The old colonel’s ball at the Union Hotel was a crush. The sweltering August weather wilted fashionably frizzed hair and starched white collars, producing an unladylike sheen of sweat on many a petticoated, crinolined, and corseted female. The terrace doors were thrown open in hopes of catching any slight coolness or breeze, and the run on iced champagne gave rise to a bright and lively gaiety.
Sarah and Flora came late, avoiding the worst of the evening’s heat, interested less in the dancing than in the Caldwell King party, which wouldn’t arrive until after some play at the casinos.
Sarah introduced her niece to their host and hostess, the colonel and his niece, Mrs. Morton. Mr. Bellington’s wife was on prolonged holiday in Europe—a pattern with many of the wealthy wives whose husband’s interest had waned. One of America’s richest men, Colonel Bellington had an eye for beautiful women, and he immediately turned his attention on Flora. It was several dances and champagnes later before she could politely extricate herself from his lecherous grasp.
“He’s almost completely without manners,” Flora breathlessly remarked to her aunt, leaning against the brick of the Union Hotel’s piazza wall. “I thought I might have to literally pry his hands from around my waist.”
“He’s from a rough background,” Sarah noted. “And he’s very aware of what his wealth commands.”
“Not my body, however,” Flora heatedly retorted. “Has anyone ever publicly brought him to his knees? I was sorely tempted.”
“Not to my knowledge, although many a young beauty has made a profitable sum from his heated interest.”
“Thank God I’ve no need of his money. He hasn’t a modicum of finesse. I’m going to sit here in the garden and cool off, although you needn’t entertain me.” Sarah had a bevy of friends at the party. They’d met a dozen of them in the ladies’ powder room—all women who’d been coming to Saratoga for as long as Sarah, and who knew every family and visitor of note. “I’ll come back in later.”
“You’re sure, now?”
“I’m positive. It’s peaceful here and a few degrees cooler. Now, go and find out what gossip Elizabeth Stanton is dying to tell you. She was practically bursting at the seams.”
“She couldn’t tell me in front of Charlotte Brewster.”
“I gathered as much,” Flora said with a smile. “It must be succulent. I’ll hear the details tonight.”
Strolling down the veranda lit at intervals with ornate gaslight fixtures, Flora found a wrought-iron bench in a secluded corner and sat down. The music from the ballroom was muted by the great length of the portico, the night shadows seemed to separate her from the noise and bustle of the crowd, even the couples strolling in the garden were far enough away to offer her solitude.
It was all very well in principle to take her father’s advice and come east to see Adam, she reflected; Sarah, too, supported her. But now that she was here, now that she was actually a part of this frenzied mass of humanity tonight, she didn’t have the remotest interest in intruding on Adam’s life. Maybe she was tired; maybe it was too hot. Perhaps she didn’t feel seductive in such a sweaty throng. Or possibly the old colonel’s unwelcome designs had put everything in perspective.
She didn’t pursue men. At least not purposefully. She’d never felt the need.
Relaxing against the cool metal of the garden bench, she exhaled a small sigh, relieved to have reconciled her motivations. How pleasant to be comfortable again with her emotions. Life was a positive journey, not a negative manipulation of people and events. She’d visit with her aunt for a few days, take in some of the races, and then return to Montana. The lure of the cool mountains was definitely an attractive incentive to leave this sultry heat.
Her eight days’ travel took their toll as she lounged in the shadows of the wisteria vines, or perhaps the several glasses of champagne made her drowsy, and, lulled by the distant music, she dozed off.
A short time later when Sarah saw Caldwell at the buffet table, she approached him. As longtime friends, they cheerfully greeted each other.
“I thought I’d find you here,” she teased. Caldwell always gravitated toward food, his appetite for everything in life gargantuan, like his size.
“Couldn’t miss the colonel’s spread, Sarah,” he boomed. “Your diamonds outshine mine, tonight, darlin’. You look right purty.” Caldwell was known as White-Hat Caldwell for the large white Stetson he wore, and his diamond rings, tie pin, and studs dazzled the eye.
“I’m in a festive mood tonight. Two of my horses took first today.”
“Don’t I know it, darlin’, with mine relegated to second and third. I’m going to have to buy that dark roan beauty you have and bring him to my stud.”
