The Duke was always magnificent, but tonight he had surpassed himself.
GEORGETTE HEYER, These Old Shades
Colin finished shaving and made his way to his closet. Gordon usually accompanied him when he was getting dressed, but he’d been banished to the carriage house for the evening. The best thing about Sugar Beth was her dog.
A crash echoed from the vicinity of the kitchen. The caterer again. Or maybe Sugar Beth had dropped something. She’d been flying around the house all day: answering the door, rearranging flowers, arguing with the caterer. Throwing herself heart and soul into her own comeuppance.
He cursed as he stubbed his toe on the closet bench. He had no reason to feel guilty. There was a brutal simplicity about what would happen tonight, and since revenge wasn’t anything he cared to devote his life to, this would be the end of it. A clean break. He pulled a shirt from a cedar hanger. Once the evening was over, he’d write her a big severance check and never think about her again. Which, admittedly, wouldn’t be easy.
He’d just flipped the toggles on a pair of Bulgari cuff links when he heard a knock. “Go away.”
She stormed in, just as he’d known she would. She was conservatively dressed—for her at least—in black slacks and a white blouse with a V neck. If the angle was just right, as it was now, he could catch a glimpse of a lacy white bra. He missed those towering stilettos she’d shown up in, even though he was the one who’d made her change. He’d pointed out that she’d be on her feet all evening, but they both knew the truth. Guests wore dressy stilettos, not the staff. The staff also didn’t pile its hair up and let long, unruly locks fall every which way—over the curve of a flushed cheek, along the nape of a slim neck, in front of small ears where a tiny pair of gold hearts swung—but he’d let that go.
“I’m fixin’ to come to blows with that caterer,” she exclaimed, the gold hearts bobbing. “The minute he said he was from California, I should have told you to find somebody else. He’s usin’ tofu in an hors d’oeuvre. And he didn’t even deep-fry it!”
She was in full good ol’ girl mode, something he was beginning to suspect she did when she was on the defensive, which seemed to be most of the time. The flush in her cheeks made her look healthier than when she’d arrived in Parrish, but her wrist bones were still frail, and the tracery of blue veins in the back of the hand she planted on her hip might have been a road map of all the disappointments life handed out to aging beauty queens.
“He just broke that new pitcher I bought you. And did you know he was plannin’ to use disposable aluminum pans on the buffet table? I had to remind him this was a dinner party, not a fish fry.”
As she ranted on, he wanted to order her to stop putting so much energy into a party that wasn’t hers. Right from the beginning, he’d told her she’d be waiting on his guests, but she hadn’t blinked. He’d even driven the point home by instructing her to dress appropriately. Surprising how easy it was to play the bastard once you set your mind to it. If only she’d bow those proud shoulders just once and concede defeat, he could let this go. But she wouldn’t. So here they were. And, now, he simply wanted the whole thing done with.
“. . . make sure you take the cost of that pitcher out of his check when you pay him tonight.”
“I’ll do that.” The caterer had probably broken the pitcher because he was staring down her blouse.
“No, you won’t. Except for me, you’re Mr. Big Spender. Even with that incompetent West Coast weasel of a caterer.”
“Such prejudice from someone who once lived in California herself.”
“Well, sure, but I was drunk most of the time.”
He caught his smile just in time. He wouldn’t give in to that seductive charm. Her self-deprecating sense of humor was another manipulation, her way of making sure no one else threw the first punch.
“Is that all?”
She eyed his dark trousers and long-sleeved grape-colored shirt. “If only I hadn’t sent your dueling pistols to the cleaners.”
He’d promised himself he’d stop sparring with her, but the words came out anyway. “At least I still have my riding crop. Just the thing, I’ve heard, for disciplining an unruly servant.”
She liked that, and she flashed him a wide smile on her way out the door. “You can be funny for a stiff.”
The word stiff hung in the air behind her like the scent of sex-rumpled bedsheets. If only she knew . . .
