Unspoken

by Liz McMullen

  “Excuse me,” Desiree said as she extricated herself from the puppies vying for her attention. She walked a few feet away, relieved and disappointed at the interruption. “Desiree speaking.”

  “Good morning, it’s Mason Archer from the Orchard Inn.”

  Desiree’s eyes lit up, and her heart beat faster. “Good morning, sir,” she echoed the sentiment.

  Mason chuckled softly on the other end of the line. “No need to be so formal, though I appreciate your manners.”

  The compliment made her feel shy, but she hid it well. “It’s good to hear from you.”

  “You as well. Would you happen to have time to stop by? I know it is short notice, but it promises to be a quiet day.” Desiree was thankful to have an excuse to leave.

  As exhilarating as her encounter with Rowan was, it was unhealthy and a really bad idea. She needed to keep her focus on her studies and her future; a girlfriend was an unwanted complication. She’d seen more than one friend’s GPA take a nosedive after meeting the “woman of her dreams.” The woman of her dreams was herself, accomplished and out of reach from her controlling mother, and nothing was going to get in the way of that.

  “Actually yes, I’d be happy to. What time would you like me to stop by?”

  “It is eleven-thirty now, so you can come at your convenience. Just give me a ring when you are on your way so I can have tea ready.”

  “How considerate of you, but you don’t need to go to trouble on my account.” She had always appreciated gentlemanly manners, especially from what sounded to be a truly gracious host.

  “It’s no trouble at all. I look forward to meeting you.” His voice had a comforting cadence.

  “Same here. See you soon.”

  She caught Suzie’s eye and tilted her head in the direction of the gate. Suzie joined her.

  “What’s up? You want me to leave you alone with tall, dark, and handy?”

  Desiree rolled her eyes. Her bestie was truly something. She had good intentions, though, and Desiree appreciated that. Being compassionately cared for was new for her. A welcome change from her high-stakes upbringing. “Sorry to disappoint, but no. I just heard from the Orchard Inn. Mason would like me to stop by this afternoon.”

  “Oh, poo.” Suzie pouted her full, rouged lips. She was sexy and cute at the same time.

  “Foiled again, I see.” Jodeci seemed to share Rowan’s knack for stealth, sneaking up on them and making them both jump like kids caught reaching for the cookie jar.

  Desiree looked up at Jodeci. “Not you, too.”

  “’Fraid so. I thought you might like Rowan. You have the same major. Figured you could be…” Jodeci faked searching for the right words. “Buddies.”

  Desiree knew exactly what kind of buddy Jodeci meant, and that was so not happening. Sharing her body casually was not her style, and something told her that there was nothing casual about making love to Rowan. Making love? Great, just great. Another reason to steer clear.

  “I’m not a floozy like Suzie.” Desiree laughed at her unintended rhyme.

  Suzie punched her shoulder, more theater than contact. “Hey, that’s not right.” Desiree was saved from a more elaborate reproach when Suzie’s phone dinged. Her friend’s smile grew Cheshire cat wide.

  Desiree looked away and pretended she didn’t see the wounded look in Jodeci’s eyes. She wished they would stop hurting each other that way. Neither did it on purpose, but still. Jodeci received a text of her own, which turned her frown into a sexy smirk. What was she going to do with these two?

  “Dez, I’ll give you a ride back. You coming along with us?” Jodeci asked Suzie.

  “Nah, I need more puppy therapy.” Suzie told a half truth, but Desiree figured she had another ride home.

  Jodeci’s frown was back, and the temperature in the air dropped a few degrees. “Suit yourself.”

  “Jodeci, sure you don’t want to stay?” Desiree asked.

  Jodeci gave her a dark look.

  Rowan popped out of nowhere, put Jodeci in a playful headlock, and messed with Jodeci’s sleek do.

  “Ah, the hair,” she exclaimed.

  “Sure, I don’t think whoever you are going to meet will mind a hair or two out of place.” Rowan released her friend.

  Desiree welcomed the break in tension. “I hear the carelessly tousled look is in.”

