Folly's Bride

by Jane Peart

Though Clay had not been aware of it at the time, nor had Sara revealed it in her letters to him, she was grateful to him for saving her from utterly giving way to her emotions at Katherine Maidand’s wedding reception. His flattering attentiveness had kept her in control all that long evening. After Lucie had left for her final year at the Academe in Charleston, Sara was lonely, and his letters were a welcome diversion.

  The image of him lingered. His soft drawl, his eyes full of warmth and laughter and something more, kindness.

  His travels sounded exotic and exciting to Sara, who had traveled little and who longed for the experience of visiting other lands, tasting other cultures. To her, he was the ultimate cosmopolitan. His letters always ended with his desire to visit her in Savannah when he returned from Europe.

  Sara sighed as she finished reading his letter. How she wished she could go abroad—or anywhere, just so she could escape her stepmother’s petulant inquiries about her lack of interest in social life, the invitations that piled up, unanswered, on her dressing table. At first, Georgina had thought she must be sick, and had ordered Mammy to administer a tonic. But when Sara’s ennui persisted, Georgina had become frantic.

  Sara had tried to ignore her, riding out each morning for longer and longer periods of time, loath to return to the house to Georgina’s nagging insistence that she accompany her to this or that social event. Most of all she yearned to escape from the lingering heartache of Theo’s betrayal.

  She spent hours alone, playing with Ruffy, and even took to reading some of the Jane Austen novels Lucie was so fond of, but a great deal of time was spent grieving for what might have been. She had retreated only to try to recover.

  And Clay Montrose’s letters had helped revive her. She would answer this one right away. In it he had hinted that there was something of great importance he wanted to ask her. Sara’s curiosity was aroused.

  Fall gave way to winter and Lucie came home for the Christmas holidays. Sara rallied enough to enter into the “coming out” party the Leightons hosted for their youngest daughter. Lucie had grown into a lovely young woman with her own delicate beauty, not Sara’s spectacular good looks that stunned and sometimes intimidated, but a warm, winning radiance that brought her dozens of enchanted beaux.

  Sara was happy for her sister but felt a curious detachment of interest in the young men who still clustered about her at parties. She felt as if she were waiting for something … or someone. What, or whom, she wasn’t quite sure. Gradually, she came to realize that her future still held possibility and promise. The unknown had always appealed to Sara’s adventurous spirit. As her bruised heart began to heal, she began to ask herself what might happen when Clay Montrose returned to Savannah.

  Sometimes Sara even wondered if Clayborn Montrose was really that knight on a white charger that Lucie had always proclaimed would someday rescue her sister and carry her off to a beautiful castle far away.

  The day she received word that Clay was on his way to Savannah, she was filled with unexpected excitement. He would be staying again with the Faxton Pierce family, he wrote, and would send a request to call as soon as he arrived.

  His note and a bouquet were delivered when the family was at breakfast. After reading it, Georgina looked up with an expression of surprise and satisfaction.

  “I have just received a gracious note from Clayborn Montrose, Sara, asking if he might call on you this afternoon.”

  Sara felt her heart give a little leap of pleasure, but she affected stifling a yawn, tossed back her hair with a little shrug, and poured more tea into her porcelain cup.

  “He has just returned from his European travels, he says, so it should be an interesting visit,” Georgina went on, curbing her impatience with Sara’s lack of response. How annoying the girl was! Piqued, Georgina could not resist making a point. “Fortunately, it is my ‘at home’ day. Otherwise, I should have to ask him to come another day as my calendar is filled for the rest of the week.”

  Georgina had been favorably impressed with Clayborn Montrose when she had met him at Katherine’s wedding. Moreover, she had made it her business to check up on him, and she had found no flaws. His background was impeccable. Heir to one of the largest James River plantations and fortunes, she had dubbed this a prestigious match for her stepdaughter. If only Sara—Georgina glanced again at Sara, realizing with fresh resolve just how much she wanted this girl safely married and in her own home, a long way from Savannah!

