by Jane Peart
Folly’s Bride
Book Four
of the Brides of Montclair series
JANE PEART
Contents
Cover
Title Page
Part I Savannah
chapter 1
chapter 2
chapter 3
chapter 4
chapter 5
chapter 6
chapter 7
Montclair Spring 1831 chapter 8
Part II Savannah
chapter 9
Montclair 1835 chapter 10
Part III Montcla
chapter 11
chapter 12
Savannah 1843 chapter 13
chapter 14
Chapter 15
chapter 16
chapter 17
chapter 18
chapter 19
Family Tree
The Saga Continues!
About the Author
A Note from the Author
Copyright
About the Publisher
Share Your Thoughts
Part I
Savannah
Summer 1830
chapter
1
“SARA! You must come out! You’re wanted downstairs right away,” Lucie hissed through the keyhole of the locked bedroom door. “Stepmama is furious and Father has sent word that he’s coming home early from the Exchange. She says he’s in a rage over what you’ve done!”
“I haven’t done anything! It’s not my fault if those two hotheads decide to fight a duel!” came her sister’s indignant voice from the other side of the door.
“Oh, Sara, please!“ Lucie pleaded. “Father will be here any minute. You must do as you’re told!”
“I will not come down just because she is in a frenzy.”
Lucie shifted her crouched position on the hall floor and tried again. “Well, at least let me come in,” she whispered desperately.
There was a moment’s silence from the room beyond, then the sound of the lock sliding back. The door inched open. With a glance over her shoulder, Lucie slipped inside. Immediately the door was shut behind her and locked again. At Lucie’s entrance, Ruffy, Sara’s spaniel, who was sharing his mistress’s refuge, lifted his head and fixed a mournful gaze on her.
Lucie shook her head sighing, “Sara, you’re so stubborn.”
“No,” denied Sara. “I am strong.”
Sara moved restlessly over to the window seat, picked up the mustard-striped cat sleeping on the cushioned sill and, nestling her in her arms, said defiantly, “No matter what she says, I am not going to take the blame for something I had nothing to do with—”
“She says you are the cause!” Lucie climbed up on Sara’s high canopy bed and leaned over the footrail. ”She says you flirted with both of them, tried to make them jealous, and laughed when Landon called Harrison out!”
“I did no such thing!”
“She says—”
“I don’t give a fig for what she says. She wasn’t there, was she? She always suspects the worst about me,” Sara said, tossing her head, her dark curls tumbling about her shoulders. “Anyway, Father will believe me.”
Sara wished she could be as sure of that fact as she tried to sound. She used to be able to count on her father’s constant, if sometimes reluctant, leniency. That is, until two years ago, when he had married Georgina Nugent and brought her home to Savannah from Charleston. Now, he was more inclined to avoid conflict by accepting his new wife’s version of any dispute.
Lucie was silent. There was no use arguing with Sara, no use trying to reason with her. She would always think and do exactly as she pleased. “Headstrong,” their father called her. “Obstinate,” Stepmama said. “Mule-headed,” Mammy June, the girls’ old nurse, put it less delicately.
Lucie gazed at her sister, half-admiringly, half-enviously. Even though she adored her only sister, she could not help envying her a little. She often wished her own nutmeg-brown hair were the same color as Sara’s lustrous curls, that her eyelashes were as long and thick, that she had those same enchanting dimples.
There was nothing more to be said, Lucie decided. Sara would just have to get out of this predicament on her own. Not for a minute did Lucie doubt that she would.
In the meantime Sara sat staring out the window, her rebellious thoughts in sharp contrast to the serenity of the scene below. The soft breeze of the early summer afternoon stirred the purple clusters on the wisteria vine clinging to the wrought-iron balcony. And beyond, she could see the peaceful symmetry of the rows of fine houses that lined the square on which the Leightons’ own handsome house faced.
Sara pursed her rosy lips in a pout. How stupid to be closeted up on a day like this when she could have been out riding or visiting or enjoying any number of pleasant pastimes. It was only to escape the incessant scolding of that impossible Georgina that Sara had barricaded herself in her room.
Just then there was the sound of carriage wheels on the street below, followed by the deep voice of their father speaking to Trent, the butler, at the front door.
The two sisters exchanged glances—Lucie’s eyes, wide with apprehension; Sara’s, with determination. At almost the same time footsteps tapped along the hall, accompanied by the swish of taffeta skirts, stopping outside Sara’s room. Next came a rapping at the door.
“Sara Leighton, come out at once! Your father is home and waiting downstairs to speak with you.” Georgina’s strident tone was unmistakable.
The sisters exchanged another glance. Lucie looked anxious and Sara, resigned. She could not disobey her father’s summons.
Sara rose, spilling the cat out of her lap. Moving with deliberate slowness, she went over to her dressing table and picked up her silver-backed brush. She caught a handful of dark hair and gave it a few leisurely strokes.
The impatient knock came again.
“Sara, did you hear me?”
“Yes. I’m coming.”
Lucie slipped off the bed and hurried to Sara, taking both her hands. Sara’s hands felt cold and suddenly clammy. She did not look forward to this encounter with her father, but she was determined not to betray her dread in front of her stepmother. Besides, she had to show Lucie not to let Georgina intimidate her.
