Love for All Seasons

by Stacy Henrie

  “She loves you too,” Nellie announced with adult-like conviction.

  Wyatt started to chuckle at her self-assured tone, then stopped when a woman seated nearby threw him an annoyed look. “What makes you so sure?” he asked in a low voice.

  Nellie pressed her nose to his. “Because she keeps looking at you.”

  A spark of hope ignited inside him at his niece’s words. He turned back to watch Loralee, intent on seeing if Nellie was correct in her assertion. Sure enough, Loralee’s gaze seemed to gravitate back to his again and again. Each time he felt an electric current surging in his chest. But did that mean she still loved him? Or was she simply curious about his presence? She might not even remember they were supposed to meet today. Perhaps she was only here in Bayocean to perform, for old times’ sake, and nothing more.

  The song ended and the audience burst into enthusiastic applause. Loralee inclined her head, her smile full and sincere. It reminded Wyatt of sunny days, strolling hand in hand with her along the beach. If she did return his feelings, could they pick up where they’d left off? Doubts crept in, especially around her willingness to be Nellie’s mother if they were to marry. Seeing Loralee tonight, like this, he wondered again if she would wish to give it all up—not just for his niece but for him as well.

  The possibility that he might have to say good-bye to her all over again pained him, but whatever happened, he would at least stay and talk with her. She might not feel the same, and yet, he would relish the chance to be with her one more time, even if it was his last.

  • • •

  Loralee finished her encore number to the enthusiastic applause of the audience. After motioning to the wonderful group of musicians, she made her final bow. The performance had gone well, in spite of her distracted thoughts each time she glanced at Wyatt. Now if she could just talk to him . . .

  People swarmed her, effusive with their compliments. She accepted their praise and handshakes as she slowly made her way across the room. When she reached Wyatt’s table, though, he and the little girl were no longer seated there. Panicked, she glanced around. Had he left already, before she could speak with him? Fighting tears, she excused herself and turned to walk away, intent on escaping upstairs to her room.

  “Loralee, wait.”

  How long had she dreamt of hearing him say her name one more time? She spun around and found him standing there, his hands in his pockets, his gaze intent. “Wyatt. You’re here.”

  “That was . . . incredible.” He shook his head, a grin brightening his handsome face. “No wonder you’ve been asked to sing all over the country. And to think I knew you when the audience was just one.” He pointed his thumb at himself.

  “I thought you . . . and your daughter . . . might have left.” She wouldn’t think too hard about the fact that he must have loved another to be a father now. It was perfectly reasonable—they’d made no promises, other than meeting here again today.

  He glanced back over his shoulder. “I was handing her off to her nanny, my housekeeper actually. I wanted to talk to you, alone.”

  Her heart raced as she nodded. “I was hoping to talk to you too.”

  “Shall we?” He gestured to a side door that led to the veranda.

  Mustering her courage, to hear whatever he had to say, Loralee led the way outside. The night was perfectly temperate, the stars glittering above. She moved to the railing and leaned forward against it.

  “Did you remember our promise?” he asked as he came to stand beside her, so close she felt the warmth of his presence through her elbow-length gloves.

  “Of course.”

  He glanced at her. “Is that why you’re here?”

  She turned to face him, surprised. Wasn’t that why he was here? “Yes. I thought it might be fun to do a performance as well.” Swallowing hard, she pushed the question she most needed answered out her lips. “Why did you come to Bayocean, Wyatt?” Even if his answer didn’t match her own, she longed to know it.

  “I’m here . . .” He rested his hand lightly over hers, reminding her that his touch still had the power to wield her pulse. “Because I made a promise and I want to honor that.”

  “What of your wife and daughter?”

  Instead of chagrin or regret, Wyatt smiled. “Nellie isn’t my daughter. Well, she is now.”

  “I don’t understand.” Loralee held her breath, certain his next words would either confirm her hopes or scatter them for good.

  “Actually she’s my niece, and I’m now her guardian and father. That was my sister’s wish before she died.”

