“I wonder why he’s paying for the wedding when Angela’s husband is supposedly a German aristocrat with relatives all over the social register.”
Mrs. Foster paused to pick up a long strip of crepe paper skittering across the grass near her foot. “According to what Joy told me – and the child is quite a chatterbox – Mr. Reichardt has noble ancestor but little money to go with it. At least not the sort of money Spence has, and when you think about it, Angela and Joy are really his only family. I mean, his father remarried when Spence was still a baby and never wanted anything to do with him, and when his mother was alive, she was too busy enjoying herself to ever bother with him. To be fair to Mr. Reichardt, Joy isn’t his daughter. Joy’s father was Angela’s second husband. Or was it her third? Anyway, according to Joy, Spence is paying the bill because his sister thinks it’s important to Joy be married in a style that befits the step-daughter of a fancy German aristocrat.”
Corey chuckled at the problems of the rich and multimarried. “What’s the groom like?”
“Richard? I don’t know really. I haven’t seen him, and Joy doesn’t talk about him. She spends most of her time with the caterer’s son, whose name is Will. I gather they’ve known each other for several years, and they seem to enjoy each other’s company. By the way, have you seen Spence yet?”
Corey shook her head as she reached up to shove her hair off her forehead. “I’m sure we’ll bump into each other sooner or later.”
Mrs. Foster nodded toward three people walking their way. “Here come Mr. and Mrs. Reichardt with Joy. Dinner is in two hours, and I suggest you say hello to them and then excuse yourself to go unpack. The next two hours will be the last peace and quiet you get until you leave this madhouse in three days.”
“Sounds like a good idea. I have some phone calls to make before dinner, anyway.”
“By the way,” she added, “Gram and I eat in the little room by the kitchen, not in the dining room with the family.”
Corey heard that with a sharp twist of annoyance. “Are you telling me that Spencer is treating us like servants?”
“No, no, no,” Mrs. Foster said with a laugh. “We prefer to eat in the kitchen. Believe me, it’s much more pleasant than listening to Mr. and Mrs. Reichardt and the two other couples who are friends of theirs and staying here for the wedding. Joy usually eats in the kitchen with us. She likes it better there, too.”
Mrs. Foster had likened Angela to a terrier, but Corey thought it a false analogy after meeting the trio. With close-cropped, white-blond hair and brown eyes, Angela was as exotically elegant – and as nervous – as a Russian wolfhound. Her husband, Peter, was a Doberman pinscher – sleek, aristocratically aloof, and temperamental. Joy was… Joy was a cute cocker spaniel, with wavy, light brown hair, and soft, inquisitive brown eyes. As soon as the introductions were over, the wolfhound and the Doberman ganged up on Corey’s poor mother and dragged her off to show her something they didn’t like about the way the living room was being decorated, leaving Corey alone with Joy.
“I’ll show you up to your room,” the eighteen-year-old volunteered as Corey started toward the house.
“If you have something else to do, I can ask the butler where it is.”
“Oh, I don’t mind,” Joy said, coming to heel on Corey’s left and trotting off beside her toward the house. “I’ve been looking forward to meeting you. You have such a nice family.”
“Thank you,” Corey answered, a little startled by what she instantly sensed was a very genuine girl who was far more interested in getting to know Corey than she was in talking about herself or her wedding.
A flagstone terrace with French doors wrapped around the back and right side of the house, which both had spectacular water views. Corey started across the terrace toward the doors at the back, but Joy turned right. “Come this way, it’s quicker,” she told Corey. “We’ll cut through Uncle Spence’s study and avoid-“
Corey stopped short, intending to insist on not using that entrance, but she was too late. Spencer Addison was walking across the terrace, heading toward the steps that led down to the side lawn, and even if she hadn’t seen his face, Corey would have recognized that long, brisk stride.
He saw her and stopped abruptly, a welcoming grin sweeping over his tanned face as he shoved his hands into his pockets and waited for her and Joy to reach him. Once that special smile of his had made her heart thunder, but now she felt only a swift, sharp jolt of recognition. At thirty-four, wearing casual gray pants and a white shirt with the sleeves rolled back on his forearms, he still managed to look every bit as handsome and sexy as he had when he was twenty-three years old.
He turned up the heat of his smile as she came close, and when he spoke, his baritone voice was richer, more intimate than she remembered. “Hello, Corey,” he said as he slid his hands out of his pockets and made a move to hug her.
Corey responded with a smile that was appropriate for greeting a casual acquaintance whom one hasn’t seen for many years – a friendly, serene smile, but not too personal. “Hello, Spence,” she replied and deliberately held out only one hand so that he had to settle for a handshake. No hug.
He understood it and he settled for it, but his handclasp lasted longer than was necessary, and so she ended it.
“I see you’ve already met Joy,” he said, shifting the conversation to include his niece. To her he added a mild reproof, “I thought you were going to tell me when Corey arrived.”
