For Love's Sake (5 page)

She held it up to the dim light of the lamp, studying the perfection of its cut and stitching. The bright blue embroidery along the hem and lapels was immaculate, and the lawn shirt so delicate that she could see right through it.

The tarnished mirror on her washstand did not do the dress justice once it was on her body. The long straight sleeves fit trimly all the way down to her wrists, and the open bodice displayed the soft white blouse underneath. The skirt was narrow to the floor, where it flared out, and the blue ribbon, which she tied tightly around her waist, brought the whole ensemble together.

Laurel studied her reflection as best she could, trying to decide what to do with her hair. She hated the buns that she wore to the mill, which pulled back on her scalp by the end of the day, always giving her a headache. A low ponytail would look too childish for such a wonderful gown. She still had a few old magazines lying around from when she made her blue frock. The hairstyles of the illustrations may be a few years out of date, but they would just have to do.

She flipped through the pages, found one that looked simple enough to do herself, and went to work. Laurel combed her light brown hair, twisted a few locks onto the crown of her head, and pinned them securely in place. She repeated the process until all of her hair was gathered loosely onto her head, then stepped back to observe the overall effect.

“I
almost
look like a lady!”

A knock at the door startled her out of her reverie, and she rushed to open it. On the other side stood Christopher, dressed in a dark blue suit with a matching waistcoat, stiff-collared white dress shirt, and a red silk necktie. Laurel was stunned to see how handsome he looked, but it was the expression on
his
face that was priceless.

“I thought you were pretty, but I see I was mistaken,” he said. “You are beautiful.”

A pink stain crept up her cheeks. “Thank you – for the dress.”

“You
should
thank me! I had to order it all the way from Gastonia.”

Laurel grabbed her latchkey and pushed her cat out the door. The night air was humid and thick, and it hit her in the chest like a lead weight. She picked her skirts up as they walked down the steps, praying that her outfit would not be limp and damp by the end of the evening.

If Christopher felt uncomfortable in the heat, he never let it show.

The walk to the courthouse was a short one, and neither Laurel nor Christopher found anything to talk about. On the lawn, the Confederate Veterans Memorial was a tall obelisk with the names of all the townspeople who had given their lives for the Confederacy inscribed on all four sides. The courthouse itself was built in the Greek revival style, with the American flag and the flag of the state of North Carolina proudly displayed out front.

Beside the courthouse, a large tent had been erected. People already gathered beneath it, awaiting the arrival of their esteemed visitor, and a band was just beginning to play an upbeat tune that floated out over the thick night air. From the shadows of the street, Christopher watched the cluster of young ladies who were no doubt ‘the cream of the crop’ in that small town.

They were dressed in flowing white organdies, pale pink chiffons, and a multitude of pastel colored silks and tulles. To him, their ultra-feminine attire was almost nauseating, and their teased curls decorated with flowers and adorned with ribbon made them all look comical instead of alluring.

Christopher held out his arm to his companion. “Well, Miss Graham, shall we face them?”

Laurel slipped her hand in the crook of his outstretched arm. She held her head up high, gathered her skirt in her hand, and walked across the damp grass. With each step, her heart pounded harder and harder against her chest, until the rushing of blood could be heard in her ears. Laurel prayed to God that her hands weren’t shaking as badly as she thought they were.

“Don’t be nervous,” Christopher whispered, his face masked with a bland scowl.

She took a steadying breath as they reached the tent, just as the band abruptly changed to playing
God Save the Queen.
At that, Laurel could have sworn she heard ‘His Lordship’ choke down a laugh. The crowd hushed and turned in their direction, smiling graciously at him and suspiciously at her.

The stout Mayor, with his pompous, puffed out chest, rushed forward to greet their guest with a bow. “Your Lordship, we are so honored.”

His face still unreadable, Christopher bowed his head curtly.

Two young ladies materialized from the crowd, each carrying a large bouquet. They curtsied beneath their ridiculous gowns and placed the flowers in his arms. Laurel knew these two all too well – Miss Theodosia Waycaster, daughter of the mayor himself, and Miss Charlotte Dellinger, the reigning Cotton Queen for two years running.

