“Julian has finally come into his own,” I said. “I always believed he would.”
“Success has been wonderful for him,” Delia confided. “He’s become an entirely different person, so confident, so self-assured. He loves the attention and the acclaim. He loves being recognized as an authority, loves giving lectures, signing copies of his book. You’re right, child—he has come into his own, and he’s happier than I’ve ever seen him.”
“Was—was Julian in the audience last night?”
Delia shook her head. “He’s in New York at the moment. One of the major publishing houses up there wants him to do another book, and they’re negotiating. Once they agree on terms, he plans to vacation in Europe. He—he has a companion,” she added hesitantly.
“Amelia Jameson,” I said.
Delia looked surprised. “You know about her?”
“One hears these things,” I replied. “I met her once. She is a very beautiful woman.”
“She’s very good for him, too,” Delia admitted. “A man in Julian’s circle can’t afford to—to take the wrong wife, but he can take all the mistresses he pleases.”
“I’m glad he has her,” I said.
We both had more tea then and sampled the sandwiches and cakes, and I told her about life in the theater and all the friends I had made. Delia seemed to be fascinated. I answered all her questions and told her colorful anecdotes, all the while longing to ask her about Charles. I didn’t. I couldn’t. I had too much pride. Delia finished another petit four, glanced at the clock and said that she really mustn’t keep me too long, I must have ever so many things to do.
“Nothing more important than talking to you,” I said. “It—it truly is wonderful to see you, Delia. I thought of you so often. I wanted to write to you, but—”
“I understand, my dear.”
“I happened to drive by Etienne’s yesterday,” I said, my voice extremely casual. “I was glad to see that it’s been restored. It—it didn’t look too busy.”
“It’s been closed,” Delia told me. “As late as last week it looked as though we might even lose it.”
“Lose Etienne’s?” I was startled. “I thought—I understood Julian made quite—quite a lot of money with his book and was able to replenish the family coffers.”
“He did, dear. Charles was able to restore Etienne’s and get it back on its feet, and there was even some money left over. Things looked rosy indeed, and then there was that dreadful hailstorm—perhaps you read about it in the papers. Charles had purchased the crops of three plantations before they were picked. I’m hazy about the details—much too complicated—but it seems that by buying the cotton in advance, he wouldn’t have to bid for it at auction and would make a much bigger profit.”
“And the hailstorm destroyed the crops,” I said.
Delia nodded, idly running her palm over the soft nap of her mauve velvet skirt. “We were almost wiped out. Julian has been traveling, and he doesn’t know how dire the situation is. If things don’t work out, we’ll have to sell the house as well as the store, but Charles seems to have found the perfect solution.”
“Oh?”
“Regina Belleau. Her father died last year. She’s become an immensely wealthy heiress, and her mother would like nothing better than to see her marry into a family like the Etiennes. The Belleaus were never quite top drawer, you understand.”
I remembered Regina Belleau quite distinctly. She was the haughty blonde I had encountered at Corinne’s when I was being fitted for my first ball gown. She and her friend Bertha, the fat brunette, had come into the fitting room as I was changing behind the screen, had made vicious comments about me and Julian and had gone on to discuss their many sexual conquests. Regina was a tramp, but she belonged, and now she was very wealthy. The perfect solution indeed, I thought bitterly.
“Charles has been courting her for some time,” Delia continued. “Regina is rather fast and, truth to tell, not to my taste, but she’s lovely and vivacious and I’ve no doubt Charles will be able to keep her in line. He proposed to her last Tuesday. She accepted. They’re to be married in September.”
They deserve each other, I thought.
“I hope they’ll be very happy,” I said.
Delia sighed, her eyes doubtful. “Regina may surprise us all and make a good wife,” she said. “At any rate the Etienne coffers will be full again. Full to overflowing,” she added. “I suppose it’s for the best.”
I said nothing. Delia touched her soft cloud of silver hair and glanced at the clock. She rose then, soft mauve velvet rustling. I stood, too, feeling sad, feeling lost, feeling lonely.
“What about you, dear?” Delia asked. “Is there someone special in your life?”