So far, so good, Sugar Beth thought to herself. The house looked beautiful with flowers everywhere and candles glowing. In the foyer, the flames of a dozen white tapers reflected off the shiny black finish of the baby grand. The young woman Colin had hired to play looked up from the keyboard and smiled. Sugar Beth smiled back, then took a last glance at the living room. Creamy pillar candles nested in the magnolia leaves she’d arranged across the fireplace mantel, and clusters of cut-glass votives flickered on the smaller tables she’d positioned here and in the sunroom.
Keep moving. Don’t think.
Not all the changes Colin had made to the house were bad. Without the fussy wallpaper, the downstairs had a more spacious feel, and the efficient new kitchen was a definite improvement over the old cramped one. She also liked the way the sunroom kept the back of the house from being too gloomy. But she still missed the sight of her father’s keys tossed on a table and the scent of Diddie’s perfume permeating every room.
In a few hours, it’ll be over.
She headed to the dining room to make certain the caterer hadn’t moved anything. The pepperberry sprays she’d wound through the arms of the chandelier made the room homier, and the centerpiece of pale orange Sari roses and deep gold Peruvian lilies glowed against the mocha linen tablecloth just as she’d known they would. She’d already dimmed the hallway chandelier, and now she did the same in the dining room. The old walls embraced her. You should have been mine, she thought. I don’t deserve you—I didn’t even want you—but you should have been mine all the same.
She wanted to believe she’d worked so hard on this party to prove to Colin that she wasn’t a screwup, but it was more than that. She’d needed to see this house shine again. And she’d needed to keep herself so busy she wouldn’t brood over the part she’d play tonight.
For a moment she let herself pretend she was still the daughter of Frenchman’s Bride, that tonight’s guests were the ones she would have invited if she hadn’t worked so hard at ruining her life: the Seawillows; Ryan; batty old Mrs. Carmichael, who’d died ten years ago but used to tell everyone that Sugar Beth was just as sweet as her name; Bobby Jarrow and Woody Newhouse; Pastor Ferrelle and his wife; Aunt Tallulah, even though she’d disapprove of Sugar Beth’s arrangements.
Where are your grandmother’s cheese straws? Bless your heart, Sugar Beth, even you know you can’t have a party at Frenchman’s Bride without Martha Carey’s cheese straws.
The imaginary guest list evaporated. The last thing she wanted to see tonight was a familiar face. Glassware tinkled as Renaldo, the college boy who’d be serving drinks, headed toward the bar in the living room with a tray of empty champagne glasses. “Ernie says he needs you in the kitchen.”
“All right. Thanks.” Don’t think about what’s coming. Just do your job.
Ernie, the hapless caterer, looked like a demonic Porky Pig with his pink face, bald head, and bushy eyebrows. He’d forgotten toothpicks for the hors d’oeuvre trays, so Sugar Beth dug some out. She’d just handed them over when the doorbell rang. Her stomach pitched.
Oh, no you don’t. You’re not wimping out now. She straightened her shoulders and made her way to the front door.
Colin had gotten there first. He stood in the entrance hall with two men and a woman whose chic black outfit had New York City written all over it. One of the men was fiftyish and swarthy, the other a trim Ivy Leaguer. This could only be Colin’s agent, his agent’s wife, and Neil Kirkpatrick, his editor. Colin had met them for lunch at the Parrish Inn, where they were spending the night, but this was the first Sugar Beth had seen of them.
The woman’s eyes widened as she took in the sweeping staircase and candlelit foyer. “Colin, I wasn’t prepared. This is incredible.”
Sugar Beth absorbed the compliment as if it had been given to her. Frenchman’s Bride wasn’t the last whistle-stop on anybody’s nowhere line.
The soft ballad coming from the piano, the marble floor glowing in the velvety light from the chandelier, the candles shimmering . . . Everything so beautiful. The house swept her up in its spell, and she imagined she caught a whiff of Diddie’s perfume. It made her smile. She walked toward the guests. Extended her hand. “Welcome to Frenchman’s Bride.”
