by Jane Peart
Jillian motioned for her to come in, and Bryanne turned in Jillian's arms, her eyes red. "Oh, Lynette!" she wailed, and the sobbing began afresh. "He's going away again . . . I just met him and he's leaving."
Tears glistened in Lynette's eyes and she nodded. "I know, I know, Brynnie," she whispered, a sob in her voice. "Oh, honey, I know how it hurts." The tears spilled over and ran down her cheeks. "The only thing I can tell you, the only thing that works is . . ." And here Jillian heard the usually soft voice harden—"I just don't count on him, Brynnie. Just don't expect anything." Her voice broke. "But we have each other, Brynnie. And from now on, you can count on me"
Jillian felt her own throat swell with emotion. Quietly she got to her feet and tiptoed out of the room, leaving Lynette and Bryanne to comfort each other.
Jeff Montrose's departure had many repercussions. Not the least of them was that of his mother, Blythe.
Coming upstairs one evening, Kitty was surprised to see her mother's bedroom door ajar. Blythe had excused herself right after dinner, saying she thought she would retire early, and left as the others were setting up the board to play Parcheesi. "I didn't think you'd still be awake, Mama."
Blythe was seated at her dressing table. Her hair, still a rich auburn, fell in rippling waves over the shoulders of her creamy lace negligee. Looking into the mirror she saw Kitty's reflection and, laying down the silver-crested brush, turned to face her. "Come in, darling. I wanted to talk to you. I've been thinking for some time that I'd like to go to England for a while. Actually since right after your father died, but there was always something to prevent it." She paused. "You can take charge here, can't you? See to Lynette? And there's Jillian to help with Bryanne. And of course, Garnet . . ." Blythe's voice trailed off weakly. Neither of them really believed Garnet would be of much help in keeping things running smoothly at Cameron Hall.
"Of course, Mama, I'd do whatever I can. Maybe a trip would be a nice change for you. But why not go to Paris and see Cara first? I know she'd love that."
"Oh, I don't know, Kitty." Blythe looked pensive. "Cara is so busy with her work at the orphanage, she hardly has time to write, much less play tourist guide. . . ." She hesitated. "I do want to see her, of course. But it's England I've been longing to visit."
"Why England, Mama?"
"I suppose because I was happy there once. . . . " Her eyes took on a dreamy expression.
"Whatever you think is best, Mama. I'll be glad to help out while you're away . . . but I don't think you should depend too much on Aunt Garnet. She's been acting moody lately. You know she was furious that Jeff went off again, feels he deserted Gareth in particular, and that she'll have to take care of him. She told me just the other day that if she didn't see to it, he'd even go without meals!"
"I suppose she's right." Blythe sighed. She was weary of trying to find excuses for Jeff. He was her son, but he was a grown man now. And there was nothing she could do about the way he chose to live his life. I f only Faith had lived. . . .
"When are you thinking of going, Mama?"
"Oh, I don't know. Maybe I should wait until this campaign is over. . . . Scott needs me here. I just wanted you to know what I've been thinking."
"Well, don't worry, I'll be here." Kitty came over to kiss her mother's cheek. "You have seemed tired lately. Now get to bed and try to get a good night's rest."
Blythe patted the hand her daughter placed on her shoulder. "Thank you, darling. I knew I could count on you to understand."
Kitty left the room, and was closing her mother's door softly behind her when she saw Garnet standing at the top of the stairway. Her aunt's face was set, the mouth fixed in a tight line, her eyes flashing fire. In a split second, Kitty realized her aunt must have come upstairs and overheard their conversation through the open door.
"Why, Auntie, I didn't see you," she said, groping for something to say.
There was an expression of outrage on Garnet's face and her mouth twisted with scorn. "Life used to be so agreeably simple. People knew their responsibilities and did their duty, whether or not it was convenient. Something that seems to have escaped your brother entirely."
Garnet's voice was cold and unfeeling as it always was when she spoke of Jeff.