“There—there is,” I replied, “but things aren’t—aren’t going too well at the moment. I don’t seem to have a great deal of luck with men.”
Delia took my hand and squeezed it gently. “The course of love never did run smooth,” she said. “I hope things work out for you, child. You’ve had enormous success. I hope you have happiness as well.”
“Thank you, Delia.”
“I really must go now, my dear. Jasper is waiting out front with the carriage. I—before I go, I want you to know you will always have a place in my heart.”
Tears stung my eyes again. “And you in mine,” I said.
We hugged each other once more, and I escorted Delia out to the carriage, waving as it drove away. My heart was heavy as I went up to my suite. I managed to get through the rest of the afternoon without breaking down, counting the minutes until it was time to leave for the theater. Jason didn’t come down to fetch me. I rode to the theater with Ollie and Bart and Theodore, and I only caught brief glimpses of Jason backstage that evening. He was avoiding me. It was just as well. He continued to avoid me throughout the week, curt and cool when it was necessary for us to speak. I carried on, telling myself it didn’t matter, telling myself I didn’t need him, but each day seemed interminable, and each night was agony. I had promised myself I would never again suffer as I had suffered over Charles, had promised myself I would never again allow myself to care that much. I suffered. I cared. I had only myself to blame.
Robert Courtland was a great comfort. I saw him several times, and he was charming and attentive and, sensing my unhappiness, quietly supportive, letting me know without words that he understood, that he would be there for me should I need him. Laura and Corey and the rest of the cast were supportive as well. They couldn’t help but be aware of the tension backstage, and, of course, they all knew the reasons for it. Corey took me to the small, charmingly furnished house she and Adam shared and cooked lunch for me and told me men were no damn good. Ollie clucked over me and patted my hand. Bartholomew brought Theodore to my dressing room to perform a new trick. I was blessed indeed to have such friends and I adored them all, but their kindness and concern only made things worse as I had to put on a brave front, pretend it didn’t matter. When closing night finally arrived, I was relieved, eager to be done with it.
Laura arrived in my suite to accompany me to the theater. She looked radiant in deep sapphire-blue, raven locks tumbling to her shoulders in rich profusion. We left the hotel and climbed into the waiting carriage, and she gave a weary sigh as the carriage pulled away. I sat silently, gazing out the window at the thickening twilight. Laura adjusted her skirts, restless. I could see there was something she wanted to tell me.
“Have you and Michael decided what you’re going to do during the summer?” I asked, giving her an opening.
“More or less,” she replied. “I think I’ve lost my mind, love. I’m going to Texas. I’ll probably be scalped, but Michael insists we go—he wouldn’t take no for an answer. What’s a girl to do?”
“How will you get there?”
“We take a steamboat upriver to Vicksburg, then travel by rail across to Shreveport—it’s a small cotton port on the Red River, Michael tells me. At Shreveport we board a coach that’ll take u
s on into Texas and to the ranch.”
“Ranch?”
“His parents’ ranch.”
“I didn’t know he had parents.”
“Neither did I, love, but he does and he wants me to meet them. Apparently they own a huge spread of land with hundreds of cows and lots of rugged men working for them. The men round up the cows and brand them and stuff and carry six-shooters in case Comanches attack or the Mexican army gets too uppity. Actually, they’re worth a bundle, love, and Michael’s their only son and heir. He assures me they’ll find me as adorable as he does.”
“Somehow I can’t see you on a ranch, Laura.”
“Neither can I, love. Wide open spaces give me the jitters, but we won’t be staying all summer—just long enough to get his parents’ blessing and tie the knot. That’s what they do in Texas, tie the knot. It sounds terribly final.”
“You—you’re getting married?”
“I never thought it would happen,” she confessed. “A girl like me, tied to one man, but when the man’s Michael—”
“Laura, I—I’m so happy for you.”
“I’m rather happy myself, love. Scared to death, too, of course, but—I really don’t think I could do much better than Michael. I love him, Dana.”
“I—I know you do. I’ve known it for some time.”