  Sara rose leisurely, folded her napkin, and replaced it carefully into the silver ring engraved with her name, and asked to be excused.

  “Well, I hope you’re aware of the significance of this call, Sara,” Georgina said sharply. “It’s not every day you entertain the heir to a fortune.”

  Sara shrugged. “It’s been nearly a year since I met him. I don’t really remember him all that well, after all,” she replied, unwilling to give Georgina the satisfaction of seeing her own interest in the purpose of Clay’s call. “We’ll just have to see.”

  Georgina decided she could play the game as well as Sara and refrained from further comment, merely calling after her stepdaughter’s departing figure, “I suggest you wear your new flowered muslin afternoon dress, Sara.”

  Clay was shown into the Leightons’ drawing room, where he was received cordially by Georgina, who was entertaining some ladies for tea.

  After they had visited for the requisite quarter hour, conversing politely about the weather, his journey, his impressions of Europe, Georgina said, “Sara is in the garden, Mr. Montrose. I’m sure she will be delighted to see you again. You may go out that way.” She indicated the louvered doors through which the brick walled garden was plainly visible, subtly suggesting that, while Clay had permission to be with Sara alone, their encounter could be viewed from the drawing room, and thus properly chaperoned.

  Unsure of her own feelings, Sara was experiencing some ambivalence about Clay’s visit. Something told her it held the key that might open the door of freedom to her. She did not know how much longer she could endure living under the same roof with the insufferable Georgina. On the other hand, was Clay, practically a stranger, the answer?

  Even Mammy June noticed her nervousness as she dressed for his expected arrival. Two or three dresses were brought out to be tried on, then discarded, before Sara reluctantly settled for the new flower-strewn muslin Georgina had suggested. She swirled her hair up, let it fall around her shoulders, then tied it back with a wide blue satin ribbon.

  Finally she threw down her brush, whistled for Ruffy, and ran down the back stairs and out into the garden without making the required appearance in the drawing room to greet Georgina’s callers.

  Sara needed this time before seeing Clay. For some reason her heart was pounding and her thoughts flying every which way.

  It annoyed her, too, that Georgina was so anxious to make this visit important. Her stepmother had made no secret of the fact that she hoped Clay would propose, but Sara didn’t even know if she wanted to get married. To put an end forever to the carefree life she had enjoyed as a belle? To go to Virginia to live? Virginia was so far away! It would mean leaving Lucie, her father, Savannah—everything familiar! No, she wasn’t at all sure this was what she wanted.

  While she waited, she amused herself by tossing a ball for Ruffy to fetch. When the spaniel tired of the game and flopped, panting, under the shade of the giant oak tree, Sara sat down on the swing. Her hair ribbon had come loose, and her heavy, dark hair was hot on her neck. She lifted it with both hands.

  Pushing the swing idly with one foot, she let her mind wander. It traveled a well-worn path to thoughts of Theo Richardson. Would she ever get over that hurt? She had tried. But there were many nights when she still cried herself to sleep.

  It was wrong, she knew. Theo was married now. She should not think of him anymore, she told herself. Still, she couldn’t help wondering if he were happy. Did he ever think of her, regret what he had done?

  To stop the ache, she tried t
o shut out the picture of him she carried in her mind—the thick-lashed eyes so amazingly blue in his dark-skinned face, the mouth with its slightly melancholy smile, the sensuous curve of the lips that had kissed hers so tenderly, but the dart of pain his memory brought was so piercing that Sara unconsciously drew in her breath.

  To distract herself, she leaned forward to check on the kittens nestled close to her tabby in a basket under the tree. She bent down and scooped up the white one, cuddling him. She was holding it up to her cheek, nuzzling its furry head with her chin, when Clay stepped out onto the terrace. She looked up and smiled.

  His first thought when he saw them was that both pairs of eyes were of the same startling hue. His second, how unbelievably lovely Sara was! He felt his heart contract in longing and love.

  He moved toward her eagerly.