Kitty regarded her aunt with a mingling of pity and irritation. She loved her, but she also knew that the resentment the woman harbored toward her son-in-law was embittering her. Even though she partially agreed with Garnet's estimation of Jeff, she tried now to defuse her anger. "Well, artists are different, Aunt Garnet. They don't seem to see things quite as black and white as some of us do. Maybe Jeff feels that Gareth, Lynette, and Bryanne are grown-ups now. Besides, they do have lots of people around them who care. . . . "
"Oh, Kitty, don't! I'm not a fool. I've known Jeff for years. He's a Peter Pan, has never grown up. Has never been allowed to," she said bitterly. With this, she turned and started down the hallway toward her room.
Kitty hurried after her. "Wait, Aunt Garnet!"
"I'm going to bed, Kitty."
"But it's early. Why don't you come back downstairs and finish the game with us?"
"No, Kitty." Her tone brooked no argument.
Kitty sighed. "Well then, rest well. I hope you feel better in the morning." She leaned over to kiss her aunt, but Garnet averted her head. Kitty drew back, feeling the chill. What had happened to change her aunt's feelings, to put such a barrier between them? But then, of course, she knew . . . it was her defense of Jeff.
chapter
22
WITH ONLY six weeks before the election, the senatorial race heated up considerably. Everyone at Cameron Hall had become involved. Talk at the dinner table nearly always revolved around the political scene. Both Kitty and Lynette joined in the discussions enthusiastically, as did even Jillian, who wasn't an American citizen and wouldn't be able to vote. But that hadn't discouraged her from going with Kitty and Blythe to help out at campaign headquarters—answering the phone, stuffing envelopes, mailing brochures, passing out campaign materials.
Not being old enough to vote, Bryanne was left more and more on her own. She missed the morning horseback rides Lynette and Jill were now too busy to take with her. She tried hard not to resent all the time her sister was spending on Frank Maynard's campaign. Still, there was one consolation. It would all be over the third Tuesday in June!
In the meantime, Bryanne had started taking long afternoon horseback rides alone through the woods between Cameron Hall and Montclair. One of her favorite places was the trail leading to Aunt Kitty's little house, Eden Cottage. There in the clearing, Bryanne would dismount, tether her horse nearby, and walk through the garden with its flagstone path, sit in the grape arbor, or even peek through the windows.
It was such a sweet little house, maybe like Snow White's cottage in her favorite childhood fairy-tale. It was closed up now. Kitty never went there herself. Perhaps it made her too sad to recall the days she had spent there with her husband. Someone should live there and be happy!
Bryanne had always dreamed of having a house of her own. One Christmas, when she was given a dollhouse, complete with a family of miniature dolls, she had spent hours playing with them, carrying on conversations, giving birthday parties for the "children," creating an imaginary world where everyone was safe and happy.
She had long since stopped playing with dolls. But the dream had lodged in her heart. What Bryanne wanted more than anything else would be to one day have a little house where she and a husband and children could live "happily ever after." She certainly did not want the social life her Grandmother Devlin was planning for her. But would she ever find someone who would love her for herself, just as she was, and want to live the kind of life she wanted?
Returning from her ride a little after five o'clock one afternoon, Bryanne saw cars parked in front of the house. Scott was probably having another one of those political meetings. Her cousin was spending as much time in the behind-the-scenes strategy sessions for Frank Maynard'
s campaign as he was in the editor's office of the Messenger.
Bryanne couldn't understand how Lynette could endure sitting in on all those boring discussions. The fact was, though, that her sister actually seemed to enjoy them, always taking great pains with her hair and dress when Scott announced one, and going down early to be sure the refreshment trays were set up in the library where the men gathered.
Well, thank goodness, no one expected her to make an appearance. Often these meetings went on indefinitely. On these nights, a cold supper was set out, buffet style, so everyone could help themselves. Since no one would be looking for her until after the meeting, Bryanne rode around the back and down to the stables. Maybe she'd have a chance to talk to Sean, if he wasn't too busy.
In the cobbled courtyard, she looked around, hoping Sean had seen her ride in and would come out to say hello. But no one seemed to be around, not even the little stable boy who helped out. Disappointed, Bryanne proceeded to take off Star's saddle and bridle, lead her into her stall, rub her down, and give her a bucket of oats. Then she went into the tack room to put away her gear, lingering there for a few minutes to see if Sean might show up and talk to her a little.
