrees to bring up the carriage.”

“No, Christopher. I want to go
home.
”

He struck a match to light the thin white cigarette hanging from his lips, but left it to burn in his hand. “Am I to understand that by ‘home’ you mean America?”

“Yes,” Laurel said. “Back to Piney Shoals.”

Christopher lit his cigarette, breathing in deeply. “Is it something I’ve done?”

“No.” She started to reach out to him, but then drew back. “You’ve been wonderful…”

“Then why are you leaving?”

His pale blue eyes searched hers, and it was more than she could stand. “Because I don’t belong here. You know it and I know it, and I’m tired of pretending. I’m not a lady…and…and now I’m not so sure I want to be one anyway.”

Christopher raked his fingers back through his hair. “I don’t want a lady, Laurel, I want you. Don’t you see that? Don’t you know I love you?”

She shook her head, trying to shake his words from her mind. He was not making this easy for her.

“Laurel, tell me what you want me to say and I will say it,” Christopher pleaded. “Tell me what me to do and I will do it!”

“I want you to let me go home!” she cried. “I want you to stand there and be quiet! I want you to hate me, and forget I ever existed!”

“You know I could never do that. But you aren’t a prisoner here. If you really want to leave, I will not stop you.”

Laurel wrapped her arms around her waist, trying to steady her nerves. The last thing she wanted to do was let him see her cry.

 
Christopher lit another cigarette with shaking hands. “I only wanted to make you happy. You know that don’t you?”

“Yes, I do. And I’m sorry for all of the pain I’ve caused you. I thought whatever I felt for you was strong enough—oh God, you have to believe me! I wanted to follow you anywhere. I pushed and I pushed, but something kept pulling me back. Something felt wrong.”

The absolute last thing Christopher wanted was for Laurel to leave. He should have made her stay—there was no way she could leave without his cooperation—but at that moment, Christopher finally understood what Danny Clay had meant. Danny gave up Laurel because he knew it was the best thing for her, regardless of his feelings. And if Christopher loved her even a fraction of as much as Danny did, he would have to give her up as well.

 
“You’re right,” he said, changing his mood. “I have been thinking the same thing for quite a while now.”

“You have?”

“Yes. I have.”

Laurel breathed a deep sigh of relief.

Turning away from her, Christopher continued, “And I think it would be best for both of us if you left right away.”

The last of Laurel’s trunks were loaded onto the top of the carriage. She stood in the courtyard of Christopher’s house. The roses that clung to the rough stone walls were beginning to bloom. They framed the doorway and were left to run wild along the edges of the windows.

“Are you sure you don’t want me to come with you to the station?” Christopher asked. He had been so good and understanding those past few days.

“No, I’ll manage. Besides, this way it will seem like less of a goodbye.”

“But it
is
goodbye, Laurel. Won’t you at least shake my hand?”

“Of course.” When she put her hand out, she remembered her engagement ring. But it wasn’t really hers, it was his. It was his ring all along.

“Keep it,” Christopher said. “Someday you might need the money…”

“Are you sure? It must be worth a great deal.”

“I doubt you’ll get much for it over there, but at least I’ll know that you will be provided for.”

“Thank you, Christopher.”

“Now, you’d better go. Ships to America don’t wait, and you still have a train to catch.”

Laurel climbed up into the glossy black coach. Christopher shut the door behind her, signaling for Mr. Humphrees to drive on. With a flick of the reins, she was out of the courtyard, and out of his life.

The trip back to New York was very different from the journey she took when she left. Granted, second class on a luxury liner was certainly not steerage, but Laurel hadn’t realized just how accustomed to the first class lifestyle she had become. Her dresses were
 
a little too fancy for the dining room, and she wished that she hadn’t let Christopher talk her into keeping them all. Besides, what was she supposed to do with them when she got home?

When Laurel reached the harbor, she asked for directions to the nearest train station, but there were so many streets, and the buildings all looked the same, and it was not long before she was lost. Fortunately, a police officer finally escorted her there himself. After thanking him, Laurel approached the ticket counter.