Liked it, too? Right now, I felt I had been hypnotized and drugged with a sweet-tasting arsenic. I was on the verge of crying, bawling uncontrollably. I think he saw my lips tremble and moved quickly to lie beside me again.
“Now, now, Corrine. Don’t blame yourself for making things more difficult for us tonight. All of it had to be overcome eventually anyway. It’s all part of growing into a woman. My own mother told me that, not that I was old enough at the time to understand a word of it.”
I grimaced. What kind of a mother would discuss such a thing with her son? Her daughter, yes, but tell him a woman’s deepest secrets? I couldn’t get my own mother to do it. Why didn’t he go to his father for that sort of information anyway?
He stroked my hair.
“Don’t despair. You’re a woman who simply can’t look anything but beautiful before, during, and after great lovemaking.”
Normally, I would have wanted so much to hear those words, but right now I felt nauseated. He was actually starting to annoy me with the odor of the cigar on his breath and his fingers traveling over my shoulders and breasts like a spider.
But if he saw any of this in my face, he ignored it. He leaned over and began to kiss me, starting from the small of my stomach, but not, as I was anticipating, moving up my body.
I tried to shift away, but he held my hips and kept me from moving.
“Another man might run, but most don’t know there is so much pleasure in satisfying all your senses at once when you have the opportunity to do so. Besides, I like the smell of you.”
He inhaled as if I was made of some perfume and then brought his lips to my thighs. He nibbled on my skin and lifted himself over me again, sliding his hands under my legs to hold them firmly as he moved me forcibly to make his entry easier and more comfortable for himself.
“Let’s try it with your eyes open the whole time this time,” he said. Before I could protest, he was at me again.
Maybe it was the cigar, maybe it was the lemon drink, or maybe it was the way he rushed at me this time, not smoothly and lovingly but hungrily, more like ravaging me, but it all combined to explode inside me. He wasn’t quite done before his precious lemon drink came up and out of my mouth, splattering on his chest and my breasts. However, it didn’t stop him; he didn’t pause until he was satisfied, groaning and then laughing.
“Not the most romantic time I’ve had but most interesting,” he said, rolling over onto his back.
Interesting? How could all that have been interesting?
He rose to his feet. “Just lie there. I’ll bring in a pan of warm water, a washcloth, and a towel.”
He walked out half naked and unconcerned that he’d be seen.
I groaned, closed my eyes, and lay back, turning on my side. I think I was just as sickened by how disappointing all this had been as I was from the lemon drink. My fairy-tale prince had taken advantage of me. Foxworth Hall didn’t seem like much of a castle now, either. I started to cry, sobbing quietly to myself. Everything had begun so beautifully and had come to this point so quickly.
I heard him return. He slapped the cool, damp washcloth over my forehead and eyes.
“You’ll be fine,” he said, and kissed me on the neck. “You just need some sleep. I have an idea. Why don’t you just sleep here tonight? I’ll have Lucas take you back early in the morning before your aunt and her housekeeper awaken. How’s that sound?”
“No.”
I seized the cloth and wiped off my chest. Then I reached for my clothes.
“Take me to a bathroom,” I ordered. “Take me!”
He nodded and slipped into his leggings quickly.
I put the towel around myself and embraced all my things. He led me out and down to a bathroom on the right, moving in first to light a lantern.
“Perhaps you’ll reconsider my offer once you’re more comfortable,” he said, and then left.
I cleaned myself up the best I could and dressed. When I stepped out, he wasn’t waiting. There was no one in the hallway. The candles were dim, some having gone out. Shadows seemed to be growing right before my eyes, all growing toward me. I was still quite dizzy.
“Garland?” I called.
I waited, but he didn’t appear, so I continued down the hallway. I was feeling very tired, battling to keep my eyes open, in fact. When I reached the stairway, I called for him again. I waited, looked back down the hallway, and, still not seeing him, started to descend.
