by Jane Peart
“Why not?” Her laugh was mirthless. “You found it easy enough to write other things. And I quote, ‘My dearest, how I long to see you. The days cannot pass swiftly enough until I am with you again …‘ It would have been simple enough, I should think. Just a few lines: ‘By the way, Sara, I am planning to marry someone else.’ But then, it seems you are singularly lacking in courage, Theo,” she said with contempt. “I wonder you find it now. Your courtship with Miss Evangeline Archer must have been going on all the time you were telling me how much you loved me! How base can you be?”
“Sara, I beg you to hear me out.”
“What is there to say? People fall in and out of love all the time. Easily. I’ve done it myself. I daresay I’ll do it again.” Sara flourished her fan and shrugged.
“Sara—” Theo’s voice shook with emotion. “Sara, please don’t wound me more. I know my faults, my lack of courage, if you will, better than anyone. If you will only hear me out, perhaps you will understand. For the sake of what we have meant to each other, please give me a chance to explain.”
Sara’s hurt was too raw for reply. Taking her silence for assent, Theo reached for her hand and drew her back to the bench circling the oak tree, and they sat down together.
“Sara, I have told you about my family situation. Honestly. The disgrace my father has brought upon us all. Two months ago he died—no need to tell you how—accidentally or by his own hand, no one is sure. It was left to me, the only son … to go through his papers.” Theo paused to regain his composure. “Debt piled upon debt … and no money … to pay any of them.” He stood and paced in front of her. “Vance Archer has been a friend of my mother’s family for years. Of my father as well, though in recent years he had become disgusted with … well, the things my father did. Still, Mr. Archer came to me and offered to clear up all my father’s affairs. Can you imagine what this meant, Sara? To my mother, to me, to my sisters?”
Again Theo paused, struggling with his emotions. “He also offered me a job as a designer in his shipbuilding firm, completely overlooking my lack of qualifications. He just took me on so that I could provide for my mother and sisters.”
“Don’t tell me you are marrying his daughter out of gratitude to her father?” Sara demanded.
“Sara, I do owe Mr. Archer … everything.”
“Not your life, surely?”
There was another long pause. Theo dropped back onto the bench and took both Sara’s hands in his. Looking directly into her eyes, shadowed by the branches of the overhanging tree, he spoke firmly. “I have known Evangeline since childhood. She is gentle, kind, and good, Sara. She loves me. And I love her…. And, yes, we are to be married.”
Sara pulled her hands away and stood up. “I can’t believe you would be so mercenary as to marry someone because her father offers you a position—”
Theo sighed. Getting to his feet, he threw out his hands in a gesture of helplessness. “Sara, don’t you realize that your father would never have consented to our being engaged, would never have allowed his daughter to marry a man with my background, my family history, and no prospects? What would I have to offer someone like you?”
“Oh, Theo, do you think I care about that? That’s not important. If we love each other—” she exclaimed, hope rising in her again. “Besides, I know you do love me, no matter what you say! And I love you! We could run away and be married. Then everyone would have to accept it!”
Impulsively Sara took a step toward him. In another moment she flung her arms around his neck, her fingers tangling in the silky curls at the nape of his neck.
She heard Theo suppress a moan as his arms tightened around her. “No, Sara, no. Don’t make it harder for both of us.” She felt his breath warm against her cheek. “Sara, darling, we mustn’t—”
“Oh, Theo, why not?” Sara cried. “I don’t care about anything but us!”
There was a moment’s hesitation, and then he kissed her. Sara’s lips, soft and pliant beneath his, responded with all the eager urgency of her passionate heart.
Then, slowly, gently he pushed her away. Framing her face in both hands, he looked down at her. “Sara, dearest, there is no going back. I can’t change things. I am already committed. It’s too late—” “No!” A sob caught in her throat. “No, it isn’t!” But Theo put his fingers over her lips, stopping her words. He shook his head. “Sara, everything is settled. I have already taken a position in Mr. Archer’s firm, my father’s debts are paid, my engagement to Evangeline has been announced, the wedding date is set—”
Sara’s body went rigid. She stared at him for a full minute, then she stepped back and brought her small, ivory fan up and slammed it across his cheek. “Coward!” she hissed. “You are despicable!” Theo flinched. Instinctively, his hand went to his cheek. “Yes, Sara, I suppose you have a right to call me that.”
