Jubilee Bride

by Jane Peart

  Phoebe gave Jonathan an admiring look. "You're very good with them. Have you children of your own then?"

  "Yes, two—a boy and girl—about Scott and the twins' ages."

  "And why aren't they with you for the summer, like the others?"

  "They're . . . with their grandfather in Massachusetts."

  Phoebe's eyes softened sympathetically. "Their mother's dead?"

  Jonathan flushed. "Oh, no, she's . . . Davida's very much alive."

  When Phoebe looked puzzled, he felt he must offer some explanation. "It wasn't possible for her to come with us . . . this time."

  Fortunately, the awkward moment ended when he was called upon to arbitrate a small difference of opinion between Scott and Evalee.

  "She's so bossy, Uncle Jonathan," Scott grumbled, not satisfied with the resolution. "Evalee's the bossiest girl I know. Girls shouldn't always get their own way, should they?" he demanded, scowling.

  Jonathan, thinking of another young woman who most certainly or nearly always got her way, shook his head. "Well, I guess a gentleman just has to be patient and hope they'll come around, Scott."

  Over the boy's head, Jonathan met Phoebe's serious gaze before he looked away.

  Later, while all four children rode the merry-go-round, Jonathan and Phoebe strolled by the booths circling the carousel. Just as they drew abreast of the gypsy fortune-teller's tent, a swarthy man wearing a bandanna and with a gold hoop in his ear began hawking customers for "Salvana, the Seer," who waited inside.

  "Come on in, lady!" He beckoned to Phoebe. "Salvana can tell you everything you wanna know—past, future, secrets of the beyond—"

  "Want to have your fortune told. Miss McPherson?" Jonathan asked jokingly.

  "Me, sir? I should say not!" Phoebe drew herself up with a show of indignation, although her eyes twinkled merrily. "I was raised strict Methodist chapel, Mr. Montrose. My old auntie would be scandalized at the very thought. Besides, I know my past, and I've planned my future quite carefully. I certainly don't need some gypsy fake telling me a lot of nonsense!"

  "And what is that, Miss McPherson? Your future plans, I mean?"

  "Well, I'm planning to move to America or Australia—I'm not yet sure which it will be. I suppose it depends upon what presents itself in the way of employment."

  "That shouldn't be difficult. You're a very fine governess, Miss McPherson. Anyone can see that."

  "Oh, but I don't intend to be a governess all my life, sir. In England, especially, such a position is very ambiguous—" She gave him a sidelong glance as if to gauge how much she should reveal. "You're neither part of the family nor accepted by the servants as one of them. One's status in a household is a kind of in-between space, you see. Highly uncomfortable, I must say. I guess I'm just too independent for that."

  As the calliope music ended and the merry-go-round slowed to a stop, so did their conversation. In another minute the children were back, surrounding them and clamoring to try the penny-pitch for prizes, or visit the bakery manned by the Village Women's Institute, which offered luscious homemade pastries and cakes.

  When the children began to get tired and cranky, Phoebe suggested it was time for them to pile into the pony cart and head back to Birchfields. Despite the busy afternoon with four energetic children underfoot, Jonathan was surprised to find that it had been his most enjoyable day since coming to England.

  Of course, he missed Meredith and Kendall. And Davida, too. But then, this was not the kind of outing Davida would have chosen. Subconsciously, he looked over at Phoebe McPherson, who was singing along with the children some uproarious nonsense song and having the time of her life!

  chapter

  17

  GARNET, dressed in a tan poplin riding habit, was waiting for Rod at the bottom of the staircase. She smiled up at him, and for a second Rod was transported back to his boyhood days when his little sister had ambushed him to go riding with her. From a distance. Garnet still looks about eighteen, he thought fondly.

  It had been three years ago, at their mother's funeral, since Rod had last seen Garnet. But his first thought had been how little his sister had changed. Her hair still shone with its burnished golden sheen, and her figure was still slim and graceful. In some ways she was even more attractive, he thought, her features softer, her expression mellowed by her leisurely lifestyle and happy marriage.

