Beneath the Attic Read online

  Simon Wexler might have ten times the wealth my father had, I thought, maybe even twenty times, but he was nowhere near as handsome and as distinguished-looking. My mother, although prettier than Lucy, was so plainly dressed in comparison that she looked like she would quickly fade into the background and become more like a party favor than a guest.

  But not me, I thought.

  “Rosemary,” Simon Wexler said, taking my mother’s hand. “Thank you for coming to celebrate with us.”

  He spoke to my mother, but his eyes were on me.

  “Harrington? Is this who I think she is?”

  “Yes, my daughter, our daughter. Corrine,” my father said, stepping back so I could step forward to take Simon Wexler’s waiting hand.

  I saw Lucy Wexler’s arrogant expression fade into curiosity and then envy. I wasn’t surprised. What woman her age didn’t want to be as pretty and as young? Beauty for such women faded like an aging rose. But not for me, I thought, not for me.

  “Welcome,” Simon Wexler said. He was practically drooling. “You’ll certainly help dress up our gala, young lady.”

  “Thank you, Mr. Wexler. Congratulations, Mrs. Wexler,” I said, and nodded ever so gently, with a slight curtsy, keeping my eyes down. That’s enough poise to please my mother, I thought.

  “Please, enjoy yourselves,” Lucy said. She turned instantly to a dashing young man who had arrived alone.

  My mother rolled her eyes, and we moved forward to pluck glasses of champagne off one of the trays. My father handed me one.

  “Drink it slowly, my dear.”

  “So it lasts all night,” my mother added with warning.

  I barely let my lips touch the bubbly and then followed them into the mansion as they greeted people, my father constantly introducing me and wallowing in the praise I captured and the compliments both he and my mother were being given for having such a beautiful, poised young woman. We moved toward the ballroom, where the musicians were playing and the food was laid out on long tables. There were tables and chairs everywhere and dozens of servants.

  I want to live like this, I thought. I deserve to live like this.

  Everything in the ballroom was decorated, from the chandeliers to the chairs at tables, colorful crepe paper, balloons, and, streaming from one side of the ceiling to the other, a pair of white and red drapes. Just like my dress, I thought. It was all serendipity. As I panned the room, studying other women, noting how some clumped together to chatter while the men gathered in smaller circles, I turned and suddenly, ironically, faced Emma Lawrence, whose birthday was a day after mine, although no one would believe it. She was with Elsie Daniels. Both wore simple cotton dresses that looked two sizes too big on them. Probably hand-me-downs, I thought. Emma’s was light blue and Elsie’s a chocolate brown. Neither wore any jewelry, and both had the ugliest black shoes, footman shoes.

  “How fancy we are,” Emma said. She was tall, nearly five foot ten, but far too plump. The features of her face were almost swallowed by her ballooned cheeks. I thought she still moved more like a boy and wondered if being so overweight smothered sexual development, especially in a girl. Elsie was only about five foot four but had stunning strawberry-blond hair. Her freckled cheeks and moss-green eyes made her cute but not really pretty in my judgment.

  “Is that a compliment?” I asked.

  “You look very pretty,” Elsie admitted, somewhat reluctantly.

  “Thank you.”

  “The best thing to eat is the roasted pork,” Emma said. “And they have wonderful cupcakes.”

  “I’m not going to eat a thing,” I said. “I’m just going to drink champagne.”

  I held up my glass. Both girls eyed it as if I held a valuable diamond in my fingers.

  “My mother wouldn’t let me take one,” Emma said.

  “My father said absolutely not before I could even ask,” Elsie added.

  “They simply don’t think you’re old enough,” I said, smiling. “You’ve got to convince your parents that you’re an adult. You’ve both attended one of my womanly talks, haven’t you?”

  “A year or so ago,” Emma said. “We’ve never been invited back.”

  “You learned enough back then. Put your little-girl faces away, and don’t let them treat you as if you were still a child. Parents love to keep their children as children. It helps them to feel younger, remember?”