Stunned by her own action, Sara stood like a statue. Though she heard the music wafting through the garden, smelled the scent of roses, saw the Spanish moss swaying overhead, nothing penetrated. All she could feel was a strange, all-absorbing grief, an overwhelming loss.
Stiffly, she turned and moved woodenly back toward the house. Theo’s voice followed her.
“Sara, I hope someday you can find it in your heart to forgive me—perhaps even to understand.”
She did not reply, nor did she look back to see Theo, slumped against the tree.
Raw with hurt and anger, Sara stood for a minute on the veranda, her blood burning her cheeks to flame, her heart beating in her ears like a metronome at “allegro.” She must get control of herself before returning to the party. No one must suspect anything was wrong. Pride was Sara’s only weapon against her wounded spirit, and she gathered it around her like a tattered garment. It was all she had left.
Drawing a deep breath, she willed herself to smile, set her shoulders and reentered the house. She saw Clayborn Montrose’s relieved expression as he started across the room to claim her for the dance she had promised him. With feverish gaiety Sara flung herself back into the party.
Somehow—she never knew how—Sara got through that evening. Moving from partner to partner, she danced, smiled, made light conversation, even laughed. No one would have guessed that under the bright smile, the gaiety, was heartbreak.
Only Sara knew that lodged deep within was an unfathomable ache and that after this night, nothing would ever be the same for her again.
chapter
7
AT THE END of the evening, two of the Maitland carriages drew up in front of the house to take the Savannah bridesmaids home. Each group of six was accompanied by two of Douglas Cameron’s groomsmen, who gallantly escorted them to their own door.
To Sara’s great relief, Theo was not asked to be one of the escorts.
All the way over to the Leightons’ house, she kept up the lighthearted patter expected of her. At her door she bade her escorts good night with her usual coquetry. Maintaining this façade was only possible by exercising her iron will over her breaking heart.
Trent, who had been drowsing in a chair in the hall awaiting his young mistress’s return, opened the front door for her. Sara picked up the lamp left burning for her on the hall table, and started for the stairs.
At the bottom of the staircase, she kicked off her slippers. As she started up, she discarded her evening cloak. It fell in a shimmer of taffeta and lace on the steps behind, as did the mask she had worn for the last few hours.
The strain of the evening had given her a throbbing head, and she rubbed her forehead absently. Tears that had been forced back all evening trickled down her cheeks. By the time she reached the upper hall and started toward her sister’s bedroom, they were flowing, unchecked.
She flung open Lucie’s door and in a few quick steps was beside her bed. Holding the lamp high, Sara ripped off the quilt with her other hand and began shaking her sleeping sister.
“Why didn’t you tell me?” she demanded. “Why didn’t you tell me about Theo Ri
chardson and Evangeline Archer?”
Roused so roughly out of a sound sleep, Lucie stared up at her sister blankly. Then she sat up, blinking, trying to make sense of what Sara was saying.
“Tell you what? I don’t know what you’re talking about, Sara!” she protested, rubbing her eyes.
“Don’t you dare lie to me, Lucie! Don’t tell me you didn’t know Theo was coming to see her on Visitors’ Day at the Academe! Courting her! How could you let me walk into that … that awful situation not knowing?”
“But, Sara, I didn’t know! I don’t know!” Lucie whimpered. “I promise you I don’t know anything about it!” Lucie’s eyes were wide, and Sara saw her innocence.
Suddenly the fury drained away. Only the terrible, aching pain remained. She set the lamp on the table beside the bed and sank down beside Lucie on the feather mattress.
“You did know, do know Evangeline Archer though, don’t you, Lucie?” prodded Sara. “She was at the Academy last year.”