It wasn’t until I had stepped down from the balcony onto the next set of stairs that I saw him below talking softly to Lucas. They both turned to watch me continue my shaky descent. Not very gallant of either of them, I thought. They should be rushing to my side, seeing how unsteady I was.
“Feeling better?” Garland asked when I reached the bottom steps.
“No,” I said petulantly.
I longed to see my father and his look of concern and love even when I was merely in a dark mood. How could Garland have just left me up there fending for myself?
Lucas stepped forward to take my arm when I stepped down and swayed.
“As I told you, I think all you really need is a good night’s rest,” Garland said. “You can probably get up whenever you want at your old aunt’s house. Of course, you could do that here as well, and in quite an elegant bedroom. Changed your mind about it, perhaps?”
“No. Please, I want to go back now.”
“Oh, absolutely. Lucas will take you. I have some paperwork to review, so I can come by about noon and bring you back to Foxworth Hall to see it in the bright sunlight. How’s that sound?”
“Nothing sounds good right now except sleep, and plenty of it.”
He laughed. “Lucas, get her home as quickly as possible but as comfortably as possible. Avoid every bump you can along the way.”
“Yes, I will,” Lucas said.
Garland stepped forward and kissed me on the cheek.
“Good night, m’lovely,” he said, then turned and headed for the library, strutting like some conquering hero.
“This way, miss,” Lucas said. He took my left arm gently and led me through the long entryway and out to the carriage. After he had helped me get inside, he closed the door. I lay back on the seat, and when we started away with a rough jerk of the carriage, I lowered myself and closed my eyes. The rocking of the carriage and the sound of the horses galloping put me in a daze. I know I fell asleep, because when I looked out again, we were in Charlottesville. Sleep had been a blessing for sure.
The streets were very quiet and much darker because it was so late. After we reached my great-aunt’s home, Lucas hurried to open the door and lower the step. He didn’t let go of me when I stepped down, and he escorted me to the front door.
“Are you all right now, miss?” Lucas asked.
“Yes,” I said. “Thank you.”
He touched the brim of his hat and returned to the carriage. I entered the house slowly. It was very dark, and the living-room window curtains were still closed. I paused. Hazel hadn’t left a light burning. Of course she wouldn’t, not knowing I had left. Like a blind girl, I reached out and made my way to the stairs. There was some candlelight at the top, at least. Clinging to the shaky banister but trying not to put too much weight on it, I ascended, hoping it wouldn’t shatter. I found my way to my room, but when I got there, I didn’t pull back the comforter. I simply fell forward, almost diving into the bed, and almost instantly was in a very deep sleep.
I remained asleep until I felt someone touch my leg. For a few moments after I opened my eyes, I didn’t know where I was. Then I heard Hazel ask, “Are you all right, dearie?”
I took a deep breath and turned over to look up at her. How much did she know? Did she hear me come up the stairs late at night? Did she realize I had left the house?
“Oh, hi, Hazel,” I said, quickly putting my hand over my eyes. Bright light stung.
“My, my, you must have been tired. You didn’t even take off your clothes or prepare your bed,�
� she said. “How long did that gentleman caller keep you awake?”
I rubbed some life back into my face and sat up. She obviously hadn’t realized I had left. Thank goodness for that, I thought.
“I don’t remember,” I said. “What time is it?”
“Oh, it’s noon, at least,” she said. “I made some hard-boiled eggs and have some nice bacon and my homemade bread for you.” She leaned over to whisper, “Your great-aunt forgot you’re here. She hasn’t asked after you, so don’t be surprised she’s surprised when you come down.”
“I know,” I said. “Noon?”
“Maybe a little after.”
“No one’s come to ask about me?”
I remembered Garland had said he was coming by at noon. I imagined he was going to propose a lunch, maybe even a picnic. I envisioned him doing all that he could to make up for the terrible time I had experienced at Foxworth Hall. Now that I could think more about it, I realized I might have shared some of the blame. In any case, I thought I should give him a chance to apologize.
