He started to sway with the music, the sweet, poignant cry of Clapton’s guitar. “Wonderful Tonight.” The world outside was wrapped in a swirling blanket of white, the snow blocking out everything but the two of them and the music.
“How much better are you feeling?” he asked when the music had stopped.
“Much,” she assured him. “Come over in front of the fire and you can see for yourself just how good I feel.”
Chapter 26
“India, I really think this is unwise of you. August was trying her best not to lecture. After all, India was a grown woman. Still, her aunt felt compelled to state the obvious. “As sick as you have been, going to the Twelfth Night Ball is sheer folly. You’ll have a relapse. You’ll expose yourself to other people’s germs, you’ll—”
“Have a wonderful time in spite of all of those things.” India sponged small dots of liquid foundation onto her nose, hoping to make the red go away. “It’s no use, I look like Rudolph. Maybe I should wear a mask and keep it on all night and no one will notice.”
“Well, perhaps Nick will have enough sense to bring you home early,” August rationalized.
“Aunt August, I have not been to the Twelfth Night Ball in years. I have been looking forward to going with Nick and dancing my little feet off. And I’m going to do exactly that.” India smiled to herself, thinking she sounded a little like Scarlet O’Hara. Any other time she would have bristled at the very thought that she, India Devlin, that straight-shooting, tough prosecutor, could have anything whatsoever in common with the little flirt from Tara, but on Twelfth Night it tickled her. She was determined to dance until she dropped and have a wonderful time.
She had hoped that they could attend the dance classes the first week of January so that Nick could learn and she could brush up on the period dances that would be featured that night, but, given her recent illness, India knew that she was lucky to be going at all.
“I will be keeping an eye on you, miss,” August reminded her.
“I know that you will, Aunt August.” India laughed.
“Indy?” Darla called from the bottom of the steps.
“Up here, Dar, come on up,” India called back.
“Wow! Look at you!” India exclaimed as Darla swept into the room in a blue satin gown that once belonged to one of India’s twin great-great aunts.
“Is this too funny?” Darla laughed. “Just like prom night. Except this time we’re going with the same man.”
“Nick will have the time of his life,” India assured her. “Here, help me get this dress over my head and then I’ll put your hair up.”
“And I’ll do yours.” Darla slid the gossamer satin over India’s head and fastened the back with the little hooks that closed women’s dresses a hundred years earlier.
“We could still pull it off,” India said as she swept Darla’s hair atop her head and secured it with bobby pins.
“You want to see if we can fool Nick?” Darla grinned.
“Of course we can fool Nick.”
When India’s hair had been identically swept up, they stood side by side in front of the mirror.
“Nah, we’ll never get away with it.” Darla shook her head wistfully. “Not after I’ve had two children. Your waist is much smaller, India.”
“Not ‘much,’ maybe a little. And speaking of children, the baby-sitter should be here any minute. It was a great idea to share a sitter tonight, Dar.”
“Well, you know, since Kenny’s been taking the kids more often, they’ve settled down a bit. Jack was with him over the weekend and they spent all day Sunday out at the nature sanctuary.”
“I’m glad that’s working out a little better. I felt badly for Kenny, to tell you the truth, Darla. It must have been very difficult for him when you left.”
“It was.” Darla sat down on the edge of the bed, careful not to wrinkle the borrowed ball gown, and crossed her legs. “I think I didn’t give Kenny enough credit back then. All I knew was that I was unhappy and wanted out. No wonder he went a little crazy. I mean, I worked so hard for so long to be such a good little wife and mother, he never knew how unhappy I was. Then I just walked. I was so unfair to him.”
“Dar, we can’t change the past. The important thing is that Kenny has reconciled with his children and is spending more time with them. That’s what matters.” India heard a car door slam and flew to the window to look out. “It’s Nick. I promised the dance master we would be there a little early so that he could put us through our paces for the grand march. Let’s see what he thinks of our twin look.”
Look alike they may have, but it was clear that Nick only had eyes for India, a fact that no one in the old Devlin mansion could have doubted.
August stood proudly to one side in the festively dressed ballroom and watched her beloved niece take her place at Nick’s side just inside the doorway, where they awaited the music that would signal the start of the Devlin’s Light Historic Society’s Twelfth Night Ball. She was beautiful, her girl was, and she was here, poised to lead the grand march on the arm of the man that she was, judging by all indications, totally in love with. Just as she herself had once done, years ago, before the world called to her and lured her away with the promise of something better, more exotic. She had never found it, had never found anything better, anything more exotic than what she had felt on that night long ago when she had stood in exactly the spot where India was standing. Other nondancers began to filter into the room to spectate, and August moved slightly toward the bandstand to accommodate the crowd.
“Seems I might know that bonnie blue dress she’s wearing,” a voice rasped in her ear. “Seems I might have seen it before.”
August turned to find Captain Pete dressed in his best naval uniform and leaning on his cane.
“You would remember such a thing,” August said softly.
“There are some things a man never forgets,” he said without looking at her. He moved his fingers slowly against the palm of his hand, as if feeling the cool of the satin between them, and for the first time in years, Augustina Devlin blushed.
