Destiny's Bride

by Jane Peart

  "Papa! Papa! You're home!"

  As usual, Bondurant had returned with no warning. I couldn't imagine why I found the idea so unsettling.

  I left the children alone with him and went upstairs to put myself to rights. Since their father had been away so long, they were allowed to stay up long past the usual time for their bath and bedtime. When it was nearly dark, the days still long in this Indian summer, I went down to suggest that perhaps it was time for them to have some supper and get ready for bed.

  I was always amazed at how Bondurant's usual stern expression softened whenever he spoke to his daughters and how affectionately they put their arms around his neck and kissed him good-night. Their relationship was something rare and quite beautiful to see. It did, however, beg still unanswered questions about their mother.

  The children were overstimulated by Randall's return, and it took Matty and me longer than usual to get them through their nightly routine. I stayed with them to hear their prayers and sat beside them, singing to them all their favorite hymns until at last they fell asleep.

  When I eased out of their bedroom into the hall and quietly closed the door, I was startled to see Randall in the shadows, leaning against the balustrade.

  "Oh, sir!" I gasped.

  "Sorry, I didn't mean to frighten you," he said, stepping forward. His features, mellow by the light of the lamp kept burning on the hall table, were sharply defined, and I could not help thinking again how handsome he was. If I had not known better, I might have even suspected that the brilliance of his dark eyes was from tears.

  His voice was husky when he spoke.

  "I came up to say good-night again. I didn't mean to eavesdrop, but I couldn't help overhearing them repeating the prayers you were teaching them. I stayed to listen . . . and to the singing—" He paused, and I held my breath. "You have a very pleasant voice, Miss Montrose."

  "Thank you," I murmured, grateful that the dim light hid my blush.

  "About the prayers—" He cleared his throat, and I felt a tautening in my stomach. Perhaps Randall was an agnostic. Perhaps he did not approve of my teaching the children to pray. Perhaps that was the explanation for their spiritual ignorance when I came here. I felt my hands grow clammy, and clenched them together tightly.

  "My mother taught me those same prayers . . . when I was a child—" His voice thickened. "I'm afraid I was quite a disappointment to her."

  He paused, then said, "But we cannot relive the past, undo our mistakes, can we? A rhetorical question I suppose you are too young to answer, Miss Montrose." He gave a short, derisive laugh. "Furthermore, I've been remiss in my daughters' religious training, but I see you are taking up the slack."

  He turned as if to leave, then hesitated before adding, "I am grateful, Miss Montrose. You have brought something very . . . special to this house."

  I stood there long after Randall's figure had disappeared down the stairway. My heart was pounding, his words echoing and re-echoing in my ears. For a brief instant I had seen a side of Randall Bondurant that I had not even guessed existed.

  Entirely unsummoned, the thought came into mind as if I had heard it spoken: This is a man I could love.

  Even as it flashed into my mind, I rejected it. It was completely irrational. Randall was still mourning his wife. Our personalities, our positions in life were worlds apart. He was my employer; I, the governess of his children.

  I walked back to my rooms, strangely moved by what had just transpired. Intuitively, I knew my relationship with Randall Bondurant had undergone a subtle change—the potential of which was dangerous.

  I felt weak and vulnerable. Falling under the spell of this enigmatic man would be opening myself up to pain and disappointment. It would be risking heartbreak.

  Mama was right! I should never have taken this position!

  chapter

  9

  AFTER THAT MOMENT of rare intimacy between us in the shadowy hallway, Randall and I returned to our former, rather formal relationship.

  I made it a point never to be too often alone with him, nor to seek trivial excuses to consult with him. He continued to stop by the schoolroom in the mornings before he left for the day to inquire about the girls' progress with their lessons, and when he was at home, he spent an hour or so in the late afternoon with them before supper and bedtime. Bondurant himself either dined alone or more often went out for the evening. Frequently when I found it difficult to sleep, I heard his carriage wheels crunching on the shell drive below my windows late at night. Where and with whom he spent his long evenings I could only guess.