“It’s too hot for him in Texas, Caldwell. You need more barb blood down there.”
“Damned if I don’t, but bejesus, that roan’s a real goer.” After introductions were exchanged with those of Caldwell’s party she didn’t know, the conversation was predictably of horses, with much time spent discussing the day’s race card.
When Caldwell excused himself briefly to sample a morsel of lobster a few feet down the sumptuously arranged table, Sarah casually turned to Adam and said, “Have you met my niece, Flora Bonham? She’s here from Montana, although I’m not altogether sure in that large a territory whether you would have had the opportunity to know each other.”
Adam’s heart seemed to stop for a second, and his shock must have been obvious, for she looked at him curiously. “Is our terrible heat bothering you?” she pleasantly inquired.
He assured her it wasn’t, and when Caldwell reentered the conversation a second later, Adam found himself unable to concentrate on their continuing dissection of that day’s race schedule. It suddenly didn’t matter which horse had won or what the winning times were or whether Leonard Jerome or Travers was entering his three-year-old the following day.
Flora was here?
Not just in Saratoga, but at this ball?
“Where is she?” he heard himself say, his voice too curt for politesse, his voice sounding as though it were echoing in his ears from a great distance.
“Pardon me?” Sarah Gibbon said with infinite calm, an important question suddenly answered to her satisfaction.
“Your niece. Where is she?”
“Do you know the little filly?” Caldwell queried, his Texas drawl as florid as his diamond rings and enormous girth.
“We’ve met,” Adam said.
“She never mentioned it,” Sarah cordially said, “but, then, I expect Flora met a great number of people in Montana. Do you know an Ellis Green?” she adroitly added.
“Yes,” Adam replied, his voice suddenly cool. “Is he in Saratoga too?”
“I haven’t the faintest idea,” Sarah tranquilly declared, “with a crowd of this magnitude. It’s almost unmanageable, don’t you think?”
“Do you know where she is?” Adam enunciated each word with a distinct clarity.
“I saw her last on the piazza … that way, I think, or was it that way?” Sarah airily motioned. “Oh, dear, my sense of direction is so …” Her words trailed off as Adam briefly bowed and left. She smiled up at Caldwell. “My, what a precipitous young man,” she sweetly declared.
“I’d say he’s off to woo that niece of yours, Sarah,” Caldwell jovially said. “I reckon she’s in for a surprise.”
“She certainly will be,” Sarah Gibbon said with the gloating smile of a matchmaker. “He’s remarkably hot-blooded.”
In swift, stalking scrutiny Adam searched the entire length of the quarter-mile piazza, not certain whether he’d find Flora with Ellis, not certain what he’d do if he found them together. But when he finally discovered her behind a half screen of wisteria vines, he simply stood arrested for a moment, her beauty more breathtaking than he’d remembered.
Her skin was pale against the violet of her gown, her hair piled high in studied disarray with wispy tendrils framing her face. She half reclined on the filigreed settee with one leg on the seat, the other fallen over the edge of the garden bench. Her head lay against an ornate scalloped shell design, her hands were lightly clasped in her lap, the beaded bodice of her gown sparkled in the subdued light as her breasts softly rose and fell with each breath. The diaphanous chiffon of her gown lent an illusion of nudity in the shadowed light, as if her flesh were only lightly veiled by glimmering jewels. And the diamonds at her throat and ears shimmered icy cool against her skin.
He shouldn’t have come looking for her. He’d tried not to for that small amount of time it took to listen to Sarah Gibbon’s explanation of Flora’s presence in Saratoga. And now that he’d found her, he wasn’t sure what to do—what was possible or impossible with her slumbering form so available, her thighs lushly open beneath the filmy chiffon and silk. His fingers flexed, an unconscious gesture of repressed action, and he drew in a deep breath of restraint. He pulled up a chair and sat down, a compromise measure to less prudent impulses pressing the boundaries of good taste. He didn’t suppose her aunt would benignly overlook public lovemaking or an abduction.
As he gazed at Flora—rocked by indecision … one second thanking the spirits for bringing her to him … the next, half rising to leave—he remembered other times when he’d watched her sleep, when she’d not been dressed so elegantly—when she’d not been dressed at all.