“It will be all right, Lucie, don’t worry,” Sara assured her and swept out the door, head held high.
At the top of the curved stairway, she paused momentarily. From this vantage point she could see the imposing figure of her father standing at the white marble fireplace in the parlor. By his stance she could tell that he was very angry. When she reached the bottom step, she halted and took a deep breath before entering the room.
Georgina was seated in one of the wing chairs, flushed and frustrated, her eyes accusing as Sara came in. Ignoring her, Sara addressed her father directly.
“You wanted to see me, Papa?”
Slowly Leonard Leighton swiveled around. He controlled an involuntary gasp at the sight of his eldest daughter. Sara’s extraordinary beauty never failed to shock him with her resemblance to his beloved first wife, Emma—the startling contrast of creamy, magnolia-like skin against raven black hair, the blue-violet eyes under the dark wings of her brows, the fine cameo features.
Beautiful, yes, but she was also mischievous and capricious, turning the brains of the young men who flocked around her into soft pudding, he reminded himself. Georgina had often pointed out Sara’s ability to manipulate, and urged him to be firmer with her. Still, his daughter stood before him now with such a look of utter guilelessness that his heart turned over. It took all his stiffened resolve to deal with her forcefully. So he cleared his throat and attempted a proper sternness.
“What is this I am told about your inciting two young men to
unlawful behavior, young lady?”
“I don’t know what you mean, Papa,” Sara replied meekly.
Georgina clicked her tongue. “Don’t play the innocent, Sara. You know you behaved disgracefully.”
Leonard turned to his wife, lifting an eyebrow. “I will handle this, my dear.”
Sara threw a triumphant glance at her stepmother, and Georgina reddened.
Frowning, Leonard faced her again. “Don’t you know dueling is against the law, Sara?”
“There was no duel, Papa.”
“No thanks to you, I am told. The two young fools were prevented from their stupidity, but it could have ended in tragedy—”
“To say nothing of disgracing your family and ruining yourself and your sister’s chances for ever being accepted in society again or achieving suitable marriages!” interjected Georgina, unable to keep quiet.
Leonard rolled his eyes. Women! he thought peevishly. Was there never any peace in a house with women? Especially strong-willed women like his second wife and his eldest daughter.
“Please, Georgina, my dear.” He checked his irritation with her. But he did not miss Sara’s barely suppressed smile of satisfaction, and it infuriated him. Drat the girl! Why couldn’t Sara be more like her sister Lucie, docile and obedient? Why did she always have to stir things up so?
“Well now, miss, no matter who is at fault in this matter, it has become the subject of public gossip. And I will not have my family touched by even a breath of scandal, do you understand?” His annoyance mounted, fueling the harsh words. “Maybe they have learned their lesson, but you, miss, must learn yours. There’ll be no more parties, no more balls, no more chances for you to flaunt your charms upon susceptible young men for quite a while. You are confined to this house for an indeterminate period and you are to make yourself useful and helpful to your stepmother as a dutiful, submissive daughter should do.”
Anger flamed in Sara, sparking all the hidden hurt and resentment she felt for the woman who had usurped her special place with her adored father, poisoning his mind against her.
“But, Papa!” she protested. “For how long?”
“For as long as I deem necessary. Sufficient time to teach you a lesson in humility and proper ladylike deportment.”
Sara flashed a look of fury at her stepmother who was, she suspected, responsible for this punishment. But Georgina wore a mask of cool complacence. To Sara, she resembled a cat who had just lapped up a bowl of cream. Apparently this was the price she would exact for her stepdaughter’s foolish flirtation with the two smitten beaux.
Sara clenched her hands at her sides. It was so unfair.
“But, Papa, I’m to be in Katherine Maitland’s wedding next month!”
“Well, we shall see—” Leonard commented noncommittally.
“I’m one of the bridesmaids, Papa,” she pressed, “and the dresses are already being made—”
“I said—we shall see, Sara.” Her father scowled, looking toward his wife for some direction. But Georgina, pretending great concentration on her needlepoint, did not reply.
“Papa—” Sara hesitated. She would not beg. Not in front of Georgina.
“That is all for now, Sara.” Leonard turned his back so as not to see the plea in those eyes.
Mutinous and angry, Sara stood a minute longer, torn between blind rage and self-pity. If her father were alone, she felt sure she could reach him, appeal to him to temper her sentence or, at the very least, give her a date that it would come to an end! But the implacable Georgina sat there, unmoved by Sara’s obvious distress and her husband’s discomfort.
Sara waited a moment longer, then whirled around and walked out of the room in a flurry of petticoats.
I’ll find a way, she promised herself. They can’t keep me a prisoner indefinitely.
She started upstairs and saw Lucie’s little face pressed between the banisters of the balcony overlooking the center hall. She had probably been straining to hear what was going on, eavesdropping on the scene taking place in the parlor.
