Daring Bride

by Jane Peart

  Evalee drew in her breath. She knew about this sale. It was written up in all the material she read about decorating and antiques. The idea of attending it—and with carte blanche—was dizzying.

  MacGowan walked to the door and stood there for a moment before saying, “My second reason was to invite you to a party at the Williamsburg Inn. I’ve brought some friends down from New York to enjoy a Colonial Christmas. I’ve reserved several rooms for my guests there. I’d like them to meet my…my decorator. They’ll be sure to be impressed that she is a Russian countess.” His eyes swept over her. “Wear one of your Paris gowns, or shop for something new and charge it to me. A Christmas present from a grateful employer.” He opened the door. “I’ll send a car and driver for you.”

  “I couldn’t possibly,” Evalee protested, taken by surprise.

  MacGowan frowned. “Why not?” he demanded.

  “I’m sorry, but we’re spending Christmas with the Camerons and then going over to Montclair. It’s a family tradition—”

  MacGowan’s eyes hardened as if they’d turned to steel. His lip curled sardonically as an expression that was almost a sneer passed over his face. Curtly he cut off whatever else she was going to say. “Of course. I should have thought of that. The FFVs close ranks at Christmas. Family only.” She saw his jaw clench. “Well, so much for that.”

  He turned and left abruptly, letting the door swing shut behind him. The gold sleigh bells hanging on the door jangled, but the sound echoed hollowly. Evalee stared after MacGowan’s rigid figure, watched him get into his sleek silver car and roar off into the winter dusk.

  “Scrooge,” Evalee murmured to herself. Yet she felt something almost like compassion for him as she went about turning off lights, closing the shop. For all his wealth and power, there was something very lonely about Trent MacGowan. For a minute she had seen a hunger in his eyes. He had no loving family with whom to gather around a sparkling tree this holiday. He had to import people from New York to celebrate with him, had to bribe an employee to come as his guest. For what? To impress these so-called friends? Evalee didn’t want: to feel sorry for him—he was rude, arrogant, and insensitive—but she couldn’t help it.

  As she turned off the last light and started upstairs to her warm apartment, to her little girl waiting for her, Evalee breathed a grateful prayer. Maybe her bank account was perilously low, but she was blessed—and very, very rich.

  DARING BRIDE

  Mayfield

  1938

  Evalee hadn’t realized just how much she enjoyed being with Alan until the week she closed Gatehouse Interiors for Christmas. He had taken a skiing holiday in Connecticut, and she missed him more than she had expected she would. Therefore she was delighted when, the first week in January, he invited her to a piano concert by a well-known artist, held at Briarwood.

  It turned out to be a program mainly of Russian music. Some of the pieces brought back sharp memories of the rather squeaky old phonograph on which Marushka played records. During the rendering of Rachmaninoff’s concerto, Evalee was quite stirred, and although she tried to wipe her tears surreptitiously, Alan noticed them.

  Afterward he was contrite. “I apologize,” he told her as they drove home. “I should have realized it might be too nostalgic. It was thoughtless of me.”

  “No, no, Alan. It was the music that moved me, not sad memories. I don’t know a great deal about theory or composition, but there is something of the Russian soul that comes through in their music, and I find that it touches me deeply. I’m glad you asked me to come. Truly.” She was impressed with Alan’s extraordinary sensitivity.

  As they pulled into the circle drive in front of Gatehouse Interiors, Evalee saw that the place was dark. “Oh, I must have forgotten to turn on the light before we left,” she remarked. The outside light, in keeping with the exterior of the building, was an old carriage lamp that had been wired for electricity.

  “Isn’t your mother here?”

  “No, Natasha is staying with her at Dovecote.”

  “Well, I have a flashlight,” Alan said, and he leaned over to open the glove compartment.

  They walked up the path, his light guiding their way.

  “There was really no need for this,” he said, switching the flashlight off. “See, the moon’s just coming up through the trees.”