The woman cocked her head. The men looked confused. Sugar Beth realized what she’d done, and her fingers convulsed as she snatched back her hand. Colin stepped forward, his voice quiet. “Take Mrs. Lucato’s coat, Sugar Beth.”
Her face burned with embarrassment as she forced herself to reach out again. “Of course.”
She couldn’t look at him, couldn’t bear knowing he was watching her. In the space of a few seconds, she’d undone ten days of wisecracks and pigheadedness, ten days of never once letting him see how much it hurt to be a servant in the house that should have been hers.
Somehow she made her way to the laundry room where she’d set up a rack for coats. She’d been ready to introduce herself to them all, just as if she had the right. Her skin felt hot. She wanted to run away, but she was trapped. Trapped in this house, this town. Trapped with a man who wished her nothing but harm.
The doorbell rang again, faint but audible. She thought of Delilah, put steel to her spine, and went to answer it.
This time Colin’s guests were an elderly couple. She managed to admit them with nothing more than a polite nod. After that, the arrivals came more quickly until Mayor Aaron Leary and his wife arrived.
“Why, Sugar Beth . . . It’s been a long time,” he said.
“Yes, it has.”
“This is my wife, Charise.”
The model-slim woman at his side hadn’t come from Parrish, and she looked confused about why her husband was presenting her to the maid.
“It’s nice to meet you, Mrs. Leary.” She wouldn’t make the mistake of overstepping the bounds of familiarity again, not when Colin stood close by waiting for her to do just that.
Several couples arrived from Oxford, professors, she gathered. Everyone greeted Colin as if he were one of them, which he’d never be, not in a thousand years. She felt him watching her every move. He wanted this to be horrible. It was his payback. She knew that, made herself accept it.
Jewel Myers showed up, along with the curly-haired blonde who’d worked for her at the bookstore. Sugar Beth remembered how Ellie used to send Jewel out to the veranda with a pitcher to serve Sugar Beth and her friends.
“This lemonade isn’t pink, Jewel. Take it back and tell Ellie we want pink.”
Jewel studied Sugar Beth’s black slacks and white blouse. “Well, well . . . The world gets more interesting all the time.”
Only last week, Sugar Beth had been hoping for a friendship with Jewel. Now she realized how impossible that was. “Would you like me to take your shawl?”
“I’ll keep it for now.”
Voices from the past echoed in her head. “I don’t want ham, Jewel. Tell Ellie to make me peanut butter and honey.”
“Yez’m, Miz Scarlett.”
Jewel had actually said that to Sugar Beth, and Sugar Beth wanted to believe she’d laughed, but that was probably only wishful thinking.
In the living room, Colin stood with his head tilted toward one of the professors, but she knew it was merely a pose. Every bit of him was focused on her. Payback time.
“I don’t think Meredith wants to keep her coat,” Jewel said, amusement dancing in her eyes.
Sugar Beth welcomed the chance to escape, and as she hung up the coat, she sent out a little prayer. Okay, God, it’s time to ease up, all right? I get the fact that I was horrible. But I’ve tried to mend my ways. Some of them, anyway . . . So could you back off now?
God, however, had better things to do than listen to the prayers of a tarnished Southern belle, because the next time she opened the door, the Seawillows were standing on the other side.
Not all of them. Only Leeann and Merylinn. But they were enough. Sugar Beth stared into their faces, so familiar, yet changed, and she remembered how Colin had danced around the truth. She should have known they’d be here. Part of her must have known.
Leeann and Merylinn stared back, not surprised, because they’d been expecting exactly this. Leeann’s eyes sparkled with malicious delight. “Why, Sugar Beth. We heard you were back in town.”
“Imagine running into you here of all places,” Merylinn said.