  Jodeci’s expression worried Desiree. She was up to something, and Desiree knew she wasn’t going to like it.

  “As a matter of fact, you’re right. Would you mind giving Dez a ride home?”

  Desiree sucked in a breath and prepared to beg off.

  “Actually, I need to pick up some books I had on hold at the library,” Rowan said. “That is if you feel comfortable traveling with a stranger.”

  Rowan looked into Desiree’s eyes and time stopped for a moment. Desiree’s refusal died on her tongue. She was going to play this out. Besides, what could happen in twenty minutes? Rowan seemed polite enough.

  “Okay, thanks.” Desiree said good-bye to her misbehaving, meddling friends and climbed into Rowan’s truck. The cab smelled clean, like freshly washed sheets. Surprised, she was sure it would smell like the work vehicle it was.

  The ease that Rowan had around her friend vanished. She looked dead ahead, her eyes focused on the road. Desiree considered starting a conversation to lighten things up, but she sensed that wasn’t the right thing to do. It was a lovely day, and there were no puddles, not a raindrop in sight. Desiree couldn’t understand Rowan’s white-knuckle grip on the steering wheel.

  Time seemed to stretch. It was a very long twenty minutes. Once they parked next to the library, Rowan seemed to relax.

  “I’m sorry for being bad company. I haven’t felt that way for a while,” Rowan said, then seemed to regret the admission. “Is your car in this lot? It was rude of me not to ask before I pulled in.”

  “It’s okay, my dorm’s not far from here. I appreciate the ride.”

  Rowan opened her mouth as if she wanted to share more, but thought better of it. “See you around.”

  Desiree was out of the car and on her way in a flash. She wasn’t quite running, but there was no need to power walk back to her dorm. Something dark and unsettling had taken control of Rowan. Someone with that kind of baggage had to be avoided at all costs. She could barely hold herself together, never mind shouldering someone else’s load.

  Chapter Seven

  Porter Hall

  Desiree’s phone rang again. When she pulled it out and saw her mother’s name on Caller ID, she held the power button down and turned the phone off completely. Rattled by the tense drive, she wondered what could have caused such an abrupt intense response. She knew in her heart that Rowan had been in pain. As much as her rational mind wanted to run for the hills, she couldn’t block out the sad look in those unusual eyes. They were more black than blue as if bruised by the emotions Rowan was experiencing. Desiree was so distracted she failed to realize the door to her room was unlocked.

  “I see you do still live here although you do not answer your phone. I raised you better than that.” Rosalie Chevalier was a petite woman of understated elegance. Even in casual slacks and a sweater, her sense of style was smooth with a whisper of wealth. Desiree could see through her mother’s fashionable mirage. There was nothing effortless about it; every article, even the elaborately folded scarf, was designed for effect.

  “Rosalie,” Desiree whispered. Her mother’s eyes narrowed at the improper use of her first name.

  “That is not the way a child refers to her mother. Raising you in America was a mistake. You even dress like an American,” she said as she assessed Desiree’s outfit. She never approved of jeans or sweaters from vulgar stores that sold modestly priced casual clothing.

  Desiree’s alarm at her mother’s presence cooled along with the icicles in her veins. She stood up straighter and went about her business as if her mother had not violated her private space. She had somewhere to be and she knew that
her lack of response would irk her narcissistic mother. She gathered and gently folded the clothing she would wear to her interview, then opened the door to the hallway.

  She smelled her mother’s expensive perfume before her viselike grip pinched the muscles in Desiree’s shoulder. She didn’t give her the satisfaction of a pained gasp.

  “You ungrateful child, you will not ignore me like I am some common peasant. I’ll call Pierre and have him pack up your things if you continue to disrespect me in this way.”

  Desiree turned her cold eyes on her mother, glaring at the fingers that dug into her skin through her sweater. “It would be interesting to see you try considering he would not be welcome in the dorm without an escort.”

  Her mother released her grip when she heard someone approach the hallway where they stood.

