three

DAUGHTRY HOUSE WAS BEAUTIFUL in its own way, but the amenities of the Peabody quite took Joelle’s breath away.

Finding herself in a high-ceilinged sitting room furnished with expensive tables, sofas and chairs, gilt-framed artwork and mirrors—not to mention the elegantly dressed ladies and gentlemen standing about—she gaped at a graceful wrought-iron staircase that curved up into a balcony railing fronting a row of second-floor bedrooms. The effect was somehow exotic and yet entirely American in its frank opulence.

As a liveried butler took her wrap and the men’s hats, she made mental notes of what she would describe in her society article to come. Vaguely she was aware of Schuyler speaking to the butler, who pointed out a distinguished middle-aged couple standing under the central chandelier and then bowed himself away.

“Let me introduce you to Mrs. Forrest and the general,” Schuyler said. Leaving Gil to follow, he offered an arm to Joelle.

General Forrest, tall and striking in his severe evening dress, his silver-streaked dark hair brushed away from a handsome, hawkish countenance, greeted them as they approached. “Beaumont! Happy to see you made it down, after your friend’s little . . . incident.”

“Yes, sir, I’m sorry about that,” Schuyler said with a grimace. “Hixon is upstairs sleeping it off.”

Mrs. Forrest, an attractive woman dressed in sober brown bombazine, smiled at Joelle as Schuyler presented her and Gil. “We’re happy you could come, Miss Daughtry. I’ve met your grandmother a time or two. Reverend Reese, welcome to Memphis.” She looked up at her husband. “Bedford, what do you reckon has happened to Miss Fabio? Our guests are waiting to meet her.”

The general glanced up at the interior staircase. “Here she comes right now.”

And a grand entrance it was. What Delfina Fabio lacked in height she made up for in color and sparkle. Hips swaying, she descended on the arm of a portly mustachioed gentleman, her voluptuous form emphasized by the low-cut red velvet evening gown she’d worn for the curtain call. Diamond-studded combs ornamented her dark hair, and garnet sprays dangled from her ears and draped about her delicate neck.

The company burst into spontaneous applause. Joining in, Joelle glanced at Schuyler, expecting to find him gawking at the beautiful opera star.

He was, rather, smiling down at her. “Would you like to meet her?”

“Oh yes! But—”

He was already approaching the singer with his confident swagger and friendly grin. He bowed low. “Miss Fabio! Mrs. Forrest was kind enough to invite me to be the first to welcome you to the American South. If I had not been an aficianado of the opera before, I certainly am now. Schuyler Beaumont at your service.”

Delfina gave her escort a twinkling upward glance from her big black eyes. “Why, Poldi, cara, what delicious treats the Memphis Opera has to provide for us!” She dropped the man’s arm to slink toward Schuyler, eyeing him like a tray of candy in a confectioner’s window. “Is a pleasure, Mr. Beaumont. You must meet my manager, Mr. Volker.” The implication was clear: Volker was not her husband.

Schuyler exhibited no discomfiture at such blatant flirtation. He laughed and shook hands with Volker. “How do you do, sir? I was just about to offer refreshment to my friends, at least one of whom is much more musically literate than I. Miss Fabio, perhaps you’d like to join us? Miss Daughtry is quite agog to meet you.” He turned to wink at Joelle.

Delfina simpered. “I am happy to meet so educated admirer. Refreshment sounds lovely.” Tucking her small beringed hand into his elbow, she allowed Schuyler to lead her toward the little group under the chandelier.

How does he do that? Joelle wondered. People simply melted under his charm.

Well, people except for Gil Reese.

“I told you she was immoral,” Gil muttered under his breath. “Falling for that load of nonsense.”

“Shhh!” She bobbed a curtsey as Delfina approached. “Miss Fabio, what a thrill to have seen you perform! I am Joelle Daughtry, and this is Reverend Reese.”

“Happy to be acquainted, Reverend Reese.” The singer gave him a dimpled smile, then extended both hands to Joelle. “But you and I must be Delfina and Joelle, yes? I feel we shall be good friends, with the music to bind our hearts!”

Chuckling at this extravagant offer, Joelle returned the clasp of Delfina’s hands. “I’m not sure what Schuyler led you to believe, but I assure you I’m the veriest amateur. Now, my sister’s husband you should meet—our Levi is quite the concert pianist.”