Once the two of them had been her closest friends. But she’d gone to Ole Miss and forgotten them. Leeann was a nurse now and a good twenty pounds heavier than her high school weight. She’d been one of the best athletes in the senior class. She wore a bright yellow silk sheath more suited to July than early March. Merylinn’s ribbed-knit tangerine suit fit her tall, large frame, but she still had too heavy a hand with makeup. Tallulah had said she taught high school math. It was hard to imagine Merylinn, Sugar Beth’s favorite companion in mischief, as a teacher.
Sugar Beth realized she was blocking the doorway and stepped aside. For the first time, she noticed the men. Deke Jasper, Merylinn’s husband, had lost some of his auburn hair, but he was still square-jawed and good-looking. He’d always been a soft touch, and she thought she saw a flash of sympathy in his eyes. Leeann’s date was a small neat man who wore too much cologne.
“Hey, Sugar Beth. Remember me? Brad Simmons.”
He’d been one of those boys who hadn’t fit into any particular crowd. At the eighth-grade spring dance, he’d asked her to dance, and she’d almost wet her pants laughing because he was short and she was Sugar Beth Carey.
She sensed Colin standing a few feet away, waiting to see if she’d fall apart. She bit the inside of her lip and began to close the door, only to see two more couples making their way up the front sidewalk. Heidi and Amy, along with their husbands. She should have known. Where there was one Seawillow, there were bound to be more.
Just that morning, she and Colin had smiled at each other when Gordon had trotted into the kitchen with one of his ears turned inside out and an empty cracker box in his mouth. Now she hated him for that smile.
Heidi Dwyer—Pettibone now—still had big hazel eyes and unruly curly red hair. A sterling silver teddy bear hung from a chain around her neck, and her bright purple sweater was appliquéd with a bouquet of kites flying in the March breeze. Sugar Beth imagined a bureau stuffed full of sweaters appropriate to every season and holiday. In the old days, Heidi had made clothes for their Barbies.
Heidi’s husband, Phil, had played football with Ryan. He was as thin as he’d been in high school, but now he had the tanned, wiry look of a distance runner. During the summer between junior and senior year, all of them had spent their weekends at the lake making out and drinking the beer that one of the busboys at the Lakehouse had smuggled to them. Phil and Heidi had been going out then, but Phil had tried to kiss Sugar Beth. She hadn’t wanted to spoil his friendship with Ryan, so she’d never told him about it, but she’d told Heidi and made her cry.
Amy still didn’t wear makeup, and the gold cross visible in the open neck of her matronly pink dress was a larger version of the one she’d worn in high school, when she and Sugar Beth had taken over Ellie’s kitchen to bake cookies. The brown-haired man in glasses must be her husband.
“Hi, Sugar Beth.” Amy was too religious to walk past her. But just because Amy had forgiven the sinner didn’t mean she was obligated to forgive the sin, and she neglected to introduce her husband. Instead, she headed straight for Colin, and her warm greeting made no secret of where her loyalty lay.
Leeann waved at someone in the living room. She’d been Sugar Beth’s oldest friend. They’d met in nursery school, where, according to their mothers, Leeann had tried to take a play telephone away from Sugar Beth, and Sugar Beth had conked her over the head with it. When Leeann had started to cry, Sugar Beth had cried along with her, then handed over her new Miss Piggy watch to make her stop. Of all the Seawillows, Leeann had felt the most betrayed when Sugar Beth had turned her back on them for Darren Tharp.
“Colin, sweetie.” She plastered herself against the teacher who’d nearly flunked her because she wasn’t smart enough to b.s. her way through his essay questions. But the fact that Leeann probably still thought Beowulf was a WWF wrestler didn’t seem to bother him now. As he gave her a warm hug, he didn’t even try to look down her dress.
Sugar Beth finally let herself notice what she hadn’t wanted to see. Leeann was wearing a coat.
It was a jacket, really. Quilted brown wool that was too heavy to wear inside. Something the maid would be expected to hang up. Leeann quivered with delight as she shrugged out of it and tossed it to Sugar Beth. “Be careful with that. It’s my favorite.”
