Zylphia frowned as she studied her father a moment before turning a calculating stare to the woman. “I agree. The McLeods are the worst sort. They have you believing in things such as duty, compassion, honor, and love.” She smiled at the woman. “Life would be so much better if we could be like you. A heartless witch who relishes causing disharmony wherever she goes.”
“Why, I’ve never—”
“Never had someone tell you that your opinions and beliefs are worthless? You are a woman not to be trusted. Not to be listened to. And certainly not to be esteemed. I would like you to leave my art show—which has been a great success because I am a great painter—and never return.” Zylphia stood at her full height, a good half foot over the woman and glared her into abiding by Zylphia’s will.
After Mrs. Masterson had departed, Zylphia leaned into her father’s side, as though deflated. “Who was that awful woman?”
“Gabriel, Richard, and Jeremy’s aunt. Aunt Masterson,” Aidan murmured. He kissed Zee on her head. “You were magnificent.” His eyes lit with pride. “Finally you proclaimed yourself more than proficient in your painting.”
She laughed and blushed. “I don’t know what came over me. I hated seeing her treat you like you were worthy of contempt.” She squeezed her father’s arm. “I must mingle some more.” She smiled at him in solidarity as she moved into the crowd again.
Later that evening Aidan sat on a love seat beside his desk in his study so he could easily immerse himself in Zylphia’s painting. He remembered the gull’s cry, the briny scent of the sea, the heightened sense of expectation at pulling into Boston Harbor. Of returning home. He sighed as he lost himself to his memories, reluctantly returning to the present when his study door opened. He smiled his welcome to Delia and held out his arms to her. “Come, my love,” he murmured.
“I don’t want to interrupt,” she said as she settled next to him, laying her head on his shoulder with a sigh of contentment.
He clasped her close, nuzzling her head. “I’ve missed you.”
Delia chuckled. “I’ve been here the entire time.” She kissed his neck. “I’m sorry if I was consumed with planning her show.”
Aidan’s hold on her tightened. “It was a roaring success.” Pride resonated in his voice. “I had hoped my associates would buy a few of her pieces. I never imagined they’d purchase the entire collection.”
“She’ll be busy between her commissions and working toward the vote in November. I hope that will suffice as she frets about her separation from Teddy.” Delia snuggled closer. “What bothers you? You’re as tightly wound as when we first reunited.”
“I saw you speaking with Mrs. Smythe tonight.” His hold on her increased to the point he had to remind himself to loosen his grip so as not to harm her. “At nearly the same moment that Chickering woman was battling wits with her, I had an interesting discussion with Mrs. Masterson.”
Delia started and twisted in his hold so she could meet his gaze. “You’re not serious?” She flushed with indignation. “How dare she come to Zee’s show!” She frowned when Aidan remained silent. “You know she’s just like that Mrs. Smythe. Her goal is to provoke discord. I wouldn’t give credence to anything she said.”
“She met Zee,” Aidan rasped. “I was so filled with rage, I was momentarily struck dumb.” At Delia’s gentle stroke of her fingers against his cheek, he met her worried gaze. “She intimated Zee wasn’t mine. That she was really my strumpet and that you were an understanding wife.”
Rather than the rage he expected, Delia burst out laughing. “Oh, she really doesn’t know you at all, does she?” she asked with tenderness and love shining in her eyes.
Aidan grinned, lowering his forehead to rest against hers, the tension slowly ebbing from his shoulders. “No. She doesn’t know Zee either. Zee was extraordinary, coming to my defense.”
“It’s humbling when the roles change, even for an instant,” Delia murmured.
“Humbling and gratifying to realize how much she loves me,” Aidan whispered. He leaned forward, kissing Delia softly on the lips. “I will never be able to thank you enough for the wonder and joy that you and Zee have brought to my life. You have enriched it immeasurably.”
“Oh, Aidan,” Delia whispered, her throat thick as she battled strong emotions. “I give thanks every morning that you returned to us. To me.”
