The Bracelet: A Novel

by Dorothy Love

  After another half hour, Papa rang a small crystal bell to get everyone’s attention. Celia bowed to Mr. Lawton, who had been her partner for the last dance, and went to join her father.

  “Welcome to our home,” he said. “We hope you’re enjoying yourselves. By now most of you have had a chance to welcome home our guest of honor, Sutton Mackay.”

  Smiling, Sutton stepped forward and nodded.

  “We’re proud of you, Sutton, and proud to welcome you home to Savannah.”

  “Thank you, sir. It’s good to be home,” Sutton said, “and an honor to be received in a home where I have spent so many happy hours.” He crossed the floor and took Celia’s hand, drawing her to the middle of the room. She looked up at him, a question in her eyes. Sutton glanced around the room at the costumed guests. “Most of you in this room have known Miss Browning and me for our whole lives. You’ve watched us grow up together. You have encouraged us and prayed for us, and I am sure some of you have wondered when we intended to wed.”

  “Amen to that!” Mr. Mackay said, and everyone laughed.

  Celia’s knees went weak. Surely Sutton wasn’t about to propose now, in front of all these people.

  “We’re not yet sure of the date,” Sutton said, his eyes never leaving her face. “But this is the time to remove all doubt as to our plans for the future. That is, if Celia will have me.”

  He removed a ring from his pocket and held it out to her. “This belongs to my grandmother Manigault, but she’s given it to me for my engagement. I’ve been hoping to marry you since you were twelve years old. I think you’re old enough now to accept my proposal. If you want to.”

  Her throat constricted, shutting off her words. She could only nod as Sutton slipped the ring with its cluster of nine diamonds onto her finger. The guests broke into applause. The music started again, and Sutton swept her into a dizzying waltz.

  When it ended, the ladies crowded around offering kisses and congratulations, but Celia moved in a fog of happy disbelief. The evening that had begun in humiliation had turned to triumph. She couldn’t help feeling a small surge of satisfaction that those who had made excuses to avoid attending the party had missed an event that would keep their social circle buzzing for weeks.

  Papa sent for champagne, and the guests moved outdoors to the buffet table. Sutton filled their plates, and they sat on a wrought-iron bench in the garden. He bit into a ham biscuit, chewed, and swallowed. “Lovely party, wouldn’t you say?”

  She lifted her hand and watched the play of candlelight on the diamonds. “Sutton Mackay, you leave me speechless.”

  He laughed. “I very much doubt that, my darling, but that’s all right. You’ve been speaking your mind since the night we met. I don’t expect you to go mute just because we’re betrothed.”

  She nibbled on a bit of cheese and set her plate aside. “I’m sure you noticed that more than a few of our friends are missing.”

  “I noticed, but I don’t care.” He touched his glass to hers. “As much as I love Savannah, I’m ashamed when people let their fear of impropriety overwhelm common sense. But you mustn’t worry. Channing can’t keep the story going forever.”

  “I hope not.”

  “And just imagine tomorrow morning, when the no-shows wake up to the news that they missed the most romantic marriage proposal in the history of Georgia. They will be green with envy.”

  She laughed. “Is it wrong of me to hope you’re right?”

  He shook his head. “One of the things I’ve always loved about you is that you don’t try to cover up what you feel. You are not afraid of emotion. I hope you won’t ever fear to share with me whatever you’re thinking. Even if we disagree.”

  “Which I am sure we will. For instance, this scheme of yours to build a—”

  He stopped her with a brief kiss and drew her to her feet. “That is a topic for another day. I have another surprise.”

  She eyed him warily. “Am I going to like it?”

  “I can almost guarantee it. I was hoping to have it in time for the party, but it’s been delayed.”

  “Give me a hint?’

  “No. You’re too good at guessing, and I want you to be as astonished as you were this evening. Come on. We should join the others.”

  “In a moment. There’s Alicia Thayer. I haven’t seen her since she got back from Philadelphia.”

  “Don’t be long.” Sutton eyed the buffet table. “In the meantime I think I’ll have another sandwich.”

  Celia crossed the terrace to where her friend stood sipping a glass of punch.