  Now she tucked her arm through his and said in a stage whisper, "Isn't this delicious, slipping out before anyone else is awake and begging to go with us? I wasn't sure we could get away without your twins, who are obviously Tapa's girls' and avid riders, from everything I've heard."

  A look of pride crossed Rod's face. "Sleeping like tops, both of them, when I peeked into their room. I think that going to the fair yesterday exhausted them completely."

  "This is just like the old days, isn't it?" she asked as they left the house and started along the path toward the stables.

  "Not quite." Rod shook his head. "If I remember correctly, Stewart and I used to try to avoid our little 'tag-along.' To slip away, we'd even climb out our bedroom window onto one of those wonderful old oak trees at Cameron Hall. Then we'd sneak down to the stables, saddle up, and be off before you were awake!" he retorted, referring to the strategy he and his late twin had devised.

  "Humph! Typical older brothers!" declared Garnet indignandy.

  "I don't know how typical, actually. I notice that Scott takes quite an indulgent, protective attitude toward his little sisters."

  "What a fine family you have, Rod. I'm so happy for you. You and Blythe seem ideally suited." Garnet studied his face, then asked with sudden insight. "You are, aren't you? Happy, I mean?"

  "Oh, yes! Blythe is a wife any man would be proud and happy to have. The only thing—" he hesitated.

  "Yes?"

  "As you might guess, we do have some differences where Jeff is concerned."

  "Oh, yes. Jeff. Malcolm's son." Garnet nodded. "Is that the problem? That he's Malcolm's son? Or is there something else?"

  "You know I wanted to adopt him when Blythe and I married. I wanted him to be my son legally and in every other way. But he refused. Since he was nearly seventeen at the time, I certainly couldn't force the issue. Until then, I had not the slightest idea that he felt so strongly about his heritage . . . about being a Montrose."

  "Did Blythe object or did she encourage the idea?" Garnet was curious.

  "Neither, really. She remained neutral about the whole thing . . . which is her usual position in matters concerning Jeff." Rod slapped his riding crop against the top of his boot. "Sometimes I wish she would just say how she really feels—" He paused. "Five years ago, when he dropped out of school and went off to Europe, she agreed it was blamed irresponsible. But after her first shock, she took his part. Anyway, what could we do? At twenty-one, he came into his own money." Rod stopped short on the gravel path and faced Garnet. "An artist, of all things! Can you believe he wants to spend his life painting pictures?"

  "He is very talented, Rod," Garnet murmured.

  "Talent be hanged! Is that any way for a real man to occupy his time?"

  Because Rod felt deeply about the issue, she knew it was useless to pursue it. So she took another tack. "You know he confided his plans to Faith, and she supported it and kept it from us," she told him. "I was very upset, you may be sure! But Faith says Jeff has always been interested in art, that as a boy he was always drawing and sketching—he just didn't make a great show of it. She says Jeff told her that he studied architecture as a compromise between what he really wanted to do and what might be considered acceptable."

  Rod's jaw was set stubbornly, and he made no comment.

  "I believe, Rod, that Jeff very much wanted to earn your approval," Garnet went on gently, "but came to a point when he felt he had to go his own way—with or without it."

  "Well, he's gone without it, I can tell you that!"

  By this time they had reached the stables, and the groom was leading out thei
r mounts—Garnet's glossy-coated chest nut, Lady, and a sleek black horse with a white star on his nose for her brother.

  "Let's don't talk about it anymore now," she suggested. Rubbing the mare's nose affectionately, she brought some lumps of sugar from the pocket of her jacket. "It's such a beautiful morning—let's not spoil it."

  Rod did not reply. But as they rode out into the misty morning, he could not put out of his mind the question Garnet had posed.

  Was it because Jeff reminded him so much of his father, Malcolm Montrose, that their relationship was thorny? The boy's resemblance to Rod's close childhood friend was uncanny. The three of them—he, his twin brother Stewart, and Malcolm—had grown up together on neighboring plantations. They had been inseparable, riding pell-mell through the woods around Montclair, hunting and fishing, doing all the things boys do when they are young and carefree.