  They both looked stunned. It was as if they were listening to a woman years and years older, with the wisdom of the ages on the tip of her tongue.

  I turned slowly to look at the guests and noted one man was staring in my direction with a slight grin on his face. I was sure he was looking directly at me. He was wearing a custom-fit gray suit that looked more modern than any suit the other men wore, including my father. I shifted my gaze as if he held no interest, but then I was unable to continue ignoring him. When I glanced back, he was still looking at me with that same tantalizing grin. I imagined him to be at least six foot one and could see he was broad-shouldered, quite trim, and athletic-looking. If I ventured a guess about his age, it would be somewhere in the mid-twenties.

  Now aware of how I was caught staring back at him, I suddenly felt very nervous. It was not how I usually reacted when it came to how a man looked at me, but there was something unique about this man that caused me to suddenly feel insecure. He widened his smile, obviously laughing at me. Had my hair fallen? Was I standing awkwardly? Did I look ridiculous with Emma and Elsie beside me? Could he tell we were the same age? Was I holding the champagne glass wrong?

  “We’re going to talk to the Howard twins,” Elsie said. “Even though they’re twins, I think Jesse is better-looking. Emma and I have a bet whether or not you would think so.”

  “At this moment,” I said, “I can think of nothing less interesting to think about.”

  I turned and walked away from them, heading in the direction of my parents, who were talking to people who hadn’t seen me yet, including the Franklins. I was looking forward to their reactions. Halfway across the ballroom, I heard a man ask, “Where have you been all my life?”

  I paused and looked to my right. It was the man who had been staring at me.

  “Excuse me?” I said. “Were you addressing me, sir?”

  His laughing smile reappeared, which seemed to light up his deep-blue eyes. “Addressing? Yes, I think so,” he said.

  There was delicious danger in the way he looked at me, so clearly undressing me with his eyes and his imagination that it brought a blush up from my neck and through my face.

  I glanced quickly at my mother, who at the moment was in an intense conversation with Margret Elliot, the wife of my father’s bank’s chief fiscal officer, Leroy Elliot.

  “Let me properly introduce myself,” the gentleman said, stepping closer. “Garland Neal Foxworth.”

  He held out his hand. I saw the stunning emerald pinkie ring.

  “I don’t bite. Much,” he said when I hesitated.

  “I do,” I said, and he laughed and quickly took his hand back as if he thought I literally would nibble off a finger.

  “I’m sorry we are not being formally introduced, but I’m afraid I’m at a great disadvantage here,” he said, glancing around.

  “And what would that be, pray tell?”

  “No reason to pray. I’ll tell. I’m a stranger. I don’t know a soul except our hosts,” he added with a wink.

  I looked at my mother, who was now looking disapprovingly at me. That, perhaps more than anything, encouraged me to keep talking to him.

  “And where would you be from, then?”

  “Just outside of Charlottesville. And you?”

  “Here,” I replied in a tone that suggested it was as close to the worst place to be than anything.

  He laughed. “Can I know your name?”

  “Corrine,” I said. “Corrine Dixon. My father works for the bank for which Simon Wexler serves as chairman of the board.”

  “Ah, yes, Harrington Dixon.
I met him at the bank,” Garland said. “A very nice gentleman, and now that I see you, I can see his finer features. Your mother must be very beautiful.”

  “She is, but she doesn’t care to be,” I said. The sarcasm brought more laughter.

  “Mothers and daughters often compete,” Garland said. He looked at my still quite full glass of champagne and nodded at it. “Not very good?” he asked.

  “What? Oh. I just arrived, Mr. Foxworth.”

  “Please. Call me Garland, even when you’re vexed at me.”

  “I don’t know you well enough to be vexed at you, sir, but I can see where if I did, I might be. And often,” I said, my eyes on fire.