“No, missy,” Hazel said. “I’ve set out some fresh towels for you in the loo. I mean bathroom,” she quickly corrected. “Your aunt and I will be havin’ lunch while you have breakfast. Think of it this way. She’ll be delighted to see you all over again.” She laughed and left.
I rose slowly, went to the window, and saw it was another beautiful day. Looking down at the street, I did not see Garland’s beautiful carriage parked in front. The street looked as busy as it had when I arrived. My stomach felt as though I had swallowed pebbles. I racked my brain to remember the details of what had happened the night before. So much of it seemed vague, lost in the ether of my crippled memory. Rather than struggle with it further, I took out clothes to wear. As I had feared, it all looked so juvenile for me, especially now. But what else could I do? I couldn’t wear these clothes. I didn’t care to smell them. They were drowned in the odor of the limoncello and Garland’s cigar. I was surprised Hazel hadn’t noticed. Maybe she had but was too polite to ask about it.
I went down slowly, hearing my great-aunt and Hazel talking in the living room, and went directly to the bathroom to wash. I stripped completely naked to clean my whole body. But no matter how hard I scrubbed, I still felt unclean. There was a spot of blood near my right knee. I could never claim it had all been a dream.
I dressed and brushed my hair. When I stepped out, my great-aunt and Hazel were sitting at the table.
“Everything’s ready,” Hazel said. “Know who this is, Nettie?” she asked my aunt.
“Is it . . .” She stopped and shook her head.
“It’s Rosemary and Harrington’s daughter, Corrine, here to visit. This is your great-niece, Corrine Dixon.”
Great-aunt Nettie nodded. “Rosemary was always so shy,” she said, probably misunderstanding and still thinking I was my mother. She looked at her food.
Hazel smiled and shrugged. “I made coffee. You like coffee?”
“Like it or not, I need it,” I muttered, more to myself. My eyes were still aching. I pinched my temples between my thumb and fingers and pressed.
Hazel went into the kitchen to bring out the pot of coffee. Right now, that was all I wanted.
My great-aunt looked up at me. “Is my sister here, too?”
Her sister? My mother’s mother?
“No, Aunt Nettie. Only I am here.”
“No one comes here anymore,” she said. “No one wants to see you when you’re old. Do you know why?”
I shook my head. Somehow the sight of me was bringing back the power of whole sentences and thoughts for her.
“It reminds them of what they’ll be. My mother told me that.” She paused. “You ever see my mother?”
“No, Aunt Nettie. I’m too young to have seen your mother.”
Hazel brought me a cup of hot coffee. “I heard her talking. That’s the most she’s said in a long time,” she added, smiling. “Very nice that you’ve come to see her, dearie.”
I sipped my coffee.
“There’s a nice hard-boiled egg and some bacon.”
How could I tell her I had no appetite because I had drunk too much of some European lemon drink full of alcohol? I nodded and began to nibble on the food. We heard a knock at the door.
He’s come for me, I thought. How should I act? Should I be angry? Or forgiving?
“Now, I wonder who that could be?” Hazel asked me with a smile. “I’ll go see, dearie. You eat,” she said when I started to rise.
I sat again but turned to hear. The words were mumbled, and the door was closed quickly. I waited, holding my breath, expecting to see Garland, but Hazel returned alone and held out an envelope.
“A young man, the driver of a very fancy carriage, gave me this for you,” she said.
“Thank you.”
I took it slowly and opened it. There was a short note inside.
Dear Corrine,
I’m so sorry, but pressing business has called me away. Perhaps in the near future, you will return to Charlottesville, and I can show you Foxworth Hall in all its daytime splendor.
Until then . . .
Yours very sincerely,
Garland Foxworth
I read the note twice, because my brain would not accept the meaning of the words the first time. Then I folded it up neatly and put it back into the envelope.
