Folly's Bride

by Jane Peart

  After that, Theo came every Visitors’ Day on the pretext of visiting his friend’s cousin. In reality, it was Sara with whom he spent the two allotted hours.

  Quickly they got to know each other, their words tumbling over one another in their eagerness to learn everything about their companion. Sara confided her unhappiness, her feelings of abandonment after her father’s remarriage, her homesickness and loneliness for Savannah.

  In return, Theo told her he had been born and brought up in Jamaica on a sugar plantation belonging to his grandfather. He hinted that things had not gone well there and that the family had returned to Charleston, where his mother had inherited a house on the island across from the Ashley River. As a boy, he had loved exploring its banks, fishing, swimming, crabbing, and then he had been sent away to school in Virginia when he was eleven.

  “I hated school! I loathed everything about it,” he confessed. “The regimen, the discipline, my studies, the way the older boys bullied the younger ones. In fact, I got into so many fights defending the weaker fellows that the headmaster threatened to expel me. I was allowed to come home, but when I got there—” He paused, his eyes clouding over—“my father had left, though Mother never explained why.”

  Sara felt a surge of pity for the young Theo facing such tragedy. She put out a hand and touched his sleeve lightly.

  He had jumped up then, deliberately masking the pain with a studied attempt at levity. “Isn’t there something about letting the ‘dead past bury its dead'? If I had applied myself to my studies at the University of South Carolina, I might have been able to recall the quote. Or, for that matter, to pursue the real interest of my life—architecture. Of course, I never mastered the necessary mathematics.” He gave an apologetic laugh. Taking his seat again, his gaze caressed Sara’s features. “You see, I worship beauty in all forms. Anything that is coarse or ugly or out of proportion is an anathema to me. On the other hand, perfection inspires the artist in me.”

  Enthralled, Sara had listened. Often while he talked, Theo sketched, with Sara as his subject. Once he had sketched her in the garden by the lily pond and, although he had not been satisfied with his effort, she begged him to give the drawing to her.

  Sara had framed it, but kept it concealed under the pillow of the window seat. She took it out now and looked at it, remembering Theo’s graceful hand moving across the paper, holding the stick of charcoal. How often she had longed to smooth back the wayward lock of hair that fell forward over his brow as he bent over his drawing pad, but she had refrained.

  When school ended in the spring, Sara returned home for the summer. Since it wouldn’t do for Georgina to know about the courtship, Sara had arranged for their secret correspondence, with the complicity of a day student who enclosed Theo’s letters in hers to Sara. In turn, Sara enclosed her letters to Theo in the ones she wrote to her friend. Otherwise, she knew, her stepmother would have felt it her parental duty to open the letters and read them before passing them on to Sara.

  At the end of the summer, Katherine Maitland, who had finished at the Academe, made her debut to which Sara was invited. A number of parties in Katherine’s honor were given as well, and Sara was included in all of them, a fact due more to Kate’s friendship with Theo, than to Sara.

  Sara rifled through Theo’s letters to find the one written before that event.

  I am counting the hours until I see you again in Savannah,” he wrote. “It seems a thousand years since I saw your face, held your hands, kissed your lips. How could one small person so fill a man’s heart and mind?

  His words brought back all the excitement of that enchanted week. She and Theo were together constantly—dancing, managing to slip away in the midst of the ball to rendezvous in the garden or on the veranda, sitting together at the melodrama performed aboard the showboat Golden Slipper moored in Savannah harbor, eating together at barbeques and dinner parties. And at every opportunity, exchanging kisses full of sweetness and promise.

  Unconsciously, Sara placed her fingers lightly on her lips, tracing their outline. She recalled each of Theo’s kisses, from the first hasty one, stolen in the arbor of the Academe garden, until the farewell kiss before her departure for Savannah a few weeks earlier.

  That kiss summed up the past year of Sunday visits and long walks, of secret meetings, and smuggled love letters. Sara now knew that what they felt for each other transcended mutual attraction and infatuation, and the idea sent her head spinning dizzily.

