CHAPTER TEN

“Mom. Oh, Mom.”

Claire watched as Scotty threw himself into his mother’s arms. His mother stood still for a moment, then embraced him. “It’ll be all right, darling,” she murmured. “We’ll get you out of this mess somehow.”

“Could I sit down, please?” Claire asked. “I feel faint.”

“My God,” Scotty’s father said. “You aren’t pregnant.”

“No,” Claire said. “Just hungry.”

“This way,” Mr. Hughes said. Claire followed him into the living room. Scotty had called his parents from the airport in New York to tell them what he’d done, so his family had had a couple of hours to work their way into total hysteria. Claire would have preferred to spring it on them at the front door, but she wasn’t about to argue with Scotty. Not when he’d done all she’d asked him to and more. Not when he was starting to realize just what it was he had done, and what the consequences might be if Claire didn’t live up to her end of the bargain.

Neither one had spoken during the flight back to Boston. There were no strategy meetings, no descriptions of parents and grandparents to ease Claire’s mind. The drive to Concord had been almost as quiet. Now they were back, and now the noise would begin.

“You are a beauty,” Mr. Hughes said, looking Claire over. “I can see how you might sway Scotty.”

Claire sat down on one of the sofas. She felt less like a beauty than she ever had before. She was grimy, wrinkled, and close to tears. She clutched her once-new handkerchief and wished she were twenty years older and a thousand miles away.

“How could you do this to my son?” Mrs. Hughes asked. She dragged Scotty into the room with her, and stood in front of Claire, her eyes glaring. Scotty looked fifteen, at most. Claire would have felt sorry for him if she could.

“I’d really like to freshen up,” Claire said. “May I be excused for a moment?”

“Certainly,” Mr. Hughes said. “The bathroom is down the hallway.”

“I know,” Claire said. She got up and left the Hughes family behind. Mrs. Hughes was hugging Scotty again. Claire was sure that was the most Scotty had ever been hugged in his life. One good thing at least had come from the marriage.

She used the bathroom, then took a few moments to wash her face, brush her hair, and straighten herself out as best she could without a change of clothing available. She wished she’d packed a few extra items, but she had miscalculated how long getting married would take. She only hoped that was all she’d miscalculated.

I am beautiful, she told her reflection. I am beautiful and I’m smart, and I can handle anything. I know what I want, what I need, and I know how to get it. She held on to the sides of the sink and willed herself to be strong. Only when she was sure she could handle the Hugheses did she rejoin them in the living room.

“How did you know where the bathroom was?” Mr. Hughes asked before she even had a chance to sit down.

“Scotty brought me here,” she said. “A few days ago. It’s a beautiful house.”

Mr. Hughes frowned. “You never told us that, Scotty,” he said.

“Claire wanted to see what it looked like,” Scotty said.

“She wanted to see how rich you were,” his father said. “Let me assure you, young lady, that looks can be deceptive. This house has been in the family for generations, as have most of the furnishings. On my income, I could hardly afford to buy most of what we display here.”

Claire tried hard not to laugh. “Would a cup of tea bankrupt you?” she asked. “I could really use one.”

“She wants tea,” Mr. Hughes said, obviously affronted by the idea.

“I can make it for myself, if you want,” Claire said. “I know where the kitchen is, too.”

“I’ll ring for Edna,” Mrs. Hughes replied, and she did. A maid materialized almost immediately, and Mrs. Hughes asked for tea for all of them. Claire wondered if the maid had been inherited as well, but refrained from asking.

Claire used the distraction as an opportunity to examine Scotty’s parents. Bradford Hughes was Clark’s first cousin. He was a couple of years older than Clark, and had a bit less hair, but Claire could see the resemblance. It was the weak chin, she decided, the aristocratic pallor. Neither were men Claire would ever want to deal with; both were now men vitally important in her life.

It was Scotty’s mother who really intrigued her, though. This was Sebastian Prescott’s daughter. This was Nicky’s half sister, Claire’s aunt. There was a family look to them, although it was hard to pin down just what it was. Bone structure, she finally decided, the shape of the face, and the nose. And their bearing was identical. That was it, the way they walked and sat and stared into you. Claire had always thought of it as Nicky’s Spanish-grandee look, and she was uncomfortable seeing it on a stranger, no matter how intimately they were related.

The tea was served, and Mrs. Hughes poured Claire a cup. Claire sipped from it gratefully. The day had turned bitter cold, and the atmosphere in Scotty’s home wasn’t warming her up any.