  He looked like I had just confirmed I was the goddess he had been searching for all his life. His eyes brightened, and his lips stretched into a wider smile. “Maybe that’s why I haven’t found the right woman to be my wife, or the right woman hasn’t found me.”

  “Most probably,” I said, and glanced away as if I was losing interest in him, which I was certainly not.

  “Can I get you something to eat?” he asked quickly. “That might guarantee my sitting with you. I live only for one thing now.”

  “And that is?”

  “Your getting to know me enough to be vexed at me,” he said.

  I looked at my mother, anticipating her starting in my direction.

  He saw my hesitation and where I was looking.

  “Have to sit with your parents, do you?”

  “No,” I said emphatically, so clearly that he stopped smiling and just widened his eyes. “I’m not on anyone’s leash.”

  He nodded, his appreciation deepening. “Then, please,” he said, “permit me to be your loyal servant for a fleeting hour or so. I’d gladly be on your leash.”

  His words nearly took my breath away.

  He froze, his hands up and turned outward, looking as if a no would shatter him.

  I shot my mother a look of defiance and then turned to him. “Actually, I am a little hungry, Mr. Foxworth,” I said.

  “Garland.”

  “Yes,” I said. “Garland.”

  He held out his arm. “Onward to the food, then,” he declared.

  I laughed and took his arm.

  What a scene. In minutes after arriving, I was on the arm of who I thought was by far the most handsome man at the gala. Even though I had thought that might happen, I couldn’t help being a little surprised, a little giddy, that it actually had.

  I tried not to look left or right. I hoped he was really unmarried and unengaged. Otherwise, the gossip surely would send my mother into a closet, shutting the door behind her.

  Apparently, my father had vouched for Garland Foxworth’s integrity, because my mother didn’t come rushing over to the table to drag me off and rescue me and the Dixon reputation from some playboy who had pounced on an innocent young girl.

  “Would you prefer the beef or the chicken or the pork, Corrine?” Garland asked after escorting me to a seat at an empty table and helping take off my cape.

  “The beef tonight, please,” I said. As he turned to go, I cried after him, “But not much.”

  “Oh, I know. A proper lady always leaves the dinner table hungry,” he said. “One of the things my mother taught me so I would know exactly how to behave in such company.”

  “She wanted you to be with a proper woman only?” I teased. I was aware of how quickly I had become comfortable enough with this stranger to do so. He looked impressed. Really, what a beautiful smile, I thought.

  “Oh, absolutely only,” he said. “Let me fix you a plate the way our cook used to fix my mother’s.”

  Our cook, I thought, as he walked toward the food. How rich would he be? I wondered. And why did he say “used to fix”?

  When I scanned the guests at other tables and groups of them talking off to the sides, it seemed every one of them was looking at me and talking about me. Emma and Elsie were standing with the Howard twins, all of them staring at me with childish expressions of surprise splattered like spilled milk over their pale faces. Emma started to wave, so I turned away from them quickly.

  The band was playing “Where Did You Get That Hat?” and people nearby were laughing and moving to the melody. More of the invited guests had arrived. Some of the women were wearing dresses that I knew were imported from France or England. I had seen them in magazines and stores. There was enough jewelry displayed to buy the state. I thought that this was the biggest and most festive event I ever had attended. The music renewed my excitement, not that it had diminished even an iota. I was just frustrated and annoyed by how careful I had to be with my every smile and gesture, knowing my mother probably was watching me like an eagle by now.

  Garland returned carrying two plates of food. He nodded at a waiter nearby as he put my plate before me.

  “Madam, as you wished,” he said, and sat across from me. “You haven’t drunk much of that champagne. Want something else?” he asked.

  I looked at my glass and thought how ridiculous to spend the whole night on one glass. I gulped most of it and nodded.

  “Another, please,” I said, perhaps too enthusiastically. He laughed and ordered another for me and one for himself. I chastised myself. A woman shouldn’t laugh so much and should rarely giggle. You know that, Corrine Dixon.