  “Sara! Sara, may I come in?” Lucie’s soft voice drew Sara back to the present. Hastily she bundled up the packet of letters, shoved them back into the secret drawer, and pressed the spring that secured it.

  “Just a minute, Lucie.”

  She went over and slid back the latch, opening the door for her younger sister.

  “Why do you have the door locked, Sara?” Lucie seemed puzzled.

  “Can’t I have a little privacy once in a while?” She deftly dodged the issue. “What do you want?”

  “Stepmama sent me to tell you we’re having company for dinner and she wants you to come down early and help entertain.”

  Sara groaned. Still, she knew she must be very careful not to do or say anything that would upset Georgina and bring further punishment or an extension of the one already pronounced.

  All these weeks Sara had stayed out of her stepmother’s way as much as possible. Besides attending church on Sundays with Georgina and Lucie, the only outing she was allowed was an early morning horseback ride, after which she reported to Georgina’s boudoir to receive instructions for the day. She had learned to accept whatever chores she was assigned, no matter how tiresome, without a murmur of complaint.

  So far, much to everyone’s amazement, Sara had been the epitome of affability and irreproachable conduct. She musn’t spoil that spotless record. Sighing heavily, she said to Lucie.

  “Tell her I’ll be downstairs at six.”

  As promised, Sara appeared promptly in the parlor just as the ormolu clock on the mantle was striking the hour, and graciously greeted the guests. At the dinner table she was quiet, demure, never offering an opinion nor speaking her mind in her usual, spritely manner. She could see that it irritated Georgina to have to carry the entire burden of conversation. And throughout the meal, her father cast curious, then annoyed, glances in her direction, puzzled by her uncharacteristic silence.

  Sara was playing the submissive daughter to the hilt. She knew, sooner or later, that her father’s patience would be frayed and he would lift her “house arrest.”

  But, in spite of all her effort, or maybe because Leonard Leighton suspected the games she was playing, to Sara’s chagrin she was not relieved of her imprisonment until the week before Katherine’s wedding. This she laid directly to the hand of her stepmother. Georgina was vindictive; Sara had always known that. The fact that she was determined to exact “the last pound of flesh” from her willful stepdaughter did not surprise Sara at all.

  Sara Leighton always relied on her first impressions, no matter how many times she had been cautioned that first impressions were often misleading. Nevertheless, they had proved true as far as Georgina was concerned. The moment she had laid eyes on her stepmother, Sara had felt a cold dislike. And as time went on, she had found the hostility was mutual.

  Released at last from her month-long confinement, Sara’s joy knew no bounds. Soon would begin the round of prenuptial parties to which all the bridesmaids and the men in the wedding party would be invited. It would be a week of frolic, festivity, and fun. Most of all she was counting the days until her reunion with Theo.

  When would he arrive? Sara wondered. She had not heard from him in weeks. Why had he not written? Maybe because he knew he would soon be in Savannah, that they would be together again. Maybe because he wanted to avoid risking detection of their romance before he had a chance to present himself to her parents. Whatever the reason, Sara was eager to see him.

  Though she would miss his romantic letters and th
eir surreptitious meetings of the past year, she was anxious to arrange for her father to meet Theo. Then he could request permission to call and thus legitimize their secret love. She was sure that, once Theo worked his charm on her parents, any reservation about his calling on her would vanish. Georgina, who in Sara’s opinion, was an “unmitigated snob,” would surely be impressed with Theo’s Maitland connection.

  On the other hand, she allowed herself a moment of doubt. How would her father feel about a man with no profession, no formal education, no “prospects” to speak of? His interest in the arts Leonard Leighton might consider “unmanly.” Still, Sara, with her ability to see things the way she wanted them to be, did not dwell long on the unlikely possibility that Theo would not be welcome in their home.

  Lucie was the only one who knew her secret. Perhaps Katherine Maitland had guessed. Sara even wondered if being asked to be one of Katherine’s twelve bridesmaids might not have been made at Theo’s request, since she and Katherine were not especially close. He had been a classmate of both her cousin Shelton and Douglas Cameron at the school in Virginia, and was to be one of Doug’s groomsmen.

