by Jane Peart
Spring 1831
chapter
8
THE LATE SPRING MORNING was cool, misted with the soft rain that had fallen earlier, as Clayborn Montrose turned his mount in at the gate and started up the tree-lined drive toward Montclair.
Elm trees, bare when he left in the fall for his European tour, were now in full foliage. The woods bordering the lawn were dotted pink and white with flowering dogwood. All along the drive rosy azaleas, red and pink rhododendron, and pale lavender spears of lilacs tossed their blooms in the light breeze. In the orchard, frothy lace blossoms adorned the peach and apple trees, their sweetness perfuming the air.
Clay felt that combination of pride and affection swell in his chest the nearer he came to the place he had called home since he was eleven years old. He had come here as an orphan; he was returning now as son and heir.
From Williamsburg, after arriving from Norfolk where his ship had docked, Clay had sent word to his foster mother, that after he had paid his respects to the Barnwell kin here, he would be home.
If he knew Aunt Avril, Clay smiled, she had probably been up since dawn preparing for his homecoming. They were unusually close, with many things bonding them to each other. The tragic childhood experience of losing both parents at a tender age was the common link between them. That initial empathy became mutual trust and devotion that had deepened with each year. Besides that was the strong love they shared for Avril’s husband, Graham, who had once been her guardian as well as Clay’s.
Avril was more than a mother to him. She was friend, advisor, champion, and mentor. She had listened to his problems, encouraged his dreams, strengthened his faith.
He was as eager to see her as she was anxiously awaiting their reunion after the long months of separation.
That evening Avril served dinner at the small table in the bow window of the dining room overlooking the sweeping lawns. In the pre-twilight they could still see the rim of the river glistening in the last rays of sun.
“I cannot begin to tell you how much I have missed you, darling boy, and how glad I am to have you home.” Avril reached across the table to press Clayborn’s hand. “With the whole long summer ahead of us to enjoy! I have so many plans, so many ideas, so many things I want to discuss with you. It will be a great relief to me to turn some of this over to you, Clay.”
Since Graham’s death Avril had managed the Montclair plantation with the help of Jacob Neal, their longtime overseer, as well as by relying on the advice of Marshall Cameron, her close friend and owner of the neighboring plantation, Cameron Hall.
“I’ll give you a week or so to visit your friends and relax before I heap the whole burden on you, though. So don’t look so worried!” she admonished him, laughing.
“That’s the least of my concerns, Aunt Avril,” Clay replied. “I’ve always known I’d take over at Montclair someday, and I want to. You’ve carried the full weight long enough. It’s just that there’s something else I have to do first.”
“Oh? What is that?”
“I’m not sure you’ll approve,” he said slowly, picking up his fork and tracing a design on the linen tablecloth.
A small frown puckered Avril’s brow. “Clay, dear, you are a grown man, twenty-one. You no longer need my approval,” she reminded him. Then, probing subtly, she added, “But knowing what a fine person you are and that you have always been such a joy and comfort to me, I cannot imagine your doing anything I would not approve of.”
He lifted his head from the scroll he had outlined and looked directly into his aunt’s curious eyes.
“I want to go to Savannah.”
“Savannah?” Avril echoed. ”Why Savannah?”
“Maybe I should have said I want to go see someone who lives in Savannah.”
“And who is that, darling? Have you forgotten that the Pierces go to their mountain home to escape the heat from the first of May through September?”
“No, Aunt Avril, it isn’t Fax Pierce I want to see. It’s a young lady.”
“Oh! Well, I see.” Avril nodded. “Someone you met at Doug’s wedding?”
“Yes, how did you guess?”
“That wasn’t difficult since Savannah was the last place we visited before you left for Europe.” Avril shrugged. “And who is this lucky young lady who tempts you to take another long trip when you have just come home?”
“You met her at the reception. I introduced you to her. She was one of Katherine’s bridesmaids. Her name is Sara Leighton.”
“Sara Leighton?” Avril repeated, raising her eyebrows.
