The Lyon Legacy

by Peg Sutherland

  Cornelia smiled. “At least you’re honest. I like that. I wouldn’t want my granddaughter to be under the influence of a woman without moral character.”

  Leslie relaxed a bit. “If that’s a compliment, thank you.”

  Cornelia laughed. “I suppose it was. At least I don’t have to worry about your feelings for Michael.”

  Leslie caught her breath. “You don’t?”

  “It’s obvious that you love him and Cory, too. He’s a fool not to see it.”

  Cornelia swallowed the last of her drink while Leslie just stared, completely disconcerted. But later, when Cornelia announced that she would reevaluate plans to seek custody of her grandchild, Leslie was not disconcerted in the least.

  WHEN LESLIE SAW the green and watery New Orleans landscape from the window of the airplane, she wanted to weep with relief. The entire trip had been a terrible strain—who would sleep where, who would believe whom, who would crumble first. Only Cory seemed perfectly delighted with everything and everyone.

  They’d no more than walked into Michael’s house when a knock on the door announced new trouble. Margaret stood on the step, a limousine at the curb behind her and a bottle of champagne in her hand.

  “Welcome home, my dears.” She handed the bottle of wine to Michael and hugged Leslie, then Cory. “I hope I haven’t come at an inopportune moment.” She walked inside and shut the door behind her.

  Leslie and Michael exchanged puzzled glances.

  “It’s not the best time actually,” Leslie ventured. “We just got back.”

  “I won’t be long,” Margaret promised. “I won’t even sit down.”

  “Please,” Michael said, “we didn’t mean—”

  Margaret waved his protests aside. “I just wanted to say that we’re prepared to welcome all of you to Lyoncrest as soon as it can be arranged.”

  Michael frowned. “Anytime you say is fine with us, isn’t it, Les?”

  Leslie, who was under no illusions, touched his arm in warning. “I don’t think Grandmère is talking about dinner.”

  “Then what?” Michael frowned. “No! You can’t mean you expect us to move into Lyoncrest!”

  “I do indeed, and so does the rest of the family.” Margaret laughed lightly. “Just thank your lucky stars Gaby wasn’t the one chosen to come here today to convince you. I think she’d already have the moving van at the door.”

  Michael shook his head. “It’s out of the question, Mrs. Lyon. Leslie and I—”

  “Spare me, please.” Margaret turned back to the door. “That big old house just cries out for young people within its walls. We’ve already prepared a suite for you on the third floor away from everyone else, where you can have complete privacy. We’ve also prepared a lovely room for Cory.”

  “Grandmère, please, don’t do this to us,” Leslie begged. “We’ve just gotten married.”

  “My dear, you will have a great deal more privacy at Lyoncrest than in this rented house—dear as it is,” she added quickly, apparently afraid she might have hurt Michael’s feelings. “Cory will be safe and happy and have a child her own age to play with. Leslie won’t be required to care for a house and can concentrate on her new family, and you, Michael, you!” She smiled and her silver-blue eyes warmed. “You will quickly come to realize that family means everything to the Lyons—and you’re family now.”

  Michael’s jaw hardened. “I thank you for the invitation, but it’s out of the question. I didn’t marry Leslie to sponge off her family.”

  Margaret’s laughter trilled. “As if anyone thinks you did!” She opened the door and paused there, a striking figure in navy blue and pearls. “You’ll have to talk it over of course, but please don’t misunderstand. We’re doing this for your own good. You can give in gracefully or you can give in kicking and screaming, but you will give in.”

  She walked out and closed the door behind her.

  They stood there in stunned silence for a moment and then Michael said, “There goes Hurricane Margaret.”

  With a burst of nervous laughter, Leslie turned into his arms and hung on until they were laughing together. When the outburst had passed, she wiped tears from her eyes and said, “I’m sorry. I should have known they’d try to do this to us.”

  “It’s not your fault, honey.” The “honey” came out naturally and easily. “To tell you the truth, I wouldn’t mind so much if it wasn’t for our...arrangement.”