  Releasing her breath, she felt a mixture of relief and sadness. “I’m so sorry, Wyatt. And what of your brother-in-law?”

  “Also gone.” He gazed toward the sea, his expression wistful in the lights from the hotel. “He was killed in France.”

  “I thought I saw him, when I was there singing to the troops.” She covered both their hands with her free one. “I’m sorry for all of your loss.”

  He smiled in gratitude. “Thank you. It’s just me and Nellie now. She is a bright and exuberant little girl and I feel lucky that we have each other.”

  Loralee waited for him to say more. Was he content in his new life with just him and his niece?

  When Wyatt faced her again, she saw a mixture of hope and uncertainty in his brown eyes. “I would like the two of you to get to know each other. That is, if you wish . . .”

  “I would very much like that,” she said, giving him a full smile. There might just be room for her in his life after all.

  “We can meet you here tomorrow morning. Say ten o’clock?”

  Loralee nodded. “That would be lovely.”

  “You did splendidly tonight, Loralee.” Leaning forward, Wyatt brushed a quick kiss to her cheek that made her stomach twist with delight. “I’ll bid you adieu. Until tomorrow.”

  A happy laugh spilled from her at the realization his words were a near perfect echo of those he’d voiced when they first met. “Until tomorrow.”

  • • •

  “One . . . two . . . three,” Loralee counted. Lifting Nellie by her hands, she and Wyatt swung the little girl in front of them as they made their way toward the beach. Wyatt’s niece squealed with glee.

  The happy sound matched the feeling in Loralee’s heart throughout the day as they’d shown Nellie their favorite places in Bayocean. And while Loralee had seen them all the day before by herself, she relished the chance to see them again alongside the man she loved. Her time with Wyatt after the performance last night had been short, but she hadn’t needed more than a few minutes in his company to know she loved him still.

  “I like you, Loralee,” Nellie said, looking up at her. “You’re as funny as Daddy Wyatt.”

  How she adored the girl’s nickname for him. “I like you too, Nellie. Very much.” Loralee exchanged a smiling glance with Wyatt.

  When they reached the sand, all three of them sat to remove their shoes. Then Nellie asked if she could wade in the water. Wyatt agreed and he and Loralee strolled after her as she raced toward the waves.

  “Reminds me of another girl,” Wyatt said in a teasing tone, “who couldn’t get enough of the water.”

  Loralee chuckled. “She’s a darling little girl.”

  “I’m glad you think so.” She didn’t miss the hopeful tone to his words and it caused her heart to race, especially when he captured her hand in his.

  He tugged her to a stop at the edge of the water where Nellie darted back and forth, giggling as the waves rushed at her feet.

  “This has been a perfect day, Loralee.”

  She murmured agreement, sensing he had more to say.

  “You were never far from my thoughts all these years, but I have no expectation that you’ll suddenly give up your successful singing career for us.”

  He still wanted a life together! Loralee felt tears of joy and gratitude on her cheeks.

  “I do have hope that you might feel as I still do.” Wyatt brushed a tear
from beneath her eye in a tender gesture that elicited several more tears. “And perhaps one day you’ll wish to be with us. With me.”

  Releasing his hand, she placed hers alongside his clean-shaven jaw. She still couldn’t quite believe he was really and truly here, standing before her again.

  “I’ve loved singing and I’ll be forever grateful for all that Henry and Susan made possible for me.” She gazed at his handsome face, thinking how he looked older and yet familiar at the same time. “I’m also ready for a new life, Wyatt, with you and Nellie.”

  “Even if she isn’t your daughter?”

  Loralee smiled. “Yes. Because I know what a blessing it can be to have someone else step in as a mother. And I would welcome and cherish the opportunity to do the same with Nellie.”

  Placing his hand on her waist, he drew her close, causing her pulse to flutter with anticipation. “How soon would you be ready to start this new life? It has already been eight long years.”

  “Are you asking me to marry you?” she said, unabashedly looping her arms around his neck.