He smiled ruefully. “A few years late.” He muffled their chuckles with another kiss, before rising and leading her from his office. “Come, my love,” he whispered, walking with her to the privacy of their bedroom.
The capacity crowd gathered in the underground hall had become restless. Every available seat was occupied, those present understanding the privilege of having obtained a ticket to the exclusive for-one-night-only concert. The venue at Steinert Hall, although small, afforded the best acoustics in Boston and was ideal for an intimate concert. The elliptical-shaped concert hall was adorned with Corinthian columns along the walls. Small concave alcoves between the columns near the stage were like private boxes at the opera. A Greek-themed mural was on one wall, contrasting the others painted a soothing ochre color, reminiscent of the Mediterranean.
Parthena sat next to Zylphia in the second row of the balcony. She tried to fade into the shadows, causing Zylphia to snicker. “Lucas will know you’re here whether he sees you or not,” Zylphia murmured.
“As long as Morgan doesn’t discover I came tonight,” Parthena whispered.
Rowena stifled a snort in her handkerchief. “With all the Boston elite here tonight, I doubt that is a possibility. He’ll know, and you’d better have a good reason for attending.”
“The important thing is that you aren’t performing,” Zylphia breathed in a low voice. “If you had actually dared to perform … I hate to think how your husband would react.”
Parthena’s eyes filled with tears. “I’m talented enough to be up there with Lucas.”
Rowena gripped her friend’s hand while Zylphia glared at a woman behind them who had leaned forward to better hear their conversation. “There was never any doubt of that, P.T. But you did what you had to do. And we’ll never fault you for it.”
“This is not the place to have this discussion,” Zylphia whispered, making her eyes large. She snapped her fan open, inadvertently thwacking the woman in front of her who was stretching backward to listen in. The woman yelped and moved forward to avoid any further abuse from Zylphia’s fan-waving. Zylphia winked at her friends. “I wish you’d taught me how to properly use a fan.”
“I think you learned all you needed to from me,” Rowena said as she bit back a laugh. “I thought your parents were in attendance tonight, Zee.”
Parthena breathed deeply with relief at the change in topic, even though her hungry gaze watched the stage. She focused on Zylphia’s comments when she was nudged, erecting a mask of polite boredom as she looked down to the small hall from her seat.
Zylphia pointed with her chin to the alcoves by the stage. “Sophie invited them to be her particular guests. Mother wonders what she’s done to earn such an honor.” They shared a giggle as they watched Sophie hold court with the McLeods. “I’m certain my father enjoys it more than my mother. She’s used to playing Sophie’s role.” They stifled any further comments as the lights dimmed.
At the end of the concert, Martin knocked on the back door to the performer’s private room, frowning when he was not asked to enter. He banged on the door, beaming at his son who answered his knock.
“Father,” Lucas said, his momentary confusion lifting as he focused on him. He pulled him into a strong embrace and then tugged him into the cramped room. It stunk of sweat and had the humid, musty smell of an underground space.
“Your mother was unable to attend.”
“You don’t have to make excuses for her.” Lucas nodded to the low settee and dropped onto a stool. “We’ll never make amends.”
Martin sighed but reluctantly nodded. “I’d like to argue with you and say yo
u were wrong.” He shook his head in consternation.
Lucas waited, not speaking, but his eyes were questioning.
“I’ve never known more joy than that I experienced tonight, hearing you perform. Listening to the roar of approval from the crowd. You’re a master, Lucas.”
Lucas’s eyes grew shiny as though battling tears, and he cleared his throat. “Thank you, Father.”
“Thank God you had the courage to leave the family business. You chose the more difficult path but the correct one.”
Lucas bent his head at his father’s benediction and reached forward to grip his hand. “Thank you.”
Martin studied his son a moment and frowned. “You should be thrilled at your triumph. You should be celebrating out there with the throngs, waiting to meet you and shake your hand. I’d hate to think your association with that Mrs. Wheeler has caused you to become despondent.”
Lucas raised wounded brown eyes to his father. “She never wanted me. She wanted my music. What I could give to her.”