  “Celia.” Alicia planted a kiss on Celia’s cheek. “Let me see that ring.”

  Celia held out her hand.

  “It’s stunning,” Alicia said. “And I’m thrilled to pieces with your news. You and Sutton are the perfect match. Everybody says so.”

  “I hope so.” Celia smiled at her dearest friend. “I only wish my mother were here to share in the excitement.”

  “I know. I can’t imagine growing up without a mother, even though my own drives me to distraction sometimes. Anyway, I’m happy to have made it home in time for this party.”

  “Mrs. Stiles told me you’ve been up north.”

  Alicia sipped her punch. “Yes. Visiting Mother’s cousins. It was billed as a relaxing holiday, but all they wanted to talk about was abolition and Mr. Lincoln.” Alicia shook her head. “Can you think of anything more rude than to invite people to visit and then insult them at every turn? They look down on Southerners and call us ignorant, but they are the ones whose assumptions are completely false. They think everyone south of the Mason Dixon is a slaveholder. It came as a big surprise when I told them most of us make our livings as merchants and lawyers and such.”

  A serving girl came by, and Alicia set her empty glass on the tray. “And then we got home only to see that ridiculous article in the paper. It makes me sick that some of our friends are wallowing in gossip.”

  Celia pulled her friend into the shadows. “Tell me. What are they saying?”

  Alicia shook her head. “I shouldn’t like to repeat such things.”

  “I want to know. Perhaps then I can refute them.”

  “I know how you feel, but maybe it’s better not to say anything. To protest will only fan the flames and keep the story alive longer.”

  “I’m sure you’re right, but I still want to know what’s being said.”

  Alicia sighed. “All right. They say your Uncle Magnus had something to do with what happened, and that’s why he disappeared. They say your father knows and is covering everything up to spare your cousin—and to save the Browning name as well. They say your Aunt Eugenia’s accident was not an accident at all.”

  Anger burned like acid in Celia’s veins. She fought the urge to hurl a glass to the floor. Leo Channing was not reporting the facts. Instead he was inventing facts to create a more provocative story. And the cost to her family could be enormous. Her father’s business, her charity work, social calls, teas, and receptions were the scaffolding upon which her entire life was built. Without them, everything would collapse.

  “What else?”

  “What else?” Alicia shook her head, and her sapphire earbobs caught the candlelight. “Goodness, I think that’s quite enough, don’t you?”

  Alicia linked her arm through Celia’s. “Please don’t let mean gossip spoil your happiness. This is a night you will remember for the rest of your life. And when we are two old ladies having tea on the front porch, the memories of it should be only sweet ones.”

  Celia let out a ragged breath. “Of course you’re right. It’s no secret I’ve loved Sutton my whole life. This is a very happy evening.”

  “As it should be. Now, let’s join the others. It’s almost time for the promenade, and I haven’t had a chance to see all the costumes.”

  As midnight drew near, the guests assembled in the ballroom. One by one they twirled around, showing off their costumes before removing their masks and bowing to appla
use. The guests voted for best costume, a distinction that went to Mr. and Mrs. Stiles as Ferdinand and Isabella. After another round of chocolates and champagne, Mrs. Maguire brought out baskets filled with party favors—small jeweled boxes for the ladies and fine cigars for the gentlemen.

  Celia stood between Sutton and Papa as the guests departed, Sutton holding tightly to her hand. She wished that more of her friends had been there to share her big moment. But the uncertainty about her future was over. Her wedding might have to wait, but Sutton was hers. That was all that mattered.

  At last Sutton shook Papa’s hand and thanked him again for the party. Then he bent to kiss her cheek. “I suppose I ought to go. Good night, my queen.”

  He left, whistling as he pushed through the gate to the street.

  On the terrace, Mrs. Maguire and Mrs. Hemphill were boxing up the food and the elaborate centerpiece for delivery to the hospital. The musicians had packed up their instruments and left by the side gate.

  Papa placed an arm around her shoulder. “Quite a night, my dear.”

  “Yes.”

  “Your future husband has a talent for surprise.”

  “To say the least.” Celia threw both arms around him. “Thank you for this party, Papa. Despite Leo Channing, despite Sutton’s troubles and ours, I am supremely happy.”