“I just arrived a few minutes ago,” Corey said. Once, the thought that he wanted to see her or was eager to see her, as his words implied, would have sent her spirits soaring. Now, she was older and wiser and doing a rather excellent job, she thought, of handling this first meeting and remembering that Spencer was and had always been all charm and sex appeal and no substance. She glanced at her watch and then apologetically at him. “If you’ll excuse me, I have some phone calls to make before dinner.” On the off chance that Spencer intended to volunteer, she directed her request specifically to Joy, “Would you mind showing me where my room is now?”
“Oh, sure,” Joy said happily, falling into step beside her. “I know exactly where it is.”
With a polite nod in Spence’s direction, Corey left him standing on the terrace. He turned and watched her walk away; she knew he did because she could see his reflection in the glass panes of his study doors, but the knowledge scarcely affected her. She was completely in control and proud of it. She couldn’t deny the jolt of nerves she’d felt at the first sight of him, or the increase in her pulse rate when he smiled into her eyes and took her hand in his, but she attributed all that to a natural phenomenon, a sort of irritating but understandable response to an old, forgotten stimulus. Long ago, he had affected her that way, and even though her emotions were no longer engaged, her body was reacting like one of Pavlov’s dogs to the sound of a bell.
Joy led her through the foyer and up a sweeping staircase with beautiful wrought-iron scrollwork. The staircase ended in a wide gallery that wrapped around the foyer on the three sides. Long hallways branched off the gallery at regular intervals, and Joy headed down the first of them, then continued walking until they came to a pair of double doors at the end. As she reached for the brass door handles, she confided with a smile, “My mother and stepfather wanted their friends to have this, but Uncle Spence said it was ‘reserved’ for you.” She threw open the doors with a flourish and stepped aside to give Corey her first, unobstructed view, then she looked expectantly at her, waiting for reaction.
Corey was speechless.
“It’s called the Duchess Suite,” Joy provided helpfully.
In dumbstruck silence, Corey walked slowly into a vast room that looked as if it belonged in Nicholas and Alexandra’s summer palace. The suite was decorated entirely in pale blue and gold. Above the bed an ornately carved golden crown secured panels of ice blue silk that draped the bed at its corners, ending in graceful swirls on the pale blue carpet. The thick, tufted coverlet wa
s of blue satin and so was the headboard with its arched gilt frame.
“It’s called that because the original owner of the house had a daughter who became the duchess of Claymore when she married. This was the room she used whenever she came home from England, and it was called the Duchess Suite from then on.”
Corey found it hard to concentrate on Joy’s narrative as she looked around. The draperies at the windows were of blue silk with elaborate swags fringed in gold, and in the corner was a French secretary with carved panels on the doors and a dainty chair pulled up in front of it that was also upholstered in blue.
“When my uncle bought the house a few years ago, he had the entire place renovated and all the furniture in all the guest rooms restored, so that they all look pretty much the way they did a hundred years ago, when the house was built.”
Corey pulled out of her daze, and turned to Joy. “It’s – breathtaking. I’ve only seen rooms like this in pictures of European palaces.”
Joy nodded, and added with a grin, “Uncle Spence said he used to call you Duchess when you were my age. I guess that’s why he wanted you to have this suite.”
That announcement had a definite softening effect on Corey’s attitude toward Spence. He’d been inexcusably thoughtless of her feelings as a young man, but he’d evidently mellowed a little with age. It hit her then that she was giving him far too much credit for what was a very small gesture that hadn’t inconvenienced him in the slightest.
“Dinner’s at eight o’clock. I’ll se you then,” Joy added as she left.
Nine
FROWNING WITH INDECISION, COREY HESITATED IN FRONT OF the mirror in her room and studied her appearance. The black jersey jumpsuit she’d decided to wear had narrow black shoulder straps attached to the bodice with a pair of golden loops, a scooped neckline, and a low back. It clung to her figure like a soft glove, ending in a gentle flair at her ankles, but she wasn’t certain if it was too dressy for dining next to the kitchen, or perhaps too casual for this house. It would definitely make a good impression on Spencer though… Spence!
Angry at herself for even considering his reaction, she stepped into a pair of flat-heeled sandals, clipped on a pair of gold disks at her hears, and snapped the wide gold cuff she’d worn earlier onto her wrist. She took a step toward the door, then a step back toward the mirror to check her face and hair. She was wearing her hair down tonight, loose around her shoulders; she no longer had to worry that Spencer Addison might think she was too young for him. She needed a little more lipstick, she decided, and quickly applied some. She glanced at her watch and could not believe how late it was. It was fifteen minutes after eight. She had just taken exactly twice as long to get ready as she had the night of the last Orchid Ball in Houston. Thoroughly disgusted, she turned her back on the mirror and marched to the door.
The little room by the kitchen was not the dark cubbyhole Corey had imagined, but rather a cozy alcove behind the kitchen that had a large, semicircular booth in it surrounded by tall windows that looked out on the darkened lawn. Corey heard her mother’s voice as she rounded the corner, and she was already smiling at the sound when she walked into the room.
And saw Spence.
He was sitting at one end of the booth, his left arm stretched casually across the top of it, grinning down at Corey’s mother, who was seated on his immediate left. Corey’s grandmother was next to Corey’s mother, facing the kitchen doorway, and Joy was seated next to her. The table had been set for five people. Four of them were already there. He was staying to eat with them.
