“They are wonderful people,” I barely heard Mrs. Summercourt add.
I had to agree. Miss Abernathy’s last comments about Mr. Hawthorne’s family seemed to create a balm for my soul, after thinking that Mr. Hawthorne and his sister could possibly be linked to such a family—a family which Miss Abernathy regarded as so entirely scandalized.
Not that I knew why it mattered.
“Well then, it’s settled,” Miss Abernathy stated. “Hopefully we will see Nicholette married again by the end of the year.”
Suddenly I didn’t want their conversation to go on, so I hurried from my hiding spot into the parlor through the thick, lavender curtains half covering the room’s entrance.
At the sight of me, Alex stood and bowed in greeting. “Nicky. We were just talking about how half of Back Bay is still in love with you,” he said with an overly friendly wink, “despite your lengthy absence and what I’ve heard of your repugnant wardrobe of late.”
“Thank you, Alex,” I said, trying to keep things as they always had been between us—with absolutely no encouragement on my part. He hadn’t been there when I’d left the room, and I hadn’t seen him in over two years.
“You are a vision of loveliness, Nicholette, no matter what you’re wearing. It makes my heart happy to see you in your colors again.” Miss Abernathy stood, and I noticed how slowly she crossed the room with the help of her cane. Perhaps some days she simply needed it more than others, but I wasn’t so sure. When she reached me, she took my hands in hers. “We are all tremendously happy you have returned to society. We were just discussing how you have been sorely missed.”
“Have you?” I asked, knowing very well that the discussion had been so much more than that.
“And that you’re still so lovely, dearest. As attractive as ever, and quite possibly ready for a new husband.” There was just the tiniest little glint in Mrs. Summercourt’s eye as her gaze skittered past her son. She obviously wanted me to marry her middle son.
Of course she did. I was one of the wealthiest, youngest widows in all of New England now.
“But….” I looked to my mother, who had now stood as well. Yes, I had heard their conversation, but it hadn’t convinced me that it would be brought up to me directly for many weeks, or perhaps months. “But my mourning for William…” I stated dumbly, unprepared to actually have the conversation. “I’ve only just….”
“I’m sure everyone knows you still miss William,” Miss Abernathy crooned, “but perhaps it is best you find someone new to marry. Anyone who knows the situation would surely understand.”
The pursuit of another husband.
And knowing just who she meant to push me toward had my stomach turning in knots.
She didn’t know. None of them would be happy to link Mr. Hawthorne and me together if they knew of his involvement with the police. Would they?
“Nicholette, dear, we know you loved William,” Mother added. “No one can blame you for the way things turned out—”
“And I for one cannot wait to see you enchant the multitudes again.” This startling admission came from the entryway to the main hall—from William’s practically look-alike brother, Vance Everstone.
The man who was to blame.
It had been since my wedding that I’d last seen him. And for all my claims of being over William’s death, I could not profess to be over his murder. Or why it had happened.
“Now, now, Nicky, try not to look so harsh,” he said as he stood in the massive twenty-foot doorway, his hands at his hips, most disapprovingly.
I’d not realized my vexed thoughts had been so displayed upon my face, but they must have been, for the young woman standing next to Vance—presumably, his newly wedded wife, Violet—looked at me as if she were scared to move forward. As Vance stepped farther into the room, she kept him back with a tight grip upon his left elbow.
Vance motioned his wife forward, and I got an even better look at her. This adorably shy creature with short blonde hair wasn’t what I had expected as the kind of woman able to bend him into the devoted husband I’d heard he’d been transformed into. And how on earth had the Vance Everstone I’d known come to attract such an amiable, unassuming girl? How had he made such a girl fall in love with him? I was quite stunned, but not enough to remain silent.
I stepped toward the entrance to the hall. “Vance, please introduce me to your wife.” I extended my hand.
Violet reached out, took my hand, and immediately relaxed.