The Mayor cleared his throat as he declared to the members of society gathered before him, “Everyone please join me in welcoming Lord Christopher Brayles!”

Laurel clapped along with everyone, but her mind wandered elsewhere.
Christopher
.
Christopher Brayles.
She had never heard his name before. When she looked up at his inscrutable face, she noticed his tanned skin, thick reddish-brown brows, and firmly set jaw line. She studied his long, straight nose and commanding chin, which jutted out from his face, leaving his bottom lip in an almost permanent pout. Whatever Laurel expected his name to be, it was not Christopher. But from that moment on, it seemed like the only name strong enough to describe him.

One by one, each of the town’s debutantes deemed worthy of an introduction was presented to Lord Christopher Brayles. Each curtsied, batted their eyes up at him, and whispered “Your Lordship” in the most innocently seductive voice they could manage. Laurel watched the entire spectacle from the sidelines, noticing not only who was there but also who
was not
. Only the prettiest girls, or those from the best families had received an invitation. She saw the Druggist’s heavyset daughter stumble as she curtsied, the only daughter of the family who owned the grocery nearly spill punch on Lucy Holbrooks, and the eldest of the Misses Wilsons trip over the train of her own silk gown.

Laurel thought they all looked silly making fools out of themselves trying to impress some strange man in the hopes that he might notice
them. No doubt each one secretly hoped he would fall madly in love with her and her alone, and whisk her away to his castle on the moors. And no doubt each one of their mothers told them it was sure to happen.

While she entertained herself by laughing at the follies of the other girls, one in particular slipped up beside her. It was “Lottie” Dellinger, and the stench of her rosewater perfume almost caused Laurel to gag.

“Did I see you arrive on the arm of Lord Christopher?” the young blonde asked.

Laurel nodded.

“Do you know His Lordship?”

She swallowed. “I work for him at the mill.”

Lottie Dellinger picked at the corsage on her wrist. “Why on Earth would he ask a girl from the mill to accompany him to a party thrown by the Hospitality Committee?”

“I don’t know,” Laurel said, finally finding her voice. “But I can tell you that he is not at all impressed by your simpering and curtsying. If you’re capable of having an intelligent conversation, I suggest using
that
to win him over.”

Unbeknownst to any of them, Christopher overheard her conversation with the insufferable Miss Dellinger. Naturally, he knew the other girls would be jealous of Miss Graham. What he had not known was the way in which Miss Graham would continue to astonish him. She could be trembling with nerves one moment, while verbally sparring with an adversary the next. In the crowd of young women adorned in the most lavish gowns their parents could afford, she stood out in her understated yellow dress like a songbird surrounded by squawking, screeching parrots.

Over the course of the night, Christopher consumed a sickening amount of lukewarm punch, stomached a dance with the Mayor’s daughter, and was introduced and reintroduced to every single person there. It was no wonder he hated these types of parties. Laurel was never far from his side, and he always included her in conversation. She never failed him either. Although it was obvious she was not as cultured as the others, she could converse on almost any subject.

Even when the young women, and sometimes their mothers, tried to engage Laurel on a topic that she could not possibly be knowledgeable on just to fluster and embarrass her, she never seemed to let it bother her.

“Last year, we took Theodosia to see
Romeo And Juliet
,” the Mayor’s wife said. “I do so love to see Maude Adams play!”

Christopher swirled the glass of punch in his hand. “I was fortunate enough to see Ellen Terry as Juliet at the Lyceum when I was a boy.”

Theodosia placed her pale hand on his sleeve. “Only the
truly
intellectual and enlightened of individuals can appreciate Shakespeare’s mastery of language.” She then cut her eyes at Laurel. “Others can only feign understanding of an art form which they cannot possibly hope to grasp.”

“Next year, Theodosia will be attending the Gaston College for Girls. My husband and I believe that an excellent educational foundation is crucial in the proper development of a young woman’s future. We were even thinking of starting a scholarship for
less fortunate
girls in town.”

Laurel refused to be hurt by their barbs. “That is a wonderful idea, Mrs. Waycaster. I know so many who would be just tickled pink at the opportunity to put a college education to
good
use.”