  She looked in the direction Alan was pointing. A pale round globe was moving through the branches of the tall trees surrounding Gatehouse.

  “Lovely, isn’t it?” she said.

  “Not nearly as lovely as you,” he replied softly. Surprised, Evalee turned and looked at Alan. The moonlight was now illuminating his face, shadowing hers. They were close yet did not touch. A breath away from each other, neither moved or spoke. The wind stirred in the trees with a quiet sound. Everything seemed still, yet taut with intense feeling.

  It had been so long since anyone had held her. Her yearning to be loved, to feel that love expressed, was strong. It would be so easy to give in to that longing. But she knew that once she did, everything would change.

  Alan was caught between caution and desire. The woman standing there was the most fascinating he had ever met. Every instinct urged him to take her into his arms, to smooth back her silken hair, taste the sweet promise of her lips, hold her slender body close.

  At the point of no return they hesitated. Surely they were adult enough to handle this?

  A gentle wind moved through the trees, rustling the stillness. And the moment passed.

  Evalee lifted her hand, touched Alan’s cheek, leaned forward and kissed him lightly. “Thanks for a wonderful evening,” she said in a low voice, then she quickly put her key in the lock, turned it, and went inside, shutting the door firmly.

  She leaned against the closed door, her breath shallow. She could still turn, open the door, invite Alan in…She bit her lower lip, knowing she wouldn’t.

  For another few seconds, Alan stood on the doorstep. He raised one hand as if to knock, then put it down and plunged it into his jacket pocket. Sighing, he retraced his steps. At the car he yanked open the door, got in. His hands gripping the steering wheel, he looked back at the house, saw the lights go on downstairs.

  Alan knew that what he felt for Evalee was so much more than physical. They had found something of value, something precious. One step more and they would have been over the brink. To change the nature of their relationship meant risking everything else.

  He didn’t know how she felt about him. What, after all, did he have to offer someone like Evalee, Countess Oblenskov?

  chapter

  18

  THAT SAME MONTH, Evalee received the announcement of the New York antique show. She decided it would be a smart business move to accept MacGowan’s offer to go at his expense. However, Natasha came down with chicken pox. Even though Dru promised to stay and take care of her while Evalee was gone, Evalee couldn’t be persuaded to leave. “There’ll be other auctions,” she said. “Besides, most of the rooms at Wemberly are practically finished. You’d be surprised at what I’ve found not all that far from Mayfield.”

  “But won’t he expect you to go?” Dru asked worriedly.

  “Mama, he’s given me carte blanche. All he wants is for Wemberly to be furnished as it was in the old days. He’ll be satisfied with that. He just wants results.”

  After the first two feverish days, Natasha was not very sick. But she was prickly and uncomfortable and covered with spots. Evalee wasn’t a nurse by nature, and her nerves were on edge. She had given the child a silver bell to ring when she wanted or needed something, and it seemed that the bell rang incessantly. Evalee was sure she had made twenty trips up and down the steps during the day, in between taking phone calls and rearranging her work schedule.

  Her patience would have worn very thin if it hadn’t been for Alan Reid. When he called to invite Evalee to dinner and a show and learned about the situation, he immediately asked if he could visit. He arrived with balloons, orange and lemon popsi
cles, coloring books, and a board game. It was a relief to Evalee to have some uninterrupted time to work on her books, catch up on her correspondence, make calls. Often she heard the sound of laughter coming from the little invalid’s room upstairs.

  Late in the afternoon Alan came down to report that the patient was sleeping. Evalee said, “You’re a lifesaver, Alan.”

  “Not at all. I love kids.”

  Evalee regarded him with new respect and affection.

  His attention to Natasha didn’t stop with one visit. During the week, when he was busy teaching, he sent her funny letters and cards in the mail, then showed up the following Saturday. Evalee was surprised and grateful. Most adults would have been bored to death spending that much time with a sick child. Alan was a very special guy.

  By the time Natasha was well and up and around again, the two were best pals.