  “I’m glad to know your future is settled. Especially in these unsettling times.”

  She released him. “Has something else happened?”

  Papa huffed out a sigh. “Abolitionists are coming through the plantations over on St. Simons, talking up freedom to the slaves. There’s talk that some of the Irish in town are siding with them.” He stifled a yawn. “But this is not the time for a political discussion, darling. It’s time for your old, gray-haired papa to be in bed.”

  “Me too.” She frowned. “I didn’t see Ivy all night. Did you?”

  “Come to think of it, no. Maybe she changed her mind again.” They climbed the stairs together, and she went down the hall to her room.

  A thread of yellow light showed beneath Ivy’s closed door. Celia put her ear to the door and knocked softly. “Ivy?”

  “Come in.”

  Celia opened the door. Ivy lay on the bed, her skin flushed, eyes bright.

  “What happened? Are you ill?”

  “I was getting ready to go downstairs when I felt faint. I lay down for a moment and started feeling worse.” Ivy pressed a hand to her midsection. “My stomach feels unwell.”

  “I’ll be right back.”

  Celia retrieved the camphor and flannel cloths from the cupboard and helped Ivy bathe her stomach. “Better?”

  “A little. I’m sorry I missed the party. Who won the promenade?”

  “Mr. and Mrs. Stiles. Ferdinand and Isabella.”

  “Was it too awful, having so many people absent?”

  Outside, carriage wheels squeaked. A dog barked. Celia dabbed more camphor on the flannel rag and handed it to her cousin. Such moments of harmony and closeness were much too rare. Why couldn’t she and Ivy be as close as their mothers had been?

  “It was awkward at first,” Celia said. “We had too much food by far. But then—” Celia held out her hand to show Ivy her ring. “Sutton proposed marriage to me tonight. In front of everyone.”

  Ivy blinked. “He proposed? But I thought . . . you said he’d changed his mind.”

  “And so he has. But luckily for me, about something else entirely.” Celia waggled her fingers, watching the diamonds refract the light. “We won’t be going to Jamaica next year as we planned. But I don’t care. As long as I have Sutton, I can be happy anywhere.” She sighed. “I can’t believe it’s really happened, and I’m going to be Mrs. Sutton Mackay.”

  Ivy pressed the camphor flannel to her stomach. “Congratulations.”

  “Oh, Ivy, I do want you to be happy for us.”

  “I know you do, and I truly am sorry I missed your big moment.” Ivy sat up, and a dark-brown velvet cloak and matching breeches tumbled to the floor. “My costume. I was planning to come as Robin Hood.” She was seized with a coughing fit that went on until Celia took up a magazine lying on the table and fanned her cousin’s face.

  “I’ll get you some water.”

  “Would you?”

  Celia ran down to the kitchen. Mrs. Maguire had gone to bed too. The dishes were drying on the counter. A white dish towel was folded neatly on the table. Tomorrow’s yeast rolls were rising in a yellow crockery bowl beside the hearth.

  Celia filled a pitcher, set it and a glass on a small tray, and started back upstairs. A single sheet of paper folded into quarters lay on the floor just inside the front door. Had it been there all evening? She hadn’t noticed. Undoubtedly a guest had dropped it during the flurry of good-byes. Frowning, she set down the tray and unfolded the paper.

  8

  CELIA DREW HER SHAWL ABOUT HER SHOULDERS AND LOOKED out the window as the carriage rolled along the street clogged with people, carriages, and buggies. The weather had turned chilly, but the sky was a brilliant blue and a fresh breeze blew in off the river. A perfect October afternoon in Savannah. If people chose not to come to her engagement reception at Mrs. Mackay’s this afternoon, their absence certainly would not be in consequence of the weather.

  “Why the frown?” Ivy shifted on the leather seat and smoothed the folds of her dress.

  “I’m worried that nobody will come today and Mrs. Mackay will be terribly embarrassed. I don’t want her hurt on our account.”