Delfina released Joelle and pressed her hands together at her bosom. “I wish to acquaint such an artist!”

“I’m sure we could arrange that,” Schuyler said before Joelle could demur in confusion. “Perhaps when your engagement here is at an end, you would enjoy a short trip south. Miss Daughtry’s family owns a lovely resort near Tupelo, Mississippi, and I feel certain you would find a most comfortable and restful sojourn there.”

Delfina beamed at Joelle. “I would adore that of the most certain! But you must promise that your Mr. Beaumont would be there as well.” She gave Schuyler a teasing sideways look. “Unless, my dear Joelle, he is perhaps your—your spasimante?”

“Oh no!” Joelle felt her face flood with color. “We are not betrothed! Schuyler is our family’s business partner.”

After a thoughtful stare, Delfina smiled. “I see,” she said slowly. “Then I shall not worry to take him for a glass of something cold to drink. I am parched!” She bore Schuyler away to the refreshment table.

There was something dissatisfying about that exchange that Joelle could not quite put her finger on, but Mrs. Forrest claimed her attention, while Gil entered into a discussion of local politics with the general.

“My dear, are you feeling quite well?” Mrs. Forrest asked sometime later, her fine eyebrows drawing together in motherly concern. “Perhaps you’d like to sit down while your young man fetches you a plate and a glass of lemonade.” She touched Gil’s sleeve.

Gil immediately looked around, contrition in his expression. “Of course. I’ll be right—”

“What?” Joelle blinked, her attention returning to her hostess. “There’s nothing wrong with me, I’m just . . .” How could she admit that she could not have named one item of any significance the good lady had rattled on about in the last fifteen minutes, but in her head she had created a nice outline of rebuttals to everything Forrest had said. “Well, perhaps I am a bit hungry.”

As Gil disappeared into the crowd, she edged toward the closest chair and dropped into it. What was wrong with her that she couldn’t even keep up her side of a simple conversation without drifting off into her own head? Resting her elbow on the arm of her chair, she laid her aching forehead in her palm. Maybe she should just ask Gil to take her home and forget this. Schuyler had gone off with the opera singer she came to talk to, and General Forrest clearly assumed she hadn’t enough intellect to participate in a masculine exchange.

Then a random thought occurred, something that often happened when she was most discouraged. What would her mother have done in this circumstance? The consummate example of social grace, Mama had been adept at navigating difficulties without succumbing to self-pity or panic.

Find someone who is less comfortable than you and let them feel your love.

Mama had said it often enough, as the three girls grew up, that Joelle could actually hear the soft, lilting musicality of the words. Joelle sometimes thought Mama directed them specifically at her because she was so inward, so self-contained. Able to play with dolls or paper dolls, or even sticks and leaves in the yard, for hours on end without talking to another soul, Joelle knew her mother worried about her middle child’s social development.

Nothing wrong with the brain. Nothing wrong with the voice or body. The child is just odd, Papa used to say. And he would laugh.

And Joelle would flinch every time, though she never told anybody how much it hurt. Nobody but God, anyway.

And God always reminded her of her mother’s gentle words. Let them feel your love.

All right then. She sat up and looked around for someone more uncomfortable than herself.

Downing his punch in one long slug, Schuyler tuned an ear to Delfina Fabio’s Italian-accented and highly creative English syntax. He didn’t know when he’d met a more irritating woman in his life. His effort to ensure that the singer came to visit Daughtry House seemed to have resulted mainly in her determination to make him her next American conquest. Every time he moved away from her, she shimmied closer, all but drowning him in some expensive Parisian scent. His head was beginning to pound from the effort to hold his breath and keep his eyes focused on something besides her nearly naked bosom.

And Joelle clearly couldn’t care less. Leaving her in conversation with Mrs. Forrest and the preacher, he’d assumed she’d be able to hold her own until he returned. But a little while ago he’d caught a glimpse of her creeping around the edges of the room as if she were trying to escape. Then she disappeared.

Now he couldn’t find her anywhere. Alarmed, he climbed two steps of the staircase behind him in order to gain a broader view.

Delfina followed, her head tipped in a coquettish fashion. “Mr. Beaumont, I am think you either try to take me upstairs to the bedrooms, or there is something interesting of the other side in the room.”

“I assure you, I am not—” He looked at her and found her smile rather more amused than lascivious. “Oh. You’re teasing.”

