What would Caine see when he looked at her? She dismissed the thought instantly, annoyed that it had crept unbidden into her mind. She had learned to live her life never caring what others thought. What mattered was how she felt about herself. Each day she grew stronger, more content within herself. The brief encounter with her mother had painfully brought back all their differences, all the old insecurities. But it was too late for Diana to destroy Ivy’s self-confidence now. She might slip and stumble, but she wouldn’t fall.
She forced herself to think of happier things. Tonight was Aunt Tru’s birthday party. A time of joy and celebration. At least for tonight, she felt beautiful.
Taking a small, wrapped package from the drawer, Ivy slipped it behind her back and made her way downstairs.
In the doorway to the music room, she paused and studied the assembled guests.
Gertrude St. Martin was wearing a gown of deep rose watered silk, with a high neckline and long, tapered sleeves. At her throat twinkled a necklace of enormous diamonds, surrounded by rubies. In her earlobes were matching diamond and ruby earrings.
Standing at her side, Caine wore a black dinner jacket with a starched white shirt. His formal attire was such a dramatic change from his usual casual look, Ivy found herself staring.
Darren St. Martin and David Tisdale, both in formal tuxedos, were deep in conversation in the corner of the room. At her arrival, they looked up. David said something to Darren and began walking toward Ivy.
Standing in front of the fireplace, studying the picture that hung over the mantel, Diana was wearing a blue velvet cocktail suit. Her hair had been swept back dramatically, revealing small sapphire earrings.
Caine’s head came up sharply, as if sensing Ivy’s presence even before she approached.
“You prefer red wine,” he murmured, handing her a crystal tulip glass.
“Thank you.”
As she accepted it, their fingers touched. Caine glanced down into her face, loving the way she colored at his simple touch.
“I knew you’d be the most beautiful woman in the room.”
Uncomfortable with his easy compliment, she changed the subject. “You look as if you’d been born to wear formal clothes.”
“Not at all. But after Darren and I came here to live, Trudy insisted on it for every important occasion. Maybe that’s why I wear jeans and old sweaters whenever possible.”
“Hello, Ivy. Your presence here has just made this party much more interesting.” David hurried to her side and caught her hand.
“Thank you, David. Where’s your grandfather?”
He pointed. “Probably regaling the guests with stories about his youth. To hear him, he and Miss St. Martin were involved in more pranks than two dozen children.”
At that moment, Gertrude looked up. “Ivy. Come here, child, and let me look at you.”
Ivy walked to the sofa to stand before a beaming Gertrude.
“Oh, my dear. You’re lovely. You do this company proud.”
“Thank you, Aunt Tru. Happy birthday.” Pulling her hand from behind her back, she handed the old woman a package.
As eager as a child, Gertrude tore the paper from the package to reveal a small portrait.
For long moments the old woman stared at the face in the portrait, then looked up. Through a mist of tears, she asked, “How did you know what I looked like as a young girl?”
“I asked Chester to send me a picture from your album. I thought you wouldn’t mind if I borrowed it for a few weeks.” She handed Gertrude an envelope containing the faded photograph.
Ivy was aware that Caine had stiffened beside her. Now he stared openly, as if really seeing her for the first time.
Relief flooded through him. So this was the conspiracy. Chester had stolen a photograph from Gertrude’s album for a birthday portrait. He released his breath in a long sigh.
“Oh, Ivy, my dear. That was one of my favorites. And that dress. I still remember how beautiful I felt in it. You’ve captured everything; the sunlight on my hair, the delicate lace at my throat, the dreamy look in my eyes. How I’ll treasure this. Thank you.” She stood and pressed trembling lips to the young woman’s cheek.
“I’m so glad you like it.”
“I love it.”
Turning, Gertrude motioned for the butler to place the picture on an end table for everyone to admire. The guests gathered around. While they were all too busy to take notice, Gertrude slipped from the room. A few minutes later she returned, holding a small leather case.
“I have the perfect accent for that dress, Ivy,” she muttered, opening the case. “Caine, will you help me with this clasp?”
A gasp escaped Diana’s lips as Gertrude held up a dazzling antique necklace of diamonds surrounding an enormous emerald.
“With your eyes and that dress, this will be stunning,” the old woman said, as Caine slipped the necklace around Ivy’s neck.
The touch of his cool fingertips sent little flames skittering along her skin. When he had secured the clasp, he allowed his touch to linger a fraction.
“Oh, yes. Perfect,” Gertrude murmured, nodding approval. “What do you think, Caine?”
“Not even your emeralds do her justice, Trudy,” he muttered, staring deeply in Ivy’s eyes before turning away.
The old woman stared after him thoughtfully.
“I approve,” Diana said, walking up to her daughter. “With a bit more makeup and a little more poise, you could probably be a model.”
“I already have a career, Mother. I’m an artist, remember?”
“Art?” She nodded toward the landscape over the mantel. “You mean precious scenes from your childhood? Or copies of old photos? I doubt there’s much market for such mundane things.”
Ivy bit back the remark that sprang to her lips and walked away. The chasm between them widened. Soon there would be no crossing it.
