The Shadows of Foxworth Read online

  “It’s like a hotel.”

  He laughed. “Few hotels have what Foxworth Hall has.”

  We continued on until we reached the doors of the ballroom. He gestured for me to enter, and for a few moments, all I could do was look in awe. I was sure he had staged my introduction to it. To make my first view of the ballroom dramatic, the curtains were closed so that the room was made brilliant with all five tiers of the four crystal and gold chandeliers fitted with candles that had been lit. The light that spilled from the chandeliers reflected off the grand crystal fountain, weaving threads of radiance over the walls. Mirrors captured it and carried it farther, illuminating everything silver and gold. The room was dazzling.

  The ballroom was so large that our footsteps echoed, because there wasn’t anything much in it at the moment except the piano. The hardwood floor looked as new as the day it had been installed. A corridor in the house ran above the far wall. It was difficult to make out too much because it was dark.

  “You arranged this all in anticipation of my arrival?”

  “A simple task to please a beautiful young woman. Impressed enough yet?” he teased.

  “Not as impressed as you are with yourself,” I said, and he laughed.

  “I knew it. I knew you were witty. I’m starving. How about we get some lunch before I show you anything more? I’ll want to show you the lake, maybe take a short row? How’s that?”

  “Sounds possible,” I said, and he laughed again. He took my hand and led me out a French doorway to the patio where a table had been set up for our lunch.

  There was a large bowl of mixed salad, two loaves of baguette, condiments, and a bowl of large shrimp in crushed ice.

  Next to it all was a bottle of white wine, chilled in a pail of ice.

  “It’s a French wine,” he said, “imported. My father brings back all sorts of things from his travels. I thought you might be familiar with it.”

  I looked at the bottle and shook my head. “Maybe it’s very expensive,” I said.

  “Oh, I’m sure it is.” He pulled out a chair for me, and a tall, light-brown-haired woman came out with a tray holding a platter of chicken and another with slices of potato.

  “This is our cook, Mrs. Wilson,” he said.

  “Pleased to meet you, miss,” she said in a clearly English accent.

  “Yes, thank you, but who’s to eat all this food?” I said.

  “We’ll find eager mouths for whatever you don’t eat, miss,” she said, and turned to go back into the house. She behaved as if Malcolm invited a young woman for a special lunch daily.

  He opened the bottle of wine and poured us both a glass.

  “How do you say it in French? Santé?”

  “Parfait,” I said. We both sipped our wine.

  “I’ll be our server today,” he said. “Please?” He held out the salad bowl, and I took some.

  I looked out over the property toward the mountains. “You didn’t exaggerate,” I said. “It’s quite impressive.”

  “Home sweet home. Now, tell me about yourself and where you lived in France.”

  I described our village and the seaside, the fortress, and the cobblestone streets.

  “The entire village probably could fit on your property,” I said.

  “Probably. And your parents, they were Americans?”

  “Yes.”

  “What brought them there? Did you have French relatives?”

  “A very good friend of my father’s arranged for him to teach art, and they wanted to live in France.”

  “Was he simply a teacher, or was your father an artist?”

  “Yes, he was a very good artist.”

  “Anything famous?”

  “In France, in Villefranche, especially. Perhaps if he had been given more time, he’d be internationally famous.”

  He nodded and poured more wine. “I am sorry to have learned what happened to them. Tragic. But the silver lining is it brought you to America so I could meet you.”

  “There’s no silver lining to that.”

  “Yes, of course. You’re right. Sorry.” He smiled. “Let’s think of only good things today. I want it to be special for you.”

  “Well, it already is. This is all delicious,” I said.

  “It usually is.”

  “You sound quite spoiled.”

  “Rotten to the core,” he said. He looked out toward the mountains. “You’re right. The problem with living here is I take it all for granted. It is quite beautiful today. You’ve reminded me to appreciate it. I think you’ll enjoy the lake. Are you willing to risk it?”

