“I will, Lucy, I will.” She wondered what Quaid’s price was. She hadn’t forgotten that she needed to get him to pay one thousand pounds for a ring he no longer wanted.
* * *
Chelsea spent the following day in a state of suppressed excitement edged with nervous trepidation. They had arrived early at Lucy Abernathy’s under Chelsea’s excuse of wanting to help Lucy with the refreshments. Chelsea looked beautiful, having taken extreme care with her toilette earlier that morning. It had taken her several hours to arrange her hair, meticulously curling it with the hot iron into exactly twenty-two curls that hung in different lengths down the back of her head. A fringe of wispy ringlets offset her high, intelligent brow and brought her marvelous tawny eyes into prominence. The hat she had chosen was a perfect match for her jewel-toned aquamarine afternoon dress of whisper-soft crepe de chine. As fashion dictated, it was styled with leg o’ mutton sleeves and a modest neckline that only hinted at the smooth white skin of her breasts; from there it nipped down into a tiny waist exactly one and a half inches higher in the front than in the back, giving a long, graceful slope to her back. Bette had worked miracles with the fabric Chelsea had purchased from the Chinese trader in Madagascar and had arranged the new-fangled bustle in precise proportion to Chelsea’s height. The gown had been carefully trimmed in grosgrain ribbon backed with ecru lace at the hemline and neck, and the overall effect was understated but classic. It was a style Chelsea had adopted, deliberately, wishing to portray her femininity without the overwhelming use of laces and bows some women favored.
Chelsea knew Quaid had arrived at the Abernathys’ by the excited titters of several women. It was also obvious by Harlow’s dark, disapproving glances. Suddenly nervous, Chelsea excused herself to step out into the garden. Harlow was about to accompany her when he was detained by an associate. “You go along, my dear,” he told her. “I’ll be out in a moment.”
Martha followed Chelsea through the foyer, but just as she was about to step outside into Lucy’s attractive garden, Martha took a detour into the dining room. Curious, Chelsea followed.
“What are you doing?” she asked when Martha began fussing with the place cards.
“Seeing that you and Quaid are sitting beside each other. I want you to have every opportunity to speak to him about the money.” Martha smiled. “Time is so important. Do you mind?”
Chelsea shook her head. “Do as you like. It’s just that Mrs. Abernathy might object; she spent a great deal of time arranging the seating. Where is your father seated?”
“At the other end of the table. I’m seeing to all the loose ends, Chelsea. I meant everything I said, and I hope you meant everything you said. You hold up your end of our bargain and I’ll hold up mine.”
“Have you given any thought to the possibility that I might not have an opportunity to bring the subject up with Quaid—Mr. Tanner?”
“You will,” Martha said confidently.
“Martha, I’ve been thinking about this all day. What will you do if you get to England and … and things don’t go the way you expect them to? How will you survive? Any number of things could go wrong. At least you’re safe here and will always have a home. You’d have me as a friend. It’s important to have a home and family.”
“For you, perhaps. It’s not that I don’t want your friendship. I want William and my own family. I thought you understood. We made an agreement, and I expect you to honor it.” There was a note of challenge in Martha’s voice that Chelsea recognized. The girl was desperate—and who could blame her?
“I’m not trying to get out of our agreement. I just have to be certain in my mind that you know what you’re doing. You must understand that I can’t force Quaid to give me the money.”
Again Martha smiled. “I have the utmost faith in all of your abilities. I’m sure you’ll manage.”
“When we were talking the other night, why didn’t you tell me Quaid had a wife in Europe?” Even now, after having had time to digest the information, Chelsea had difficulty saying it out loud.
“A wife?” Martha frowned. “But I thought that was only rumor; I never really believed it.”
“Still, you didn’t tell me. I had to hear it from Lucy.”