  “Our arrangement.” Obnoxious word.

  “Living there would make it even harder than it’s going to be.”

  She didn’t think it seemed hard for him at all, but didn’t say so. “We’ll tell them we decline the invitation, then?”

  “I think we have to, but it’s your family.”

  “Whatever you say, Michael.”

  LESLIE AGREED so READILY that he told himself she must appreciate his restraint. He also told himself it wasn’t getting harder and harder to keep his hands off his bride-in-name-only.

  But what was a man if he had no honor? Michael would maintain this charade for all their sakes—hell, it was already working. Hadn’t Cornelia stopped making threats about a custody battle?

  So he told Margaret no as nicely as he could. Then he had to tell Paul no, and then it was André and Gaby, and Michael still said no. On top of that, Andy-Paul must have said something to Cory, because then Michael had to say no to his daughter.

  The first time he and Leslie went to dinner at the in-laws and they all jumped on him at the same time, he took a deep breath, prayed he wasn’t doing the wrong thing, and finally said yes.

  It was worth it to get them off his back, he told himself.

  Or lied to himself.

  LESLIE, MICHAEL AND CORY moved into Lyoncrest one week to the day after they returned from the honeymoon. Cory was so excited she immediately took off with Andy-Paul to explore all the hidden nooks and crannies of the old mansion. She would be transferred to her new school Monday, the same one the boy attended, and she seemed to have no problem with that whatsoever.

  Michael looked around their suite with a guarded expression. Their clothing had already been placed in closets and drawers, their toothbrushes hung in the bathroom, their books set on the table in the sitting room.

  Leslie, who’d been watching her new husband anxiously, followed his gaze. She gasped.

  “What is it?”

  She crossed to the cherry four-poster and touched the crocheted lace coverlet with a reverent hand. “My great-grandmère Lyon made this bedspread,” she said. “It was nice of them to put it on our bed.”

  “Your bed,” Michael said with a wry smile. “I figure I can sleep on the sofa in the sitting room.”

  “Oh, Michael.” She looked at him, her frustration boiling up inside. How long did he intend to keep this up? Was she so lacking in appeal?

  He stopped those rebellious thoughts with a quick kiss on the tip of her nose. “You know it’s the only way,” he said. “I’m not made of steel, but I am an early riser. I’ll make up the sofa every morning so no one will be the wiser.”

  Except me, she thought almost angrily. But all she said was, “Whatever you think best.”

  She might be dying to make this marriage real, but she was far too fainthearted to let him know how she felt. Ah, for a little self-confidence—the story of her life.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  “WHAT IS IT, LESLIE? You’re white as a ghost.” Michael looked at his bride with concern, taking in her stark expression and trembling lips. He’d left her alone at the breakfast table and gone upstairs. He couldn’t imagine what might have happened to upset her as much as she clearly was.

  He was getting to know her, this diffident woman he’d married. She didn’t have a selfish or vindictive bone in her body, and she would do anything for those she loved—anything she could do.

  “I need help, Michael.”

  She reached out blindly and he took her hand, squeezing lightly before leading her to a chair near the French doors. �
�This time Grandmère isn’t taking no for an answer,” she added tightly.

  “What’s the question?” he asked. “Must be a humdinger, judging by your expression.”

  “She wants me to attend a 1-luncheon with her Friday and present a literacy award on behalf of WDIX. She s-says now that I’m m-married—”

  “Stop and take a deep breath,” he interrupted her panicked recitation. “That’s right. Now, just tell me what happened.”

  She nodded, starting over. “Grandmère says now that I’m married, it’s my duty and responsibility to take my rightful place in the family.” She grimaced. “She makes the Lyons sound like the Windsors, for heaven’s sake.”

  If she could joke about it, she’d pulled herself together. “What did you tell her?” he asked.

  She groaned. “I said I’d talk to you! Is that ridiculous or what? I mean, it’s not like I need or even want your permission. I think that’s the way she took it, though, and accepted it. Grandmère is very big on marital agreement and all that.”