“Good news or bad news?” Hazel asked.
“I’m not sure,” I said. It was the best answer I could provide, both to myself and to her.
Right now, I didn’t want to think about it.
I didn’t want to think about anything.
The hours that passed after I ate as much as I could and excused myself from the table seemed to tick away more with the length of days instead of minutes. I returned to my closet of a bedroom and lay there staring up at the ceiling, with its chipped paint and cobwebs in the corners. Street sounds mixing the clip-clop of horses with people talking and shouting to each other, pans and tools clanging on the backs of wagons, and hawkers calling out their wares floated up and through the windows. I never realized how much I cherished the quiet interrupted only by the music of birds back home because our house was outside of the city proper.
Minutes continued to drip like leaky faucets from the roof’s edges. I could hear Hazel downstairs, busy with my great-aunt, making her comfortable. Apparently, according to what Hazel had described, Great-aunt Nettie spent most of her day with bleak, dark eyes sinking deeper and deeper into her earliest memories. She sat in the living room, occasionally working her fingers to do what to anyone else would be her invisible needlework. Hazel told me that from time to time, she would ask questions about people who were long dead or talk about her husband as if he had just left for work. Sometimes she stood by the window, waiting for him to appear. It seemed like she was caught in the echo of time. The present didn’t exist, and the future was as empty as another false promise. I would have had more sympathy for her if I wasn’t feeling so sorry for myself.
I heard it grow silent downstairs, and then, moments after, Hazel came up to ask me if I wanted to go with her to do some shopping.
“Yes, I’ll go. I promised my father I’d send him a telegram.”
I was still undecided about what I would write, and I didn’t want to tell Hazel what I was thinking yet.
“Oh, I’ll take you right there. It’s near the fish market,” Hazel said.
Downstairs, my great-aunt had fallen asleep on the sofa, her head back against the cushion and her mouth open, resembling the mouth of someone suddenly amazed. Her chest lifted and fell like a fireplace bellows.
“Is she all right?” I asked.
“Oh yes. She’ll be like that for hours,” Hazel told me. “I lock the door behind me just in case she wakes and has some thoughts about goin’ out. She’d get hit by a horse and carriage for sure or lose her way.”
I was still feeling quite tired and depressed, probably just as much from my disappointment as from the am
ount of limoncello I had consumed. If I never saw another lemon, that would be too soon, I thought, no matter how wonderful Garland thought his discovery was.
Hazel and I left the house. As we walked through the streets, she talked about the old days, when my great-uncle was still alive and he and my great-aunt were such prominent people. She was obviously used to the noise and the dust. Anyone seeing her would think she acted like someone walking in a field of wildflowers, serenaded by a chorus of sparrows, robins, and bluebirds.
“If your uncle and aunt had lived in London, he’d have been knighted,” she said. “Believe me that.”
As she went on about it, I was surprised and amused by how proud of them she was and how honored to have been their housekeeper. I guess I shouldn’t have been amazed. After all, how else would someone who came from her station in life have touched so much of the upper class? Even though it was difficult for me to imagine the house as busy and bright, hosting important dinners and visitors, she spoke of the Lloyds as if America did have royalty.
She described the time the governor of the state had stopped to visit and how, because of my great-uncle’s influence and success, she had stood with my great-aunt to listen to a speech by President Grant.
“We were only twenty feet away. I never was that close to Queen Victoria. I can tell you that, dearie,” she said.
She paused to point out the Western Union office.
“I’ll be just down here,” she said, nodding at the farmers’ market.
“Thank you, Hazel.”
I stepped in and went to the table where I could write my telegram. The moment I lifted the pen to write, I felt the tears welling up. There was no way to sugarcoat it; I was fleeing from romantic disappointment, something I had never dreamed would happen to me. I looked at the clerk, who was staring at me. He had a thick black mustache with almost no chin. He was nearly bald but, from the look of everything else about him, probably not a day over thirty, if that.
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