“Yes, Aunt Avril. She is extraordinarily beautiful, don’t you remember? She was wearing blue the color of her eyes, and her smile—” As if at a loss for words, Clay halted. Then, leaning forward eagerly, he asked, “Surely you remember Sara?”
“Let me see—” Avril seemed to be trying to concentrate. “Of course, all the young ladies were lovely—”
“Yes, yes, but Sara was the loveliest.” Clay got to his feet as if his excitement was too much to contain. “Oh, Aunt Avril, I adore her! I want to ask her to marry me. That’s why I must go to Savannah right away.”
“But, darling, you haven’t seen her in almost a year. Have you considered that such a belle as she might have become engaged or even married to someone else by now?”
“No! No, she hasn’t. We’ve been corresponding, Aunt Avril. I’ve written to her from all over Europe, and she replied. Oh, not so often as I. But I know she is still free. I have told her I’d come as soon as I got back. If she is willing, I plan to ask her father’s permission.” Clay stopped pacing and spun around to face his aunt. “So, what do you think?”
Avril hesitated. “Well, darling, I must admit I have heard of Sara. When I was in Savannah for the wedding, you know Marshall, Becky, and I stayed with Alvena Maidand’s sister. Katherine’s aunt is, I’m afraid, a great gossip. And I regret to tell you Sara was discussed.”
“Yes? Well, what was said?”
“I don’t like to repeat unpleasant things, Clay. But in this case, since you are seriously considering proposing to her, I think I should tell you. Sara was in the center of a recent scandal. A duel, which was fortunately averted. Still, it seems she was the cause—”
“Probably vicious lies,” commented Clay firmly. “Anyone as beautiful and popular as Sara is bound to create jealousy. I don’t care, Aunt Avril. I love her.”
“And does she return your love?”
“She has not discouraged me,” Clay hedged. “We spent the whole reception together and when we parted, I asked her if she would allow me to write, and call upon her when I returned. She said that would make her very happy.” He clapped his hands together as if that settled it.
“But calling on a young lady is quite different from proposing marriage, Clay,” Avril cautioned.
“In my letters I have hinted broadly as to what I have in mind when I come to Savannah. I think she has an idea of my intentions. In fact, in the last letter I received before sailing for home, she wrote she was looking forward to my visit.” Clay’s happiness was so evident that Avril had not the heart to tell him the way her Savannah hostess had described Miss Sara Leighton.
“Sara Leighton is as reckless on horseback as she is graceful in the ballroom, as fond of her pets as she is heartless to suitors she disdains.”
Such a description did not fit the ideal Avril had always held for her adopted son’s bride nor her hope for a possible future mistress of Montclair. But Avril was wise enough to keep her misgivings about Clay’s trip to herself, and within a fortnight he set out for Savannah.
Two days later Logan Cameron rode over from Cameron Hall. Since he had always considered Montclair a second home to which he needed no invitation, he strode into the house as if he lived there and went in search of Avril.
Finding her at the desk in the plantation office off the library, he greeted her with the familiarity of long friendship. “Good afternoon, ma’am. I’ve come to welcome the prodigal home. Where is h
e?”
Avril looked up from the ledgers she was working on, saw Logan leaning against the doorframe, and sighed. “Not here.”
“Not here? Mama told me he just got home ten days ago!”
“Gone again.”
“Gone where?” Logan sounded astonished.
“Savannah.”
“Savannah?”
“Oh, Logan, must you repeat everything I say?” asked Avril in exasperation, flinging down her pen. Then she gave him a rueful smile. “Forgive me, dear friend. I’m feeling upset, I’m afraid. Too long at these figures, I suspect. Let’s go and have some refreshment and I’ll tell you all about it.
She came from around the desk, putting aside unpleasantries. “It’s good to see you, Logan. You’ve been gone a long while. Where were you this time?”
“New Orleans. Some estate business. One of father’s old clients,” he told her, tucking her arm through his as they made their way back through the high-ceilinged house.
