“Good evening, Mrs. Dixon. Thank you for your willingness to feed a young man who is unfortunately unaccustomed to real family dinners these days.”
“You are welcome,” my mother said, not quite sure how to respond to such a nakedly honest confession. “Your own parents?”
“Gone, I’m afraid, but there’ll be no sadness brought into your home tonight and hopefully no future night. Instead, permit me to show my gratitude with this small token,” he said, handing my mother one of the gift-wrapped boxes. “It’s just something I brought back from a recent visit to Paris. It was being auctioned, and when I looked at it now, I thought it would be something unique for your home.”
“Oh,” my mother said. “Paris.”
“Unwrap it. I’d like to see the expression on your face. Be unafraid of not liking it,” he said. “I have a terrible habit of deciding what people should and shouldn’t like,” he added, glancing at me.
My mother carefully peeled away the paper to reveal a statuette in pure white porcelain of a Chinese woman holding flowers. She was dressed in regal garments and wearing a necklace.
“They call it a Guanyin, a Buddhist deity associated with mercy and compassion,” he said, glancing at me again. Was that what he wanted me to extend to him, mercy and compassion?
“My,” my mother said, not quite sure how overwhelmed she should be or even if she liked it and wanted it displayed in her home. “It is unique.” She turned it around in her hands.
“It’s supposedly five hundred years old,” Garland added. “I don’t know for sure if it’s that old, of course, but it’s old.”
My mother nodded, now looking sufficiently impressed. “Thank you,” she said.
My father looked pleased.
“And if you’ll permit me,” Garland said, “another small token for Miss Dixon.”
He handed me the other small gift-wrapped box.
I slipped off the pretty paper neatly and then, holding the box in my left hand, opened it. My mother was practically breathing down my neck. I plucked out a hairpin set with six freshwater pearls and what looked like rose-cut diamonds.
My mother gasped. “Are those real?”
“Oh yes,” Garland said nonchalantly. “It comes from Scotland. It was my mother’s.”
My mother looked up with eyes so wide I thought she would rupture her lids. “Your mother’s?”
“She had so many nice things, beautiful things. I think leaving them stuffed in drawers does them and my mother’s memory an injustice. After all, a beautiful thing is not beautiful if it’s never seen. Wouldn’t you agree?” He glanced at me and then smiled at my mother.
“Oh yes,” she said.
“Thank you,” I said, looking at the pin and not him.
“Let’s go to my study while the ladies prepare our dinner,” my father told Garland.
“Thank you,” he said, and followed him.
My mother turned her statuette slowly and then looked at me as if she wanted me to tell her to keep it.
“Surely no one you know has anything like that in her home, Mother.”
“Um,” she said. She looked more confused than anything.
I gazed after my father and Garland.
“I just don’t know where to put such a thing. Still, if it’s anything like he described, people will be quite impressed.”
“Maybe your friends won’t. They are not exposed to such things.”
“How would you know that? Don’t become snobby, Corrine.”
“Of course not, Mother. You’re right. How could they not be impressed?”
“Um,” she said, still turning the statuette in her hands. “From what he said, he must have spent a pretty penny on it.”
“It would be impolite to ask how much,” I said, and she looked up sharply.
“Of course it would.”
I smiled, and she pulled in the corners of her mouth. My correcting her when it came to social graces was not a flag to fly high in this house. I looked toward the library. Was Garland as sweet and generous as he appeared right now, or was he far better than I was at maneuvering people to do whatever it was he wanted? Or had my father put the fear of hell and brimstone into his heart, and he was here to first be forgiven?
It could be all of the above. Somehow I suspected it would take me much longer to find the honest answers, but that only made me more determined to get them.
My mother and I went to work.
When she thought the table was perfect, she sent me to fetch them. My father rose quickly as soon as I entered. He looked at Garland and then turned to me and said, “Mr. Foxworth asked for a few minutes alone with you. I’ll keep your mother entertained,” he added, and left us.
Garland rose and approached me slowly. I was sure the expression on my face would frighten anyone, even him.
“I guess I’ve made a mess of things,” he began.
I didn’t say anything. I would do nothing to make this easier. He did look quite uncomfortable.
Finally, satisfied I was dangling him long enough, I spoke. “Looks like I’m the one in the mess, however.”
“Absolutely not.” He seized my hands. “I knew from the moment I saw you that you would be the woman I’d love and the woman who should be mistress of Foxworth Hall. I was determined to court you for as long as it would take. All that’s happened to us, I pray, is that fate has decided to speed up our future.”
Fate? I thought. We might better blame it on limoncello.
“I’d get down on my knee right now, but I know I have some turning of the earth before planting.”
“I think you’ve already planted, Garland.”
I saw his lips tremble as he fought back a smile. “You will be a challenge, Corrine Dixon, but I do welcome it. I do. Most of the women I’ve met have been so shallow and obvious. Life will be most interesting with you at my side or making me work harder at being a proper husband and, it seems, a proper father. Mine never was, but you have a wonderful father, so you know the standards any man should meet. I hope I can.”