  “Risk what?”

  “Why, being alone with me, of course.”

  “I assure you,” I said. “I can swim. A lake is nothing compared to the sea and waves.”

  He laughed. “Well, let’s hope you won’t want to,” he said. He drank his second glass, and I drank mine.

  Both of us seemed unable to look at anything else but each other.

  Yes, I thought. Maybe I won’t want to.

  14

  After lunch, after I had gone to the powder room, he waited to take me through the front door to a waiting horse and buggy he had arranged. I thought it was a very romantic and delightful thing to do. He carried a large leather bag.

  “This is a piano box buggy made especially for my father. That’s a black leather button-tufted cushion seat. And those are real brass decorations.”

  “It’s beautiful.”

  “More important, it’s more fun than walking to the dock,” he said, and helped me into the buggy.

  Where, I thought, would I be courted any better, and by whom?

  “It truly is a magnificent place,” I said as we started toward the lake. “And you have a right to brag, but with only your father and you living here besides the servants, isn’t it a bit lonely? I mean, from what you say, he’s away a great deal.”

  “Yes, well, I’m pretty busy helping him with our business, and I do have many friends, when I want many friends. Normally, I’d be at work today, but I anticipated your arrival, as you see.”

  “I’m still quite amazed you did. Is it simply your arrogance?”

  He laughed. “You are not afraid to say what you think, are you? I thought the French were very diplomatic.”

  “It’s the American influence, I guess.”

  “Stronger than the French?”

  “I’m not sure yet.”

  “Maybe we’ll find out today. It’s a nice day for it,” he said, with those blue eyes glittering mischievously.

  “You must have been a handful growing up. You’ve asked me about myself, but what about your family? What happened to your mother?”

  The smile practically leaped off his face. “I don’t talk about her,” he said. He stared ahead, the anger filling around his mouth and flooding into his eyes. After a moment, he realized the uncomfortable silence and relaxed. “She deserted my father and me when I was only five.”

  “Oh. I’m sorry.”

  “Most likely, it was the best thing that could have happened to us. I’m sure she would have brought us more pain, especially me. She was a flimsy, flighty woman, constantly thinking of herself, her own beauty, over the welfare of her one and only child. She betrayed my father, but more important, she betrayed me. My father had a difficult time for years. He even toyed with the idea of leaving Foxworth because, in his words, ‘it reeked of her.’ ” Then he looked at me and shook his head. “I’m sorry. I told you we’d think of only happy things today.”

  I nodded. We were both silent. Ahead of us, the lake looked so still. It was as if it was anticipating being disturbed. I saw the dock and the boats.

  “I can see why you want one of those new motorboats you mentioned. The lake looks large.”

  “A mile long.” He smiled. “You remembered what I said. How nice. I take it as a compliment. Most girls I’ve been with couldn’t recall a word I said. They weren’t interested in my oratory.”

  He turned to wash me in his wicked smile, a smile full of sexy suggestions. A part of me wanted to be more reserved, even be a little upset, but there was that thrill of danger again. I was confident in myself, as confident as I was when I used to swim out just a little farther each time until my father came after me and bawled me out for daring the sea to capture my soul.

  Was Papa’s voice in the breeze that whispered past my ear? I took a deep breath and sat back as we drew close to the dock and Malcolm brought the horse to a stop. He hopped out quickly and ran around to put his hands on my waist and lift me to the ground. When my feet touched, he continued to hold me, bringing his lips closer to mine.

  Don’t let him kiss you so soon, I heard a voice inside me warn.

  I put my hand on his chest.

  He smiled and stepped back. “Not overwhelmed with me yet? Shall I impress you with my rowing talents?”

  “By all means,” I said, and he took my hand and walked us onto the dock.