With Hugh Cameron less inclined to travel as he grew older, Logan was taking over more and more of the judge’s law practice.
When they were seated in comfortable rush rockers on the shady side of the veranda, sipping minted iced tea, Avril confided in her longtime friend. “Clay has gone to propose marriage to someone I am afraid cannot possibly make him happy.”
“And who is that? And how can you be so sure she can’t make him happy?”
“Oh, Logan, you’re always so logical,” Avril accused. “Wanting all the facts. A typical lawyer!”
Briefly she told him what she knew of Sara Leighton.
“And Clayborn loves her?”
“Madly.” Avril sighed deeply. “Although I can’t account for it. They only met at Doug Cameron’s wedding and could scarcely know each other!”
Logan rose and walked over to the porch railing. Leaning on it with his hands, he gazed out toward the orchards and past to the woods. “Then there’s nothing you can do about it.”
“If only—” began Avril.
“If only Clay had fallen in love with someone you knew and approved of, someone right for him?” Logan finished the sentence for her. He turned, regarding Avril thoughtfully.
She reached for her glass and took a sip, returning his appraisal over its rim.
Logan had always been handsome, the best looking of the two Cameron boys, she thought. But now his features were mature, stamped with a sophistication born of experience and responsibility. He was looking at her now with that amused irony she recognized from earlier days.
“You know me too well,” she said.
“Fairy-tale endings. You always wanted fairy-tale endings, Avril,” Logan remarked. “Life doesn’t always oblige.”
“I got mine!” she reminded him.
Logan did not comment right away. He shrugged. “Perhaps. But some of us fall in love with the wrong person. That is, someone who is either wrong or one who doesn’t love us in return.”
“I trust Clayborn,” Avril said firmly. “He has good judgment. Maybe when he sees Sara again, spends more time with her, he’ll realize—”
“Love has nothing to do with good judgment. It’s a kind of insanity!” declared Logan. “No conscientious lawyer would allow his client to sign a binding agreement in the state of mind most people are in when about to commit themselves to marriage.”
Avril’s eyes filled with merriment. “Oh, Logan, you’re good for me! You make me laugh! I wish you’d open your own law office in Mayfield and not travel so much, or at least come home to Cameron Hall more often!”
“I cannot endure all the domestic bliss that abounds there these days,” he retorted, eyes twinkling mischievously. “Doug and his bride are still honeymooners, and, for that matter, Marshall and Becky are not much past that themselves. And as for the three younger children—especially the little girls!” Logan raised both hands in mock horror. “Those two are more rambunctious than Marshall and I ever were! Becky’s going to have her hands full trying to turn those hoydens into young ladies.”
Avril laughed again and realized it had been a long time since she had. She was sorry when Logan rose from his chair.
“Well, I better be on my way,” he said. “I’m disappointed not to have seen Clay. I was anxious to hear his impressions of his European travels.”
“He should be back at the end of the month, Logan. Maybe sooner, if he doesn’t get the answer he’s hoping for.” Avril walked with him to the front of the porch. One of the little boys from the quarters was sitting on the grass beside Logan’s gelding, holding the reins while the horse grazed. “You’ll still be here then, won’t you?”
“I think so.” He started down the steps. “In the meantime, why don’t you and I go riding some morning?” Looking back over his shoulder, he said, “Like the old days.”
“I’d like that!” exclaimed Avril happily.
“Good! Why not tomorrow? Eight o’clock?”
“Fine,” she agreed. “I’ll be ready.”
As Avril stood watching Logan ride down the drive and out of sight, she suddenly knew how much she had missed him. Especially in these last three lonely years of widowhood. Logan, who had been her childhood playmate, the companion of her youth, her confidant and friend. As she went back inside, Avril was smiling—she was looking forward to tomorrow.
Even though she knew Logan was right when he said there was nothing she could do about Clay’s infatuation with Sara Leighton, Avril relied on that which had always given her comfort and guidance.