  The costs of the Wemberly project were mounting. Special shipping fees, long-distance calls followed by telegrams tracing all kinds of merchandise that had not arrived by the promised delivery dates, and other unexpected expenses added to the price of restoring the old mansion, narrowing Evalee’s profit margin according to the terms of the contract she had signed with MacGowan’s attorneys.

  Every week, Evalee bundled up copies of invoices, contracts she’d made with suppliers, correspondence with fabric and upholstery firms, and mailed them to MacGowan’s secretary, Doris. As she did, Evalee began to worry that she was grossly overspending, especially on some of the antiques she had purchased. She had justified their cost because she felt they were perfect for the mansion. Among the many articles were priceless items that had once belonged to Wemberly and had been long missing, which she had been able to acquire at an estate sale of enormous proportions in Maryland. They consisted of two Queen Anne chairs with carved-leaf cabriole legs, a Georgian silver tea service, and a pair of French watercolors.

  Evalee felt guilty about not going to the auction MacGowan had specifically asked her to attend, and she hoped he would be well pleased with these purchases. But she wondered whether he would agree with her instincts or think she had run amok with his money. She shuddered, imagining what an angry encounter with him might be like.

  Troubles awaited her when she went out to Wemberly to check on progress. Workmen didn’t always show up when expected. The tile setters couldn’t come until the painters finished. The painters arrived before the electricians and said they couldn’t paint until all the wiring was completed. The hand-painted wallpaper MacGowan had insisted be copied from the original in the drawing room had not yet arrived from the one factory in England that produced it.

  With all the delays and problems, Evalee wasn’t sure Wemberly would be completed by the June deadline MacGowan had set.

  MacGowan wasn’t her only worry. Other clients had become impatient, because Evalee was tied up with his project and their work was delayed. She had neglected other jobs to stay on top of the Wemberly restoration, and a few clients had finally quit her in anger. Evalee was upset to see once loyal customers take their business elsewhere. And the fact that they didn’t pay her for work she’d already done for them was financially devastating.

  After agreeing to work for MacGowan, she had used her advance, together with the extra income generated by gift sales in December, to pay off her many business debts and to buy clothes for Natasha and other necessities. She had been counting on the income from her other clients to carry her through until the Wemberly project was complete and she received her payment in full.

  Evalee was becoming increasingly nervous. Late one afternoon when the shop was empty, she got out her ledgers and painstakingly went over her accounts. Soon her position became all too clear. She was broke, practically penniless. Less than a hundred dollars remained in her personal bank account. And there were no jobs contracted for after she finished Wemberly.

  Suddenly she heard the sound of a car swerving into the gravel parkway in front of the store. A moment later Trent MacGowan was striding into the shop.

  She gasped, “It’s you! I didn’t expect—” Then she wondered if she looked as startled as she sounded.

  “Obviously. But it doesn’t matter. I didn’t let anyone know I was coming. Spur of the moment, actually. A yen to see my house,” he said, smiling. “And my decorator. How are you, Countess?”

  Evalee got to her feet, clumsily swooping loose bills and scraps of notepaper into her ledger and closing it, thinking, If Trent MacGowan only knew the true state of my finances. A businessman like MacGowan would have only contempt for someone who couldn’t balance a budget. She struggled for words. MacGowan looked pleasanter and friendlier than she had ever seen him. What was on his mind? And why had he made this unexpected trip? She played for time. “I sent Doris last month’s report. Didn’t you receive it?”

  He brushed that aside and smiled. “Oh, yes. You’ve been doing quite a bit of gadding about, from the look of things.”

  He didn’t seem upset or the least bit angry. Evalee allowed herself to be a little relieved.

  MacGowan walked around the room in his restless way, and all she could do was wait until he chose to tell her why he had come. He seemed to use this tactic deliberately, to throw her off and keep the upper hand. Finally he turned back to her and said, “Just so you don’t think you’re the only one who goes snooping around antique stores, treasure hunting, I want to show you something.”