“I believe Scotty said your name was Claire Sebastian,” Mrs. Hughes said.

Claire nodded. “You know my sister Evvie,” she said. “You met her at Eastgate, when she was saying with our great-aunt, Grace Winslow. And I feel as though I already know you, Mr. Hughes, from all that your cousin Clark has told us about you. He’s my mother’s oldest friend.”

“You don’t look like Evvie Sebastian,” Mrs. Hughes declared. “She was a blond girl, very pretty.”

“She still is,” Claire said. “You may know my mother, Mr. Hughes. Margaret Winslow Sebastian?”

“We met when she was quite young,” Mr. Hughes said. “Have you told your parents what you’ve done?”

Claire shook her head. “They’re in Oregon right now,” she replied. “I didn’t have the chance.”

“Oregon?” Mrs. Hughes asked. “What are they doing in Oregon?”

“Remember that Thanksgiving I spent with the Sebastians?” Scotty asked. Claire was grateful to see he was still alive. “Sybil, that’s Claire’s sister, was in an accident. She’s in Oregon now at a rehab center and her parents are with her.”

“I didn’t think you lived in Oregon,” Mrs. Hughes said. “I thought your family lived in Pennsylvania.”

“We did for a while,” Claire said. “Lately we’ve been living in Missouri. But we may be moving to Oregon now.”

“Not much stability,” Mr. Hughes said. “I suppose you felt if you married our son, he’d provide you with a home.”

Claire didn’t know how to answer, so she drank the tea instead.

“We weren’t really thinking when we got married,” Scotty said. “Hell, Dad, haven’t you ever done something spontaneous?”

“Not something this stupid,” his father replied. “Or so potentially costly.”

“I don’t want any money from you,” Claire said. “I’m not a gold digger, Mr. Hughes.”

“A good thing, too,” he said. “Since we have no gold for you to dig.”

“I don’t think we need to talk about money,” Mrs. Hughes declared. “Not when we’ve just settled down like this. Claire, how is your sister? Evvie, I mean. She seemed like such a pleasant girl.”

“She’s fine,” Claire said. And only what—twenty miles away? “She’s at Harvard now, and she’s engaged to marry a boy she met at Eastgate.”

“Sam Steinmetz,” Scotty said. “His grandparents owned the bookstore.”

“Ah, yes,” Mrs. Hughes said. “I believe Schyler mentioned something about that.”

“Where is Schyler?” Scotty asked. “Is he back here yet?”

“He’s in the library with your grandfather,” Mr. Hughes declared. “Grandmother is at church, praying that you might get out of this dilemma without irreparable damage.”

“She wept,” Mrs. Hughes said. “I’ve never seen Mother so distraught, Scotty. And Father. You can imagine how angry he was when he heard. Schyler’s with him just to keep him calm. He was threatening to disinherit you if it was true.”

“He wouldn’t really do that?” Claire asked. “Disinherit Scotty?”

“What concern is it of yours?” Mr. Hughes asked. “You won’t be in the picture by the time the will is read.”

“Please, Bradford,” Mrs. Hughes said. “All this is bad enough without talking as though Father were dead.” Claire thought she could hear a trace of southern accent in her voice. There was none left in Nicky’s speech, proving, she supposed, that Nicky had created his own accent much as he had created his own history.

“I think it’s important, dear, that this girl have a clear understanding of what the situation is,” Mr. Hughes declared. “She’s tricked Scotty into a sham marriage, and now she supposes that this family’s wealth will fall into her lap. It won’t, young lady. You won’t see a single penny from us. She may have used guile and deceit on Scotty, but we’re older and smarter and a good deal less gullible.”

“I didn’t marry Scotty for his money,” Claire said. “He’s nineteen. I knew he wouldn’t have any money of his own. And I certainly didn’t marry him so that five years from now or ten or fifteen, whenever it would be that he’d inherit some, I’d stand to get my share. I’m sixteen years old. What do I care about how much Scotty’s going to be worth in ten years?”

“You look older than sixteen,” Mrs. Hughes said, and Claire could see that for the first time Scotty’s mother was really examining her. In spite of herself, she blushed. Was Mrs. Hughes noticing the resemblance between Claire and Sebastian Prescott? Was it conceivable she could make the connection? They did share that damned name Sebastian. Claire wished for the first and only time in her life that Nicky had had more imagination. “I thought there was a Sebastian girl closer to his age.”

“That’s Thea,” Claire said. “She’s eighteen. There are four of us.”

“And not a penny to your names, I suppose,” Mr. Hughes said. “Has your mother raised you to cash in on your looks by seducing innocent boys?”