  He helped me into the rowboat, untied it, stepped in, put down the bag he had brought, and sat across from me. Two large black birds flew low, crossing right above our heads before soaring off to the left. Their cries echoed over the water. I watched the ripples we caused travel out and disappear. The reflected images of the tall pine trees made it look like they grew in the water.

  “Do you have fish in here?”

  “Oh, yes. Beautiful rainbow trout. Lucas likes to fish and often provides us with a good dinner. Of course, it’s Mrs. Wilson’s preparation that makes it wonderful. Perhaps you’ll come for a few days and enjoy the wonderful dinners. Among other things,” he added, his blue eyes taking on a silvery tint, probably from the light bouncing off the water.

  He began to row with long, smooth strokes, quickly sending us farth
er and farther away from the dock.

  “Look!” I cried, pointing to my right, when a doe and two of her fawns had come out of the woods and were down on the far shore drinking.

  He laughed.

  “You are so lucky to have all this,” I said, but not with envy, more with amazement.

  “My father and I work hard to keep it,” he said. “Our businesses are growing. That’s why we’ve turned our attention to Richmond. Thankfully, or I might not have met you. Wait. Did I meet you, or did you attack me?”

  “Very funny.”

  Now that we were out in the middle of the lake, he put the oars on the side and reached into the bag he had brought.

  “Something to help us relax even more,” he said, bringing out a bottle with a yellow liquid with no label and two wineglasses.

  “What is it?”

  “A wonderful drink my father brought to America and then began having made for us specially. He found it in Italy. It’s called limoncello. Delightful. A fresh taste of spring or, as my father often says, drinking starlight, especially after a wonderful dinner.”

  He poured it into a glass and leaned forward to hand it to me. Then he poured himself some.

  “To you,” he said. “A rose in bloom.”

  I sipped the drink. It was good.

  “You like it?”

  “Yes.”

  The boat bobbed a little as he slipped off his seat to come closer to me.

  “There’s something about you that makes me think I’ve known you for a long time.”

  He reached for my hand and explored my fingers as if I was some fairy-tale girl he had just discovered and he wanted to be sure he wasn’t fantasizing. When he looked at me, I felt myself slipping away from any restraint, out of the reach of any warning, and drawn to an image of love I had taken from novels and dreams. Was this really happening to me? Was I truly so beautiful that someone who had obviously traveled many avenues of romantic trysts would have such clear desire to be with me? Me?

  He moved to bring his lips to mine, but the boat swayed so dramatically from side to side that I cried out. He laughed and settled on his seat again.

  “I have to show you this little cove on the lake,” he said, and began rowing.

  I sipped my drink.

  “It’s good, right?”

  “Very good. What’s in it?”

  “Secret recipe,” he said. “It’ll make you as light as those birds, and you’ll fly.”

  He rowed harder. I saw the sweat break out on his forehead. He seemed quite a bit more determined. I reached over the edge of the boat to feel the cool water and let it ripple around my fingers as he rowed harder and faster. He paused and took a drink of his limoncello. I saw fish swimming close to the surface and cried out with delight. He laughed and leaned forward to pour more of the limoncello into my glass. I leaned back and looked up at the sky as he continued to row. The clouds were being stretched by the wind and broken into smaller ones. A flock of birds hurried across the water. They had rose-colored breasts.

  “Grosbeaks,” he said.

  “It’s like stepping out of the real world into a wonderland.”

  “Exactly.” He turned the boat sharply and brought us into a cove. The lake seemed more shallow. I could see the rocks and the weeds through which schools of small fish swam. He put the oars up and slipped off his seat again to get closer to me.

  I felt a little giddy and laughed at his careful and delicate moves to keep the boat from rocking. He took the glass out of my hand and put it on the boat floor and then rose slowly to bring his lips to mine.

  Almost as soon as he kissed me, his fingers moved to the buttons of my dress. He was just a little too anxious and put his weight against me as he moved his body between my legs. I wasn’t feeling all that steady as it was and grasped at the seat, but I couldn’t get a strong enough hold on it and fell backward.

