“I tell you these things to give you insight,” Gabriella chided, “not to instruct you to imitate them.”
Amanda laughed as she stepped outside. The bright sun contrasted against the shade where her horse had been tethered. “Don’t worry,” she grinned. “I promise I’ll visit my parents.”
Gabriella watched as Amanda mounted her palfrey. “I had hoped that’s who your next appointment was,” she whispered.
Retreating to her bedchamber, Gabriella wet a cloth and covered her eyes. As she rested, her thoughts returned to her niece. Despite her good-intentioned interference, it seemed Amanda was destined to mirror Emily’s unhappy state. Gabriella mouthed a prayer that fate would intervene, for despite Amanda’s lack of candor, Gabriella knew something was troubling the girl, and it wasn’t just Camilla’s party.
Chapter Seventy-One
Camilla hadn’t the slightest idea who had responded to her birthday invitations because her mother had planned the party. That she expected an extravagant festivity there was no doubt, as Fay and Emory Muelder gave their daughter anything she wanted. At the age of three, Camilla had discovered she only had to wrap plump little arms around her father’s neck and soundly kiss both cheeks to get her way. So charmed by the blond darling, Emory denied her nothing.
The gathering had been planned to serve a two-fold purpose. Not only would it be a birthday celebration, but it would also be the time to announce her engagement to Leroy. Camilla recognized the banker’s son could provide more lavishly than anyone and felt she alone deserved the Spelding wealth. There was no better way of demonstrating her elevated station than announcing it at her party.
“Mama!” Camilla’s voice rang from the upper floor. “Mama, come quick!”
Fay Muelder hastily exited the parlor, adjusting her spectacles as she gazed up the staircase. “What is it, dear?”
“I can’t find the ribbon necklace that goes with my dress,” Camilla shrilled. “I’ve searched my room and cannot find it.”
Fay started up the stairs. “Don’t worry dear. I’m sure it’s there somewhere.”
Camilla groaned as she stomped into her room. “I simply cannot tolerate the maid’s laziness!” she cried, leaving the door wide for her mother. “She was supposed to press my dress, but look at the wrinkles near the hem.” She twirled around as Fay entered the room. “And now she’s misplaced my necklace!”
Fay looked in bewilderment at clothes littering the floor. “Why darling, your room’s a mess. How could this happen?”
“Because the maid only comes twice a week!” Camilla flung her hand toward the dressing table. “She was supposed to leave my necklace on the dresser, but it’s not there.” Fay began searching through clutter on top of the bureau as Camilla bent to smooth her dress. “I suppose I’ll just have to be embarrassed by the puckered skirt. I swear that girl couldn’t finish a job if her life depended on it.”
Fay opened a drawer, pushing aside broken fans and rumpled kerchiefs. “If you come downstairs to the laundry room, I’ll press the hem.” She withdrew the missing necklace and held it toward her daughter. “Here it is, dear.”
Camilla snatched the ornament from her mother’s fingers and approached the mirror. “It’s about time someone found it. No doubt, the chit hid it to torment me.” Now that her problem was solved, Camilla became completely agreeable. “There,” she said, smiling at her reflection. “I’ll be the belle of the ball.” Turning to cause her dress to sway, Camilla laughed at the vision of delicate beauty looking back at her. “Isn’t this the most perfect gown? I mean, look Mother! Don’t you think I look like the fiancé of the richest man in the city?” Indeed, the gown was magnificent with varying shades of green that accentuated her eyes and honey-blond hair.
Fay Muelder adjusted her spectacles. “Yes, dear, I think you look lovely.” She pressed her hands together as she often did when unsure what to make of her daughter. Even as a child, Camilla had known exactly what she wanted and pursued it relentlessly. Over the years, she’d become increasingly demanding. Fay was no match for the sharp-tongued beauty and fared better if she simply gave in to her daughter’s wishes. “Your guests should be arriving within the hour,” she reminded Camilla. “You may want to inspect the guest placement to see if it’s to your satisfaction.”
Camilla tested the security of her hair net, tucking a loose strand. “I only care about Leroy being placed on my left.”
Fay smiled tightly. “I wouldn’t forget such a formality, dear.”