He sat back down again, his fingers clamped hard on the chair arms.
“Don’t you dare, Bertie, what will people say if they see, Bertie, no!” And a high squeal of delight pierced the quiet corner of the veranda. “Bertie, no, no, no …” But the voice was playful, teasing, drifting away now toward the opposite side of the garden.
Flora wakened with a start at the feminine cry, and it took her a moment to remember where she was, for Adam Serre was seated very close, his dark eyes trained on her.
“You’re here,” she whispered, still half-asleep, her words a tentative measure of reality.
“I came looking for you.”
His voice was deep and low as she remembered, and the vague possibility she was dreaming vanished at the familiar tone. She still wasn’t fully awake, or she would have responded to the intensity in his voice. “Have you been here long?”
He shook his head. “A few minutes. I saw your aunt inside, and she mentioned you were here.”
“Sarah seems acquainted with everyone at Saratoga.”
“She and Caldwell are friends. I was with his party.”
“I know that.”
His brows rose.
“Sarah knew it too. I came here to find you.”
“As I did just now. Although,” he said with a small, bitter sigh, “I don’t have a damned thing to offer you.”
“That’s all right,” Flora replied. “I don’t want anything.”
“And yet there’s much I want,” he softly said. “You look very beautiful tonight,” he murmured. “All glittering undress.”
“My seduction dress. I came here to seduce you, but …”
“But?” No more than a husky intonation, subdued like the light in their cloistered corner.
“I decided against it. I found myself unnerved by the artifice and the unwonted intrusion in your life. It’s enough to be friends.”
“I don’t know if it is for me.” His head moved in a minute gesture of negation, exposing a glimmer of pink shell earring.
“I won’t be staying long,” Flora said, realizing suddenly how difficult it might be to resist. “Just a few days; surely we can act like adults,” she added in bolstering defense.
He smiled. “Tell my libido that.”
“I know about your libido,” she said with a tentative smile. “But there are masses of women here. And you’re not the celibate type.”
“Nor you, which is a real problem for me.” His voice took on an edge. “Is Ellis here?”
“I don’t think so, but I just arrived this afternoon.” Her lacy brows came together in a small frown. “And I’d never sleep with Ellis. He likes docile women.”
Adam grinned. “Surely not your style.”
She smiled back. “Not in memory. Friends now? Come, Adam, say yes. I’d adore seeing Lucie while I’m here.”
He inhaled deeply, his expression shuttered, and then, slowly exhaling, said, “I’ll try.” He smiled. “And Lucie will be ecstatic. You’ve become the bellwether for pleasure in our family.”
The word “family” hurt for a moment, the sweet intimacy at Adam’s ranch her own gold standard for idyllic happiness, but she managed a courteous smile, as was expected of well-bred ladies. “Have your horses been winning?” she asked on a less personal note.
He nodded. “Magnus is taking every race he enters. Come see him run tomorrow. Lucie would love it.” He paused. “And I would too.”
“I’d enjoy that.” Flora spoke in her modulated social voice, the one without undue feeling. It was a test of her nerves.
“I’ll have a carriage come for you at half-past ten tomorrow morning.” He stood abruptly. “I think I’ll go back to the casino now. If I stay here much longer, looking at you in that seduction gown”—his smile was tight—“I might have to put it to the test.”
And if he’d stayed, she thought, watching him walk away, broad-shouldered, powerful, his stride all fluid grace, his dark beauty as extravagant as his passion, she would have allowed him anything.
She shivered in the humid heat.
It was much easier in the bright light of day to repress her most ardent longing, particularly with Lucie in tow, and their day at the races was pure delight—the very best of harmonious friendship. Conversation centered on horses, speed, jockeys, stables. Lunch with Caldwell and his friends was raucous, the discussion amusing, energetic, hysterical at times, and Flora laughed more than she had in ages, her enjoyment giving Adam enormous pleasure.
Adam’s thoroughbreds won all their races, so both Flora and Adam made a tidy sum on the betting.
“I’m going to have to buy some bauble with my winnings,” Flora gaily declared. “Something completely useless.”
“I’ll take you to Tiffany’s tomorrow,” Adam said.
“When?” Her face was wreathed in smiles.