Martin sighed. “Your generation has such different notions now about relationships. In my era, it was always about what a man could offer the woman or the other way around. Affection, or love, had very little to do with it.”
“You say that, but I know you loved Mother.”
“I came to love her, after our marriage. But I resented her when we wed. She separated me from the woman I desired.”
Lucas nodded. “I fear Mrs. Wheeler will come to love her husband. He’s who she should love and the type of man she’s been raised to love.”
Martin tapped Lucas on a knee. “If all she appreciated about you was your music, she didn’t deserve you. You’re much more than that.”
“Am I? Sometimes I think I’m only as important as my next concert or composition.”
“Never let anyone take away your sense of worth,” Martin said fiercely. “Now let’s go and meet your fans.”
Lucas sighed and stood. He slipped on his tuxedo jacket and smoothed back his hair. In a moment, he’d donned the mask of a musician’s ennui, adding to his mystique. He slapped his father on the back and followed him to meet those who’d waited for him.
He stepped out a side door, taking a deep breath to see over half the audience had crowded around the small stage area. He relaxed when he saw Zylphia and Rowena but noted that Parthena was absent. He nodded to his cousin as he beamed at a group approaching him with effusive praise.
After shaking a multitude of hands, bowing to the men and air-kissing the women’s knuckles, he inched his way to Zylphia. She shared an amused smile with him as he gripped her hand and looped it through his elbow. “Don’t allow anyone to separate us,” he whispered.
Rowena jauntily looped her arm through his other elbow and steered him toward the side of the room with the temporary bar erected for the evening. “I think you need a drink, Mr. Russell,” she said. “All that bowing and scraping can make one parched.”
“I thought you wouldn’t have to go through this anymore,” Zylphia murmured, beaming as she straightened even further for a photographer. She blinked a few times as the bright bulb momentarily blinded her.
“It’s an artist’s way of life, Zee. We must suffer events such as these or accept that our talents might remain in obscurity.” Lucas nodded his thanks to the barkeep, freeing his arm from Rowena’s hold to grasp his drink. He took a long swallow and smiled at those milling about. “I should think you’d know that now, after your successful showing.”
“My talent doesn’t require such antics,” Zylphia argued. “And I can hide away in my studio. I don’t have to perform to earn my accolades.”
“Then you’re the more fortunate of the two of us,” Lucas said. “Besides, with the rumors swirling around me, I need positive publicity.”
Zylphia fought a frown. “After tonight I doubt anyone could believe those rumors. You played nothing but your original compositions. You are no more mad than anyone else here in this room.”
Lucas smiled, the tension leaving his shoulders at her fierce show of loyalty. “I hope you’re correct, Zee.” Martin joined them, and the only conversation Lucas overheard was the overwhelming fortune of their family to have two such artistic talents.
Delia mingled with the crowd after Lucas’s performance, having had the luxury of sitting in one of the small boxes to the side of the stage with Aidan and Sophronia. Sophie motioned to Delia, and she moved in her host’s direction.
“Sit, my dear,” Sophie barked. She had settled on a comfortable tufted chair, unearthed from the bowels of the hall, and looked to be the most comfortable person in the room.
Delia sat on a hard wooden chair beside her.
“I’m certain you were curious about my invitation to join me this evening.”
“I was, yes,” Delia said as she squirmed in her chair in an attempt to find a comfortable position. “You seem to find more enjoyment in my daughter’s company.”
Sophie snorted. “Don’t be petulant. Besides, I’ve found that few are clamoring for my attention lately.”
Delia laughed and relaxed. An inebriated man sat at the piano and played a haphazard assortment of music while the remaining guests were content to wait their opportunity to speak with Lucas. “I feel fortunate I don’t have to finagle a few minutes to speak with him.”
“Yes, we are quite fortunate. He visits me quite often to ask my opinion on pieces he is working on. I fear he believes I have as valid a musical opinion as I do about everything else. A dear boy.” After a moment’s silence, she tapped Delia on her knee. “I had hoped you’d pay me a call after Zylphia’s grand art show.” Sophie thunked her cane in agitation. “We have a dilemma, and we must decide what to do.”