That night she knelt at her bedroom window, looking out on the beauty that was Montclair by moonlight, and prayed for the young man who was as dear to her as any child of her own could be. Having known the perfect joy of a good marriage, where love is given and returned in full measure, she asked that her son be granted the same. But before she got up from her knees, Avril also prayed for the girl he loved so blindly.
Part II
Savannah
Summer 1831
chapter
9
“I DECLARE, Leonard! I am completely baffled by Sara’s behavior!” Georgina complained to her husband as they sat at breakfast one morning. “I can’t imagine what ails the girl. Last year we could not curtail her activities, and now she doesn’t want to go anywhere or see anyone.” She frowned as if just making a fresh discovery. “Sara must be engaged and married before we can launch Lucie, you know. And Lucie will soon be sixteen and graduating school in June. Then what shall we do?”
Frowning, Leonard spooned more sugar into his coffee and stirred without reply. He wished Georgina would not annoy him with this sort of nonsense. He did not want to start his day hearing that Sara was being difficult again!
Clearing his throat, he said placatingly, “I wouldn’t fret, my dear. Perhaps it’s just a phase.”
“But it’s gone on for months, Leonard!” protested Georgina. “Ever since Katherine Maitland’s wedding, as a matter of fact. I don’t understand it.”
“Well, who can understand Sara?” he asked, irritated to have his breakfast spoiled by such trivial feminine matters.
“But, Leonard, I want to plan Lucie’s debut for the Christmas holidays, and if Sara won’t cooperate—”
Pulling out his watch on its heavy gold chain, Leonard consulted it and said, “Well, I must be off to the Exchange, my dear. Can’t we postpone this decision about parties until some better time?”
Georgina looked injured, and he groaned inwardly. Going around the table, he dropped a light kiss on her cheek. At the very same moment, Sara, dressed in a forest green riding habit, appeared at the dining room door.
“Good morning, Papa. Good morning, Stepmama,” Sara greeted them as she took her place at the table.
“Nice ride, Sara?” Leonard asked, thinking how splendid his eldest daughter looked, her vivid coloring enhanced by her exercise in the bracing air.
“Wonderful!” She held out her cup for Georgina to fill it with coffee.
“Riding alone
seems to be the only outing you enjoy these days, Sara,” Georgina remarked insinuatingly.
Sara gave her stepmother a cool glance and took a sip of coffee.
Sensing the beginning of the familiar tug of wills between his wife and daughter, Leonard started for the door. “Goodbye, my dears. See you at noon,” he said, and walked briskly out into the hall, passing Trent, the butler bringing in the morning mail on a small silver tray, which he placed before Georgina.
She sifted through it, then drew out an envelope, turning it over, and examining its foreign postmark before holding it out to Sara. “Another thick missive from Clayborn Montrose for you, Sara. From Paris, this time.” She raised her eyebrows slightly. “He has become a frequent correspondent.”
Sara took the letter without a word and put it down, unopened, beside her plate.
Annoyed, Georgina could not resist asking, “Aren’t you going to read it?”
Sara continued buttering her toast. “Later,” she replied coolly. She was nineteen now. Georgina could no longer expect to censor her mail.
Georgina tightened her lips in a gesture of disapproval but, determined not to rise to her stepdaughter’s obvious bait, she checked any further comment and turned to her own sheaf of notes and invitations.
Satisfied that she had sufficiently displayed her indifference as well as her independence, Sara finished her breakfast. Then, pocketing Clay’s letter, she excused herself and sauntered from the room.
Running upstairs to the privacy of her bedroom, she curled up on the window seat and eagerly ripped open the envelope.
After Katherine Maitland’s wedding, when she had found out about Theo’s engagement, the summer had dragged by, endless and bereft of joy for Sara. The only distraction from her lingering heartbreak were Clay’s letters that came with surprising regularity.
Clay wrote with an easy fluidity, having a rare gift for describing the places he visited, so that they came to life under his pen. There was an openness, a naturalness about the letters that evoked Sara’s pleasant impressions of the tall Virginian.