A dozen insults skipped through Sugar Beth’s head, but she didn’t utter a single one of them because she’d turned her back on her oldest friend for a worthless shortstop named Darren Tharp.
All of them watched her as she made her way across the foyer. The jacket on her arm weighed a thousand pounds.
The bell rang again. She kept moving. Didn’t let herself hear it. Almost made her escape.
“Get that, would you, Sugar Beth?” Colin said quietly.
Dread curled in her stomach. Where there was one Seawillow, there were bound to be more.
The walk back to the door took forever. No more Seawillows lived in Parrish. All the rest had moved away. But some of their boyfriends had stayed . . .
She opened the door.
He looked as familiar as if she’d seen him just that morning, yet the years had left their mark, and as she gazed into his eyes, she knew the teenage boy she remembered was a mere shadow of the man he’d become. He was even more handsome than she’d imagined he would be, confident and polished, his blond hair a shade darker but his eyes the same warm caramel. His black-and-white-herringbone sports coat was perfectly coordinated with a subtly striped shirt. Both pieces were beautifully made and very expensive. But despite his astounding good looks, she felt no pangs of passion. None of the hot rush of desire that Colin Byrne aroused. Instead, she experienced a mixture of nostalgia and bone-deep regret.
Leeann’s wool jacket burned her arm. The pianist began playing a Sting ballad. Ryan’s family had been poor compared with her own. Their house was small and cramped, their cars old, but she’d never cared about that. Even when he’d been a boy, she’d seen his worth. For that, at least, she could give herself credit. Then again, maybe it had just been sex.
“Hello, Sugar Beth.”
She tried to get his name out, but it stuck to the roof of her mouth, and all she could manage was a nod. She stepped back awkwardly to let them in. Because, of course, Ryan hadn’t come alone.
Winnie had replaced Diddie’s pearls with a bezel-set diamond, and matching studs glittered through her dark hair. She wore a slim-fitting basil green pantsuit with an emerald sequin camisole. The color would have washed out Sugar Beth, but Winnie had Griffin’s olive tones, and she looked stunning.
She didn’t show any of the spiteful delight that Leeann and Merylinn had shown. As their eyes met, she exhibited only a deep, fierce dignity. Let all the world see that the lumpy outcast had turned into a very beautiful, very wealthy swan.
Ryan slipped his arm around Winnie’s shoulders. Sugar Beth got the point.
Colin stepped forward. Winnie looked small and feminine standing between the two men. Sugar Beth had forgotten how petite she was. She and Colin exchanged a social kiss.
“Winnie, you look smashing tonight. But, then, you always do.” His smile told Sugar Beth that, however fond he might be of Leeann and the other Seawillows, his friendship with Winnie ran deeper.
“I was afraid we’d be late. Ryan had an emergency at the plant.”
“Equipment trouble with one of the lines,” Ryan said. “But we’re up and running again.”
“Glad to hear it.” Colin and Ryan shook hands in the easy way of men who were comfortable with each other. They were a study in contrasts: Ryan fair and fine-featured. Colin dark, brooding, and enigmatic. She fled.
By the time she reached the laundry room, she was shaking. Nothing would make her go back out there. She was leaving and never coming back. Her purse? Where had she left it? Where—
I love you, my Sugar Beth. And you love me, too, don’t you?
Delilah . . . Just for a moment, she’d let herself forget. Preserving her pride wouldn’t put a stop to the bills that were coming due for her stepdaughter’s care. Once again she’d reached another of life’s turning points. Emmett would have called tonight a golden opportunity to show what she was made of.
Glass, my darling. Just like one of Daddy’s windows.
Quitcher bitchin’, love, and do what has to be done.
Easy for you to say. You’re dead.
But you’re not, and Delilah depends on you.
She stabbed a hanger into the sleeves of Leeann’s jacket. She could almost taste the sweetness of revenge on Colin’s tongue. He expected her to run—wanted her to run—and the longer she locked herself away back here, the more satisfaction she was giving him.
She turned to the door and drew a deep breath. It was time to test herself. Again.