  Never in all the years that followed could Clay quite recreate the hour they spent together in the blossoming fragrance of that Savannah garden. He knew that all his well-rehearsed speeches were soon forgotten as he basked in the presence of the object of his love.

  What they spoke about, what they discussed, all remained dim in his mind. He only knew that he shared his feelings openly and that Sara had listened without stopping him, without rejecting his offer of a lifelong love.

  He had not meant to speak so soon of marriage or of the future he desired they spend together. But when he left the garden that day, he knew Sara was considering his proposal, for she gave him permission to speak to her father.

  If he remembered little else, Clay would never forget their first kiss, its sweetness reminding him of the taste and heady sensation of wine from the famous scuppernong grapes at Montclair.

  He had walked from the shadowy umbrella of the oak tree, where they had sat together, into the sunshine like a sleepwalker, dazed and without direction. Then, quite impetuously, he had danced a little jig. He was mad with love for Sara Leighton, grateful, tender, passionate in his desire to spend the rest of his life making her happy.

  Clayborn had no idea what an impossible task this would prove to be.

  Savannah

  Fall 1831

  The whirlwind courtship stunned Savannah society, and although pleased by the alliance with the prominent Montrose family of Virginia, Georgina went into a flurry of frenzied preparations for a December wedding.

  Lucie, ever the romantic, was torn between being thrilled at the prospect of being maid of honor at the wedding and devastated at the thought of her sister’s moving so far away.

  “But you can come to visit and stay for as long as you want, Lucie!” Sara reassured her, and that seemed to satisfy her, temporarily at least.

  The weeks before the wedding were hectic ones, filled with dressmaking appointments, fittings, selecting china patterns, and coordinating guest lists with the invitations to be engraved and sent out. Sara felt as if there could not possibly be enough hours in the days that came and went with quicksilver swiftness. She moved through these events detached somehow but with her usual outward assurance and poise. And then, somewhat suddenly it seemed, the week of the wedding itself was upon her.

  A few days before the wedding, Georgina paid an unexpected visit to Sara’s bedroom.

  “There are some things I must discuss with you, Sara,” she began without preamble. ”Alone.” She waited, pointedly, for Mammy June to take her leave, then followed to close the door securely behind the old woman, after peering into the hallway to be sure she was not loitering outside and able to overhear their conversation.

  Sara fervently hoped that she was not in for a lecture on the duties and obligations of married life, since her stepmother was the last person on earth she would want to deliver such pronouncements. But it was something quite different that Georgina had come to say.

  “Your father and I have decided you are to take Lizzie and your groom, Wilson, with you to Montclair. We will send Anson and Molly later, along with your trunks.”

  Sara was baffled. She knew Mrs. Montrose had at least twenty house servants, and she assumed Clay’s stable was staffed with capable grooms and trainers. She also knew that Georgina, a stern mistress, prided herself on her orderly household of well-trained servants. In fact, Sara recalled, her stepmother had brought along her personal maid, Camella, two housemaids, Fronsy and Molly, and her own coachman, Anson, when she married Leonard Leighton and moved to Savannah to live. Sara was astonished that the usually self-centered woman was willing to part with two of them now.

  “But why should I take your servants?” she asked.

  “Because, Sara, you must surround yourself with people you can trust,” Georgina replied with an enigmatic expression on her face.

  “Does that mean you don’t think the Montrose servants are trustworthy?”

  Georgina looked annoyed. “I don’t mean that at all, Sara. Why must you always twist the meaning of my words?” Her voice was taut with tension. “I never said anything to you or Lucie before, because I did not think it wise to frighten either of you, as young as you were then. And, of course, the Leighton servants were second generation to those belonging to your father’s family. However—” Here she lowered her voice confidentially—“As you know, I was brought up by my grandmother, who instilled in me the need to be careful when managing one’s … people. You see, she never forgot a childhood experience, a slave uprising less than thirty years ago.” She paused, and Sara sat forward, listening intently. “A close friend of her own mother, known to be a kind, indulgent mistress, was murdered by her own slaves!” Georgina paused dramatically, allowing Sara to receive the full impact of her words.