“He had to do some serious arm twisting, but I finally decided—why not? I told him there was no way I would live on a ranch surrounded by bloodthirsty Comanches, and he quite agreed. We’ll go right on acting. He’s looking forward to playing Lord Byron, and of course, I have signed to play Augusta Leigh, Byron’s half sister. I—I trust you’ll still be playing Caroline, love.”
“I—I don’t know, Laura.”
“You and Jason still haven’t patched—”
“We haven’t patched things up,” I said dryly.
“I could kick him,” she said. “He’s always been bossy and unreasonable and stubborn as a mule, but—”
I stiffened and, realizing I didn’t care to discuss it, Laura cut herself short. The carriage let us out in front of the stage door, and we went on into the theater. Laura looked bothered. I smiled and gave her a hug and told her again how happy I was for her.
“I—I feel guilty as hell, being so deliriously happy when you’re so upset, but—”
“Seeing you happy makes me feel much better, darling. Michael is a very lucky man. You’re lucky, too.”
“Don’t I know it,” she said.
“I must get you something very special for a wedding present. Perhaps we can go shopping tomorrow morning. I—it’s late, I suppose I’d better get to my dressing room. We—we’ll talk after the show, darling.”
The performance went very well indeed. Corey was magnificent, as usual, and Billy was brilliant, outdoing himself as the tormented Travis. Tall and ruggedly handsome, Michael was superlative in his one scene, giving his all as he brutally rejected me and knocked me to the floor. Painfully, I climbed to my feet and rubbed my cheek, tears flowing beautifully. I stepped over to the dressing table in my sumptuous white silk gown with its overlay of white tulle, narrow gold stripes glimmering. The diamonds sparkled at my throat. I began to repair damages and Corey entered and we said our final lines. The curtain came down. There was thunderous applause. There were cheers and loud bravos. We took our curtain calls. They seemed to go on forever, and when the curtain came down for the final time, I nodded to my fellow cast members and went wearily to my dressing room, carrying one of the many bouquets I had received.
Distracted, I stepped inside and closed the door, setting the white roses aside. I sensed a presence. I looked up. Jason stood, lean and handsome in evening attire. My heart skipped a beat. My wrists and knees felt suddenly weak. I stared at him, momentarily unable to speak.
“I’ve been waiting for you,” he said.
His voice was quiet, not curt. His manner was polite, not icy. His gray-green eyes gazed at me without emotion, though, and I felt there was an invisible wall between us. How I longed to shatter it. How I longed to end this coldness between us. I couldn’t. I had my pride, and I was every bit as stubborn as he. Love him I might, but I wouldn’t allow him to bully me, and if after all this time he couldn’t trust me, thought me disloyal, there could be no future for us.
“I’m very tired, Jason.”
“I’m leaving for Atlanta tomorrow afternoon,” he said. “I want you to come with me.”
“I’m sorry.”
“I have the contract here. I want you to sign it.”
“I shan’t sign it, Jason. Not now.”
“I think we should discuss it.”
“We’ve already discussed it.” My voice was cool. “If you’ll excuse me, I have an engagement tonight. I need to change.”
“Courtland? You’re going out with Courtland again?”
“Yes,” I lied. Why did I lie?
“I see,” he said.
I stepped over to the dressing table and removed the diamond necklace, and the gems shimmered and flashed as I put it down. Jason watched, his eyes hard and resentful now.
“You’re keeping the necklace?”
“I’m keeping the necklace,” I said. “He’s giving me a bracelet and earrings to match.”
“I see,” he said again. “He can give you diamonds. I can’t. I wanted to give you the world. I love you, but I’ll get over it. Yes, by God, I’ll get over it.”
“Jason—”
“I wrote Lady Caroline for you, Dana, but you are not the only actress in the world. If—if you don’t sign the contract now, if you don’t come to Atlanta with me—”
He cut himself short. I gazed at him coolly.
“You’re giving me an ultimatum?”
“I’m giving you an ultimatum,” he retorted.
“Go to hell, Jason.”
He looked at me for a moment and then stepped over to the door and opened it. He gripped the knob tightly, standing there in the doorway, his eyes holding mine. It’s true, I thought, a heart that has been broken before can break again.