  On the morning of the first ball given in honor of the engaged couple, Sara was awake early. By now, members of the wedding party had already begun to arrive. Had Theo come? How could she wait until evening to see him?

  Too restless to stay in bed any longer, Sara got up and sent word to the stables to have her horse, Princess, saddled and brought around by seven. She buttoned a lightweight blue jacket over a muslin blouse, slipped on a short riding skirt, then tied back her hair with a geranium-red ribbon. This early, no one would be about to see her without a proper riding habit, she thought.

  Boots in hand so as not to disturb the still sleeping household, Sara slipped down the stairway. A coffee urn stood on the buffet in the dining room, and Sara poured herself a cup, added cream, then walked over to the window.

  While she sipped the hot coffee, she looked out on one of the prettiest residential squares of Savannah. Across the street she could see the neighbors’ houseboy, Caleb, sweeping the front steps of the fine Regency mansion, almost a twin to the Leightons’ own house, both designed twenty years before by a famous English architect.

  Then seeing her groom leading a sleek ginger mare to the mounting block in front of the house, Sara put down her cup and hurried outside.

  The morning air was cool, scented with the sweetness of azaleas and the heavy fragrance of magnolias. Sara trotted along the quiet, brick-paved streets, shaded by live oaks draped with Spanish moss, past the stately homes, almost all of them occupied by families she had known all her life. It felt good to be back in her hometown. She had missed it so all the months she had been away in Charleston.

  At the end of the road, she turned her horse away from town toward the less crowded countryside, heading out toward the bluff above the river.

  Sara never felt freer, happier than when on horseback. There was a wild streak in her that railed against the conventions, dress, and protocol of her social status and sex. Sometimes, she longed to have the complete freedom that she saw in her young stepbrothers when they were out from under the eye of their watchful mother. Scott and Bowen Nugent, nine and eleven, Georgina’s sons by her first marriage, lived most of the time with their paternal grandmother on an island plantation across the inlet from Charleston. They visited their mother in Savannah on school holidays and for a few weeks in summer. But all males, despite having to observe the proprieties in the parlor, were allowed a freedom elsewhere that Sara often envied.

  Now, giving Princess her head, Sara felt the wind in her face, whipping her hair back and dislodging the scrap of bright ribbon that bound it. Almost giddy with happiness, she bent low over her horse, feeling the strong rhythm of muscle and sinew. When at length she pulled her mare to a halt high up on the hill overlooking the bay where ships, small and large, nestled close to the wharves lining the shore, Sara was breathless from the exhilaration of the run.

  Suddenly a deep male voice broke her reverie. “Good morning.”

  Startled, Sara turned in her saddle and saw a young man dismounting from a white horse a few feet behind her.

  A ridiculous urge to giggle welled up inside. All she could think of was Lucie’s daydream. Lucie, addicted to romantic novels, would be sure to make something of this unexpected encounter. Surely this self-assured rider was the handsome knight on the white charger, sent to rescue Sara from their wicked stepmother! Of course, Lucie would come along when he carried Sara off to live in a beautiful castle far away. She fought to suppress a smile.

  The sunlight was dazzling, shining on the water below, and creating an aura of gold about the young man’s russet-brown hair as he bared his head and made Sara a sweeping bow.

  “May I take the liberty of introducing myself,” he asked, quickly adding, “we have mutual acquaintances. The Maitlands. I’m here for Miss Katherine’s wedding to my friend, Douglas Cameron. I’m Clayborn Montrose.”

  Sara inclined her head slightly as she gave him a silent appraisal. He stood over six feet tall, nicely proportioned, his features strong yet refined. His warm brown eyes held both intelligence and humor.

  “You gave me quite a chase,” he remarked. “I was leaving my host’s house at the time you came out your gate. You are a remarkable rider, Miss Leighton.”

  “I wasn’t aware we were acquainted, Mr. Montrose. Who, pray tell, is your host?”