Just as the music began, India closed her eyes and let it all soak in, just for the fun of it. Here she was, dressed in elegant satin with sparkling hairpins holding up her hair and a mile of pearls wrapped around her neck, holding the hand of the most handsome, wonderful man on the face of the earth. Nick’s Christmas earrings caught the light and glittered. The music echoed of another time when other musicians played similar tunes in this very room, and other ladies, dressed in their finest, had lined up in the wide hallway to await the music’s invitation to enter, to dance, and perhaps to fall in love.
The small orchestra, which specialized in period music, began to play, and at the signal from the dance master, India and Nick swept into the room, which was brilliantly lit with the tongues of a thousand candles, as tradition dictated. Once the grand march had ended, and the guests had all taken their places, the candles would be extinguished and the electric chandeliers turned on. But for now, the candles lent a romantic glow, and, combined with the strains of the expertly played music and the graceful dancing, the evening was off to a joyful start.
After the first two waltzes, India tugged on Nick’s arm, trying to catch her breath. “I have to sit down.”
“I keep forgetting that you’ve only been out of bed for two days. Let’s find a chair for you and I’ll get you a cup of punch.”
“This seat right here will be fine.” India sank into the first empty chair she saw.
Nick set off in search of the punch bowl while India watched the other dancers, their silks and the satins spinning like colored tops across the highly polished dance floor.
Nick divided his waltzes between India, Darla, and August, with a gallant turn now and then for others from August’s circle, all of whom clucked knowingly and approvingly as they watched Nick swirl around the dance floor with India in his arms.
“I think I’ve had it.” India sighed and sank back into t
he amply padded chair. “My feet cannot dance another step. But look, there’s Darla over there with that bore Ted Reynolds. Do you think you could rescue her?”
“I believe she did promise me this dance.” He nodded. “And then we might think about leaving.”
“Oh, but it’s early,” she told him. “There are fireworks at midnight, then a lovely supper, then the unmasking—”
“But there’s also a lovely piece of moon over the bay,” he whispered in her ear, “and I’m not so sure I wouldn’t rather have a little private unmasking, if you get my drift.”
“On the other hand”—she opened her white lace fan and fluttered it coyly—“I suppose, having been ill, one should take care of oneself and get to bed early.”
“Hmmm.” He looked in the direction of the stairwell leading to the second floor and the room Captain Jon had shared with his lady. “What are the chances that anyone would miss us for an hour or two?”
She snapped the fan closed and smacked him on the shoulder with it. “Don’t even think about it. Good grief, Nick, they’re giving tours tonight. Could you imagine the scandal?”
Nick laughed and went off on his mission to save Darla from the clutches of Ted the Terminally Dull. India waved to an old friend from high school who joined her to gossip about who was wearing what, who was dancing with whom, and who the few unknown dancers might be behind their masks. When the music ended, the announcement was made for all to assemble on the verandah overlooking the gardens to watch the fireworks display, which marked the midnight hour and the official end of the holiday season for another year. Nick escorted both India and Darla, and with an arm around both, the group ooohed and ahhed at the brightly colored lights that dazzled the January sky.
“There are so many here this year, we’ve had to go to a buffet rather than a seated dinner,” August was telling a short, dark-haired woman dressed in black velvet trimmed in gold with a matching mask, “and we’ve easily seated over a hundred here in past years.”
“Well, the Twelfth Night Ball in Devlin’s Light is becoming quite the thing.” The woman nodded and allowed August to lead her back into the ballroom through one of two open sets of French doors. “We heard about it all the way up in Parsippany and it sounded like such fun.”
“Well, if you’ve enjoyed this, you’ll have to come back for the Midsummer’s Night Social,” August told her.
“Really?” The woman’s eyes sparkled. “Tell me all about it.”
“What fun that all of those traditions are still being followed,” India told Nick, “and that those that fell by the wayside over the years are now being revived. They stopped doing Midsummer’s Night back when I was in high school.”
“This must have been some place to live in, years ago,” he said, turning his head to look across the expanse of lawn, which now lay in dark stillness, the fireworks display having ended for another year.
“It was. Someday you’ll have to read the journals that some of my ancestors kept detailing the social life in Devlin’s Light. Who wore what. Who danced with whom. Who flirted with whose husband.”
“Much like the conversation here tonight,” he pointed out.
“Precisely the same.” India laughed. “Maybe I should start keeping a journal of my own.”
“Shall we see if Darla wants to leave now or after supper?”
“Actually, since she did all the baking for tonight, I think it might send a poor message if she was to leave before dessert.”
“We can stay another hour.” Nick nodded. “I think we want to hang out a little with your aunt. Seems that low-cut green velvet has attracted more than a little attention, don’t you think?”
“I did notice that Captain Pete appeared to be shadowing her a bit tonight, and she didn’t seem to be grumbling at him for it. I told you I thought there was something there.”
“You did indeed. Let’s see if we can catch up with them and figure out exactly what.” Nick held out his hand to her.