  “She was murdered in her bed, while she slept!” she went on. “A full-scale insurrection was avoided in this country, but it was thought to have been inspired by word of the events in San Domingo where a bloody rebellion occurred. White folk and their loyal black slaves escaped for their lives, bringing with them tales of unspeakable horrors!” Georgina shuddered. “It made an indelible impression on my grandmother, I can assure you, and she was ever after afraid of even her own servants. She warned us to train our people with a firm hand, expect obedience, and reward diligence and loyalty, but never to pamper, and always to be wary.”

  Sara shivered, her vivid imagination filling in the untold details of this story.

  Georgina continued. “Now Lizzie is still in training as a lady’s maid, so you’ll have to be patient. But she is eager and teachable, so I think she will work out nicely. And you must be explicit as to how you want things done and insist on her doing them correctly. Understand?”

  Sara nodded. She was still not sure why Georgina had felt it necessary to warn her in this way, a favor that did not seem consistent with their volatile relationship. But she thanked her stepmother and soon forgot the strange incident.

  Finally all the trunks were packed, and all that remained in Sara’s armoire were her satin wedding gown, the color of a seashell that might be found on a Georgia beach, and her handsome traveling outfit for the honeymoon trip to New Orleans aboard the River Queen.

  At last the moment came when, on her father’s arm, Sara descended the stairway of her childhood home to begin a new life with the clear-eyed young man who waited for her at the church.

  Through the drift of her tulle veil, she saw his worshipful gaze as he turned, holding out his hand to lead her to the steps of the altar. Such adoration was daunting, but Sara accepted it as a challenge.

  Although she was conscious of the part of her heart that would never belong to Clay Montrose, she realized she had never done anything as important as taking the vows uniting them as husband and wife. “From this day forward” she intended to keep the promises she was making “to love, honor, and cherish” him, no matter what.

  Montclair

  Winter 1832

  In the master suite at Montclair, seated at her small desk, the only piece of furniture she had brought from her Savannah bedroom, Sara sat down to write a letter to Lucie.

  You must plan
to visit us soon! I miss you so much and long to see you, even though my life here is unbelievably perfect. We will have such fun together and you will be astounded at my performance in my new role as mistress of this great plantation house. It is far bigger and grander than I had imagined, Lucie. But everything runs smoothly, with my hardly having to lift a finger to command! You may tell Stepmama that Lizzie’s training is coming along, and that Molly and Anson are fitting in well with the Montrose servants, so there is nothing for her to worry about.

  As for me, I reign here as queen, which is quite a contrast to my position in the Leighton household, as you well know.

  I fell in love with Montclair the minute we rode through the gates. We arrived here, directly from our New Orleans honeymoon, during a beautiful snowfall. The grounds, evergreen trees and the roof of this rambling brick and clapboard house were all blanketed in white. It seemed an auspicious beginning to our new life—everything so spotless and untouched and just waiting for us—like the pages of the new journal Clay received from his Aunt Avril at Christmas.

  Inside, everything was in readiness to welcome us. Fires burning in every fireplace, candles glowing, a hot punch and delicious meal to greet the weary travelers. We had spent a week in Williamsburg before coming here, being royally entertained by Clay’s Barnwell kin and their many friends.

  Clay’s Aunt Avril, of course, was responsible for our warm reception here, and she informed us that while we were on our wedding trip she had decided to move into a charming little house on the estate, called Eden Cottage. She made a delightful little ceremony of handing over the house keys to me, saying, “Now you are in charge.”

  I like Avril, I think. Clay is absolutely devoted to her, of course, but I don’t feel she wants to intrude in our lives. That will be a welcome change!

  Avril has a handsome “gentleman admirer” who is a frequent caller and dined with us the first evening we were “home.” He is a distinguished lawyer with an international practice—an uncle of Douglas Cameron, Katherine Maitland’s husband. I haven’t had a chance to visit Kate yet at their family home, Cameron Hall, but hope to remedy that soon.