  “Not so brave when you have an audience.” She turned to face her mother completely. “I do not need your permission to stay here. I am no longer a child you can whisk away on a whim. You do not pay my tuition, and if you insist on breaking and entering, I will contact campus security and have you escorted off campus.” Desiree’s smile was glacial. “If you invade my private space again, I will have you permanently banned from college property.”

  “You ungrateful, wretched child. You wouldn’t dare disgrace me in such a manner,” Rosalie replied in terse French.

  “I would do so with a smile on my face.” Her grin was more a baring of teeth, a symbol of her grim determination not to be manipulated. “Also, you are naïve if you think speaking French will give you privacy. This is Mount Holyoke after all, and many students speak our language.” This time her smile was real. “Actually, Jodeci overheard your most recent voice mail.”

  Rosalie’s face froze. She was such an intellectual snob that it never occurred to her that Americans would speak her native tongue. Desiree left her mother there, taking advantage of her rare moment of speechlessness. She strode swiftly into the bathroom and rested her clothes on the antechamber to her favorite shower stall. She went to her cubby to retrieve her beauty products and locked herself inside the stall.

  Shaking violently, she felt the stray tears as they slipped down her cheeks and pooled beneath her chin. The confrontation cost her, but she did not have time to wallow in the dark energy sparking through her veins. She had to shower efficiently so she could be on time for her meeting with Mason Archer. If her hair behaved, she might even manage to be early.

  Desiree held her breath before opening the door to her dorm room, and was relieved to find it empty. She decided to go without makeup since her hands were still shaking from the confrontation with her mother and she couldn’t afford to look unkempt. She was out the door with minutes to spare. The temperature had dropped significantly and she plugged in her iPhone while waiting for her car to warm up. Her graceful fingers scrolled through her favorite classical playlist. It was a compilation of arias sung by Luciano Pavarotti. Once she cued up the iTunes player on the dashboard touchscreen, her heart filled at the first strains of Nessun Dorma. “Father was right. I will conquer.”

  Chapter Eight

  The Orchard Inn

  Outskirts of Northampton

  Desiree was pleased to see she arrived early enough to collect herself. She may have been bold and brave in front of her mother, but inside, she was deeply shaken. She had become accustomed to the freedom that distance from her mother provided.

  Suzie made her smile, and Jodeci—for all her bad-boy reputation—brought her peace of mind. Jodeci even provided a handsome butch, practically putting a bow on Rowan’s head at Magnum Kennel. The matchmaking hadn’t gone as her friends had intended. She felt a pang of regret for reducing Rowan to an emotional liability. That is not the woman she wanted to be, but Desiree felt she had no choice. The grants and scholarships offered her a freedom she couldn’t put at risk, even if she had to harden her heart to do so.

  Mason Archer stepped out of the inn to greet her. She put on her best smile and joined him on the porch. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Archer.”

  “Please, call me Mason.” He had the most melodic voice, and it instantly put her at ease. She wanted this job and hoped it would work out.

  “As long as you call me Desiree.”

  Mason’s eyes were a warm chocolate that fit his personality. He dressed formally in a suit but didn’t put on airs. He actually reminded her of her father, which was a good thing. Antoine Chevalier was the only stable relationship she had with her family, yet even he was held at a distance. Part of her resented him for not protecting her from Rosalie, and the other part wanted to still be Daddy’s little girl. She bit the side of her tongue to pull herself back to the present.

  Desiree followed Mason into the bed and breakfast. The vestibule was lovely, with stained glass framing the doorway. The furnishings were elegant in an inviting way. You could tell it was okay to sit on the fine furniture and relax while reading at the bay window. A contented tabby cat sunned herself in the waning afternoon light. The room’s color scheme was cream and rose, from the dark cherry wood mantle to the decorative wainscoting. Mason allowed her to take in his home, and that was what this was—a home, not merely a place of business. His welcome came from his heart, and in that moment, she knew she would be happy here.

  The grandfather clock chimed twice.