After the introduction was complete, Vance smiled down at his wife, a gesture I didn’t recognize, for he hadn’t been one to do much of that before. What a difference she had made. But perhaps it was more than just Violet’s influence.
Alex stepped up behind me, as did both of our mothers. “Vance, it’s been a long time—I think your father’s wedding last summer.” He shook Vance’s hand. “And it’s nice to see you again, Mrs. Everstone. It seems as if our old rakish Vance has turned a new leaf, indeed, and is treating you well.”
Vance smirked. “Of course I am.”
Violet’s cheeks turned a sweet shade of pink, but the look she gave Vance from behind his back was pure adoration. I was again completely stunned, and I felt a deep stab of regret mixed with jealousy for how entirely Violet obviously adored her husband…and he, one so undeserving. It had been Vance’s previously reckless way of living that had brought the tragedy about in the first place.
Violet must have seen something of my inner pain, for she gently butted her shoulder between Vance and I and went on to make more conversation. Which made me wonder…could anyone else tell just how much I’d grown to dislike Vance—even more than I had before—since William’s death?
I hadn’t seen him, of course, since he and Violet had returned from Maine. But he had often been a part of our conversations in the last year. From what I recalled, I’d always tried my best not to say anything regarding Vance and Violet living in my Fairstone, when the subject had come up.
I would have to go into the house again someday, but I hoped it wouldn’t be anytime soon. It was already difficult enough to know everyone watched me, studied me from the other side of the gossip pages, waiting for me to do something interesting. Like attend a wedding.
I didn’t even know how I’d make it through Clyde Summercourt’s wedding, which I knew was coming up, after the way mine to William had ended.
And my marrying Cal Hawthorne was certainly out of the question, no matter that Miss Abernathy thought we’d make a “spectacularly smashing couple.” And especially no matter that I’d entertained silly, high hopes about him after our unconventional introduction at the bookshop. But that had been before I’d learned what he was about. He was much too daring for my tastes.
No, Miss Abernathy was wrong. She didn’t know. She hadn’t heard him speak to the undercover police officer he spent much of his time shadowing. She hadn’t heard them joke about how he’d been shot and he could very well be shot again.
If she’d known all of that, and then thought back to my wedding day, I was certain she’d change her mind. We would not suit, no matter how well we got on upon first meeting.
7
Rochester Farms
“When the character of a man is not clear to you,
look at his friends.”
—Japanese proverb
About two weeks later, Father decided he wanted to take me to pick out a new horse. My last had died shortly before my wedding to William and replacing Shiloh had been the last thing on my mind at that time, and since, considering we’d been traveling through Europe for so long.
We traveled south of Boston by train to a town called Quincy without much to say. I knew this was a breeder we’d never bought from before, and that he’d come to make a name for himself internationally when it came to Morgan horses, but I truly didn’t know much about picking out a horse. It was the first time Father had ever wanted to include me with such a decision. He’d simply presented to me both of the hor
ses I’d had the honor of owning, and I’d loved both of them.
When we arrived to Rochester Farms, a sprawling farm of open pastures, country woods, and massive flower and vegetable gardens greeted us as we traveled down a long, tree-lined drive that led straight to a massive, Victorian-style brick mansion.
We came to an office where we met Mr. Rochester, the owner of the horse farm, and told him what we were in market for. After speaking with him for a few minutes, we were given leave to look around the stables, and I headed out to the yard before my father, too excited to wait.
Father finally left the office and rejoined me in the yard.
“I don’t know how I’ll ever decide from looking at so many. I’m used to you just giving me a horse and loving it.” I studied the pamphlet, scanning the many Morgan horses listed. But then my attention snagged on the horse at the end of the list. “I’d like to take a look at this British horse listed. It says he’s a Gypsy Vanner—whatever that means—and his name is Fergus.”
“You can pick out whichever horse you like best.” Father grinned. “I was trying to narrow it down to the ones most like Spark so they would match. But if you want something else, go ahead and pick it out.”