  And then the War had come. Everything had changed then. Stewart, killed in the first year. Malcolm, taken prisoner by the Yankees. Rod, too, had suffered a severe wound. But it was Malcolm who had changed most after the War. Reeling from the South's losses, he had been devastated by the death of his wife, Rose Meredith, in a tragic fire. When the War ended, Malcolm had gone to California. And when he returned, he had brought back another young bride—Blythe.

  Remembering, something hardened in Rod. Was it Malcolm's treatment of Blythe that had somehow influenced Rod's feelings for their son, Jeff? Or was it his own guilt? Even while Malcolm was still alive, Rod had fallen helplessly in love with Blythe—his best friend's wife! But his code of honor had kept him from telling her or anyone else. He had loved her passionately, if silently, and had suffered with her as Malcolm slowly deteriorated and eventually destroyed himself.

  Then Blythe had disappeared, and it had taken Rod ten years to find her. By then, she had borne Malcolm's son and was rearing him by herself in England. Her whole life centered around him.

  Marriage to Rod had meant a great deal of adjustment for all of them. Perhaps more for Jeff than for anyone else, Rod mused. He had a real live stepfather instead of a dead idol he had never known. And not only did he have to share his mother with another man but eventually with a half brother and two sisters. Yes, the boy had suffered, perhaps more than anyone knew.

  Rod squirmed uncomfortably, thinking of the frequent clashes of will and temperament during the years that Jeff had been with them at Cameron Hall. He would be the first to admit that he did not understand the young man that Jeff had become.

  In spite of the exhilaration of the ride, Rod's mind was still troubled. He loved his stepson and wanted a good relationship with him, but he was not looking forward to their first meeting in over two years.

  The afternoon following their excursion to the village fair, Jonathan was seated at his desk in one of the guest bedrooms, trying to compose a letter to Davida. He had just begun when he heard the sound of merry voices and laughter on the lawn below.

  Putting down his pen, he went to the open window and, when he looked out, saw Dru, Miss McPherson, and the Bondurant girls struggling to erect a net for a game of badminton. They were not making much headway and kept dissolving into giggles as each attempt to secure the net only succeeded in one end or the other's drooping lopsidedly. "Need some help?" Jonathan called down to them.

  Looking up, Dru placed her hands on her hips. "Whatever gave you that idea?"

  "Quite frankly, I can't imagine!" Jonathan replied, laughing.

  "Come on down then, and we might even let you join the game!"

  Leaving the unfinished letter, Jonathan left his room and sprinted down the steps and out onto the lawn. When the net was tautly anchored, Miss McPherson offered to be scorekeeper since the others were new to the game, one that had not yet gained the popularity in America that it enjoyed in Britain.

  They commenced with much trial and error and a great deal of hilarity. Finally, Dru gave up, volunteering to take Miss McPherson's place with a rule book to help her keep score, and Phoebe became Jonathan's partner against Lenora and Lalage, who had quickly caught on to the game.

  Miss McPherson proved herself to be a skillful player, and the Bondurant girls went down in defeat. Just as they called "Game!" the young people looked up to see the maids sent out by Garnet, bringing trays with a pitcher of chilled lemonade and a plate of wafer-thin English "biscuits."

  "Wonderful!" exclaimed Lalage, flopping into one of the wicker chairs, "I'm dying of thirst!"

  "I'll pour," offered Phoebe, filling a tall glass and handing it to her. "And here's another for you, Miss Lenora,"

  "Thank you. But, Phoebe, please call me "Noey." Most everyone does."

  Jonathan saw Phoebe's thoughtful expression as if she were considering the suggestion, but he also noticed that she did not take Lenora up on the more familiar term as the conversation turned to a discussion of the game.

  "I really like badminton," declared Lalage. "It's much less strenuous than tennis."

  "Yes, and much easier. The rackets aren't as heavy, for one thing," Lenora agreed. "Phoebe, tell us, how did you get to be such an expert player?"

  "Maybe it's because I had two brothers and had to be fairly good at all sports to keep up with them."

  Jonathan would have liked to follow up on this remark, but just then Garnet came out on the terrace and started across the lawn toward them.

  To his surprise, Phoebe put down her glass and rose to her feet, saying shyly, "I must go see about the children." With that she left, passing Garnet with a deferential nod on her way to the house.