Sara felt a rush of affection for her younger sister. They had been through so much together. First, their mother’s death after a long, agonizing illness. Afterwards, the neglect of their bereaved, distracted father, who had left them in the care of indulgent servants and their Negro mammy. Then came the shock of his remarriage. When Georgina arrived, they suffered her dominating presence together, together experienced the misery of being uprooted from home and sent away to boarding school. Through all the trauma of their young lives it was their closeness that made all the changes endurable.
When she reached the top of the stairs, she gave Lucie a hug.
“Oh, Sara, what did they do to you?”
“Forty lashes!” she quipped, then laughed at Lucie’s stricken expression. “Don’t look so sad. I’ll be all right. Papa will come around.”
Sara was already planning her strategy. She did not underestimate her adversary. Georgina was a formidable foe. But Sara knew her father. She would break down his façade of disapproval and win him back. It might take a little longer than usual this time because of the silly actions of Landon Buehl and Harrison Mills. Still, she could try.
So far, the duel was only a rumor. She knew for a fact that her name had not even been mentioned in the quarrel. Even though Savannah loved a “good gossip,” some other escapade would soon become the topic of drawing room conversation. Thank goodness, no real harm had been done.
She would do her penance, Sara decided. She would act the part of a “dutiful daughter” as her father had directed. She was really quite good at playacting, having taken some of the lead roles in the tableaux and plays at boarding school. Not only that, but she had had plenty of practice in masking her true feelings at home these past two years. She would not give Georgina the satisfaction of reporting a single impertinence, misdeed, or disobedient action.
Of one thing Sara was certain. She was not going to miss being in Katherine Maitland’s wedding to Douglas Cameron of Virginia. Not with Theo coming all the way from Charleston!
chapter
2
SARA LOCKED her bedroom door and moved swiftly over to the small fruitwood desk designed with inlaid marquetry. She touched the hidden spring that opened the secret drawer and brought out the packet concealed within. Taking it over to the window seat, she curled up, untied the ribbon that bound it, and read over Theo’s letters, one by one.
“My darling Sara, You have only been away from Charleston for two weeks, but it has seemed a lifetime—” How beautifully Theo expressed himself Sara thought, how poetic and romantic!
She closed her eyes briefly, holding the letter to her breast, and letting her mind rush back to the very first time she had ever laid eyes on Theo Richardson.
It was Visitors’ Day at Madame Couvoisier’s Academe, at least for the boarding students lucky enough to have relatives or friends in the Charleston area. The unfortunate few who were not expecting guests often crowded onto the balcony overlooking the front lawn and gardens to watch the arrivals. Seeking diversion from an otherwise boring Sunday afternoon, Sara had joined them.
It was Georgina, of course, who had insisted that young ladies of Sara’s and Lucie’s ages needed proper “finishing.” It was at her direction that they had been dispatched to the Academe soon after her marriage to their father. Sara was still unreconciled to her forced exile from Savannah. That is, until that Sunday afternoon, when Theo’s entrance into her life changed things. Forever.
She thought of it now. He had come bounding up the wide veranda steps at the very instant Sara leaned over the balustrade. Afterwards she declared to Lucie it must have been fate that assigned her to that spot, for he had glanced up, caught her eye, and smiled. He was undeniably the most striking man who had ever set foot on the campus, she was sure. So deeply bronzed was his skin, so black his wavy hair that the bright blue of his eyes was a shock to the senses and the whiteness of even teeth, a surprise. But it was the roguish expre
ssion in those eyes that took Sara’s breath away. As their gaze met and held, there was about that moment a sense of recognition and inevitability.
He took off his wide-brimmed, straw hat, and bowed slightly, almost mockingly. Mesmerized, Sara could only stare.
She had no excuse to go downstairs into the parlor where guests were received, so all she could do was wonder who he was and whom he had come to visit.
To her astonishment, Katherine Maitland, an older student, sought her out after visiting hours.
“Theo Richardson wants to meet you, Sara,” she said. “He and my cousin Shelton went to school together in Virginia, so Theo is on the approved guest list. If you like, I can place your name with mine to receive him next Visitors’ Day.”
Barely disguising her excitement at the invitation, Sara had agreed. First, she was wild to meet the young man formally, and second, to be singled out by one of the most popular girls at the Academe gave Sara a status she might not otherwise have attained.
Sara opened her eyes and reread the letter she held. Its bold handwriting brought Theo’s image vividly to mind.
She recalled that the very next Sunday Theo, looking outrageously handsome in a light blue coat, frilled shirt, and plum-colored silk cravat, was in the first flow of arrivals. He was carrying two small bouquets; one he gave to Katherine and the other he handed to Sara, bending over her hand and kissing her fingertips. Katherine had then discreedy disappeared, leaving them alone to get acquainted in the garden, shielded by the flowering azalea bushes from the eagle-eyed chaperone presiding over the girls and their callers. They had strolled along flower-lined paths together.
Their rapport was instant, their comparability immediate—both, rebels; both, iconclasts; both, reckless and impatient with rules and regulations.
What Sara remembered most about that afternoon was a sense of heightened awareness. Everything was more intense—the fragrance of the flowers, the leafy canopy of the overarching trees, the glistening water where Madame Couvousier’s imported swans glided, and Theo beside her. On that sun-gilded afternoon, Sara fell in love.