Martha thought for a moment. “Chelsea, believe me, I thought it was only a rumor. When I heard it a few years ago, it was from a friend, a girl my own age. Remember, I haven’t been about much in society, and a man’s marital state is not a matter an older woman would discuss with a single girl; that’s something for the girl’s mother. But I guess my mother didn’t think it was something I should know about.”
Chelsea realized she’d been holding her breath. Some irrational part of her was hoping that Martha could discount what Lucy had told her. But now she’d heard it from two sources. Quaid had a wife.
“Chelsea, what difference does it make? You won’t go back on your word, will you? You’ll still help me?”
Chelsea looked at the anxious young woman for a moment, then smiled reassuringly. “Don’t worry, Martha, I’ll still ask Quaid for the money. And knowing Quaid has a wife has only made me more determined than ever to uphold my promise to marry your father.” With that she turned, sweeping her skirts behind her as she walked through the garden doors. Martha looked after her, a puzzled expression on her sharp features.
Chaoter 12
Dinner was being announced as Chelsea’s eyes circled the room. Where was Quaid? He was to be house-guest to the Nelsons and they were here; she’d met them. Searching the room again, she noticed Harlow coming toward her, so she smiled and tried to look as though she wanted to be with him more than any other man in the world. It was a game, of sorts. Acting. Playing at acting, was more like it. If Quaid was staying with the Nelsons, where was he? Whom was he escorting to dinner?
“Did you enjoy meeting the other women?” Harlow asked jovially.
“Yes, I did. Did you enjoy talking to the men?” As if she cared. Damn you, Quaid, where are you?
“I think I enjoyed Masterby’s wine more than his conversation. Still, it can’t compare to my Chardonnay. I understand Tanner had the audacity to stop by here earlier today to leave some of his best wine. John assured me it would be served with dinner, and I can hardly wait to taste it. Now we’ll see if he’s half as good as his boasting,” Harlow said.
“I didn’t realize Mr. Tanner was here,” Chelsea said. “I’ll look forward to tasting his wine. I’m sure, Harlow, that it won’t compare with yours. But the man has worked hard. We can all toast his endeavors.”
“Here we are, my dear. I’m afraid I’m seated down at the end of the table.” Harlow frowned. “Lucy must be addled. I never saw such an inconvenient arrangement. Look around you; everything seems mixed up.”
“Perhaps one of the servants made a mistake.”
“No, this is Lucy’s doing. She likes to have her little amusements. My apologies, my dear. We’ll all have to endure. I’m sure the guests on your right and left will entertain you. We’ll meet after dinner and take a stroll in the gardens after the men have their cigars. Would you like that?”
Chelsea smiled. “I’ll be waiting.”
Harlow seated Chelsea and moved to his end of the table. In a moment, someone moved beside her. She raised her head, knowing whose eyes she would look into. Her pulse quickened as she withdrew her napkin from the ring and spread it on her lap. How intent his gaze was. He was being obvious. Suddenly Chelsea felt there was no one else at the table but the two of them. He was remembering their last hours together, just as she was. She fancied she could see his heart beating beneath his fine lawn shirt. Swoop me up and carry me off, she wanted to cry. I’ll never look back. But now she understood why it could never be. To cover her confusion, she sipped at the wine in Lucy’s fine crystal. “This is very good, Mr. Tanner,” she said, turning to him with a pleasant smile. “I understand we have you to thank for tonight’s dinner wine.”
“It’s my best wine,” he told her, his eyes intent
on hers. “I felt I should contribute something. I’m pleased you enjoy it. Tell me, Mrs. Harris, how do you like Australia?”
“I like it, Mr. Tanner. I plan to make my home here.”
“That’s what I’ve heard. I’m sure you’ll come to love this country almost as much as you loved England.”
“I didn’t love England, Mr. Tanner. I couldn’t wait to leave.”