“How did my father convince you of this?”
“He had no convincing to do. Believe me. Please.”
What choice did I have? What other choice did I want? I had yet to meet another man like him, but truthfully, I had yet to know him. However, from what I understood, witnessed, and heard about so many women pledged to marriages, they really weren’t that much more confident of the men they hardly knew. They put all their faith in vows, but if anyone knew how empty words could be, it was I, who used them so well.
“We’d better go to the dining room. My mother is as nervous as I’ve ever seen her. I haven’t told her very much. She knows only that you saw me at my aunt’s home. I said nothing about going to Foxworth.”
“Leave it to me,” he said, and brought my hands to his lips. “If you will so honor me, that is.”
I said nothing. I was as dizzy and confused as I was after having drunk his potent lemon drink. Had it put me in a spell that still lasted, or was I really on the brink of a great love and family life?
I led him out to the dining room. We seated him so he would be across from me, and then my mother and I served. For most of the dinner, Garland did what he had done to me, enchanting my mother with tales of his travels, describing the beauty, the people, and the foods he had eaten. My father hadn’t been much of a traveler. Neither of my parents had, so she was intrigued and entertained, interrupting occasionally to tell my father she would like to go to this place or that.
“You hate an hour’s ride in the carriage and especially a ride on a train, Rosemary,” he reminded her with an amused smile.
“What you do,” Garland answered for her, “is keep your mind on your destination. When you get there, you realize it was worth the effort.”
My mother nodded as if she was so convinced she’d leave tomorrow.
Interspersing his descriptions with comments on the food, Garland carefully wove a cocoon of comfort and ease around my m
other. Before the dinner had ended, he had her laughing more than I had ever seen her laugh with a relative stranger. I was truly impressed myself, and when I looked at my father, I saw how rapt he was as well.
Maybe fate had given me a wonderful prize. Maybe I shouldn’t hate limoncello after all, I thought, and smiled to myself. Garland caught it and winked at me. When it was time for our coffee and cake, we retired to the study. After my mother and I served, Garland put down his cup, cleared his throat, and stood up with his hands clasped behind his back. I thought he looked quite silly, but he was determined to do this in the most formal and correct manner he could.
“I would like to make a confession,” he began, which actually started my heart pounding. What confession? Was he mad? “Ordinarily, I am a particularly careful and studious man. If there was one thing my father left me, it was caution. ‘Only rash men,’ he told me, ‘make unforgivable and uncorrectable errors.’ This is obviously something your husband not only knows well, Mrs. Dixon, but has as the guiding principle of his own life and career; otherwise, he would not have been given such an important position in such a prestigious company and be considered for one even higher.”
I glanced at my mother. She sat back, listening as if she was seated in front of the president of the United States. My father was looking down at his coffee cup. I sat forward like someone poised to rush out of the room.
“But I am someone who knows he has benefited from his good fortune. Business and travel have educated me enough to confidentially read the hearts of other people. I flatter myself by saying that I have therefore accumulated the wisdom of a man years older than I am. I leave it to others to praise my accomplishments normally, but I’m here now to win your confidence.” He turned to my father. “Win the confidence of you both.
“In short, whether it was divine purpose or simple good fortune, I was placed close enough to meet your beautiful daughter. Others will be quick to tell you that we have not spent enough time together even to be merely friends, but they have not experienced what I have, we have. Everything I know and all that I have seen has assured me that I will never do better, that I will never find another woman who can stand as confidently at my side and continue my good fortune, my family’s reputation, and complete my life as wonderfully as your daughter will. I believe she feels the same way.
“So, I would formally ask your permission to ask your daughter for her hand in marriage.”
He took a breath, and my mother, who was simply sitting there mesmerized, also took a breath but left her mouth wide open.
“Marriage?” she finally said.
“Precisely, and very, very soon. I am involved in many international business ventures and have much of the year planned and scheduled. If you will give me permission to ask for your daughter’s hand, and if she should accept as I hope, I would like to propose that you permit me to stage our wedding affair at Foxworth Hall. When you visit, which I hope will be soon, you will see a property unlike most you’ve seen. Besides the mansion itself, the grounds, the lake, the views will be what most people would think belong in dreams.”
He smiled.
“Our marriage ceremony and celebration will be the social event of the year, not only for people from Charlottesville but for people all over Virginia and elsewhere. If I have your permission and Corrine agrees, I will contract a major artist and company to draw up the invitations immediately, all of which will be hand-delivered to each and every guest. It will seem fast, but I do have friends who will come from faraway places and ordinarily schedule their calendars almost a year in advance. Exceptions will be made and postponements issued once they receive the invitations, I assure you.
“Naturally, I would seek your input on and approval of every aspect of the event . . . the flowers—I know you’re partial to irises—the menu, the music, everything. There will be no limit on the number of guests you want to invite. I humbly suggest that it will be the most sought-after invitation in Virginia society.”