  Wyatt grinned. “I already did that, a long time ago.”

  Contentment filled her heart and she sent a silent prayer of gratitude heavenward for their second chance. “I will marry you, Wyatt Noble. Just as soon as we can get Henry and Susan here.” She nodded in the direction of the hotel. “I’d like the wedding to take place in Bayocean. If that’s all right.”

  “I can’t think of a more fitting place.”

  He kissed her then, deeply and fully, and in that moment the years melted away. She was sixteen again, and yet the bond between them felt stronger and deeper than what they’d known before.

  When they parted, she caught her breath, only to have it stolen again by his next words. “I never stopped loving you, Loralee. I want you to know that. Not for a single minute.”

  “Nor I.”

  She peered into his expressive brown eyes, feeling more jubilant than she could ever remember. Seeing the tenderness she felt reflected in Wyatt’s loving gaze, she realized she’d finally come home.

  Autumn

  “. . . a time to break down, and a time to build up . . .

  a time to keep, and a time to cast away . . . a time to love”

  —Ecclesiastes 3:3, 6, 8

  Romance in Autumn

  Chapter 1

  Newport, Rhode Island, October 1905

  The smell of wood smoke and damp leaves greeted Phoebe Hill as she exited the town car in front of Baywood House. She paused, sheltering her eyes with a gloved hand as she gazed at the white stone mansion from beneath the short brim of her plumed hat. The house hadn’t changed at all, not even in the fifteen years since she’d last seen it. She let out a breath of relief.

  “I’d like to look around,” she told the cabdriver, who stood at attention beside her open door. “Then we can return to the hotel for my mother.”

  The man gave a polite nod. “Very good, miss.”

  Phoebe ascended the wide steps, one hand lifting the skirt of her blue pinstriped dress, her heart beating wildly with excitement. She’d often thought of this house and dreamt it were hers. And now, because of her late employer’s benevolence, if all went well, she would soon be the mansion’s new owner.

  Not surprisingly she found the front door locked. Phoebe moved to a side window and wiped away the dust to peer inside. Sheets blanketed the furniture, but the parlor’s ornate wallpaper and intricate ceiling moldings were wonderfully familiar and fueled her desire to find a way inside.

  She strolled around to the side of the house, beneath a canopy of trees. Unlike the summer days she’d once spent here, when her mother worked for the Austin family, the trees now sported red, orange, and gold leaves. Phoebe drew in a full breath of crisp autumn air laced with saltiness from the sea. This was where she and her mother belonged, in the country. No more city life, no more adhering to someone else’s schedule or social events or whims. She was now the proprietress of her own life with the means to provide her and her mother with a real home again.

  Reaching the servants’ entrance, she tried the worn knob, which turned easily beneath her hand. It was unlocked! Phoebe grinned and pushed through the door. Dim light and shadows made her blink after the bright sunlight outdoors, but she didn’t need to see to know her way around. She strolled through the kitchen, her gaze wandering over the old stove and preparation tables. How often had she slipped inside this room to sneak a berry or dollop of cream from some confection her mother was making?

  The memories trailed her like a gauzy evening gown as she made her way through the house to her favorite room of all—the ballroom. The Austins were never able to achieve as much wealth as the Vanderbilts or the Astors had, nor was their Newport mansion as large or lavish. And yet, Gwendolyn Austin had spared no expense when it came to decorating her ballroom. The walls had been adorned with gold paneling and painted scenes of the French countryside, while the large chandelier in the center boasted hundreds of real diamonds.

  Outside the room’s double doors, Phoebe stopped. She’d only ever been allowed in here to clean up after a party—never when guests were present—but she’d spent many happy hours pretending she was the hostess of her own ball inside the ornate room. Never would she have imagined that those girlish dreams might actually come to fruition.

  She went to open the door and saw that it already stood ajar. Perhaps the servants who were hired by the Austins to clean the mansion once a year hadn’t closed it properly the last time they were here. Slipping inside, she gazed with wonder at the ceiling and walls until her eyes fell on a tall figure standing by the French doors at the opposite end of the room.