When we finally reached the Gypsy Vanner’s stall at the far end of the barn, we found he was a stout horse of a deep brown color, a white stripe down his nose, and four white, feathery “socks” on his feet. He was so different than a Morgan horse.
“Fergus.” I stuck my hand through the bars of the wooden gate, and to my surprise, he stepped over to me and nudged his nose on my hand. His sweet brown eyes settled upon me.
He was the most gorgeous color brown I’d ever remembered seeing on a horse. He was perfection. “I know he doesn’t match Spark. And Spark is beautiful, Father, with his champion bloodlines and all. But I think I’d rather have a horse like Fergus. He seems just like me.” A little misplaced for the time being.
“All right, you’ll have him.”
“Oh, Fergus, you will be mine,” I whispered through the gate.
Because Father ended up being the only person remotely interested in the Gypsy Vanner, he was able to get Fergus for nearly nothing compared to what the champion Morgan horses were going for. When we’d finished filling out the paperwork for the purchase at the office, Mr. Rochester came up to Father, stopping us as we were about to leave.
“Mr. Fairbanks, I found the young gentleman you were asking to see.”
“Yes, thank you for doing that for me, Rochester.”
When Mr. Rochester departed, to my surprise, Mr. Cal Hawthorne walked out from behind him, looking right at me with a cunning smirk gracing his beautiful full lips.
He was the last person on earth I’d expected to see just then, and I quickly realized my guard was not nearly where it needed to be for such a situation. I tried desperately to seem unaffected by the sudden sight of him. But I wasn’t though—not by half. Just the thought of his name over the weeks since I’d seen him had created all kinds of awful, unsure feelings in me. My memories from those two times I’d met him in the last month, would not, could not, be reconciled. And then...if Mr. Hawthorne indeed knew my father, he could very well have been speaking of me to Officer Underwood when I’d been eavesdropping on their conversation. The mere thought of that entire discussion sent a wave of anxiousness through me.
What was I supposed to say to him now?
“Nicholette, allow me to introduce a friend of mine, Mr. Cal Hawthorne. He currently works here for Mr. Rochester in the accounting department.” Father took a step forward, forcing Mr. Hawthorne to follow. “Cal, this is my daughter, of course, Mrs. Nicholette Everstone.”
Still genuinely shocked, I stood there, my chin slightly dropped. So it was true. My father did know Mr. Hawthorne. And he wanted to introduce him to me? And was that why we had come to this new horse breeder, where Mr. Hawthorne just happened to work?
“It is good to meet you, Mrs. Everstone.” Mr. Hawthorne remained smiling, directly at me, as if meeting me for the first time.
I extended my hand, and he enveloped my small fingers in his large ones, keeping eye contact. I couldn’t deny that his figure was impressive; I knew from too much experience. And having him beside me again—after the last time in his bedchamber—was rather intimidating. Did that mean Mr. Hawthorne had indeed been speaking about me with Officer Underwood that day?
Mr. Hawthorne stood relatively close as our hands were clasped between us. I made a point not to look away, ignoring the butterflies in my stomach.
“Thank you, Mr. Hawthorne. It is, isn’t it?” There was such a magnetic pull between us, I couldn’t help but stay where I was, wanting more, waiting for more. Despite everything I knew, despite all of my unanswered questions.
His gaze remained on me for a few moments longer, and then he let go of my hand to shake my father’s. “It’s good to see you again, sir. You must be in the market for a horse?”
“As a matter of fact, we are,” Father replied. “Since I’d heard from Vance Everstone that you worked for Rochester here, we thought we’d come to take a look, and also see if you were around.”
“Did you end up finding what you were looking for today?”
“The only non-champion horse on the farm, I believe.” Father glanced my way with a quizzical slant to his brow. Was he trying a gauge my response to Mr. Hawthorne? Or was he still puzzled about the horse I chose? “But yes, just what we were looking for, it seems.”
“The Gypsy Vanner? He was a bit of a random addition to the group. No papers or bloodlines, but a good solid little gelding.”