  Ivy leaned over to pat Celia’s hand. “Don’t worry. Uncle David might be one of the richest men in Savannah, but there’s no family more important than the Mackays. People wouldn’t dare ignore her invitation for fear of being banished from her guest list forever.” She paused, her head tilted. “Something else is bothering you.”

  Celia hadn’t told anyone about the anonymous message she’d discovered the night of the masquerade ball, and the secret had finally become too heavy a burden. She opened her bag and withdrew the folded paper. “I found this in the foyer the night of the ball.”

  Ivy unfolded the paper and read aloud. “Foul deeds will rise, though all the earth o’erwhelm them, to men’s eyes.” She looked up, her face suddenly pale. “What does it mean? Who would send us such a thing?”

  Celia shook her head. The words seemed vaguely familiar, but she couldn’t readily remember where she’d heard them. “I don’t know.”

  “I don’t understand. What did Uncle David say about this?” Ivy handed the paper back to Celia, who put it away.

  “I haven’t told him. He’s been preoccupied with politics and the Mackays’ lost ship. He doesn’t seem quite himself these days. He skipped his usual lunch at the club last week. I’m worried about him.”

  “Is he ill?”

  “He hasn’t had much of an appetite lately. Nor his usual energy, either.”

  Ivy sighed. “Maybe Mr. Channing left the note. I wish now I hadn’t talked to him. But at least he hasn’t published any more stories in the paper. I think he’s grown tired of the chase.”

  “I hope so.” Celia toyed with the clasp on her reticule. Leo Channing’s stories had stirred up an unsettling mix of unsavory secrets that left her with a nagging fear of impending disaster.

  “Promise me you will tell Uncle David about that note,” Ivy said as their carriage drew up outside the Mackays’ mansion on Lafayette Square. “Surely there must be something else he can do.”

  “I doubt it. He has already spoken to Mr. Thompson, and I don’t think the editor is trying very hard to protect us from Mr. Channing.” Celia opened her gold compact and dabbed rice powder onto her nose. “I don’t want to worry Papa needlessly.”

  “Well, don’t think about it just now.” Ivy patted Celia’s gloved hand. “Today is a day for celebration.”

  Joseph opened the carriage door and handed them out. Celia smoothed the ruffles on her dark-blue dress. Ivy was right. She ought not give another thought to Leo Channing. She should
think only of her future with Sutton. But even as they mounted the marble steps and pressed the bell, she couldn’t stop thinking about the rumors Alicia Thayer had shared the night of the ball. Had Uncle Magnus left town because he knew more than he admitted? Had there been something between him and the laundress? Was that the reason Aunt Eugenia had left the plantation on St. Simons and shown up at the Brownings’ house in the middle of the night all those years ago?

  Mrs. Mackay’s housekeeper, Mrs. Johns, opened the door, a smile brightening her round, careworn face. “Miss Celia. Mrs. Mackay told me the wonderful news, and I couldn’t be one bit happier if you were my own daughter.”

  At the housekeeper’s warm welcome, Celia felt her anxieties melting away. “Thank you, Mrs. Johns.”

  The housekeeper stepped back to let them enter. “Good afternoon, Miss Lorens.”

  “Mrs. Johns.” Ivy’s tone was brisk as she handed the housekeeper her wrap.

  “Mrs. Mackay is waiting for you in the parlor,” Mrs. Johns said. “The guests will be arriving in a few minutes.”

  As Mrs. Johns motioned them into the Mackays’ parlor, Celia let out a contented sigh. All her life, just being inside Sutton’s house had made her happy. It wasn’t the expansive, flower-filled foyer, the well-proportioned rooms with their tall ceilings and ornate furnishings, or the thick carpets that muffled her steps as she crossed the room. It was the sense of peace. The Mackays’ house seemed always to be relaxed and filled with love. Not that she felt unloved at home on Madison Square. Far from it. But her mother’s death had left an empty space, an aching loneliness that never completely disappeared.

  Cornelia Mackay stood, both arms outstretched, a gentle smile on her face. “Ivy. Welcome, my dear.”

  “Thank you, Mrs. Mackay.”

  “And darling Celia. My daughter-to-be.”

  Celia kissed the older woman’s cheek. “Thank you for planning this tea. I’ve been looking forward to it all week.”