  Jonathan thought that her departure was abrupt, when they were all having such a pleasant time. Then he remembered what Phoebe had said about the status of governesses that day at the fair. No doubt, the approach of her employer had reminded Phoebe of her position at Birchfields and had precipitated her hurried leavetaking. Jonathan found himself resenting the situation without understanding exactly why.

  He knew only at some deep, almost subconscious level that he was intrigued with Miss Phoebe McPherson. There was so much more he wanted to know about her.

  chapter

  18

  BY THE END of the second week, Faith had nearly given up hope that Jeff would come down. Blythe, who had stayed a few days in London, visiting Jeff before joining the others at Birchfields, had explained that he was hard at work on a painting that he wanted to enter in an exhibit and did not want to leave unfinished.

  On Friday morning, however, while Faith was helping her mother with the daily flower arrangements, Garnet made an off-hand remark. "Oh, by the way, remind me to tell Polly to get the bedroom in the east wing ready. Jeff sent word he'd be down on the 4:20 this afternoon."

  At the mention of Jeff's name, Faith's color deepened, but Garnet, busy with the centerpiece, did not notice.

  Jeff is coming! Faith repeated over and over to herself as she went to give her mother's instructions to the upstairs maid. She felt almost weak with excitement. Ridiculous, maybe. But it had been weeks since she had seen him. Jeff was more and more occupied, obsessed even, with his painting. But now he would be here for the whole weekend and it would be like old times, Faith thought happily—long walks, long talks, time alone, together—Faith had hoped that she might meet Jeff at the station in the pony cart, but Garnet told her that Clarence had already been dispatched to do some errands and would be in the village to pick Jeff up when his train got in. So in spite of her determination to remain calm and composed, Faith found herself running to the window every few minutes before tea time to see if there were any signs of the carriage.

  When her vigil was finally rewarded, she brushed past Hadley on his way to open the front door and flung it wide just as Jeff alighted from the small trap.

  "Jef!" She raced down the steps to greet him. "I'm so glad you could come down!"

  Her hand tucked into the crook of his elbow, she led him through the house, chatting all the while. "It's been much too long. You're pale! No doubt from working too many long, hard hours
in that stuffy old studio. What you need is a weekend of fun and sun."

  Jeff grinned down at her. "So look who's giving orders. You always were a bossy little baggage."

  "Well, someone has to look after you. I don't know what Aunt Blythe is going to say when she sees you looking so peaked."

  Jeff wrinkled his face into a worried grimace. "I've already been read the riot act about eating better and sleeping eight hours and getting out in the fresh air." Then he grinned. "So how are Mother and Uncle Rod enjoying the bucolic life?"

  "Fine. Mummy's taken them to the local flower show, then on to meet some friends this afternoon, but they'll be back in time for tea.

  "Having our cousins from America here has been marvelous," Faith told him as they went out onto the terrace. "And Neil Blanding has been over much more than usual, too."

  "Maybe he enjoys playing croquet!" Jeff joked, seeing the lawn set up with everything in place for the game.

  "Or maybe it's because the Bondurant girls are so much fun!" She laughed. "I don't see Lalage right now, but—come on," she said, tugging his arm. "I'll introduce you to Lenora." Faith pointed to a girl sitting on a rustic bench under one of the stately silver birches.

  As they approached, Lenora stood up, and Faith thought the tall young woman looked more charming than she had ever seen her, in a blue voile dress and a leghorn picture hat, its crown wreathed in blue cornflowers. The shadow of the brim fell on her face, enhancing the delicacy of her features, the clarity of her complexion.

  "Jeff, this is Lenora Bondurant," Faith introduced them. "Lenora, meet Jeff, your Montrose cousin."

  "Hello, Jeff," Lenora said and held out her hand.

  For an instant, Jeff was speechless. This lovely girl was most surely what the pre-Raphaelites called "a stunner." Her exquisite figure and features—the fawn-brown eyes with long, curling lashes, the creamy magnolia complexion, the silvery-blond hair—was the kind of perfection they had all searched for and glorified in their allegorical paintings.