Chester was kept busy answering the door and announcing guests. In her eighty years, Gertrude St. Martin had obviously made many friends. The guests reflected both her childhood here in the country, and her travels to New York and abroad. Their ages spanned nearly a century.
One maid did nothing but accept wraps as the guests arrived, and show the ladies to the powder room. In the music room, two maids circulated with trays, dispensing drinks and accepting empty glasses. A bartender, hired for the evening, mixed drinks in the corner of the room where a bar had been set up.
In the dining room, a buffet dinner had been arranged, with seating at round tables for ten in the adjoining glassed-in atrium.
During dinner, a small group of musicians assembled in the music room for late-night dancing.
Caine, Ivy noticed, stayed close to his aunt during the festivities.
“Sit with us, Ivy,” David offered, holding a chair. Accepting his invitation, Ivy sat down beside Jacob Tisdale.
“I was just telling my grandson and the others about the time Gertrude and I were coming up on the train from New York City,” Jacob said to Ivy. “She was about seventeen and attending a prissy little boarding school at the time, and I considered myself a man of the world since I was in law school.”
“I was sixteen,” Gertrude corrected. “And you were embarrassed to have any of your friends see me with you.” To Ivy she added, “They all teased Jacob about having to baby-sit me every time we both came up from the city for a weekend.”
The old man’s eyes glinted with humor. “The headmistress of her school usually would make sure that her students had a luncheon packed for the ride home. Gertrude was always such a rebel. One time, Gertrude actually went up and down the aisles of the train selling her food just to see how much she could earn.”
“Of course,” the old woman added, “Jacob was mortified. He said that if anyone we knew spotted me selling my lunch, the rumor would start that my father had lost his fortune and would spread like wildfire all through the countryside.”
“Why did you sell your lunch, Aunt Tru?”
“Just to see if I could do it. I’d always admired the clerks in the stores for their independence. When I told Father that I wanted to work, he threw a fit. No woman in the St. Martin family would ever do such a thing, he insisted.”
“So of course, you can guess what Gertrude did.”
Ivy felt a kinship with the old woman, recalling some of the ways in which her own rebellion manifested itself. “You got a job?”
The old woman chuckled. “Sort of. It’s odd that you should have mentioned modeling earlier, Diana. A fashion designer in New York spotted me when I was in buying a spring wardrobe, in my final year of high school. He asked me if I would be willing to wear some of his formal gowns at a charity benefit. I was so flattered.”
“You said ‘sort of,’ Aunt Tru. What happened?”
Gertrude’s eyes lit with the memory. “Nearly all of society was at the event. I glided out on the runway in a wicked gown of sheer ivory crepe. To accentuate the risque dress, someone had thrust an elegant gold cigarette holder in my hand. To make things worse, I had forgotten to put on a slip, and in the bright lights you could see my legs clearly through the fabric. And it was just my luck that my father was in the crowd.”
Darren looked puzzled. “What’s wrong with a cigarette holder, for heaven’s sake? And what could possibly be so terrible about seeing your legs?”
“In those days? Everything. A student in high school didn’t openly smoke, or even look as if she did. And a lady always wore a heavy cotton petticoat beneath her dresses.” She turned to a laughing Jacob. “You were there, too, to witness my humiliation. My father felt disgraced. He charged backstage like a wounded bull and threatened to haul me outside in my robe if I didn’t dress immediately and go home with him.”
To the others, Jacob said, “Of course, that only whetted Gertrude’s appetite for even wilder escapades.”
“Like what?” Ivy coaxed.
“In her first year of college, she dropped out of school to work for a young senator.”
Ivy turned in time to see the look on the older woman’s face. Though she hadn’t moved, her expression was slightly altered. She seemed to be hardly daring to breathe.
“Do you remember, Gertrude?” Jacob asked.
His hostess nodded her head.
“He was the most exciting politician to come along in years. He had it all. A Harvard education, a moneyed family. He was single, handsome, charming. Everyone said it would be only a matter of time until he was president.”
“What happened then, Aunt Tru?”
Gertude blinked, then turned to Jacob. Her voice had grown very soft. “It’s your story. I’ll let you finish it.”
“When her father got wind of what had happened, he raced down to New York City to pick up his daughter and take her home.” To Gertrude he muttered, “I’m sure he managed to shake some sense into that pretty head of yours.” Jacob chuckled and turned to the others at the table. “Like a good girl, she dropped out of sight. The next I heard, she was off to a university in Europe. Four years later, she returned to dazzle our rather dowdy society. Gertrude St. Martin was the most beautiful, most sought-after young woman in the state of New York.” His voice lowered. “I know she stole my heart. And I was never the same.”
“Oh you.” With misty eyes, Gertrude placed a hand over Jacob’s. “You always did know how to flatter.”
“It’s the truth, and you know it. I would have married you in a flash, if you had only said the word.”
For a moment Gertrude grew solemn. “Jacob, you were always so ambitious, I’m afraid I thought you were more in love with my inheritance than with me.”
He glanced down, suddenly uncomfortable. “Perhaps when I was a callow youth. I’ve always valued wealth and its trappings. But when I matured, I yearned to have you say yes to my proposals.”