“I think he’s perfect,” I said, in an effort to join the conversation.
“I’ve never seen a horse like him,” Father said.
“Nor have I, and I’ve seen my fair share working for Rochester.”
“I suppose we’ll see you at the Summercourt wedding coming up in August?” Father asked.
“My family has been invited.”
“I don’t think I’ll be attending the wedding,” I blurted.
Or any wedding ever again, to be at all honest. Not after the horrendous affair mine had turned out to be.
“Are the Summercourts not old family friends of yours?” Mr. Hawthorne asked me.
“Yes,” Father supplied. “And of course Nicholette will be there.”
My stomach turned to knots.
“I should be there,” Mr. Hawthorne said. “I’m hoping, by then, to be finished with a complicated project that’s been taking a considerable amount of my time of late. We’re hoping it will only be another few weeks.” The look on his face was indecipherable, as if he were unsure about something, or concerned.
It was about the case, of course.
Mr. Hawthorne gave a half shrug. “Beyond seeing you at the wedding, I likely won’t have much time for socializing.”
“Then I suppose we’ll have to be content waiting to see you at the wedding, won’t we, Nicky?” Father asked pointedly, obviously trying to get me to make a promise to attend the dreaded affair in Mr. Hawthorne’s presence.
“Yes, we will have to wait and see,” was all I allowed.
I spied the receipt of payment for Fergus in Father’s hand and remembered that my new horse would be waiting for us outside. And really, I was ready for this surprise visit with Mr. Cal Hawthorne to be over. “We should probably go. The horse is likely—”
“Ah, yes, they’ve been tying Fergus to the back of our carriage, and I’ll want to inspect. It was good seeing you again, Mr. Hawthorne. I do hope you won’t mind an invitation for you, your mother, and sister to dine at Faircourt sometime soon,” Father offered, shocking me with this sudden bout of hospitality.
“That’s a gracious offer,” Mr. Hawthorne answered with a smile, “and one I’m sure we won’t be able to refuse, Mr. Fairbanks, once I have more time in my schedule. And yes, don’t let me hold you up.”
Then he turned to me. “Well, I wish you much love with your Gypsy Vanner, Mrs.
Everstone. It makes me glad to know he’ll be yours and treasured for the special horse that he is.”
“Thank you. And he will—I will, I promise,” I uttered awkwardly, knocked completely off kilter by his responses to me.
With nothing more to say, Father and I walked toward the carriage.
As we were leaving with Fergus tied to the back, I looked upon the hilly fields of Rochester Farms. I didn’t especially feel like talking. I had too much going on inside. But after thinking and rethinking the exchange I’d had with Mr. Hawthorne, I needed more answers, and perhaps Father could be just the one to help.
But before I could say a word, Father asked, “Nicholette, may I ask what you thought of meeting Mr. Hawthorne today?”
“He’s very…um, he’s very….”
“Yes, well, I saw your face while we were speaking with him, and I can imagine what you thought on that count.”
“Father!”
“He is a good looking boy, you have to admit.”
Though boy wasn’t quite the word I would have chosen. He was much too attractive, and had already been much, too much…on my mind of late. That’s what I thought of him.
After a long while of staring out the window, I asked, “Father, you do realize that your friend, Mr. Hawthorne, is Violet’s cousin, don’t you?”
“Of course.”
“Why have you never brought him up before if you’ve known him so entirely well?”
“I don’t speak to you and your mother about work. I never have. The subject wouldn’t have come up.”
“Does that have anything to do with it?”
“He worked for me once, a few years ago.”
“Are we speaking about the same Mr. Hawthorne? Mr. Cal Hawthorne?”
“Yes, dear.” He seemed mildly entertained by my confusion. “And it would please me immensely to have him acquainted with my daughter.”
Did Father seriously want me to become interested in Mr. Hawthorne?
Well, I didn’t need any help in that regard. I was already too interested, in too many ways, despite knowing better.
Enchanting Nicholette Page 6