Quaid sipped his own wine appreciatively, hoping every palate at the table was as discerning as his. Who the hell did he have to thank for this seating arrangement? he wondered. He’d be damn lucky if he could swallow his food. All he wanted to do was drink in the sight of her. He knew if he lived to be a hundred, he would never get his fill of Chelsea. How was this ravishing creature able to torment him like this? He’d been with enough women to know the difference between lust and love. He loved her. And she loved him—he knew it. But she wouldn’t come to him without marriage. And loving her as he did, he had no right to expect her to sacrifice the rewards and respectability marriage offered a woman.
“I much prefer Australia myself,” he said desperately, trying to cover his lapse in conversation. “One day you’ll have to drive over to Clonmerra to see my vineyards. I’d be most happy to show you around and offer you a glass of my finest champagne.”
Martha, who was sitting on Quaid’s right, spoke up eagerly. “What a marvelous idea, Chelsea! You could take the buggy when we get back. I’m sure you’ll be able to find your way to Clonmerra.”
“I couldn’t do that, Martha,” Chelsea demurred. “It wouldn’t be proper. How would it look?”
“Emma and I can accompany you. What better chaperones than the daughters of your future husband? Do accept Mr. Tanner’s invitation.”
Quaid stared first at Chelsea and then at Martha. Why did he feel as though he’d been kicked in the stomach by a rambunctious mule? He waited to see what Chelsea would say, the wineglass poised halfway to his lips.
“If you really want to, Martha,” Chelsea said hesitantly.
If he had to, he would hog-tie the two girls out in the barn. But he didn’t think it would be necessary. The one thing Chelsea Myles didn’t need was a chaperone, and he knew she’d find a way to make the trip alone.
“My father is a lucky man, don’t you think, Mr. Tanner?”
“Quite so, Miss Kane. Quite so.”
“You will be coming to the wedding, won’t you? And to the prenuptial party?”
By God, this was more than he could endure. A devilish twinkle sparked in his eyes. “But of course, Miss Kane. I wouldn’t miss the wedding for the world. It will give me a chance to see you again, and your lovely sister.” When he heard Chelsea’s breath hiss between her teeth, he grinned and held his glass aloft. “To your happiness, Mrs. Harris.”
Chelsea didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. If ever there was a time for acting, it was now. Forcing a dazzling smile to her lips, she said softly, “May it last forever and a day.”
It was Quaid’s turn to seethe. What a bitch! No woman had ever tormented him like this, and by God, she was tormenting him. Sitting beside him, playing the seductress. A pity Harlow couldn’t see her performance. Or was it a performance? He couldn’t tell anymore. Either her acting had improved, or she meant the looks she was giving him. He brought his wineglass to his lips and drank. She knew what she was doing, damn her. But there was something new beneath her gaze, something closer to anger than seduction.
“Eternity is a very long time,” he replied nonchalantly. At least he hoped his voice was nonchalant. “I have every intention of dancing at your wedding, and even kissing the bride.” He turned to Martha. “Promise me the first dance at Chelsea’s wedding.”
Martha blushed but nodded her head in agreement. Her eyes, when she looked at Chelsea, were hopeful, yet there was a deep, warning look in them. Chelsea tipped her glass for the third time, then held it out to be refilled—and was immediately sorry. She could have toyed with an empty wineglass. When it was full she had to drink it. Her wits were slowing down and the room looked hazy. God, what if she drank too much and embarrassed everyone? Harlow would never forgive her. She would never forgive herself. Damn Quaid Tanner! He wanted her to get drunk.
Quaid watched as Chelsea attempted to pierce the fish on her plate with her fork and only succeeded in knocking the peas off her plate onto the spotless tablecloth. A gurgle of laughter rose in his throat, and he turned aside to Martha. “I think it might be a good idea if you were to excuse yourself and take Chelsea to her room before her condition becomes obvious to everyone,” he whispered.
“Won’t it look too obvious?” Martha asked anxiously.
Quaid shook his head, his dark eyes surveying the table. “If you do it now with the second course being served, you won’t cause too much commotion. But hurry!”
Martha frowned and looked at Chelsea distastefully. “Very well, but I expect someone to bring dinner to my room. And that someone had better be you. Chelsea said she wanted to talk to you.”