Not being able to think of any other excuse to delay, she walked back into the stable and stopped at one of the stalls where Lady, one of Scott's foxhounds, was nestled in a basket with her four new pups. They were still too young to be handled, so Bryanne satisfied herself by leaning over the lower half of the wooden door to watch the fat brown and-white spotted bodies tumbling over each other in their haste to nuzzle their mother.
Bryanne was so totally absorbed that she didn't realize her wish had been granted until a voice spoke behind her, with its familiar lilting accent. "Good afternoon, Miss Bryanne."
She whirled about, heart thumping, to see Sean entering the stable, leading Nightingale. The late afternoon sun outlined his tall figure and burnished his hair, turning it to pure gold. At the sight of him, Bryanne felt absurdly happy.
"That's a fine litter she's got, isn't it?" he asked, stepping up beside her.
"Oh, yes, they're darling!" she replied, hating that her voice sounded all squeaky.
"Have you been ridin'?"
"Yes." She felt as if the breath were being squeezed from her body and there was none left to say more.
"You've already tended to Star then?"
"Yes."
"Good girl." He nodded, and she felt pleased by the approval in his eyes.
"I guess Cato was gone. I sent him home early. Didn't see you ride in, or I'd have come up. A dandy day for a ride, wasn't it?" he said as he drew near and stood stroking the horse's velvety nose. "I've been down in the far pasture, putting this lady through her paces. I'm riding her at the show next month, you know."
"No, I didn't know."
"Ah, well, things have been in a bit of a turmoil up at the house, I imagine. With the election comin' up, and all. A local horse show isn't that much of an event with Mr. Scott, I don't think, not like it was with your grandfather, I'm thinkin'."
"You knew my grandfather?"
"Yes, and a grand man he was, too. He came over at least once a year to visit our farm, you know. I've known him ever since I was a small boy." Sean fished in his pocket and brought out some lumps of sugar for Nightingale, patting her neck affectionately. "She's a foal of one of my Dad's mares . . . good bloodline. She'll make a champion, I'm shure of it . . ." He paused for a moment—"though I may not be here to see it."
At his words, Bryanne felt something cold clutch her heart. "What do you mean?"
"Well, my contract with Mr. Scott was only for a year, and it's almost up."
"Aren't you going to stay?" she asked in a small voice.
"It's not been discussed actually. He's so busy with Mr. Maynard's campaign that he's hardly here long enough to talk."
"I know." Bryanne felt a sinking sensation in the pit of her stomach. If Sean was not going to be here . . .
"I guess we'll just have to wait and see." He shrugged. "Well, I can't keep this lady waiting for her well-earned rubdown and dinner." He started to turn the horse around to lead her back to the stall when he halted and gave Bryanne a searching look. "Have you never been to Ireland yourself then?"
"No, I haven't."
"I thought maybe, livin' in England and bein' so close and all, you might have."
Feeling somehow guilty that she had not, Bryanne shook her head sheepishly and Sean grinned. "You'd love Ireland!"
"I'm sure I would." She smiled, feeling as delighted as if he had just paid her the highest compliment.
"Well, I'm off now. I'll see you later," he said, giving her a little wave. Then suddenly he turned back again. "Will you be ridin' again in the mawrnin' then?"
"Yes, probably, unless there's some reason I shouldn't."
"I just wondered . . . because I'm takin' Nightingale out early and thought you might ride along. She seems to do better when she has a little competition."
Bryanne was amazed at the singing happiness of her heart at such a simple request and eagerly agreed to be at the stables by seven.
On the way back to the house, her step was lighter. Since coming to Virginia, she had often felt awkward, out of place, but never with Sean. He was so natural, so easy to talk to, and seemed able to draw her out without appearing to pry. Maybe it was because he recognized in her a mutual love for horses, the countryside, the out of doors—all the things he loved. Or maybe, because he simply accepted her.
This was a new experience for Bryanne. Grandmother Devlin always found things to correct about her posture, her dress, her speech. Jillian, because she was paid to do so, supported Grandmother's campaign to improve her granddaughter. Of course, the governess did so with great tact and gentleness. Even so, Bryanne felt that she fell short of everyone's expectations. Too bad she couldn't be a poised, pretty, socially acceptable granddaughter like Lynette!