“I guess that’s it, then,” he said.
“I guess it is,” I whispered.
“Good-bye, Dana.”
He stepped outside and closed the door behind him. Oh yes, it was true. It was happening. My heart was breaking all over again.
Chapter Twenty-One
A CLEAR BLUE-WHITE SKY arched overhead like a translucent silk canopy, and dazzling silver sunlight streamed down in rich profusion as I strolled through the terraced gardens down toward the river walk. The air was fresh and invigorating, scented with the fragrance of hundreds of blooms, and a mild breeze caused light skeins of hair to blow against my cheek, caused my gold and cream striped skirt to billow gently. It was a glorious day, pleasantly warm but not as warm as it usually was in mid-August, Maudie assured me. Sometimes it was so hot a soul just felt like meltin’ away, but this summer had been right cool for Natchez. I paused, brushing the hair from my cheek, admiring anew the beauty of the gardens. They had been laid out with great care and at great expense by a professional landscape architect from England, but while elaborate, the overall effect was one of charming simplicity, graceful walks leading through flower beds and under white wicker trellis arches, white marble steps leading from level to level.
Turning around, I looked back toward the house. Surrounded by cool green lawn shaded by the wide-spread boughs of lofty oaks, Belle Mead was incredibly beautiful with its pale tan brick walls, its tall white columns and graceful verandahs. It had clean, simple lines, with none of the fancy architectural furbelows that marred so many of the large houses. Gracious, elegant, it stood in the afternoon sunlight with quiet majesty, the loveliest house I had ever seen. The two and a half months I had spent here had been restful indeed, Robert’s excellent staff of servants taking care of me as though I were a treasured daughter. Long, lazy, serene days followed one after another, no noise, no people, no pressure. Although Belle Mead had a large library, parcels of new
books had arrived in the mail each week, mostly novels from England and France, forwarded by the bookstore in Atlanta where Robert had placed a standing order. How considerate he was. How thoughtful. I eagerly looked forward to seeing him again when he returned from his most recent business trip.
Moving on beneath one of the trellis arches festooned with fragrant yellow summer roses, I followed the walk past beds seemingly overgrown with multicolored blooms of varying heights, like Anne Hathaway’s garden, I had learned from studying notes the Englishman had made. The flower beds were deliberately rather shaggy, and the shrubs were allowed to retain their natural shapes instead of being clipped into neat uniformity. A shoulder-high row of shrubs bordered the lowest level of gardens, a gateway leading to the river walk beyond. I opened the gate and strolled leisurely along the walk to the octagon-shaped white gazebo where I spent so much of my time. There were seats with plump pink cushions around each side, and lazing there one could look over honeysuckle-draped railings and see the grassy green slope of the levee and the mighty river beyond, a silvery brown this afternoon, ashimmer with sunlight. A large cotton barge and two fishing boats were passing by as I sank onto one of the cushioned seats and picked up the novel I had left there earlier in the day.
Bees buzzed quietly in the honeysuckle, and the light breeze caused leaves to rustle. It was cool and shady here in the gazebo, though idle rays of sunlight slanted across the railing and made flickering patterns on the floor. I could hear the muted rush of the river and the distant hoot of a horn. I dutifully turned the pages of the book, but the travails of Balzac’s amorous and amoral comtesses held no interest for me this afternoon. I was tired of reading, and, although I was loath to admit it, I was tired of peace and quiet as well. Putting the book aside, I stood up and gazed at the river, thinking of the past weeks.
True to his word, Robert had spent very little time at Belle Mead this summer: three days in June, four days in July, a weekend early this month. During these brief visits, he had been utterly circumspect, treating me with courtesy, respect and unfailing kindness. A proper gentleman at all times, he was nevertheless unable to keep his feelings for me completely hidden. Several times as we lingered over the dinner table or sat on the verandah, watching the sunset, I had seen the adoration in his eyes. He had taken my hand several times and had squeezed my arm one evening as he told me good night at my bedroom door, but he had made no move that could even remotely be called forward.
They Call Her Dana Page 54