“And have all your friends teasing you for the rest of your life about baby-sitting me?”
He joined in her laughter. “All those so-called friends of mine pursued you for years. I’ve always wondered, Gertrude, if anyone ever tempted you to give up your independence for love.”
She was silent for long moments. Finally meeting his eyes, she said softly, “Allow an old woman a few secrets, Jacob.”
“What happened to the senator?” Ivy asked. “Did he become president?”
“He died tragically,” Jacob answered. “I believe a horse threw him. Do you recall, Gertrude?”
The old woman nodded her head. “He was riding in Central Park. They say he often went on lonely, brooding rides in the late afternoon. After the riderless horse returned to the stable, someone was dispatched to find the senator. He—” her voice wavered “—had broken his neck. He was dead before he arrived at the hospital.”
Sensing her mood, Caine stood and caught her hand. “The musicians have started in the other room, Aunt Trudy. May I have the first dance?”
She gave him a grateful smile and took his arm. As they walked away, Jacob said, “She’s still the finest-looking woman I’ve ever met.”
He turned to Ivy. “Will you do me the honor, young lady?”
She smiled. “Thank you, Judge Tisdale. I’d love to.”
Taking the old man’s arm, Ivy walked to the music room and danced a slow, graceful waltz. When the song ended, they stopped to applaud the musicians.
“You’re a very good dancer, Ivy. Most young people don’t know how to move to slow music.” Jacob turned to Gertrude. “But this lady is the best. Come on, Gertude. You owe me a birthday dance.”
As the two old people moved away, Caine opened his arms. “Want to give it a try?”
She accepted his offer and stepped into his arms. With her hand lightly touching his shoulder, she felt a sudden thrill as his arm encircled her waist.
“You won’t be as good a dancer as Judge Tisdale. But then, he’s had years of practice.”
“What I lack in skill, I’ll make up for in other ways. For instance, can the good judge do this?” Caine ran a fingertip along the exposed skin of her back, and felt the shiver she tried to control. “Or this?” He bent his head, brushing his lips with feather-light strokes across her temple.
He could feel her pulse beat race at his touch.
She fought to keep her tone light. “Stick to your dancing, Caine.”
“I am.” He drew her firmly against him and moved to the music. As his lips pressed into a tangle of hair, she became achingly aware of the body that was imprinting itself on hers. She wished the music would go on forever.
“May I cut in?”
At the familiar deep voice, Ivy looked up into laughing blue eyes, the bluest eyes she had ever seen. The man, in his early forties, was tall, nearly as tall as Caine, with dark hair cut razor-short. His dinner jacket was beautifully tailored to fit his trim figure.
“Emery! Oh, what a wonderful surprise!” Ivy flew into his arms and kissed him warmly.
Caine stood stiffly beside her, his eyes narrowing at the easy familiarity between Ivy and the man.
“I had no idea you knew Aunt Tru.”
“Aunt Tru, is it? I’ve known Miss St. Martin for years. She’s bought several very good paintings from me.”
“Emery, this is Caine St. Martin, Gertrude’s nephew. Emery Norton owns the Norton Gallery, where I had my exhibit.”
The two men shook hands, each taking the measure of the other.
“Hello, Caine. I believe you bought one of Ivy’s paintings during the exhibit. You dealt with my assistant, Laura.”
“That’s right. Nice to meet you, Emery.”
Ivy tucked her arm through Emery’s. “If you had told me you were driving up from New York, I could have come up with you instead of on my bike.”
“You rode that disgusting vehicle all this way? Now I know you’re as crazy as all the other artists I deal with.” He gave Caine a mock-pained expression. “You have no idea what it’s like, working with all these offbeat characters. Not one of them is completely normal.”
“I’v
e noticed,” Caine said, meeting Ivy’s grin. Emery dropped an intimate kiss on the top of her head. “If you can find some way to ship that bike home, you’re welcome to drive back with me tonight.”
“It’s tempting.” Her eyes danced. “But I think I’ll just go home the same way I came here. On my trusty motorcycle.”
Emery’s arm encircled her waist. “Come on. You still owe me a dance.”
As they twirled away, Ivy saw Caine turn toward the doorway. She couldn’t see the flare of his nostrils, or the brooding look on his face. But the memory of his touch lingered.
* * *
The guests continued to arrive until the crowd swelled to over one hundred. Ivy’s feet began to feel as if she had danced with every man at the party. As she took a break from the dancing and sipped a glass of wine, Darren caught her arm. Beside him stood a lovely young woman, with long, curly blond hair and lively hazel eyes. Her blue strapless gown displayed a luscious figure.
“This is Sara Davis.”
Ivy smiled. “Hello, Sara. A friend of Aunt Tru?”
“Yes. I worked here during college to pay for my tuition.”
“What do you do now?”
“I’m teaching at the local elementary school. Miss St. Martin has followed my progress since those years I worked here. I was delighted to be invited to her party.”
How like Aunt Tru, Ivy thought.
Family Secrets: A Classic Romance Page 8