  A startled cry leaked from Phoebe’s lips and echoed in the vast space. She’d been told the mansion was unoccupied. The man clearly heard her, for he turned around, but she couldn’t see his face with the light at his back.

  “I beg your pardon,” she said, keeping her tone friendly and polite. Perhaps this was another interested buyer. “I was told I would find the place empty and that I wouldn’t disturb anyone if I looked around.”

  The barest hint of an English accent laced his words as he said, “You are correct. I was admiring the place myself.” With his hands tucked into the pockets of his stylish trousers, he approached her. “And may I ask who you are?”

  He appeared every inch the gentleman from his straw boater hat, to his tailored suit, to his shiny black shoes. Phoebe nearly dropped a curtsey before reminding herself that she was an heiress now, which put them on the same social standing.

  “I’m Phoebe Hill.” She offered him a genuine smile. “I spent a great deal of time here as a child,” she added honestly. No need to mention her plans to buy the house just yet, in case he proved to be a competitor.

  The man tilted his head, his expression puzzled, as he stopped a few feet away from her. “I lived here every summer as a boy, but I’m afraid I don’t remember you, Miss Hill.”

  He’d come here every summer too? Phoebe felt as confused by his confession as he clearly felt at hers. Had he been the child of another servant or the son of one of the Austins’ guests? She searched his face, hoping to recognize the boy from years ago in the man standing before her now. He was rather handsome, with brown hair and green eyes. Familiar green eyes.

  “James?” she murmured in shock. “James Austin?” Was he here because the family wasn’t going to sell the house after all? Her heart rapped out a staccato rhythm at the thought.

  He reared back slightly. “You know me?”

  “Of course.” Phoebe gave a light laugh. “You taught me how to play marbles. And when you broke your leg one winter, I sneaked a kitten into your room to entertain you.”

  James’s mouth quirked up at the corners, though he still regarded her blankly. Would he recognize her at all? Her hair was the same shade of black, her eyes still the color of hazelnuts. But they’d both changed since the last time she’d seen him. He’d been fourteen and she’d been ten that
last summer in Newport before his family had moved to England.

  “I remember that kitten,” he said with a nod. “Your name is Hill? Are you related to our former cook, Mrs. Hill?”

  He didn’t remember her—at least not yet. Phoebe didn’t know whether to feel disappointed or relieved by that fact. “That was my mother. I’m Phoebe,” she repeated.

  This time his green eyes widened as he studied her more carefully. “Phoebe? The little girl with the black braids and impish smile?”

  She laughed again as a flicker of happiness shot through her. He hadn’t forgotten her. “Yes. That would be me.”

  James shook his head, looking dazed. “Y-you’ve changed.”

  “So have you. I thought you were still in England.”

  “I was. I am.” He unpocketed his hand to wave at the room. “My mother sent me back to oversee the sale of the house.”

  Fresh relief accompanied his explanation. His presence wouldn’t interfere with her plans. “I’m surprised I didn’t see an automobile or a carriage out front . . .”

  He shrugged. “I walked.” His expression turned wistful as he glanced around them. “I didn’t realize how much I missed this place until I stepped inside.”

  “I know,” she agreed in a reverential voice.

  This house had always been more than just a building to her. It was a place of magical summer days and wishes that might come true, even for the fatherless daughter of a servant.

  “What are you doing here?” James asked. “Do you live in Newport now?”

  “No.” Not yet. “My mother and I are still living in New York. I . . .” How much should she tell him? She clasped her gloved hands together, hating how she suddenly felt like an impostor. “I came into some money, a rather great sum,” she admitted, “when our recent employer willed the bulk of her inheritance to me.”

  Lifting her chin, she met his level look with one of her own. She would be forthright and honest as her mother had taught her to be, even if she feared his response. “I’m planning to buy the mansion. That’s why I’m here.”