  He nodded. “Your grandmother is a magnificent woman—a little tough from time to time, but magnificent. Your mother is, too.” He cocked his head and looked at her, much calmer now than when she’d burst into the suite. Her pink lips trembled and he felt a sudden, inexplicable urge to kiss them.

  He stopped himself. They were in a partnership here, not a traditional marriage. He had no special rights where she was concerned. “You don’t have to do this, Les,” he said.

  Her head drooped. “I know, but I d-don’t want to disappoint them.” Her words came out muffled.

  “That’s what you don’t want. Now tell me what you do want.”

  “What I want is—” she looked at him, wild-eyed “—what I’ve always wanted, is to make everyone proud of me.”

  “They are.” I

  “But this is an ongoing issue.” She chewed on her lower lip. “This anniversary celebration is important, and they want me to be a part of it. Instead, I’m just causing trouble and not helping at all.”

  “Trouble?”

  “While I’m trying to get out of the luncheon without admitting I’m petrified, Grandpère comes in and says, ‘Margie, leave the girl alone. Don’t you know how much she hates that sort of thing?’ Then Grandmère says, ‘Paul, you can’t accomplish anything without facing your fears. That’s what you did and what I did and Leslie is every bit as capable. Besides, she’s been over the worst of her stage fright for years. Look what a good job she did in December.’ And then they start arguing and it’s all my fault, because I’m not over it.”

  Michael put a gentle hand on her shoulder. “I don’t think you have to worry about breaking up that marriage, hon. How long have they been together now—better than fifty years? I’m more interested in what I can do to help you.”

  Leslie gritted her teeth, took a deep, determined breath and sat up straight in her chair. “Make me over, Michael.”

  He blinked in surprise. “Make you over into what?”

  “The woman I want to be, confident enough to handle my public role as a member of this family without hysterics. Be my Henry Higgins. I’m tired of being a caterpillar. I want to be a butterfly, b-but even admitting that scares me. I know you can’t change what’s inside...well, maybe you could, but it would take a while. In the meantime, I want to change the outside. I think I can, if you’ll help me.”

  “I’m no expert on ladies’ fashions,” he protested.

  “I value your opinion, anyway. You can tell me which colors look good and which don’t. You can help me find a new hairstyle.” She rolled her eyes as if trying to see the brown hair pulled severely back into a coiled braid. “I just need a complete makeover.” Nervous laughter burst from her lips. “And I need it by Friday.”

  He laughed, too. “Friday’s a tight deadline, but we can sure get started. What’s your favorite color?”

  “What’s your guess?”

  “Navy blue?”

  She laughed. “It’s red!”

  “I’ve never seen you wear red.” Mostly she wore brown or black or navy blue, as she was now.

  “I almost bought a red dress for the Christmas party,” she said. “I wish I had.”

  “Then let’s do it—red for the lady.” He rose and reached for her hand. “Do you intend to go to that luncheon? Because if you don’t want to do it, I’ll be glad to tell them—”

  “Don’t!” she pleaded. “If this marriage was real... But why should you...? I’ve got to learn to stand up for myself and—”

  “Les, I want to do this for you.”

  “Please don’t. Just help me prepare and be there for me. Grandmère says I’ll only have to say a few sentences.” She gave him a bright smile. “See, I’m already feeling better.”

  “I’m glad someone is, because you’re making this damned hard on me.” He spoke through clenched teeth. Cupping her elbows, he drew her to her feet. “I want to get one thing perfectly clear about this caterpillar-into-butterfly transition, though. It’s not my idea—it’s yours. I think you’re pretty special the way you are now.”

  Her expression changed into one of such vulnerability that for a moment he wondered if she’d misunderstood his meaning. Then she smiled. “Thanks for saying that. You’re pretty special, too.” She lifted one hand to touch his cheek tentatively. “Michael...”

  He couldn’t stop himself from stroking a thumb across that soft lower lip. “Leslie—”

  A knock on the bedroom door startled them both.

  “Yes?” Leslie’s voice sounded hoarse.