  With that he went back out to his car. When he returned, he was carrying a large, square package wrapped in brown paper and tied with twine. “Got scissors?” he asked.

  He held out one hand as Evalee fumbled in her desk drawer for a pair and gave them to him. Quickly MacGowan cut the string. The paper fell away, and Evalee saw that it was a painting of some kind. However, she could only see the back of the canvas. Slowly he turned it around.

  It was a portrait of a young woman. From the costume and hairstyle, it had been painted perhaps in the mid-1800s. The shape of the face was oval, but the cheekbones were quite prominent, the chin rather square. She had straight, dark brows over large, dark eyes, in contrast to her fair complexion and pale blond hair.

  Evalee came around from behind the desk for a closer look.

  “Look like anyone you know?” MacGowan hinted as Evalee continued to stare at the portrait. He propped the painting against the front of the desk and stepped to one side of it.

  Evalee was stunned. It was like looking at herself in a mirror. Except that the mirror and the young woman must have existed over a hundred years ago. The painting was exquisitely rendered, in the minutest detail—the earrings, the lace fichu outlining the décolletage, the cameo pin at her breast. Her hair fell in satin ringlets, shimmering with golden light, so it appeared as if one could reach out and touch and feel the silky length. She was a young woman from another century and yet astonishingly real.

  “Amazing, isn’t it?” MacGowan asked. “It could be you. The minute I saw it, I knew it belonged in my house. I knew I had to have it.” He paused. Suddenly there was a different tone in his voice. “Just as when I saw you for the first time, I knew I wanted you.”

  Evalee looked at him and took a step away.

  “Don’t look so shocked,” he said. “Surely you knew I was attracted to you?”

  She shook her head.

  “How could you not have known? Don’t you think I could have had a dozen top-notch, experienced decorators, established professionals well known in New York—or London, for that matter—design my house? I saw something in you none of them had. Class, elegance, breeding and background. The perfect woman for Wemberly.”

  He moved closer to her, his dark eyes blazing with intensity. “Marry me, and I’ll give you everything you’ve ever dreamed of. What a hostess you’d make in that beautiful place. People would die to be invited there with you as its mistress. Say you will.”

  Evalee tried to regain her composure. “I can’t possibly. I never thought…I mean, you don’t even really know me…. Do you know
I have a child? A little girl, six?”

  MacGowan’s brows drew together. For a minute he looked blank. “Yes, I believe I knew thatWell, that’s another reason for you to consider my proposal. I can provide everything for a child—an education, riding lessons, a horse—whatever Virginia’s first families do. You can trust that.”

  Evalee realized she was shaking. She was unable to speak. This had come out of the blue, totally unexpected.

  MacGowan rewrapped the portrait, tied it loosely with the string, then said, “I’ll take this up to Wemberly. At least I know this will be there to welcome me home.” His smile was rueful. He shoved the package under one arm and started toward the door. “I know I tend to be…overpowering. I didn’t mean to startle you or frighten you. Whatever you’re thinking now, we could have a good life. A wonderful life. And so could your child.” He was at the door now. He turned, and there was some wistfulness in his voice as he asked, “Will you at least consider what I’m offering?”

  Numbly Evalee nodded.

  Natasha was spending the night at Dovecote, and when MacGowan left, Evalee was alone. Her knees felt weak, and she went back to her desk and sat down. She stayed there for a few minutes, trying to collect her thoughts. It was all so stunning. She could hardly believe what Trent MacGowan had proposed.

  The first thoughts that flashed through her mind were compelling and tempting. No more financial worries, no bills to put off, no tactful reminders to clients who hadn’t paid her fee, an unlimited bank account, the best of everything for Natasha…

  By every rule of heritage and background, Evalee knew she should not be attracted to a man like MacGowan. But even as she repeated to herself the things she disliked about him, she had to admit that the man was maddeningly attractive. He had a marvelous face, even with its brooding expression. It was intriguing to imagine what might be behind the veiled look in his deep-set eyes.