  “The Pierce family is related to Douglas. We are staying with them during the wedding week.” He paused and again Sara noticed the laughter in his eyes even as he flushed a little under his healthy tan. “We saw you in your carriage Sunday morning, accompanied by two other ladies—perhaps your sister, your mother?”

  “My stepmother,” corrected Sara sharply.

  “I asked Fax Pierce the identity of the three lovely ladies and he told us. He also told me you rode every morning … early.” He paused. “Do forgive my boldness, but knowing we would meet later in the day anyway, since we are both members of the wedding party, I was forward enough to bypass a formal introduction. I hope you won’t hold it against me.”

  Sara said nothing. She would let him squirm for his brashness, she decided. She would be nothing if not proper and ladylike. If this meeting ever got back to Georgina, there would be the devil to pay. She wasn’t going to risk being kept home from the ball tonight by this careless stranger’s overstepping of the bounds of propriety.

  Sara picked up her reins, gave Princess a little slap on her flank with her riding crop, and turned her past Clayborn and his white steed, cantering off without a backward glance. So much for knights on white chargers, she thought with a laugh. Wait until I tell Lucie!

  She was unaware of Clayborn Montrose staring after her, his expression a mixture of disappointment and unabashed admiration.

  chapter

  3

  “OH, SARA, you look beautiful!” Lucie exclaimed from her vantage point at the end of Sara’s bed as she watched her sister dress for the ball.

  Sara twirled before the mirror. “Do I?”

  It was not mere vanity that prompted Sara’s question. Even though she had heard those words over and over since she was a little girl, Sara needed especially to believe them tonight. When she saw Theo for the first time in over two months, she must feel beautiful.

  She stopped pirouetting and studied her reflection critically. Her cheeks were flushed with excitement, her eyes sparkling with anticipation. She touched the shiny curls tied with blue satin ribbons and bunched over her ears, then held out the flounced skirt and tried a few dance steps.

  Her gown was a fantasy of blue tulle and lace embroidery, one of several that had been made for Sara. It was a matter of pride to Georgina that her stepdaughter be appropriately gowned for every occasion during this week of festive events before Katherine Maitland’s wedding. Therefore, she had spared no expense in either materials or dressmaking costs.

  “Come here, Lucie, help me
fasten this.” Sara picked up a delicate gold filigree necklace from the top of her dressing table.

  Eagerly Lucie complied with her sister’s request. She loved being part of Sara’s life. She hoped it was a kind of preview of her own life in another few years. But, the difference in their ages was not all. She would probably never be a belle like Sara, with dozens of beaux. Lucie gave a little sigh as she did the clasp, then watched as Sara slipped in matching earrings.

  “Now, I’m ready, I think.” Sara stepped back and viewed her reflection once more.

  “Your gloves!” cried Lucie, handing her long white kid ones.

  ‘Thank you!” Sara smiled fondly at her younger sister who was gazing at her in such dazzled delight.

  “And your fan! Sara, don’t forget your fan!” reminded Lucie as Sara started for the door.

  “You’re a dear, Lucie. Whatever would I do without you?” Sara laughed, patting the rosy cheek.

  “I’m going to wait up to hear all about everything!”

  “But it will be quite late, Lucie!”

  “I’ll make myself stay awake. I won’t dare fall asleep,” she promised.

  Sara blew her a kiss and floated out of the room. Her father, in evening dress, stood in the hall, holding his watch and glaring upward. But when he saw the vision descending the stairs, his annoyed frown vanished.

  He complimented her extravagantly and offered his arm to escort her to the waiting carriage. Even Georgina, looking on as they left, felt a smug satisfaction that no other young lady at the ball would hold a candle to her stepdaughter.

  Sara sat on the edge of the carriage seat all the way to the Maitlands’ town house. Lights winked out from every window, and Sara’s heart was fluttering like a wild bird as they approached the Oglethorpe Square mansion. Soon, soon, she would see Theo!

  They could hear the music as the carriage stopped in front, and Sara felt an anticipatory tingle. Soon she would be dancing with Theo!