“Whenever you like. They’ll open the store anytime.”
“Tomorrow morning is fine.”
“At nine, then, before the races.”
“Perfect.”
How easy it is to love him, she thought.
How easy it is to make her happy, Adam cheerfully reflected.
The day sped by, the mood serious at times when Adam’s horses were running. He watched every move of horse and jockey with a stopwatch in hand, taking note of the minutest details. At other times Lucie kept them busy with her questions and comments, her Baby DeeDee a participant in the conversations as well. And after the races that afternoon, when they brought Flora back to Sarah’s, at Lucie’s insistence Adam agreed to come in for tea.
“You don’t have to go gambling until nine o’clock, Papa, so we have plenty of time for cakes and tea,” Lucie had cheerfully maintained when Adam had hesitated at Flora’s invitation.
How could he refuse such logic?
They were seated in the garden under the shade of the elms with a silver tea service gleaming on a table set near a bed of pansies, their white wicker chairs arranged in a half circle around it.
“Don’t you just love frosting?” Lucie declared, licking her fingers with relish.
“It’s my favorite,” Sarah agreed, “which is why I always have Cook make these cakes for tea. Flora was just telling me yesterday how much she liked them.”
“I like any sweets,” Flora said with a smile.
“But chocolate best,” Adam said.
And the look passing between her two adult guests caused even a worldly woman like Sarah to take pause. “You’re not drinking your tea, Mr. Serre,” she said in the sudden hush, feeling decidedly de trop. “Would you care for something stronger?”
It took Adam a moment to respond, and when he turned to his hostess, he said almost abstractedly, “Brandy would be fine.”
“Papa doesn’t usually drink tea, although Maman would always complain and say he was—what was that long word, Papa? It started with ‘un.’ ”
“It’s just a matter of taste, darling,” Sarah quickly interjected into the abrupt silence. “Many men find tea much too weak. My dear husband always preferred a cup of rum. It came from his days at sea when he was running the China clippers. Rum was his favorite—hot, cold, with sugar and lemon, with eggnog, well … just about any form of rum … pleased him.” Realizing she was nervously running on, Sarah came to an abrupt conclusion. “Let me call the maid to bring you some brandy,” she quickly added, ringing the small bell on the table with obvious agitation.
Adam debated saying he didn’t really need brandy but realized that would only further fluster her.
Flora wondered how a few words could bring back a flood of memories with such clarity. Adam had often fed her the rich chocolate desserts she’d ordered at the Planters House. She recalled the tempting variety of ways.
“What’s a clipper?” Lucie’s chirpy question punctuated the humid quiet like a drumroll.
“Let me show you some paintings of clippers,” Sarah immediately replied, not sure whether she wasn’t making a cowardly retreat or kindly leaving the two lovers alone. “They’re big sailing ships, darling, and I’ve several paintings of my husband’s favorite ones in the library.”
“I’ve never seen a big sailing ship. Only the steamships on the Missouri. My nanny Cloudy came up the river on a steamship,” she added in clarification of her knowledge. “I’ll just take one of these cakes with me in case they’re all gone when I come back.” And with the spirit of an adventurer, she followed her hostess without a backward glance.
“She certainly isn’t timid,” Flora said with a smile, watching Lucie skipping alongside Sarah.
“I’m sitting here at the tea table,” Adam said with a grin.
“When you don’t drink tea.”
“And making your aunt very jumpy in the process.”
“You shouldn’t have looked at me like that.”
“I’m sorry. Actually, I’m not sorry about that,” he candidly admitted, “but about a dozen other things in my life that are keeping me from touching you.”
“Which subject makes me very uncomfortable because my notions of restraint are much like Lucie’s.” She smiled. “Almost nonexistent. And I’m trying to be mature about this.”
“It’s an edifying experience, at least—this notion of honorable intentions. I’ll be taking cold baths with great regularity.”
“How sweet.”
He looked at her from under his dark brows and muttered, “Don’t press me.”
“Would I be sorry?” She felt safe in teasing him because he was so noticeably under control.
He grinned. “I don’t think so.”
“Immodest man.” Her voice was ingenue flirtatious.
“Damn you, you just feel secure because we’re in your aunt’s garden.”