  “Sorry, ma’am, I thought you’d left for the day. I’ll come back later to clean.”

  Michael was sorry, too—sorry and glad at the same time. Because there was something he had to do before they went out, something he should have done when they first moved into Lyoncrest.

  MICHAEL FOUND MARGARET and Gaby in the study with a pile of folders on the worktable before them. Both women smiled when he entered, but the smiles slipped quickly.

  Gaby straightened. “Michael, what is it? You look...angry.”

  “I am angry.” He clenched his teeth and tried to be calm. He’d waited far too long to have this conversation. “Ladies, at the risk of sounding rude I have to ask you to leave my wife alone.”

  “What in the world are you talking about?” Margaret looked mystified.

  “Don’t you know you’re hurting her with this incessant badgering to take a bigger role in family affairs?” A world of frustration colored his tone.

  Gaby’s mouth dropped open, but Margaret had reclaimed her composure. “Are you referring to my little talk with Leslie at the breakfast table this morning?”

  “I am.”

  “Michael, I in no way badgered my granddaughter. I invited her to make a simple presentation.”

  “Don’t you get it? It’s not simple to her, Margaret.” He’d never called her by her first name before and he saw her surprise. “Don’t you people understand? Leslie suffers from paralyzing stage fright. If you love her—”

  “How dare you suggest we don’t!” Gaby came to life in an instant.

  “Because,” Michael said with dangerous calm, “if you loved her you’d give her a break. She’s coming out of her shell, but—”

  “She came out of her shell long ago,” Margaret said. “You should have seen her ten years ago. She may not enjoy public exposure, but we all do many things in life we’d just as soon skip.”

  Annoyed by their blindness, Michael glowered at the two women. “You’re wrong,” he said at last. “She’s learned to mask her fear a little better, that’s all. Inside, she goes through hell.” He inhaled deeply. “I won’t have any more of it. Either you back off—that’s you in the plural—or...” He hesitated, wondering if Leslie would go along with this, knowing in his heart she would. “Or we’re moving out,” he concluded flatly.

  “Michael!” They said his name as one, staring at him as if he’d lost his mind.

  “I’m sorry,” he
said, but there was steel in his voice. “Leslie’s welfare is more important to me than good manners. Now if you’ll excuse me, my wife and I are taking the day off to be together. Goodbye, ladies.”

  After he’d gone, Gaby turned to her mother-in-law to share her indignation. To her astonishment, Margaret was smiling.

  “He really loves her,” the older woman said softly. “I’ll admit I wondered...but now I know they’ll be all right.”

  “Margaret, he was incredibly rude. How can you condone—”

  “Gaby, calm down. Didn’t you hear what he was saying? He knows her better than we do now. Take that lesson to heart and be grateful.”

  LESLIE WALKED INTO DINNER on Michael’s arm and everyone else in the room—with the exception of the two children—gaped. André recovered first.

  “Leslie, you look wonderful. What have you done to yourself?”

  “André!” Gaby, nothing if not loyal, slapped his arm lightly. “That implies she didn’t look wonderful before.”

  Margaret took up the refrain. “Leslie’s always been wonderful and tonight she looks as wonderful as she is.”

  Paul pounded one hand on the lace-covered table with mock disapproval. “Stop! You’re embarrassing the girl.”

  Leslie was embarrassed, but gratified, too. Michael had already looked at her with warm approval, so her family’s reaction was no more than she’d expected. And why not? She wore a soft, belted dress of red silk in a size she’d never thought to see again. She still wanted to lose another few pounds, but while she’d been mooning about Michael, she hadn’t been eating.

  Grandmère would probably call her lovesick.

  Her hair, usually pulled back to control its curl, had been cut into a fashionable shoulder-length style that waved wildly around her face—a face she herself hardly recognized. Her makeup had been done by a professional makeup artist who’d explained every step: how to blend shadows, how to apply eyeliner and mascara—so many techniques Leslie’s head was whirling. She had no idea whether she’d be able to do it herself tomorrow morning, but figured practice made competent, if not perfect.