When he paused, it was quiet enough to hear us all breathe. My mother looked like someone had splashed ice water over her face. My father sat back, keenly satisfied. Garland cleared his throat, now looking a bit uneasy at my mother’s silence.
“Well, I think I’ve said enough. If you’ll permit, I will retire to your front porch with Corrine, if she agrees, and give you and Mr. Dixon time to discuss my proposal.”
“Tonight?” my mother asked, now even more astounded. “We’re to decide this tonight?”
“Should you need more time after you begin your discussion, of course, take it.” He looked at his watch as if to communicate his demand for a decision this very evening, however. He smiled at me and held out his hand. “Corrine.”
I rose and, without looking at either of my parents, took his hand and left the room. We walked out, and he nodded at the bench.
“How did I do?” he asked as soon as I sat.
“I’m waiting for my breath to return.”
He laughed and took out a thin cigar.
“How much of what you just said was true?” I asked.
“What? All of it.” He leaned against a post. “Since you left, I haven’t spent an hour without thoughts of you and regrets about how awkward our parting was. I did have pressing business, however. That was not an untruth.”
I scowled at him.
“Dear me,” he said. “Don’t peel off my skin.”
“Did my father threaten you?”
“Threaten?” He shrugged. “He did what any father would do at first, but that isn’t and never would be a concern of mine. I sincerely am sorry for the way I treated you.” He smiled. “I’ve put away all the remaining limoncello. It’s under lock and key, in fact.”
“Unless it does have some magical powers, we can’t blame it all on that. It’s just some fancy alcoholic drink,” I said.
“Not that fancy, but I agree.”
“I wouldn’t light that cigar,” I said. “My mother loathes the scent but especially indoors. And it doesn’t inspire good memories for me.”
He looked at it. “Oh, right, right. Sorry.”
He put it away quickly.
“So, if your parents agree tonight . . .”
“Don’t,” I said quickly.
“Don’t what?”
“Don’t make any promises until we say our vows. I hate promises.”
“Why?”
“You can’t be disappointed without them, and there’s nothing I hate or fear more than disappointment.”
“Okay,” he said, widening his smile. “I promise never to make promises.”
“It may not be possible for me to love you the way you anticipate,” I said. It sounded more like a warning.
He laughed. “I completely understand. It’s chancy for any woman to think she could love me as a wife should, I’ll admit it, but if anyone can do it, you can. I really believe it. And I wasn’t kidding in there when I spoke to you alone. If not now, then surely soon, I’d be knocking on this door. You wouldn’t have gotten away, Corrine Dixon, not easily anyway.”
I smiled. Does this handsome man who lives like a prince really love me? Can I tell myself that dating other men and working my way back to him would have been a colossal waste of time?
“It’s such a nice night,” he said. “Why don’t we go for a short walk? Give them more time.” He held out his hand. “Mrs. Soon-to-be-I-hope Foxworth?”
I stood and took his hand. Was my father right? Did I still have choice, the choice of swimming faster in this current that was sweeping me quickly into my adult life? Or was I holding the hand of the man who had trapped me? Some women, my mother probably being one of them, believed love put a woman in a cage. She lost all her freedom, because love led to marriage, which was full of chains. The choices a woman had left as a wife were usually about things of little significance, yet even the dinner menu, the house furnishings, and her own clothes still had the heavy hand of her husband pressing her to go this way and that.
I had taken away the one decision I believed I owned, or perhaps, as I had always feared might happen, I had suffered it being taken away from me: the decision about whom to marry. I realized, as we walked under the partially cloudy sky with its peekaboo stars, that I would have to either be extremely happy or learn how to believe the delusions.
“I wasn’t exaggerating in there to impress your mother,” Garland said. “I intend to make this wedding an event people will talk about for years. I will spare no expense. Queen Victoria would be jealous.”
I stopped walking. “This is not about a gala wedding, Garland. It’s about a gala life.”
The shadows spilled over him, but I could feel the way he was looking at me. The air was so still, not even a slight breeze. Perhaps it was only in the darkness that people truly saw each other. We could momentarily be distracted by the glitter of stars, the cry of an owl, or, when they were stirred, the whisper of the leaves, but darkness has a way of undressing you. It lifts off false faces. Only your voice reveals what’s truly in your heart.
“Of course,” he said. There was just a hint of surprise. I was determined that he would believe he was going to marry a woman who clearly was no longer a girl. I would not be dazzled. I would be cherished. “We’ll have a great life. I promise. Oops. I wasn’t supposed to say that.”
He laughed and then moved closer so he could kiss me.
“Some men think that in the dark, all women are the same, but I would never say that about you, Corrine Dixon.”
“I hope not.”
He took my hand again, and we turned back toward the house.
“Let’s think about a honeymoon.”
“Let’s wait to see what my mother says.”
Beneath the Attic Page 17
