44
Lorna
ASHEVILLE, NORTH CAROLINA
MARCH 9, 1924
WASHINGTON, MARCH 5
The rumored engagement of Miss Cornelia Vanderbilt, daughter of the late George W. Vanderbilt, to the Hon. John F. A. Cecil, first secretary of the British Embassy, which has occupied the attention of society for several weeks now, still lacks official confirmation by reason of Mrs. Vanderbilt’s absence from town but is accepted as fact by friends of the young people.
Lorna lowered her borrowed copy of the New York Times. There it was. Cornelia was indeed planning to wed. The article went on to note that the engagement was expected to be short, with the wedding taking place in the early summer. Well then. She’d completed her commission with little time to spare.
She skimmed the article again. It seemed this John Cecil fellow was royalty of a sort. Apparently, he was in line for a barony and a marquisate. Not a prince certainly, but as close as they were ever likely to get here in the mountains of North Carolina.
“Whatcha reading?” Boyd called from the front door. He and Arthur had gotten in the habit of stopping by on Sunday afternoons for a visit. Lorna found she enjoyed the routine, not to mention the company.
“I’m reading about Cornelia Vanderbilt being engaged. Of course, this is Wednesday’s paper, so I suppose I’m the last to know.”
“I heard the official announcement was made at a fancy dinner up at the big house the other night,” Boyd chimed in. “Having money sure does make your life complicated.”
Arthur burst into laughter. “That’s one way to look at it.” He settled into a wing-back chair in Lorna’s front room. It was where he always sat, and Lorna had begun to think of it as Arthur’s chair. Dangerous thinking, she told herself.
“Anyone want to take a guess as to the wedding date?” he asked.
“The article says early summer, so I’m guessing June fifth,” Lorna said.
“I sure hope you don’t expect me to play along with a stupid game like this,” Boyd grumbled.
“The wedding will take place at All Souls Cathedral at noon on Tuesday, April 29.” Arthur made the announcement as though trumpets had preceded it.
“And how in the world do you know that?” Lorna wondered. “That’s not even a two-month engagement.”
“I’ve been asked to do some work on the estate in preparation for the big day.” He grinned. “I can’t tell you all the details—I’ve been sworn to secrecy—but they need a special curved table for the reception, which for some reason they call a ‘wedding breakfast.’ And I’m proud to be the man for the job.”
“I think that’s a British tradition—to call the reception a wedding breakfast, even though it’s later in the day. Will Reverend Swope perform the ceremony?” Lorna asked.
“He will. I expect there will be a great deal of fuss, which Mary is excited about as the rector’s wife, but I suspect Rodney could do without all the hubbub. He said that in all his twenty-five years of service at All Souls, he’s never had an order quite this tall.”
Boyd tilted his head. “Is that how long you’ve been in Asheville? As long as Reverend Swope’s been with the church?”
Arthur nodded. “I remember the day Mr. Vanderbilt came to offer Rodney the job.” He fished the carved fawn out of his pocket. “I was carving this.”
Boyd held out his hand, and Arthur handed over the figure. “It’s pretty good, but I’ve seen you do better, brother.”
“I should hope so—I was only nine when I carved that. Well, almost nine.” Arthur chuckled. “Mr. Vanderbilt admired the doe I’d already finished, and I haven’t seen it since.”
Lorna frowned. “Are you saying he took it?”
“He did. I suppose he might have given it to Rodney. I never thought to ask.”
“That’s funny,” Boyd said. “A rich man like that taking a carved deer. Guess he owes you one.”
“He probably just forgot he had it,” Arthur said with a shrug. “It surely doesn’t matter now.” He took the fawn back from Boyd and repocketed it.
Lorna watched him, feeling pensive. “Have you ever thought about going back to West Virginia?”
Arthur ran a hand through his curls. “I have thought about it a few times over the years. Thought about going back and trying to run down some of my brothers or sisters. I remember some of them better than others. But it never seemed like the right time.” He looked at Boyd. “And now I have my brother here. Maybe when I thought about going back, what I really was after was having a family.” He grasped Boyd’s shoulder. “And now I’ve got that.” He turned his gaze on Lorna. “In more ways than one.”
She flushed, afraid to hope he meant her. “I’ve run out of family,” she said. She aimed to sound lighthearted, but the words were pitiful. She wished she could take them back.
Arthur reached out a hand, and she hesitated before taking it. “I hope you’ll count us as your family,” he said. “I’ve spent too many years thinking I needed blood relatives to be part of a true family.” He winked at Boyd. “And while blood kin is great, it turns out my family’s been right here with me the whole time.” He turned soft hazel eyes on Lorna. “It’s been Rodney and Mary, Angus, Gentry, and you.”
Lorna saw love in his expression and felt the warmth of his caring heart. And while the notion of Arthur as family was appealing, she knew it wasn’t brotherly affection she longed for. Oh, she might like that from Boyd, but what she wanted from Arthur was so much more. She wanted to be chosen, to be his, to be bound together with him as one flesh forever.
The surge of emotion was more than she could manage. She broke his gaze and tugged her hand free. She felt relief and disappointment in equal measure. “Thank you, Arthur. You are like family to me, as well.”
Lorna struggled to sleep that night. She couldn’t stop thinking about Arthur and weddings and what it meant to be family. She finally fell asleep in the small hours of the morning, waking late to the sound of something dropping through the mail slot in her door. She dressed and stumbled downstairs, grateful Arthur couldn’t see her just then.
A cream-colored envelope lay inside the door. She stooped to pick it up, feeling stiff from her restless night. It was from Biltmore Industries. Her breath caught. While she had not dared to think that completing Mrs. Harshaw’s commission would win her job back, the thought wasn’t unwelcome. Could this be a letter inviting her to return?
She tore the letter open and read,
Dear Lorna,
I am writing to request your presence in my office at 10 a.m. on Monday, March 17. I trust that this time will be convenient for you. If not, please let me know at your earliest convenience.
Sincerely,
Douglas Tompkins
She lowered the page with shaking hands. There was little to go on here, but she hoped the brief note pointed to good news. But would resuming her job be good news? She’d confessed the truth about her designs to Mrs. Harshaw. Arthur, Boyd, Vivian, and Gentry all knew that the designs she’d presented as her own were created by another. She no longer desired to live the lie she’d committed to when she’d given Gentry train fare and left her to find her own way in the world.
She was a different person now.
Lorna reread the note, finding it no more illuminating. She sighed. It looked like she’d have all weekend to ponder what she would do if Mr. Tompkins did indeed want her back.