  “Hope that is not too much to eat,” he said, nodding at my plate.

  “It’s perfect. I thank you, sir.”

  “I’ve had a good start, then,” he said.

  “Good start?”

  “Winning your affections.”

  I looked at him deliberately suspiciously. “Is that really your goal?”

  “I’d have to be half dead for it to be otherwise,” he said.

  I felt my face glisten. “I fear you might be having fun with me, sir,” I said, looking down as would someone who suddenly had turned quite bashful, which was difficult for me but not impossible. I knew it to be a chief tool of a coquette.

  He feigned immediate indignation. “Moi? Oh, far from it, Corrine. I mean every word I say to you. I might as well have a Bible in my hand.”

  “Until proven otherwise, I will believe you,” I said.

  When he smiled, his eyes really did lighten. There was a positive energy about him, difficult to ignore but maybe difficult to trust.

  The waiter brought us two additional champagnes.

  “Shall I make my first toast in your presence, then, to prove my sincerity?”

  “Please do,” I said, raising my glass. I was actually terrified that any moment my mother would appear and reprimand me for having a second glass in front of this handsome stranger. She’d rip it from my hands and embarrass me to death. I held my breath.

  “To Destiny that gave me a special gift of beauty and Southern elegance tonight,” he said.

  He held out his glass to tap and looked surprised at my hesitation. What, I wondered, would he say when he discovered how old I really was? Would he accuse Destiny of deliberate deception? I expected he would be drained in disappointment if I were in any way beyond his reach.

  Until then, enjoy the moment, I thought.

  I smiled and tapped his glass.

  We drank, not taking our eyes off each other.

  “So,” he said, getting into his food and gazing about, “how is it that these young Southern gentlemen aren’t hovering around you like pigeons hoping for a crumb of a smile? Is something lacking in the water here?”

  “Maybe they’re afraid,” I said, nibbling at my food. My stomach was in knots of nervousness now. This was the first time I was eating alone at a table with an older, unmarried gentleman.

  “Afraid? Of what?”

  “Being pecked,” I said, and he leaned back to laugh.

  “Fools,” he said. “They’d never enjoy anything as much. Anyway, I’m certainly not complaining. The moment I saw you, I was afraid you were already tethered and tied to someone.”

  “I am most certainly not.”

  Did I say that
too quickly? I wondered.

  “Then I am truly blessed tonight,” he said, sipping his champagne and smiling at me through those beautiful and sexy eyes. “It makes me wonder how even a kiss could bring me more pleasure than simply sitting here and gazing at you.”

  Was I blushing?

  No man, of course, no boy, had ever complimented me like this, I thought. A kiss? Tethered? His words were full of sexual suggestions. If I even had an ounce of doubt whether I could compete with the young, unmarried women who were years older, that ounce was gone. I had read enough social instructions and paid enough attention to older girls to know how to carry on a conversation confidently with a young, handsome man I had just met. Even if he learned my age in the next ten minutes, he would express his disbelief.

  “What is it you do, Mr. Garland Neal Foxworth?”

  “Oh, a little of everything these days. I’ve opened two additional cloth factories in Richmond, bought a lumber mill in Fishersville a few months ago, and”—he hesitated and looked around to be sure no one was listening to our conversation—“invested in your father’s bank. That’s why I am here, why I was invited. It’s not my first bank,” he added. “But I’ve put enough money in it to have a seat on the board.”

  “You look too young for all that.”

  “Yes, I do, don’t I?” he said, smiling.

  Could I have met someone more conceited than I was? I had to laugh as well, but he didn’t know, of course, that I was laughing more at myself as I thought, I might have met my match.

  Suddenly, we heard a loud “ah” from the crowd and turned to look toward the musicians. They stood and stepped aside as an upright piano was wheeled in. It looked brand new. The pianist appeared on the right and took his seat. He began with a waltz. Four couples began to dance immediately, and others started to join them.