Lucie’s brow furrowed with the effort of remembering. “Well, yes, sort of, Sara. But she was a ‘special student'—you know, the ones who don’t attend all the regular classes or participate in every activity. She lived in Charleston and went home on weekends so I never saw Theo come on Visitors’ Day. Cross my heart, Sara!” Lucie insisted earnestly.
“Can you remember anything about her?” Sara was adamant in her questioning. “What did she look like? Was she pretty? Tell me everything you can think of.”
Lucie’s small, kitten face wrinkled. “She was rather plain, I think,” she said, “but with a sweet expression. Quite shy, I believe. She was a music student, played the harp. Very well, too. She played for some of Madame’s concerts for parents. You remember those, don’t you?”
“Yes, yes!” Sara said impatiently. “But I want to hear about her, about Evangeline.”
“She always wore beautiful clothes, Sara. Her family is very rich, people said. But then, it didn’t help much, poor thing, because of her problem.”
“Problem? What do you mean, problem?”
“Well, she limps terribly, Sara. One leg is shorter than the other. They say it happened when she was a baby, some sort of accident—a nurse dropped her, or something—and one leg never grew properly. So, it makes her walk with an awkward sort of gait—”
Sara seemed to have turned to stone. She sat absolutely immobile, drained of color.
“Sara, Sara, what is it?” Lucie asked in a whisper. She reached out and took one of her sister’s hands. It was icy cold.
Sara did not answer. Her mind was centered on the tragic truth behind Theo’s betrayal. Pity. He had married a crippled girl out of pity. Did Evangeline know? She must have guessed. A man as handsome and charming as Theo tying himself to a woman no other man would have! She must know.
For a minute Sara closed her eyes. She thought of Theo on the dance floor, so graceful and accomplished, spinning his partner to every kind of music—the schottische, the polka, the new waltz. Was Theo resigned to a life without music and dancing? Married to a woman who could never dance with him, or ride horseback, or even stroll on his arm? What a dreadful fate.
“Sara.” Lucie plucked at Sara’s sleeve, her voice cautious. “What happened tonight to make you so angry, so unhappy?”
Slowly Sara brought her thoughts back to the painful present. “Theo is engaged to be married, Lucie. To Evangeline Archer.”
Lucie drew in her breath, eyes wide with disbelief. “No!”
Sara nodded. “I wish it weren’t true, but it is. He told me himself.”
“Oh, Sara, I’m so sorry!” wailed Lucie, putting her arms around her sister.
“It’s not your fault.” Sara patted her as the two clung together. “I blame myself for being fool enough to trust him. No wonder he insisted we keep our romance a secret. All the time he was writing love letters to me, he must have been seeing her—must have known that he—” Sara began to cry, and her tears of self-pity mingled with Lucie’s sympathetic ones.
Finally the sobs lessened. Sara dried her eyes, took a tiny handkerchief out of her reticule, and blew her nose. “Well, anyway, this has taught me a hard lesson I hope I’ll never forget, Lucie.”
Lucie looked at Sara’s beautiful face, blotched with crying, her eyelids red and swollen, and she noticed something she had never seen there before. The soft mouth had hardened visibly, and there was a new firmness about her jaw.
“At least no one but you will ever know. Not by a single word or gesture will I let anyone know how hurt I am. I can act, Lucie. Remember how good I was in the part of Portia when we put on The Merchant of Venice at the Academe? Well, for the rest of the wedding week, I’ll have to be an actress. Theo will never suspect that I even care!” She lifted her chin defiantly.
“Oh, Sara, you’re so brave! I don’t think I could be in the wedding party. I couldn’t bear seeing him!”
Sara turned to her sister, eyes flashing. “No, Lucie! It is he who should dread seeing me!” she declared. “I have nothing to be ashamed of!”
But, of course, she had, Sara reminded herself guiltily. She had been party to a deception, had carried on a secret romance, involving a friend in the conspiracy. Now she was paying a heavy price for what she had done. All of it—a year of clandestine meetings, stolen kisses, evasive tactics. In fact, a year of lies. Still, she was being punished for her sins, she thought.