Corey’s smile froze, her step faltered, but she recovered just as her grandmother saw her and announced her arrival to the gathering. “Here’s Corey, now. You’re late, dear. My, you look nice tonight! Is that a new outfit?”
Corey felt like sinking through the floor. The implication was that she’d dressed especially for the occasion, which of course she had, and she was horribly certain that Spencer had noticed.
Spencer Addison had definitely notices how she looked.
At the moment, what he noticed most was that her entire body had stiffened when she saw him sitting at the table. She hadn’t expected him to be there, Spence realized. And she didn’t want him there. The realization baffled and hurt him.
He watched her moving toward the booth with that same easy grace she’d had as a teenager, and he smiled at her. In return, she smiled through him, and he had a sudden insane impulse to get up out of the booth, block her path, and say, Dammit, Corey, look at me! He still could hardly believe that this cool, composed young woman who seemed to scarcely remember him was the same Corey Foster he’d known.
One thing hadn’t changed about her, Spencer noted – she still lit up a room when she walked into it. Within moments after she slid in across from him and started talking with the others, the entire atmosphere at the table seemed to brighten. At least that much about tonight was the same as it had been so long ago. Except, in those days, Corey had been glad to see him.
An image of those days danced in his mind… recollections of an adorable kid with a camera around her neck who popped up at his tennis matches. “I got a great shot of your first serve, Spence.” It had been a lousy serve, and he’d said as much. “I know”, she’d agreed with that infectious smile of hers, “but my shot of it was just great.”
He remembered the times when he’d gone over to the house unexpectedly. She had been so glad to see him the, her smile dawning like sunshine. “Hi, Spence! I didn’t know you were coming over.”
And then, one day, when she was about fifteen, he looked around and saw her walking toward him across the back lawn, her honey-colored hair blowing around her shoulders, sunstreaked and glinting in the sun, her eyes the bright clear blue of a summer sky. A golden girl – all sparkle and zest, long legs and laughing face. She had been his golden girl from that day on – changeable, constant, glowing.
Even now, he could see her standing beneath the mistletoe, her hands clasped behind her back. She was sixteen and looking very grown up.
“Don’t you know it’s bad luck not to honor the Christmas traditions of your friends in their homes…”
He had hesitated. “Are you certain you’re old enough for this?”
Of course, he’d known she had a fierce crush on him, and he’d known the time would come when she would grow up, grow out of it, and grow away from him. It was natural, inevitable that boys her own age would replace him in her heart. It was right that should happen.
He’d expected it, and even so, it had bothered him a little when it happened. More than a little. He hadn’t even seen the change coming until the night she asked him to be a kissing partner in an experiment. God, he had felt like such a pervert for what he’d done to her that night, and even worse for what he had wanted to do to her – to a seventeen-year-old girl!
His golden girl.
He’d forgotten about her Christmas dance, and that was all it took to sever whatever feeble feelings she had left for him. She went with someone else, a last-minute substitute, which was what he had been. According to his grandmother, she went with someone closer to her own age “and a far more suitable companion for an innocent girl” than Spence was. Corey was so involved with her own life by then that she hadn’t even bothered to say anything to him at his grandmother’s funeral a few months later. Diana had excused her by saying Corey had an afternoon date. She hadn’t bothered to attend his wedding either, even though she could have brought her date…
The conversation swirled around him at the table as one course followed another, and he participated now and then, but with only half his attention. He preferred to watch Corey when she wasn’t looking at him, and since she never glanced in his direction for more than a moment, he had plenty of opportunity. He was genuinely surprised when dessert was served; he’d eaten without tasting his food, and he certainly didn’t want any dessert.
What he did want he could not have: just this one night, just for this one meal, he had wanted
it to be the way it had been the last time he had had dinner with her family. That was the night Diana has asked him to volunteer to take Corey to her school dance. She had a new man in her life by then – Doug somebody – and several others, as well.
Spence had already been relegated to least-important man in her life, but at least she’d still been able to spare a smile for him. The fact that she now found him completely dispensable in his own damned house at his own damned table was worse than annoying; it was terribly disappointing. And he knew exactly why it was. He’d been looking forward more than he wanted to admit to seeing her again, to having her happy family around him again. When he’d seen her coming across the back lawn earlier today, with her sun-streaked hair blowing in the breeze, he’d thought… He’d thought a lot of stupid, impossible things.
“Uncle Spence?” Joy’s puzzled voice cut through his thoughts, and Spence looked at her. “Is something wrong with your glass?”
“My what?”
“Your water glass. You’ve been staring at it and turning it around in your hand.”
Spence straightened in his seat and prepared to pay attention to the present and forget the past. “I’m sorry. My mind was on something else. What have you all been talking about?”
“The wedding mostly, but we’re all bored with that subject. Anyway, everything’s all taken care of.”
Corey sensed instinctively that Spence was about to join in the conversation, and since she was more comfortable not having to talk to him, she tried to keep everyone focused on Joy. “We’re not bored with the wedding at all,” Corey said quickly. “And even though you think everything is taken care of, there are always last-minute details that people forget. Sometimes they’re really important.”
A Gift of Love Page 6