Quaid marveled at the way the slim woman next to him literally slid from her chair and walked behind the hovering waiters serving the next course. The other guests were busy talking and drinking; as far as he could tell, no one had noticed anything amiss. When Martha bent down next to Chelsea and whispered in her ear, Chelsea’s bright gaze met Quaid’s. He could see she was having difficulty focusing on him and suppressed a smile at the image of Mrs. Chelsea Harris drunk as the proverbial skunk.
A moment later Martha slid her skinny arm under Chelsea’s and helped her from the chair. Her voice was low, whispery, as she led Chelsea from the room. Quaid heaved a sigh when the great double doors closed behind them. Their leavetaking had raised no eyebrows.
“The young lady appears to be indisposed,” volunteered an elderly woman opposite Quaid.
“She’s from England. I’ve heard that there are many people who can’t tolerate the change in seasons. If you look at Mrs. Harris’s plate, you’ll see she barely touched her fish. I’m not saying that’s the reason, but it is a possibility. I myself don’t care much for fish. It leaves me …” Quaid searched for the word that would not offend the curious woman. “Rather full.”
“You mean it gives you air. My husband suffered from the same thing. More’s the pity. Fish is such a tasty dish. I certainly hope Mrs. Harris feels better. She’s so charming and quite beautiful. Why, my husband was saying just yesterday that he can’t even begin to imagine how Harlow managed to snare such a wonderful treasure.”
“Harlow always was a lucky man,” Quaid said generously.
“I don’t mind telling you I look forward to the young lady’s company in the future. There are just too many of us old fossils around here. We need young blood, young ideas, laughter in our lives. I do believe that you and Mrs. Harris are quite the youngest in our little social group. Of course, the children are young, but I’m talking about maturity.”
“You’re quite right, Mrs. Donner.”
“For shame, Quaid. When are you going to call me Phyllis, the way everyone else does? Stop deferring to my age. You make me feel positively ancient, and I detest the feeling. Speaking of youth and old age, when do you think your wife will be able to withstand the rigors of a voyage to New South Wales?”
Quaid nearly choked. Phyllis’s mention of his wife in the same breath with Chelsea threw him completely off stride, but he managed to bring himself under control. “I should think never. There doesn’t seem to be any improvement, I’m sorry to say.”
“Poor little thing. And poor you,” she said sympathetically. “A man’s wife can be his strength, you know. Just as I was to my Chester. This isn’t the country for poor health and weak spirit. I’ve seen this land sap the life out of too many women. You should have been more careful when you made your choice,” she scolded. “Clonmerra needs a woman’s touch, it’s been in the hands of men for too long. First your father and now you.”
Phyllis Donner spoke bluntly, as the old often do, thinking
their age and position had earned them the right. “I don’t suppose I’ve ever told you how much I admire what you’re doing here in New South Wales.” She hesitated a moment and then scowled. “Australia,” she corrected herself. “After a lifetime of knowing it as New South Wales, I can’t quite get used to calling it by its proper name.” She smiled at him with benign enthusiasm. “You’ve made Clonmerra into something, young man, and I’m not ashamed to say I never thought you’d be the one to do it. I expected you to have sold out to Harlow years ago. I don’t mind telling you I was astounded to learn that you’d come back from England to take the reins. Personally, I’d have thought Luke was more the man for the job. How is that young man, by the way?”
“Well,” Quaid managed, trying to keep his manner light and congenial, “I hardly ever hear from him. The slow mails, you know.”
“Yes. As I said, a man needs a strong woman beside him in Australia,” Phyllis replied, momentarily confusing Quaid with her nonsequitur. “You should have made a better choice. Not that you’d find someone suitable at one of these parties,” she added. “There isn’t a suitable young woman here with the exception of Mrs. Harris, and she’s spoken for. These other little snippets don’t count.”
To Taste The Wine Page 23