She turned and looked pointedly at her mother. “You did keep Beau to my right, didn’t you? I know you wanted to put Elizabeth there.”
“But it doesn’t appear seemly,” Fay reasoned. “When one is engaged, one should only be concerned with her intended.” She took off her glasses to soften her daughter’s frown. “I placed him next to Elizabeth, so he’ll be close enough for conversation but not too near to ruin your reputation.”
“I don’t care one whit what you think, Mama!” Camilla’s eyes grew stormy. “Beau makes me laugh, and I want to be happy. Leroy can be so dull. There’s nothing wrong with having a dear friend nearby to liven things up. If you don’t make sure Beau’s beside me, I’ll just go down and do it myself.”
Fay bit her tongue as she replaced her glasses. “I’ll take care of it, dear. Please don’t become cross. You know how it forms wrinkles.” She departed the room secretly thankful Camilla would soon be married. Her daughter had always been difficult and Fay longed for peace and harmony.
“Don’t forget the iron,” Camilla called. “I have to be perfect.”
Chapter Seventy-Two
Amanda struggled to fasten the back buttons of her sage colored gown. She had chosen the frock for its simple lines as well as being able to forgo her corset. It was one of her favorite dresses, though at the moment she wondered at her selection in light of her maid being ill and unable to assist her. Hoping to see the cause of her difficulty, Amanda twisted in front of the mirror. By craning her neck, she was able to secure two more buttons, but failed to reach those in the middle of her back. Seemingly unaware of her predicament, Reagan faced a small mirror as he knotted his silk necktie. Amanda cleared her throat while stealing glances in his direction, but failed gaining his attention.
At the sound of a frustrated sigh, Reagan looked up. He saw Amanda’s arms twisted in unnatural angles as she poked a button with the tip of her finger. “Good Lord, woman,” he said, closing the distance between them. “All you had to do was ask if you needed help.” He gently unwound her arms before finishing the task. “I wouldn’t have refused you,” he chided while turning her around. “At least make your request before deciding whether or not I’d oblige.”
Amanda dropped her gaze, very much aware of his hands on her. “You seemed intent on your task.”
All at once, Reagan wondered if their recent separation had weakened her resolve. Ever since his return to their bedchambers, she’d been cool but decidedly civil. “I say we call a truce,” he smiled, giving her shoulders a gentle squeeze before releasing her.
“A truce? What do you mean?”
Reagan reached for his jacket. “What I mean, is that for tonight we should forget about our differences and appreciate the evening for what it is, no pressures, no expectations, just enjoying friends and each other.”
“When you say no pressures…” Amanda recalled only too well her trepidation whenever she rebuffed his advances.
“I mean exactly that. I’ll be a gentleman for the duration.” He grinned, picking up one of her scented fans. Closing his eyes, he waved it near his nose. “But, at the stroke of midnight, when Cinderella loses her magic potion, I too, will turn into a beastly monster, prone to debauchery and rakish behavior.”
Despite herself, Amanda laughed. “All right. I’ll be certain to be home by midnight,” she assured while accepting the fan. “And you need to refresh yourself on fables. You’re mixing myths with fairy tales.” Though cautious about his motives, Amanda dec
ided to accept his proposal. She recalled a similar truce at the picnic. It seemed to go well, then. It would be refreshing to not worry about her closely guarded emotions. “I believe, I’m ready,” she said, giving her hair a final pat.
When Reagan extended his arm, Amanda realized how much his virile good looks still affected her. With effort, she pushed away the thought. She preferred keeping her distance by recalling his treachery. Needing a reminder that he’d dealt with her falsely, Amanda’s thoughts turned to her meeting with Derrick. He claimed to have proof that Reagan had married her for money, and with enough time, he could regain her dowry. He assured her that once her fortune was restored, she’d have the power to annul her marriage.
After delicately asking if she were with child, Derrick had strongly urged she leave Reagan to guarantee a swift and unfettered dissolution. But how could she endure yet another scandal? Unable to decide, Amanda had begged for more time. Reluctantly, Derrick had agreed, declaring he wouldn’t wait for very long.