Rising, she bent over and kissed Lucie’s cheek. “I’m sorry I woke you. I was angry and upset. Go back to sleep now. I’ll be all right.”
Mammy June, who had always slept on a cot at the foot of Sara’s bed when her “young missy” went out for the evening, was sleeping heavily when Sara slipped into her own bedroom. She moved about quietly, not wanting to arouse the old woman nor subject herself to more questions.
Sara undressed quickly and got into bed. She didn’t fall asleep right away, however. There was too much to think about, too many plans to make. The rest of her life, actually!
Tonight she had been shown the ugliness of deceit. She vowed never to employ it again.
Lying awake, Sara also determined never to be so vulnerable again. But how was she going to get through the rest of the wedding week? It would take all her will power and strength.
She shrank from an imagined encounter with Theo the next day. But her new resolve fueled her determination. She would get through it by playing a part. She would play the role of bridesmaid to perfection, participating in an elaborate pageant, Katherine’s wedding.
Theo was just another player, she told herself. But at the thought, Sara was biting her lower lip, her sharp little teeth cutting into the soft flesh, lest she cry out his name.
Weeks later, whenever Sara recalled the wedding, it was through a merciful fog. She had moved through the party given by the bridesmaids for Katherine in a kind of suspended trance, laughing with the rest over the silly gifts, exchanging bits of gossip and compliments, and engaging in frivolous conversation.
Then the wedding day dawned. The historic church, from whose pulpit both the illustrious John Wesley and George Whitfield had preached, was filled with flowers and elegantly dressed guests on that warm summer afternoon. Garlands draped the pews, baskets of lilies, heliotrope, and roses graced the aisles down which the dozen bridesmaids preceded the bride.
Gowned in ruffled dresses in rainbow hues, they came two-by-two, carrying bouquets of garden flowers.
Sara was one of a duo in blue. Around her neck was Katherine’s keepsake gift to her attendants—a delicate gold chain from which hung a pearl cross centered with each girl’s birthstone.
It should have been a happy day. But, for Sara, it was the hardest day of her life. The ceremony itself was torture—trying not to hear the meaningful words, avoiding even the slightest chance of meeting Theo’s gaze—
The reception was even more difficult, as it lasted long into the afternoon hours and was held in the most festive atmosphere. Only Clayborn Montrose’s flattering attention s
aved Sara from complete desolation in spite of her determination to hide her feelings. Having appointed himself her escort for the afternoon, his obvious admiration was a balm to her bruised pride.
Clayborn made a great point of introducing her to his “foster mother,” Avril Montrose, a lady of great dignity and charm, who had traveled all the way from her home in Virginia to attend the wedding.
“Aunt Avril has just come out of formal mourning for my Uncle Graham,” Clay explained. “In fact, this is the first social occasion she has attended since his death. Theirs was a real love story, very romantic. I’d like to tell you about it sometime.”
Sara managed a smile. The very last thing she wanted to hear was a “romantic love story.”
It was Clay, however, who made the whole long day endurable. Clay, with his thoughtfulness, his attentiveness, his consideration. He seemed to know just when to make a humorous remark or observation and when to remain quiet.
For Sara, under the surface of indifference, the face and form of Theo Richardson seemed to float in and out, hover close, then disappear. It was as if they were doing some intricate dance, circling each other, advancing and retreating, swinging to and fro in an odd sort of duet whose steps neither had quite mastered.
Somehow, I survived, Sara thought with some surprise as the reception at last drew to a close. Soon I can go home.
Everyone gathered in the front hall as the newly married couple stood ready to rush down the steps and outside to their waiting carriage. But first there was a traditional ritual to perform.
Sara was only vaguely aware of the flurry of activity, playful shouting of good wishes, and laughter surrounding her as Katherine poised on the landing of the stairs to toss her bridal bouquet. Then it came flying through the air.
No one was more surprised than Sara herself when she found it in her own outstretched hands!
Montclair