She giggled. “Happy I am to discover you have the sense of humor. Most American young men would rather bed me than listen to me.”

Though he appreciated her frankness, Schuyler couldn’t think of two things that interested him less. As he tried to formulate a diplomatic reply, a crowd of men across the room shifted with a roar of approval, and he saw what had created such a stir. Joelle—looking, he was chagrined to note, competent, happy, and absurdly beautiful—leaned over an elaborately carved billiards table, aiming a cue at a white ball. Her apparent opponent, the execrable Andrew Jefcoat, stood behind her, keeping himself upright by leaning on his cue stick.

Schuyler scowled. This was . . . this was—not acceptable! He had sacrificed a significant amount of time and mental strain this evening for Joelle’s benefit, and she had taken the opportunity to shark one of his best friends. Jefcoat would have no way of knowing Joelle had grown up playing the game under the tutelage of one of the master billiards players in the South. Her father the Colonel had had her own cue made when she was still small enough to need to stand on a box to reach over the table. She had memorized Michael Phelan’s Billiards without a Master by the time she was ten. Nobody within a hundred miles of Lee County would take her on.

“Excuse me,” he muttered to Delfina. “There is a situation I must attend to.” Stepping past her, he shoved his way through the crowd. On the way, he passed the preacher, in earnest conversation with Delfina’s mustachioed German manager. Schuyler halted. “What were you thinking? You let her go off by herself!”

“Who?” Reese looked irritable at the interruption.

“Joelle! Did you know she’s in the corner, playing billiards with a half-drunk farmer?”

“Billiards? She was sitting right—” Reese looked around. “Where did she go?”

“Never mind.” Schuyler continued his charge across the room, leaving Reese to follow if he chose. “Joelle! What do you think you’re doing?”

Joelle looked up, startled, and as she did so the cue slipped and scratched the green baize surface of the table. She stared at the marred fabric in horror, then jerked upright. Her blue eyes spat fury. “Look what you made me do!”

“I’ll pay for it.” He snatched the cue out of her hand. “Jefcoat, how much have you lost?”

Jefcoat blinked owlishly. “Forty-five or so. She’s pretty good, you know. I think she’s got sixty-nine points already.”

“I’m surprised it’s not more than that. Here.” Schuyler pulled out his wallet, peeled off a couple of notes, and stuffed them into Jefcoat’s breast pocket. “That should cover it. Go find something else to do. You’re too drunk to play anybody with skill.” Ignoring Jefcoat’s protest, he took Joelle by the arm. “Come with me,” he said grimly and towed her toward the door.

“I’m not going anywhere with you!” She dug in her heels. “Have you lost your mind?”

“Me? Ladies don’t play billiards in public! Didn’t your mother—or at the very least your grandmother or ThomasAnne, or somebody with some common sense at that boarding school—teach you that?” Realizing he was shouting, and that people were looking at them, he let go of her arm. Leaning in, he moderated his tone with an effort. “Joelle, if you want to make a favorable impression for the hotel, you’ve got to think. Here in Memphis you can’t behave like we do in the country, where everybody knows everybody else. Besides that, it’s not fair for you to take advantage of poor Jefcoat. He’s three sheets to the wind and would never be a match for you. His family doesn’t have much money, and he can’t afford—” The expression on her face stopped him. “I mean, you wouldn’t know that, and . . . Joelle, please don’t cry.”

She blotted under her nose with the back of her hand. “You have just humiliated me in front of a hundred strangers. I’ll cry if I want to.” She heaved a shuddering breath. “Let me tell you something, you unmitigated arrogant beast. Andrew was standing against a wall without a soul to talk to. I recognized him as your friend and asked him if he’d like to join me in a glass of lemonade. Lemonade, do you hear me? Which we drank. Then he noticed the billiards table and asked me if I knew how to play. He seemed so shy, I could neither tell him ‘ladies don’t play billiards,’ nor that I’d beat him like a drum in a military band within the space of five minutes. So we got up a game. I tried to lose, Schuyler! I tried! But when everybody started watching, something took over and I just couldn’t do that to my father’s memory. In spite of everything, Papa taught me that game, and it’s the one good memory of him I have.” She was openly sobbing now. “So excuse me if I go to the ladies’ room and cry in private.” She wheeled and stumbled away.

He let her go and met the wide-eyed gaze of Gil Reese.

What had he just done?