Of course, Lynette was perfect . . . at least in Bryanne's eyes. She wished to be more like her. But that was impossible. She knew she was a disappointment to Grandmother and one of Jillian's few failures. Grandmother had even stopped talking about Bryanne's making her debut at Cameron Hall. Probably afraid she would be a wallflower at her own coming-out party!
When she had almost reached the house, Bryanne saw her sister standing on the terrace and stopped to gaze at her. Lynette's floppy-brimmed straw hat shadowed her face but provided a charming background for her cameo profile. She was wearing a voile print with tiny blue flowers, and she had on white pumps with small bows at the toes. Bryanne watched as Lynette moved to the edge of the terrace. There was an air of expectancy about her. Then Bryanne saw Frank Maynard sprint up the stone steps, two at a time. A minute later, they were locked in an embrace.
Bryanne gasped and stepped behind a large boxwood, out of sight. Lynette and Frank Maynard were in love! How had they kept their secret all this time, through the long campaign? Not by one look or one gesture would anyone have guessed! Or was it only she who hadn't noticed?
Bryanne turned and went quietly around to the back of the house and up to her room by the back stairway. It was there an hour later that Lynette waltzed through the door with a radiant smile. "Oh, Brynnie, the most wonderful thing has happened! Frank and I are engaged! Look!"
She held out her left hand for Bryanne to see. On the third finger of her left hand glistened a circle of emeralds alternating with pearls. "It was his grandmother's. Isn't it lovely? But you're not to tell anyone, not a single soul. I won't be able to wear it except here in our room. Frank and I are keeping our engagement a secret until after the election. But I couldn't keep it any longer from you!"
chapter
23
THE NEXT few weeks were the happiest Bryanne had known since coming to Virginia. Taken into Lynette's confidence, she felt closer than ever to her beloved sister. Entrusted with such a romantic secret fueled her own feelings for Sean McShane. Was this what love felt like? She wanted to ask Lynette some more
about how it was for her and Frank.
But now that the campaign was entering the final weeks, the pace had become frenetic. Cameron Hall buzzed with activity. Scott, Kitty, and Lynette were constantly on the go. Even Grandmother Blythe was busy working for Frank, giving "coffees" to ladies she knew who never before had voted in an election, attending rallies, and manning the headquarters when everyone else was occupied elsewhere. The only one not caught up in the preelection excitement, Bryanne was left on her own.
Her leisurely pace felt rather strange at first. In England, especially when they were at the London town house, her days were so tightly scheduled that she never had a minute to call her own. There were music lessons and elocution lessons, dancing class, and French to refine her accent, drilling in verbs and conversation. When they were abroad, it was hardly a vacation. Grandmother always prepared a complete agenda of historic sites, museums, and galleries she must visit when they were in Venice, Florence, Rome, and other great cities of the world.
Wearily Bryanne had come to realize that Garnet's demands on her were unsatiable. No matter how well she did, there was always one more goal for her to reach. It was like teaching a horse to jump, Bryanne decided, raising the pole higher and higher.
She had hoped that when they came to Virginia, things might change. Quite inadvertently they had. It was Grandmother Devlin again. The woman managed to create a crisis wherever she went. She plunged into every situation, full sail ahead, leaving chaos in her wake. Now, distracted from her focus on Bryanne, she had shifted her primary concern to Gareth. With Bryanne's brother as the target of her concern, she was more and more vocal in her criticism of his father, Jeff. At least, Bryanne thought with an unconscious sigh of relief, Grandmother had moved to Avalon for the present, and so Brynnie herself was not under constant surveillance.
Bryanne was enjoying her "freedom." Her daily contact with Sean was the source of much of her newfound happiness. Every morning she met him at the stable where he had saddled her horse, Star, and was waiting at the mounting block for her. Then they would set out together, ostensibly to give Nightingale the exercise she needed prior to her test at the horse show next month. But sometimes they stopped by the creek that ran between the Montrose and Cameron properties and let the horses rest for a while. Those were the times Bryanne most looked forward to, treasured afterward.