“And Lucie’s here.”
He laughed; then his eyes took on a speculative look. “But she goes to sleep quite early,” he said. “Which room is yours?” His gaze swept the garden side of the two-story mansion.
“Good Lord, Adam! You can’t come to my room. The servants would talk. I’m not even sure Sarah would approve, tolerant as she is. This town lives on gossip, and I wouldn’t want to implicate her in any of my—”
“Indiscretions?” he mildly interjected.
“You’re definitely an indiscretion, darling. Henry tells me Morrissey’s taking bets on whether your nursemaids stay or go.”
“This is a damned small town,” Adam noted with astonishment. “Lucie just told me last night.”
“Losing your vigilant perception, monsieur?”
“Apparently,” he murmured. “And for your information, they’re on their way home.”
“Did I ask about your entanglements?” she said with feigned artlessness.
“They’re not my entanglements,” he muttered. “Dammit, how the hell did Morrissey know?”
“So soon, you mean. Sarah tells me he has most of the servants in town on his payroll. So kindly stay away from my bedroom, or they’ll be betting on how long you stayed.”
“I’ll be careful no one sees me.”
“That’s not the right answer.”
“I’ll be very careful.”
“Adam!”
“Look, this is all very new to me, this carnal restraint. I hope cold baths work.” His smile was boyish, sweet, and impossible to resist. “If they don’t, I’ll kill any servant I meet in your hallway to suppress gossip.”
“I can see who will have to be firm about this denial.”
“Right,” he dryly said. “The lady who offered me twenty-four hours of sex as a side bet.”
“That was different.”
“How?”
“I hadn’t … well, completely resolved the issues in my mind.”
“And now you have.”
“More or less.”
His brows rose. “That seems unusually firm.”
“Well, it is.” Her voice sounded childish even to her ears.
“Good,” he smoothly declared, his eyes half-lidded. “I’m glad one of us can handle this competently. Because I’m not real sure about myself.”
“Maybe we shouldn’t see each other.” A tentative avowal.
“No,” he emphatically said. He had no intention of giving her up, even if her company was constrained by prohibitions.
She smiled from her wicker chair under the cool shade of the elm trees. “I was hoping you’d say that.”
“You’re very confusing.” His voice was clipped, restrained.
“I like being with you under any conditions.”
“Yes, I know the feeling, and on that disturbing note, I need a brandy—a bottle, I think. Where the hell is that maid?”
The maid appeared shortly with the brandy, having been sent out by Sarah, and Adam commenced to enjoy tea with a new appreciation, although the degree of innuendo in his conversation increased in direct ratio to the decreasing amount of brandy in the bottle. By the time Sarah and Lucie returned after a lengthy interval in the library admiring clipper ships, Flora found herself blushing on occasion at the softly put double entendre. And after Adam and his daughter took their leave, half a bottle of brandy later, Sarah said to her niece with breathless awe, “If you manage to keep Adam Serre at bay, my dear, it will be not only a miracle of vast proportions, but a testament to your self-denial. He’s unutterably tempting. And impatient.”
“Also the object of every female’s lust from nursemaid to lady. He’s had enormous practice.”
“But Lucie said her nursemaids were sent back home. Cook is helping until they can find someone suitable. Surely it’s a gesture of some kind.”
“You needn’t defend him, Auntie. He already told me very plainly, he can offer me nothing.”
“Surely not a surprise to you. Did you expect more?”
“No.” Flora traced with a fingertip the embroidery on the napkin lying on her lap. “But I find I want more.”
“You’re serious about him,” her aunt murmured, her expression sympathetic.
“A very ridiculous posture with Adam Serre, wouldn’t you agree?” Abruptly crushing the linen napkin, Flora tossed it onto the table.
“I don’t know him well enough,” her aunt carefully said, although she had her own perceptions of Adam Serre’s regard for Flora. A man of casual conquests in the past, he seemed curiously possessive of her niece’s time. He’d asked what entertainment they’d be attending that evening and promised to come. Adam Serre at Charlotte Brewster’s party for her granddaughter, Sarah reflected, would be a startling sight.
“And I know him too well,” Flora retorted with a grimace. “He’s simply intent on overcoming my resistance. It’s part game, part true interest, but predominantly motivated by carnal impulses.”