Theodosia and her mother looked as if they had never been so affronted in all their lives. Laurel was sure that if Christopher had not been standing right there, one of them would have hauled off and slapped her. Instead, they bowed their excuses and stormed across the dance floor to gossip about ‘that dreadful Miss Graham’.

“Following in her mother’s footsteps, no doubt,” one woman hissed in reply.

Laurel tried to ignore them, but that insult cut to the quick.

Christopher heard her ragged breathing, and was afraid she was going to cry. “Shall I take you home?” he asked. “I think I’ve had enough for one night.”

“Please,” she said, thankful of his consideration.

They walked arm in arm through the streets, the only sound being the echo of their shoes on the sidewalk.

“I would like to thank you for coming, Miss Graham. I know it was not easy.”

Laurel sighed, still thinking of the way the ‘polite society’ of town had treated her. If that was what money and family got you, she decided that she would rather be a poor orphan any day!

“You took me out of my comfort zone,” she said. “And now I want to take you out of yours. Would you come somewhere with me on Sunday?”

Christopher raised his eyebrow at her.

“It will be fun, and I want you to see that not everyone here is like
they
are.” Laurel explained, gesturing back at the gathering on the courthouse lawn.

CHAPTER EIGHT

Like clockwork, Christopher waited in front of his hotel as Laurel arrived on her bicycle. He stood with his shoulder propped up against a pillar on the porch, wearing a white linen suit and a straw boater hat.

“Am I dressed all right?” he asked.

Laurel took one look at his bright white oxfords and said, “Your shoes might get dirty.”

Christopher shrugged and stepped off the porch. Laurel wore her Sunday staple – pale blue dress, black stockings, tall black lace-up boots, and her hair pulled back in low ponytail. He could afford to ruin a pair of shoes, but she, it seemed, could not.

“I’ll just leave my bicycle here,” she said, propping it against the tree on the lawn. “Do you think they will mind?”

“Aren’t you worried about someone stealing it?” he asked.

“Oh no. That sort of thing doesn’t happen around here.”

As they walked through town, Christopher noticed the way people stared at them. Their arriving and leaving the party together the other night had probably fueled the gossip mill, and now he wondered if spending any more time with Miss Graham was such a good idea. Although he couldn’t care less what they thought of him, for her sake he did not want anyone to think anything was happening between them.

But what
was
happening? They saw a great deal of each other lately, with the majority of it orchestrated by him. However, he had the impression that she was not harboring any secret feelings for him at all, and since she was much too young, and not at all his type, Christopher was not concerned about anything developing on his end.

“Where are we going anyway?” he inquired as they passed through the Marlwood Avenue section of town, and headed off toward the direction of the mill.

“Don’t you like surprises?”

Christopher frowned. “I hate them, actually.”

“Oh, well in that case…” Laurel said, “We’re going to a baseball game.

Baseball seemed harmless enough, and he had always wanted to see that Great American game.

“We’re playing the Cherryville Mill. They are our biggest rival,” explained Laurel. “And we are both undefeated!”

They walked through Mill Hill, with its neat rows of identical houses. Each had a small front porch, tin roof, and whitewashed siding. Some had small vegetable gardens; others had lines of white laundry drying in the sunshine. Rocking chairs, with their paint chipped and peeling, faced in the direction of the mill, whose tall brick smoke stacks were always visible from anywhere in town, acting as a constant reminder of its livelihood.

Christopher had never seen where his employees lived. He was shocked to learn that only the supervisors’ houses had running water. Electric light – provided by the mill – came on at six in the morning and shut off at nine each night. With almost every member of the household working at the mill all day, there was never anyone at home to use it.

Aside from the housing, Hathcock-Holbrooks had built a baseball field, schoolhouse, and a Christian church for its one hundred employees. At the time the mill had been sold, there was even talk of adding a general store, making Mill Hill virtually self-reliant. Christopher stopped any further plans for that when he took over ownership, as he felt it would also keep the workers indebted to the company. His employees earned their living and deserved to spend it wherever they chose.