  My routine with the children took on a pleasant pattern—lessons in the mornings, lunch, and afternoons spent in all sorts of varied pursuits. I combined outings with botany or French, trying always to make a game of whatever I was teaching. Both girls were quick, and learned as fast as I could teach. It was an enjoyable, if uneventful, way to pass the days.

  One such afternoon we had started back to the house, when Nora gave me an impulsive hug. "Oh, Drucie, we never had such fun until you came!"

  Lally quickly followed suit. "We love you, Drucie!"

  "And I love you!"

  Laughing and talking, we entered the house, only to be halted by the sound of loud, angry voices coming from the open library door. One was unmistakably Randall's. A violent quarrel seemed to be taking place.

  Before I could think fast enough to remove the girls from the scene, we heard Randall's angry demand: "How dare you come here making such accusations?"

  "I came because I have good reason to hold you responsible for Alair's death!"

  "Get out of here! Get out of my house!" Randall ordered.

  The children clutched my skirt, and I put trembling hands on their shoulders, drawing them close. We froze, not daring to pass the open door to reach the safety of the stairs. I thought of running back outside, but I could not move.

  "Your house!" came the mocking taunt. "You mean the Montrose house you swindled away from the rightful owners, don't you? Why else do you think Alair agreed to marry you? To get back the property that belonged to her family, that's why! She didn't love you. She never loved you. It was me she loved!"

  "Why you blackguard—" Randall shouted.

  Then came the sound of scuffling, cries, grunts, the crash of breaking china, an overturned chair.

  Frightened, I backed up against the wall, pulling the girls with me. They buried their heads in my skirt, and I could feel them shivering. Dear God, I prayed, help us all.

  Suddenly we heard the thud of a body hitting the door, and I saw a man's back as Randall lunged toward him and gripped his shoulders.

  The look on Bondurant's face was terrible to see. His eyes were wild, his expression savage. He grabbed the stranger and threw him against the door again, the crack of the man's head sounding like the sharp report of a gun.

  Stunned by the blow, the man slumped forward, and Randall grasped him by the coat lapels and thrust him out into the hall.

  "Now, get out of here! And if you ever set foot on this property again, I swear I'll kill you!"

  The man stumbled and put out his hand to steady himself as he took a few staggering steps. He rubbed the back of his head and, when he brought his hand away, there was blood on his fingertips.

  I managed to suppress the scream that rose in my throat. Too frightened to stir, all I could do was melt against the wall, clasping the children to me.

  It was then the man turned and, for one horrible moment, we stared at each other. His face was flushed, contorted with anger and pain, but there was something disturbingly familiar about him. His eyes moved from me to the little girls, who were peering at him from the safety of my skirt.

  He opened his mouth as if to speak, but at that instant Randall came to the library door, a towering figure of fury. "I told you to get out of here, Brett Tolliver!"

  "I'm going," the other man snarled. "But don't think you've heard the last of this! Don't think you can get away with murder!"

>   "Out!" Randall took two threatening steps forward.

  Tolliver backed toward the front door, which stood open, shaking a raised fist at Randall. "Mark my words, Bondurant. You'll pay for what you've done. If it takes my last breath, I'll see that you do!"

  I felt a deep shudder course through me. Still clinging to my legs through the layers of skirts and petticoats, the little girls began to cry. I could feel their small bodies shaking.

  In the wake of Tolliver's departure, an odd stillness hovered. Except for the children's soft sobs, there was not a sound. We stood as immovable as statues until the sound of galloping horses' hooves faded away.

  Then and only then did Randall become aware of us, huddled against the wall. A series of expressions crossed his face in quick succession—from the narrowed pinched look of hatred to a startled realization that we were witnesses to the dreadful scene, followed by consternation that the children had overheard everything.

  He paled until his hawk-like features seemed chiseled from granite. He ran one hand through his hair and shook his head as if to clear it.