  He lost his balance, too, and fell over and to the side of me, but I hit the side of the boat just enough to graze my head. I could feel the sting beneath my hair and moaned, turning over to stabilize myself. He started to laugh and reached out to bring me closer to him, when I reached behind my head and then looked at my fingers. They were awash in my blood.

  “Oh, damn,” he said, sobering up quickly. He sat up. “I’m sorry.”

  The sight of so much blood frightened me. I couldn’t hold back my tears. I think it was that and the effect I was feeling from the limoncello, which now rushed through my body, bringing wave after wave of heat.

  “I don’t have anything with me,” he said, visibly angry. He thought a moment, and then he took off his shirt and mashed it between his hands. “Here, hold this against your head.”

  I did, and he returned to his seat and dipped the oars into the water, turning the boat around and rowing hard and fast.

  “Does it hurt?”

  I nodded.

  “Just keep the shirt against it hard. We’ll get some antiseptic and see if you need a bandage. Mrs. Steiner is good at all that. She must have covered a hundred bruises and cuts on me as I grew up.”

  I wanted to laugh, but I was still feeling quite dazed and wondered if it was because of the limoncello now or because of the blow to my head. All I could think of was how Yvon would be angry when he saw my head bandaged. I guessed I was still a child after all, I thought mournfully.

  “It’s all right,” Malcolm said. “You’ll be fine. Don’t cry.”

  I forced a smile and closed my eyes. The pain throbbed. The sight of me put more effort into his rowing, and we were back at the dock in easily half the time it had taken us to get to that little cove. He quickly tied the boat and then reached for my hand.

  “Careful,” he said when I stood.

  I had started to step up to the dock when he simply embraced me and lifted me onto it.

  “All right to walk?”

  “Yes, yes,” I said. The throbbing did seem to retreat. “It feels better.”

  “Good, but keep my shirt pressed against your head.”

  I looked at how soaked with blood it already was. The sight made me dizzy. When I swayed, he just lifted me in his arms and brought me quickly to the buggy. He whipped the horse, and we returned to the house. He helped me out but, afraid I would topple, scooped me up again and brought me quickly into the lobby, calling for Mrs. Steiner, who seemed to pop out of the wall as if she had been waiting for us this whole time.

  “What’s happened?” she cried.

  I tried to smile to slow down her rush to panic.

  “Little accident,” he said. “She hit her head.”

  “Let me see.”

  She took his crumpled shirt off the back of my head.

  “Let’s get it washed. Head wounds always bleed dramatically,” she added, as if I was making a big deal out of nothing. I hadn’t said a word or even moaned.

  Malcolm set me down, and she led me to a bathroom near the kitchen, where she reached into a cabinet to produce a clean washcloth, some disinfectant, and a box of bandages.

  “Just sit here,” she said, guiding me to the covered toilet. “Usually, this sort of thing happens to him and not to any guest he brings,” she commented, again making me feel as if it was all my fault.

  “I slipped,” I offered. “In the boat.”

  “Ummm,” she said, and worked on my wound. “Are you dizzy or nauseated?”

  “A little nauseated, but I think that’s from the limoncello.”

  “Limoncello? You were drinking in the boat.”

  “Malcolm had brought it along and wanted me to try it.”

  “Of course he did,” she said.

  The antiseptic burned, but I didn’t make a sound. I was too afraid of what she might say. And then I felt her cutting some of my hair.

  “What—”

  “I have to do this so the bandage will stay. It will grow back,” she said sharply.

  After she was finished, she put everything away and began washing her hands. I stood up. She hadn’t told me she was finished. She looked at me.

  “Just rest for a while,” she said. “You’ll be fine.”

  “Thank you.”

  I stepped out. Malcolm was waiting just outside the door, leaning against the wall.

  “How are you?” he said, standing quickly.

  “I’ll be fine,” I said. “Really.”