“Unlike other men, you’re saying?” her aunt archly queried. “Most of the men wooing women here are consumed with the same fundamental desires, my dear. Don’t be too hard on the boy. He seems devoted to your entertainment. And his darling child adores you.”
“And I her. Isn’t Lucie the most wonderful child? She’s charmingly inquisitive, never difficult, and so precocious, I forget she’s only four.”
“Adam clearly worships her. Not the pose of an unfeeling man.”
“I’m not taking issue with his capacity for tenderness or emotion, simply with the duration of his interest.”
“Are you actually contemplating settling down in one place on the globe”—Sarah tipped her head slightly and cast a speculative eye on her niece—“after all these years of wandering?”
“It’s quite mad, I know. And it’s only the most fitful consideration, along with more powerful self-chastising impulses for even thinking of Adam Serre with permanence. At base I’m furious with myself for falling in love with a flagrant libertine, and a married one at that.”
“His marriage surely is in name only,” Sarah reminded her.
“Nevertheless …” Flora sighed. “I have my romantic notions too, Auntie. When I think of how many marriage proposals I’ve turned down, it’s ironic. Every one of those men pledged their hearts and souls to me—like modern troubadours.”
“Apparently you weren’t in the market for a troubadour,” her aunt dryly remarked.
“Nor do I find a profligate rogue a sensible candidate for—what? I can’t even say ‘husband’; he’s already someone’s husband,” she fretfully noted.
“I’ve always rather thought the word ‘sensible’ out of place when it comes to love,” Sarah declared. “Ask your father, if you doubt it.”
“I know,” Flora quietly replied. “He told me about Mama insisting on marrying him, about how much they were in love. Papa sent me east because of his romantic notions.” She sighed again. “Unfortunately, Adam Serre doesn’t have a nodding acquaintance with romance.”
“Perhaps he can learn,” Sarah very softly said. She had an idea or two that might foster an appreciation of the finer points of romance in Adam Serre. And she intended to set her campaign in motion tonight. “Why don’t you take a short rest now, darling,” she suggested, “so you’ll be refreshed for the evening? We don’t want any dark circles under your eyes.”
“Please, Auntie, I’m not a prize heifer being readied for market,” Flora protested. “I don’t have to be toddled off for a rest so I’ll be in prime form for the buyers.”
“Forgive me, dear,” Sarah apologized with a cheerful smile. “Force of habit, after all these years. Both Bella and Becky were prone to show their fatigue under their eyes. You look magnificent. Perhaps you’d like to read instead until we have to dress for dinner. But if you’ll excuse me, I’ve some letters that need a reply.” She grimaced. “It’s an unending duty, but if I want to receive mail, I must answer mine,” she went on with a benign smile. “We’re promised to Charlotte’s for dinner at eight. A simple gown will do, for it’s essentially a family party.”
“I’m not sure I want to go,” Flora caviled. “The idea of being pleasant all evening seems a drudgery, and Adam probably won’t arrive until very late. He doesn’t even leave for the casinos until nine.”
“Humor me, darling,” her aunt cajoled. “You’re not planning on staying in Saratoga long, and I want to show you off to all your mama’s old friends. Your mama was the one, you know, who designed your strange education. The night she lay dying on that wretched ship in the Strait of Malacca she insisted I write down her wishes, and she wouldn’t shut her eyes until each item of study was documented. Your papa and I both signed the note; she wanted our word, you see, and then, when she was content we understood her proposals, she had you brought in. Reaching for your small hand, she whispered she loved you, and only then did she close her eyes. She fell into a coma within minutes—only sheer force of will had kept her conscious until then. But Susannah was the most determined woman I ever knew, and she’d be pleased you turned out so much like her.”
“I remember thinking she was only sleeping,” Flora softly said. “She looked so peaceful with her eyes shut and her hair brushed out on the pillow.”
“Your papa had just bathed her and washed her hair and put her locket with your and your papa’s picture around her neck. She wanted to look her best, she’d teased, even on her deathbed. Susannah was very beautiful—like you,” Sarah softly added. “It broke your papa’s heart to lose her. She would have followed him to the ends of the earth.”