“Where did Darla disappear to?” India frowned and looked over her shoulder. “She was just right there.”
“She probably fled to the kitchen to escape the clutches of Ted the Terrible.”
“I guess.” India took his hand and together they joined the crowd filtering toward the lavish buffet supper awaiting them in the grand dining room.
Hand-carved roast beef, pink and perfect, and scrumptious honey-baked ham, rosy and fragrant, were the crown jewels in the evening’s feast, which started with oysters on the half shell, smoked bluefish with fresh dill dressing, and brie topped with raspberry puree and wrapped in phyllo pastry; the repaste ended with a spectacular array especially prepared by Darla’s Delectables.
“If I never see another poached pear again it’ll be too soon,” Nick groaned, and India laughed. “Or chocolate. I make a mean chocolate cake, India, I pride myself on that. But I have never experienced the likes of what Darla did with that soufflé.”
“It was that incredible coconut cake that did it for me.” India leaned against him. “And just how many of those tiny fruit tarts did you have, anyway?”
“One too many, obviously. At least one too many. But I think it was the truffles that finally put me over the edge.”
The lights in the ballroom dimmed, and the music began to play. India and Nick looked at each other and groaned at the thought of a sprightly waltz.
“Maybe just a walk around the verandah,” Nick suggested.
“I’ll try,” she told him, “though I feel more like rolling than walking.”
The night air was still unseasonably balmy, and the warmth from the day combined with the slightly cooler evening air to form a mist across the side lawn. The lights from the ballroom spilled gently through the windows and spread a faint haze over all. It was timeless, the night and the mist and the music, and India could not help but say so.
“There are some things that do seem to endure,” Nick said. “Nights like this must be one of those things. And you do feel it here, in this house, don’t you?”
“I always have. This house was always a draw for me.” India leaned back against the white wall that ran the length of the open porch. “I remember times when I was a child, before the restoration began in earnest and the house was open to the public for things like this, I would come here, thinking if I sat quietly enough, I would see one or another of my ancestors.”
“Did you?”
“Frequently. At least I thought I did,” she mused.
“You could have told me that there might have been an audience.” He pointed to the windows on the second floor where Salem’s lamp shone brightly. “I might have put a little more into my performance.”
“If you had put anything more into your performance, you’d have had to carry me out of here,” India whispered as another couple joined them to share the night air.
“Lovely evening, isn’t it?” The man nodded.
“Lovely,” Nick and India agreed in unison.
“Time to go, my sweet.” Nick took hold of India’s elbow. “I figure it will take us another hour to say all of our goodnights and get back to the cabin. You still owe me a dance on the deck in the moonlight—such as it is tonight— from New Year’s Eve.”
She grinned. “Well then, we should put the moonlight— such as it is—to good use. Let’s find Aunt August and let her know that we are leaving.”
August was easy to find, surrounded as always by her circle of friends and their spouses, with Captain Pete thrown into the mix for an added fillip this year. August fussed proudly over India for having danced too much on her first night out since having the flu, and she agreed that it was time for India to call it a night without asking where India would be spending the rest of it.
Darla, on the other hand, was nowhere to be seen.
India checked the kitchen but was told that she had not been in there since early in the evening, when she poked in to add a few small finishing touches to the desserts she had delivered that afternoon. Nick
went through every room on the second floor, thinking perhaps she had wandered, but she was not there.
“I’ll run outside,” Nick told her. “Maybe she’s out there.”
“We just came in,” India reminded him.
“Well, maybe she was on the front porch or the other side of the house.”
India paced the long front hallway uneasily, a finger of fear chilling her back from her shoulders on down. “Maybe the garden,” she suggested when Nick came back shaking his head. “Maybe she just went off to sit by herself. Maybe she was thinking back to last year, being here with Ry.”
“I’ll check in the garden,” Nick told her.
Several others had quietly joined in the search. Taylor Anderson, one of the members of Chief Carpenter’s staff who had attended the ball with his wife, along with one of Pete’s sons who was attending his first Twelfth Night, followed Nick down the stone path to the garden. India stood on the back porch and watched the three men disappear into the darkness of the gardens that lay beyond the house.
“Call an ambulance!” Pete’s boy raced through the night, shouting and waving his arms frantically. “Get the chief! Get an ambulance!”
The small crowd gathered at the back of the house seemed to freeze, not quite comprehending the meaning of the young man’s words. Chief Carpenter stepped forward and asked, “Jake, what is it?”
“She’s down there!” The boy pointed toward the garden. “There’s blood!… I never saw so much blood!”
He leaned against the railing, and it was clear that he was about to be violently ill.
India’s brain, at first unwilling to respond, finally sent a message to her feet and she took off down the steps.
“No, India, go back and call the ambulance,” the chief called over his shoulder. He did not want her there, not knowing exactly what he was going to find.
Ignoring him, she kicked off the high heels, which were sinking into the soft ground, and ran past him, a lithe, frantic figure driven by fear and the need to protect someone she loved. In the distance she could see the white of Nick’s tuxedo shirt gleaming in the dark, and she fled to him.
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