  Then he spoke to me sharply. "Take the children upstairs." With that directive, he turned on his heel, went back into the library, and slammed the door behind him.

  The little girls stared up at me, bewildered.

  "Why was Papa so angry?" Nora asked piteously.

  "Who wath that bad man?" whispered Lally, her lisp more pronounced because of her fright.

  "Hush, hush, my darlings," I soothed. "I'm sure it has nothing to do with us. Perhaps your Papa will explain later. I think we should just try to forget it." I must think of something to erase that awful scene from their impressionable minds. "Come, let's do what Papa said. Let's go upstairs and ask Vinny to bring us some nice tea. I think Cora made some poppyseed cake this morning.... I'll play the piano . . . we can sing."

  I was talking as fast as the thoughts occurred to me, trusting I had enough influence with the children to make them believe everything was going to be all right, to help them forget the frightening adult anger to which they had been exposed.

  But although it was easier to distract the children than I had expected, for myself it was quite impossible.

  Brett Tolliver! Of course he did not recognize me. It had been almost ten years since he had seen me, and then I had been only a child.

  The last time I had laid eyes on him was at Alair's wedding. The garden had been in exquisite bloom. At one end, a bower had been erected as an improvised altar. The rest of the garden had been transformed for the reception by a striped tent over the bridal table, with floral garlands looped along the lace cloth and a tiered wedding cake in the center. A platform had been built, its floor sanded and polished for dancing, while a small orchestra played throughout the afternoon.

  I remember sitting with the aunties, eating cake and lemon sorbet and watching the dancers. How perfectly lovely Alair was that day, whirling in her white gown and crinoline petticoats, her golden hair glistening in the spring sunshine. I had heard the whispers, seen the raised eyebrows as, one after the other, she had danced with all her old beaux.

  Then Brett Tolliver had sauntered through the gathering and, ignoring the next young man in line, had taken Alair in his arms for the waltz just beginning.

  They looked wonderful together—the two blonds—both unbelievably beautiful as they circled, dipped, moved with absolute grace. They looked as if they had been born for this moment.

  Randall had finally intervened at a pause in the music and exchanged some words with Alair. Afterward, however, Brett and Alair continued their dancing, and Randall moved to the edge of the pavillion and stood stoically watching them.

  It was a story I had forgotten until now.

  Of course, after the terrible scene other memories came flooding back. I knew that Brett Tolliver and my cousin had been childhood sweethearts. Alair had confided in me once that they were "promised" to each other, that they had carved their names in hearts on the big elm tree in the meadow at Montclair.

  But Tolliver was no longer the Greek god of that long-ago wedding day. His burnished blond hair had thinned, and the slim, athletic build had thickened. His once-handsome face was mottled with anger and his speech seemed crude and vulgar.

  I realized that his accusation had been spoken in anger, frustration, and probably in unhealed grief, but what had Brett meant when he had said, "I hold you responsible for Alair's death" and "You can't get away with murder"?

  I shuddered, recalling the naked fury, the unbridled emotions I had observed in both men.

  Somehow the evening ended. I was exhausted with the effort of pretending a gaiety I didn't feel. At last I got the children into bed, said prayers, and kissed them good-night.

  Just as I was leaving their room, Vinny came up the stairs. "Mr. Bondurant... he want to see you, Miss Dru. He in the library."

  When I entered the library, Randall was sitting at his desk, his chin resting on his hand. He seemed deep in thought. With only one lamp burning, his classic profile was outlined against the green velvet draperies drawn on the window behind him.

  "You wanted to see me, sir?"

  He turned his head, frowning, as if trying to remember who I was. "Yes, Miss Montrose." When he spoke, it was crisply and decisively. "I've decided to close the house. I plan to go to Italy for the winter." He rose and began to pace while I absorbed this new information. "I want you to get the children ready, their clothes packed, whatever they need. We'll go to New York first, then get the first sailing date we can. I don't fancy an Atlantic crossing any later than October. So, make the necessary preparations at once."