Delia looked at Sophie in confusion. “Dilemma? Because Zee was successful?”
“Of course not. Because that horrid woman dared to resurrect herself.” Sophie slammed down her cane again. “She’ll mean nothing but trouble.”
Delia let out a long sigh. “I fear you are correct. I’ve already written Clarissa to forewarn her.”
Sophie studied Delia and nodded. “We know she will share the disturbing news with everyone in Montana.”
Delia flushed and gripped her hands together until her fingers turned white. “I despise that woman. I don’t want her back in our lives.”
Sophie snorted. She held up her cane, waving away a friend who approached. “She’s in our lives, no matter what we would like.”
She shared a long look with Sophie. “Mrs. Masterson reappeared that night too. I have yet to determine why they reemerged at the same time.”
Sophie glowered at the news. “Horrible woman. I can’t countenance what she did to Clarissa and Gabriel. Then, I heard from Clarissa what her son did last year to Patrick’s wife.” Her gaze became distant as though envisioning her adversaries’ untimely demises. “It’s too much to believe their apparition on the same evening was a coincidence.”
Delia sighed. “She attempted to ruin the evening for Zee. For that alone, I’ll never forgive her.”
“Zylphia is stronger than that woman. Now that she has fully accepted her McLeod heritage, she’ll relish battling with that woman. With regard to that Masterson woman, I’d worry more about her offspring.” Sophie shook her head. “No, our concern should be about the other one. That Mrs. Smythe.” She gripped the neck of her cane. “Mischief is on its way West.”
“I pray it is only mischief and not anything worse. I fear Aidan will be needed there soon.” She shared a long look with Sophie.
Sophie harrumphed and Delia rose, joining Aidan as he spoke with Zylphia and Lucas. Delia slipped her arm through Aidan’s, taking comfort from his presence.
14
A week after her art exhibit, Zylphia walked alongside the edge of a ballroom in one of the mansions in the Back Bay. Although Zylphia had not expected to dance that evening, the host’s middle daughter had convinced her mother to hire a trio of musicians to play, and a small group danced on t
he parquet dance floor. Matrons, businessmen, and those disinclined to dance mingled throughout the first floor of the large mansion, freely moving from room to room.
“Miss McLeod,” Owen Hubbard said, unable to hide a sneer as he looked her over from head to foot. “It appears you’ve learned little from your foray into society.”
Zylphia came to an abrupt stop as he stepped in front of her. She ran a hand over her turquoise skirt, hiding a trembling fist in the folds of the fabric. “How pleasant to see you again,” she demurred as she moved to walk past him.
He gripped her arm, leaning forward to whisper in her ear. “I’m surprised to find you so composed.” At her bored stare, his smile grew, his ability to provoke pain sparking malicious joy in his gaze. He continued. “Considering the man you threw yourself away on has returned to Boston, with no apparent interest in seeing you again.”
Zylphia blanched before forcing a smile. “I’m certain you are mistaken.”
Owen’s smile bloomed into a full-toothed malevolent glee, capable of ripping to shreds the hopes of the unwary. “I am rarely misinformed, Miss McLeod, especially where you are concerned. The only error I have ever made was to believe your sincerity regarding your growing disinterest in that miserable cause.”
Zylphia flushed with indignation, grasping at anything to distract her from his earlier barb. “One day I will have the right to vote. All women will vote. And your perceived superiority over me and the women in your life will diminish. One day it will all disappear, and we will legally be your equal.” She tilted her head to one side and fisted her hands in agitation.
“You have never been nor will you ever be my equal,” he snarled, gripping her arm to the point of bruising.
A man laughed as he slapped Owen on his shoulder. He placed his hand on Owen’s and freed it from his tight clasp on Zylphia’s arm. “I fear you’re correct,” Morgan Wheeler said as he smiled and winked at Zylphia. “She’s always been your superior, and it angers you to have to admit it.” He winged his arm out to her and led her away from Owen.
Unrelenting Love: Banished Saga, Book Five Page 15