As Reagan assisted Amanda down the stairs, he brought her thoughts back to the present. “Beauregard claims Leroy made a purchase at the jewelers. Do you suppose he’s asked for Camilla’s hand?”
“One can only hope,” Amanda blurted. At Reagan’s laughter, she blushed. “Oh dear! Did I just say that? I mean-I meant-I’m glad for him.”
Reagan glanced at his watch. With several hours between now and midnight, he wondered how he’d endure the evening without making an overture toward his wife. She looked incredibly beautiful and it took all his will power to clamp down on his amorous impulses. As he settled against cushions of the carriage, a stinging pain caused him to shift in his seat. He ignored the discomfort as he turned toward his wife. “How was your visit with Gabriella? I assume she’s keeping busy.”
“Very well, thank you. She’s been active in several projects.” She looked at him pointedly. “All of them quite legal, of course.”
“Of that I’ve no doubt,” he said. “After one encounter with Jebediah, even the most foolhardy would assume saintly behavior. Besides,” he said, stretching out his legs, “since the war began, the papers say few slaves are venturing north.” Amanda’s gaze dropped to her hands as she recalled the horror of Nell’s final moments. She often wondered about the fate of baby Isaiah, but had refrained from asking Gabriella. As if reading her thoughts, Reagan closed a hand over her fingers. “You were very brave that night. Despite what you think, I gained a great deal of respect for your courage.”
“And I thank you for not betraying Aunt Ella. Although between the two of us,” she said, smiling wickedly, “you’ve profited the utmost, while I’ve yet to discover my gain.”
“That, my dear, could be satisfied forthwith, if we just ended this discord between us.”
She smiled sweetly. “The truce we called, prevents me from responding with the words you deserve.” She moved the curtain to view the sunset. “Mayhap, if you ask me on the morrow, I’ll be able to explain it--again.”
Chapter Seventy-Three
The soft evening breezes made the carriage ride to Camilla’s home pleasant. Reagan and Amanda had just entered the front entrance when they heard a familiar voice down the hall. “Belle Amie!” Beauregard said, approaching. He had just given his hat to a servant and had yet to enter the parlor. “Ahh, the wolf and the floret!” He raised Amanda’s hand to his lips. “You’ve come to wish Camilla a happy and healthful birthday. How splendid!”
“Splendid for whom?” Reagan said as he handed his hat to the same servant. He shook Beau’s hand, wishing the Frenchman wasn’t so popular. It seemed he was present at every tea and dinner party in Cantonsville.
“Demoiselle! My paramour, no?”
“That’s Madam Burnsfield, my friend,” Reagan said through gritted teeth. “You’ve a failing memory when it comes to a woman’s marital status.”
“Non Ami, I do not forget,” he said, grinning. “I simply cannot resist the bloom you plucked too soon.”
“Tis simple,” Reagan said. “The better man won the fair lady.”
Beauregard dipped his head in acknowledgement. “Oui. It is true. But my friend,” he said, making a show of inspecting Amanda’s ring. “I have it on good authority you cheated.”
Amanda giggled at Beau’s lack of concern in raising her husband’s ire. “Your company’s always appreciated,” she said, glancing at Reagan. “Although you seem to have found disfavor with my husband.”
“It is no matter.” Beauregard winked as he patted Reagan’s back. “He’s told me many times, what’s mine is his, and what’s his is mine.”
“That was before I had reason to withhold from you my things,” Reagan said, annoyed at the Frenchman’s needling.
“Perhaps we could find a way to share?” suggested Beau.
To his chagrin, Reagan saw his evening with Amanda diminishing with every moment of Beau’s presence. “Some things I won’t share. Besides,” he nodded toward the parlor door, “I believe you’re about to be otherwise detained.” From the corner of his eye, he saw Camilla emerging from the parlor.
“There you are,” Camilla said, stepping between Amanda and Beauregard. “I thought you’d arrived. Yet, you delayed in coming to wish me happy birthday!”
“My pardon, d’nonneur.” Beau swiftly bestowed a kiss on her fingers. “I’ve failed in etiquette, please forgive me!”