“Papa didn’t tell me she was dead … for several days. I thought she was too sick to see me.”
“Your father couldn’t accept her death himself. She’d been such a vibrant woman. Even at the very last Susannah insisted on ordering the world to her wishes as if she could hold back the specter of death until her plans were complete.”
“She probably wouldn’t approve of my sighing regrets.”
“She always said she didn’t have time for regrets.”
“And I’m childishly feeling sorry for myself when I’m so fortunate in countless ways. Forgive me, Sarah, for my deplorable complaining. I shall be pleased to go to dinner at Charlotte’s. I’ll be ready at eight.”
“Capital, my dear,” her aunt said, gratified her plans were entrain. “Everyone will be pleased to visit with you. Now I’m off to my miserable letter writing.”
“You’ll appreciate this, Susannah,” Sarah Gibbon murmured, smiling heavenward as she sat at her desk a short time later, penning Charlotte Brewster a note. “Didn’t you always say faint hearts never win anything? Help me with the wording, now,” she said half-aloud, prone to ask her sister for advice in times of need.
She mentioned first in her hasty missive to her friend Charlotte that Adam Serre would be joining the party at her invitation, sometime during the evening. She wasn’t sure he’d come for dinner. Then she proceeded to request a certain seating arrangement at the dinner table, specifically for her niece and young Lord Randall, who was at Saratoga visiting his aunt Charlotte. The consensus was that he was vastly handsome, charming as his rakehell father had been in his youth, and in the market for a rich wife. Seeing Flora at the dinner table with Charlotte’s handsome nephew should force Adam Serre’s hand, at least marginally, she smugly thought, sealing her missive with a dab of wax.
Minutes later one of her footmen was speeding toward Charlotte’s house, a short block away. And now, Sarah reflected, what gown would be suitable for her niece tonight? She wanted to present a certain image, and Flora had explained to her last night on the way home that a dressmaker wouldn’t be required since she’d decided against her plan of seduction and would be returning to Montana in a few days. Yes, she was very sure, Flora had declared when her aunt had mildly questioned her motives.
How sweetly naive, Sarah had thought at the time: to give up one’s love for principle.
Since Adam Serre probably wasn’t so high-minded, she reflected with the cynicism of experience, she wished to add a certain fillip to Flora’s allure tonight. A simple purity would be effective, lending an unapproachable quality to her beauty. Perhaps a gown of white linen or a summer gown of pale muslin. No diamonds. She wanted to avoid any appearance of sophistication. Pearls would be perfect, especially in this heat. With some pastel ribbons in Flora’s hair. Sarah smiled as she sat at her boudoir window overlooking the elm-lined street. She hadn’t had so much fun since she’d married off her two daughters to the most eligible bachelors on the East Coast.
If she went to help Flora dress at six-thirty, she mused, that should be time enough to implement the perfect image. Now, if the darling girl would only cooperate. She had her mother’s strong will, but she also had her flirtatious bent. The question was, How much of the truth would bear revelation?
As it turned out, Flora was receptive to a simple gown with no more explanation required other than the stifling heat. “Of course, Auntie,” she agreed. “White linen would be perfect. And only one petticoat, if you don’t think me too daring. I refuse to sweat beneath an armor of irrelevant froth. It’s much too hot to be concerned with useless propriety.”
“What a sensible girl,” her aunt exclaimed, signaling the maid to take away the white linen for a final pressing. “And just small pearl earrings, don’t you think?”
“Or no earrings. I’d like to dispense with silk stockings too in this heat, but I suppose it would be considered too shocking,” Flora lamented.
“No earrings. How clever. You’ll look ever so much cooler,” Sarah appreciatively noted. “And I’d like to say yes to bare legs too, dear, but it would be altogether too risqué. How silly all the rules of etiquette when the temperature is ninety, but unfortunately there are minimum standards.” She had other reasons beyond those of etiquette, however, that discouraged the notion of stockingless legs. Her plan was to tantalize Adam until he clearly understood the extent of his affection for Flora. A temptation, as it were—just out of reach.
But she rather thought Flora’s nude legs might be too much of a temptation. Lust had a tendency to overrun an analytical approach to desire. And she definitely wanted Adam only to think about his need for Flora the next few days.