  I was stunned by the suddenness of the decision, but I had learned not to question Randall Bondurant.

  "I think the girls will benefit from a milder climate," he remarked as if in explanation as I was leaving the room.

  A milder climate was hardly the reason for this abrupt move! Had Brett Tolliver's threats precipitated this decision? Or was Randall Bondurant escaping his own tortured past?

  chapter

  10

  EARLY THE NEXT WEEK, with Randall's permission, I prepared for a visit to Richmond to see Mama before leaving Virginia for the Continent. The children would be in good hands with Matty and Vinny, so I left on a Thursday, planning to return to Mayfield several days later. Randall had already made our train reservations to New York, where we would embark for Europe.

  I wondered how Mama would receive the news that I would be spending an indefinite period of time in Italy.

  "Oh, my darling girl!" she exclaimed when I told her, one delicate hand fluttering to her throat. "What an opportunity of a lifetime! I always longed to go to Italy myself. In fact, Lee—your father and I spoke of it many times. We dreamed of going there 'after the war.' But our dreams were destined not to come true. Now, our daughter will be able to live out the dream. I am so happy for you, dear, but—"

  "But what, Mama?"

  "—afraid for you, too. Perhaps I shouldn't say this, but it seems you are becoming more and more . . . involved with Bondurant and his children." She paused as if hesitant to go on.

  "But that's only natural, isn't it, Mama? Besides, the children need me so—"

  "I understand that . . . but to live in a foreign land . . . He has rented a house there, you say?" At my nod, she added, "For how long?"

  "That I don't know, Mama. Some American friends who winter there every year have found a villa on the outskirts of Rome."

  "Rome!" Again Mama exclaimed, "Imagine such a thing!"

  Her excitement was evident in the sparkle of her eyes, the delicate flush of her cheek, but I had no idea why she still harbored some reservations.

  "Randall-" At her lifted brow, I corrected myself, "Mr. Bondurant wants the girls to be exposed to all the arts—art and architecture, the language, the history—"

  "It would seem then that he would hire an Italian governess, wouldn't it?" Mama asked mildly.

  "But the girls are used to me, Ma
ma. They have become very fond of me. I think their father realizes that and believes as I do—that they must have some continuity in their lives."

  Mama made no reply, but continued to look thoughtful.

  Much of my visit was spent in looking over my wardrobe, deciding what would be suitable to take with me, what needed refurbishing or replacing. With my generous new salary, we were able to shop for fabrics, and Mama set about making me some new outfits.

  During the days of cutting out, fitting, and assembling my wardrobe, Mama and I spoke of many things. I did the basting of the garments while she concentrated on the fine sewing and finishing.

  One afternoon toward the end of my time in Richmond, I casually brought up the name of Brett Tolliver. I purposely omitted any mention of the frightful scene I had witnessed, in the hope of learning further details of his romance with Alair.

  "It's very sad, really," Mama nodded, looking up once or twice from her sewing. "He and Alair seemed meant for each other. They were so alike—handsome, fun-loving, adventuresome, and yes, impetuous. But no one could help loving them both." She sighed and stopped to thread her needle.

  "I don't know exactly what happened. When Clint failed at yet another business and Harmony's health began to deteriorate, I saw Alair change. As their only child I think she felt the burden of making life a little easier for her parents." Mama lifted the pleated skirt she was stitching, turned it, and began working on the other side.

  "I'm not sure just when and how she met Randall Bondurant. Alair was very popular, invited everywhere, to every home in Mayfield. But I think she met him at a social held at one of the old houses bought up by some of the . . . new people." Mama gave a little frown and pursed her lips, thinking, no doubt, of the Yankee invasion of the South after the war. Then she shrugged. "Anyway, the man pursued her persistently. The courtship was very short. I think Alair was dazzled by his wealth, his power to give her everything she had ever dreamed of, and to provide security for her parents as well."

  "Don't you think she loved him then?" I asked cautiously.