Camilla’s gaze swept Beau’s perfectly tailored suit. Leroy, for all his gangling height, could never fill out an ensemble like the compact Frenchman, she thought. If not for the fact the Spelding heir was far richer than Beau could ever hope to be, Camilla doubted she would’ve given Leroy a moment’s notice.
“I’ll forgive you this time,” she said. “But I insist you make it up to me by entertaining my guests with your witty stories.”
“If I have Madame Burnsfield’s permission, as we were yet deciding who should be her escort.”
Though her smile was pleasant, Camilla’s nostrils flared. “Surely my dear, you don’t mind if I steal Beauregard, do you?”
“Of course not,” Amanda said, forcing a smile. “I’m perfectly content being escorted by my husband.” As if to prove her words, Amanda tucked her hand inside Reagan’s arm.
“That settles it,” Reagan said. “Since this is your celebration Camilla, why don’t we join the others?”
As they entered the parlor, Beauregard led Camilla to the sofa. “Monsieur’s and demoiselles,” he announced. “I’ve restored the winsome lady into your midst!” He made a show of spreading a napkin across her lap before lifting a tray of confections.
“A sweet pastry for the tempting blossom.” Beauregard awaited Camilla’s choice before offering the tarts to others. After everyone had taken a treat, he sat and grinned devilishly. “So, ma cherie, what will you next sink those pretty little teeth into?” He arched a brow and looked around. “A man, perhaps?”
Reagan stood behind Amanda’s chair while everyone laughed at the Frenchman’s jest. He rested a hand on her shoulder as she leaned toward Lorelda Hargrove in conversation. With his back to the entrance, he didn’t notice the new arrival until he felt a gentle touch.
“Hello, Reagan,” Elizabeth said. “So good to see you, again.” Hoping to ensnare Reagan’s attention, she had worn her most daring gown. Ever since her brazen venture into Reagan’s hotel suite, she hadn’t been able to think of anything else. Although he’d been in a drunken stupor, he had eagerly accepted her into his bed. Even his words had fortified her belief that he wanted her. Yet, his liquor-tainted speech had chilled her confidence when he murmured Amanda’s name. Appalled that his passions had already been spent, Elizabeth now wondered if he recalled anything at all. She had to know if in the heat of the moment, he had merely misspoken. “You must tell me, perhaps over a dance, how your meeting went with father.”
“Of course,” Reagan said, feeling a strange unease as if a slumbering memory refused to wake. “There should be an opportunity or two, when I’m not dancing
with Amanda.”
Elizabeth felt a stab of jealousy as she noted his fingers caressing his wife’s shoulder. “Until then,” she said, forcing a smile before moving away.
“Camilla!” a male voice called from the hallway. All eyes turned when Leroy entered the room. “Why darling,” he said, his Adam’s apple bobbing above his tightly knotted cravat, “you’ve started without me.” Camilla accepted his kiss before shifting closer to Beauregard. “Sit here,” she said, patting the cushions.
Leroy took the seat, speaking louder than necessary. “I do hope you waited before telling everyone the good news! I wanted to be here when the announcement was made.”
Camilla kept her irritation from showing. Once she wed the oaf, she would keep him in check, if not with her well-practiced charms, then with the keen edge of her tongue. “Of course I waited,” she said. “I was entertaining our friends.” She rested her hand briefly on Beauregard’s shoulder. “As you can see, they’re all here.”
Leroy captured her fingers as he looked around. “Not only have we gathered to celebrate Camilla’s birthday,” he paused, unaware most already knew of the engagement, “but to announce we are to be wed next spring.” The women graciously clapped while the men rose to shake Leroy’s hand.
Reagan approached and slapped Leroy’s back before offering his hand. “Congratulations on your upcoming wedding. I pray you’ll find much happiness.”
Leroy barely heard his words while inspecting Reagan’s outfit. Never confidant of his own judgment, he usually waited until others sported newer styles before purchasing them. So it seemed fair game to mock the unusual cut of Reagan’s attire. “Well, old boy,” he fairly sneered at the distinctly narrow lapels, “where on earth did you get that bit of frippery?”
“Why, I believe the clothier Ives Du Monde.” Reagan winked at Beauregard, one of Ives’ most frequent customers. “He seems to have a knack for discovering new styles.”
Threads of Betrayal Page 33