  “This room is lovely, so inviting.”

  Mason smiled down at her. “I’m glad you see it that way. This is my home, but it is also home to the guests we welcome. Would you like to take tea in the solarium?”

  How charmingly old-fashioned was that, taking tea in the solarium? Desiree’s heart warmed. “I’d love to.”

  She’d been in many beautiful mansions, but never quite felt at ease in them. In the past, she was always performing for socialites and their manipulative daughters.

  Desiree glanced around and imagined what her life would have been like in the nineteenth century: wearing corsets and enduring inane chatter about suitors and balls while having time to read for pleasure. The romantic notion was short-lived, though. She was grateful to have been born in the twentieth century. Her mother’s leash on her was tight enough as it was. The strictures of the Victorian era would have led to a life at the circus or in vaudeville—anything to get away from Rosalie and the Chevalier clan.

  The solarium was charming and kept with the burgundy and cream theme. The stained glass windows were obviously original, with elaborate garden scenes accented with rosebushes and decorative ivy.

  “They’re lovely, aren’t they?” Mason smiled. “My great grandmother made them herself, and her sister Lila did a lot of the woodwork. They were friends with Juliette Gordon Low.”

  “The founder of the Girl Scouts?”

  “Very good, and yes you are correct. Lila learned to sculpt from her as well, though her father drew the line at welding. That was not something proper young ladies were supposed to do. He feared that looking mannish would discourage suitors, and he wanted her to be blessed with the family of her dreams.”

  Desiree chuckled. “I’m not surprised. I heard Juliette’s seamstresses had to let out the arms of her dresses because the strenuous work made her biceps more prominent.”

  Mason picked up a silver frame from the side table and handed it to Desiree. “She was a slip of a girl, but boy did she have moxie.”

  Desiree looked at the young woman, so slender even with the help of her corset and voluminous skirts. She had a plain face, though the sparkle in her eyes made her quite attractive. Desiree would have liked this woman, she just knew it. “I’ll bet, if she had been born later, she would have made a fine flapper.”

  Mason nodded in agreement. “Feel free to explore the space while I prepare the tea service.”

  Desiree stood as well. “I can help.”

  He rested his hand on her forearm. “I appreciate the offer, but please take a seat. Today, you are my guest.”

  Normally Desiree did not like being touched by strangers, but his manner
was endearing, and even though he was only in his forties, Mason had the feel of a kindly uncle. She thanked him for his consideration, then set about exploring the room. The wood furniture gleamed, making her wonder if little elves were in charge of the dusting and polishing. It would take at least an hour to tend to this room alone.

  Her favorite feature in the room was a curio cabinet nestled in the far corner. There were silver-framed black-and-white photographs of what Desiree assumed were generations of the Archer family. The objects that drew her the most were children’s toys and a delicate snow globe that reminded her of Main Street in Northampton. Next to it was a carousel crafted with details so delicate she barely dared to breathe in its direction for fear of breaking it. The fact that it was protected by glass didn’t diminish her cautious posture.

  “They’re surprisingly hearty if you want to examine them. I played with them as a child. The snow globe is more of Lila’s handiwork. She loved Northampton in the winter.”

  “Goodness.” Desiree didn’t know where that genteel word came from, but she felt like it was the most natural response.

  “She would have liked you.”

  Desiree blushed a slight warm glow that could not have gone unnoticed, though Mason made no mention of it.

  “I think we would have been good friends.” Desiree followed Mason’s lead and took a seat at the tea table, which was set with honest-to-God tea cakes. They looked like houses she had seen in Austria, pastel dainties with white piping. “I haven’t seen anything like this in the States.” Desiree spoke with the lightest touch of her native French accent.

  “I learned to bake from my mother, and the recipe for these cakes came from her love of Salzburg.”

  Desiree was pleased that her impressions matched reality.

  The pastel fondant was decorated with lacy icing. They were almost too exquisite to eat.

  “Please take one. I made them especially for you. I thought a taste of Europe would make you feel more at home.”