Claire put her teacup down and stared straight at Bradford Hughes. “My mother is Margaret Winslow,” she said. “Of the Boston Winslows. She was brought up by her aunt Grace. They are not the sort of people who raise their daughters to be anything less than honorable. If you continue to speak that way about my mother, I’ll leave this minute.”

“What makes you think we don’t want that?” Mr. Hughes asked. “Your immediate departure from our home?”

“You’re not a fool,” Claire replied, although she’d seen no proof to the contrary. “And I am your son’s wife.”

“That’s right,” Scotty said. “And you shouldn’t talk to Claire that way, Dad. She isn’t as bad as you think.”

Claire couldn’t help laughing. After a moment, even Scotty’s parents laughed.

Scotty looked puzzled for a moment. “I mean, she’s really all right,” he said. “What I mean is, her family, well, they may not be social register, but she is a Winslow. At least her mother used to be. None of this is coming out right.”

“I appreciate it, anyway, Scotty,” Claire said. “Mr. and Mrs. Hughes, I know this must be a shock to you, and I appreciate that you want to protect Scotty. But I don’t want to hurt him, either. I love him. He’s the sweetest boy I’ve ever met. I wouldn’t have married him if I didn’t love him. I hope you believe me.”

“Why should we believe you?” Mr. Hughes asked.

A reasonable question, Claire thought. She tried to count up how many lies and half-truths she’d told since entering their house, but there were too many to keep track of. “How could anyone not love Scotty?” she asked instead. “He’s smart and handsome and gentle. Mrs. Hughes, you understand, don’t you? He’s your son, you must see how special he is.”

Scotty’s mother put her hand on Scotty’s. “He’s my baby,” she said. “He’ll always be special to me.”

Scotty stared at his mother in wonderment. “I didn’t know you felt that way,” he said. “That I was special.”

“She said special to her,” Scotty’s father declared. “A son is always special to his mother. That has nothing to do with the issues at hand here.”

Claire looked at Scotty’s parents. His mother was a Prescott, and at least half an aunt to Claire. His father was a Bradford, and undoubtedly somewhere in Boston history, Bradfords had intermarried with Winslows. These people shared blood with Nicky and Megs, yet they couldn’t be less like them. Parents certainly were luck of the draw, but this was the first time Claire could remember feeling pleased with the pair she’d been dealt.

“Why did you marry our son?” Mr. Hughes thundered. Claire was surprised he had that much lung power.

“Because I love him,” she replied.

“Scotty, why did you marry this girl?” his father asked.

Scotty looked too dazed to reply. Claire doubted that he remembered his lines, anyway.

“Because I wouldn’t go to bed with him otherwise,” she said.

“What?” Mr. Hughes said. Mrs. Hughes merely looked pale. She held on to Scotty’s hand even more tightly.

“You heard me,” Claire said. “Scotty was frantic to go to bed with me. Why do you think he brought me here? To admire your antiques? But I wouldn’t sleep with him unless we were married. That’s the kind of girl I am. That’s how I was brought up.”

“Have you slept with him since you got married?” Mr. Hughes asked.

“We haven’t had the chance,” Claire replied. “Scotty changed his mind about the whole thing as soon as we exchanged our vows. He insisted we come back here right away, before we could give in to temptation. So we took the next shuttle back. He said you’d know how to get him out of this mess.” Claire risked letting a tear fall silently down her cheek. “I hate him thinking of me as a mess,” she said. “I love him so much. Oh, Scotty.” She reached her arm out toward him, but Mrs. Hughes protectively pulled him even closer to her.

“So the marriage hasn’t been consummated,” Mr. Hughes said.

“No,” Claire said. “It’s a marriage in name only. But if you’ll just give us a chance, I know I can make Scotty a good wife. I love him so much. I’d give up anything for him.”

“No!” Scotty said. “Claire, no. It was a mistake. Let’s get out of it before there’s too much damage.”

Claire was uncomfortably aware that, just as Scotty could no longer trust her, she could no longer trust him as well. Every one of his words had a double meaning. Only the reassuring thought that Sebastian Prescott was in the house with her kept her from panicking.

“I don’t suppose you have a lawyer,” Mr. Hughes said.

“Of course not,” Claire said.

“You’re better off without one,” Mr. Hughes said. “You are young, and I can see how you might have gotten carried away. Young blood runs hot. Passion overpowers common sense. My attorney can handle the entire annulment proceedings. It will be as though the two of you never met, let alone wed. A few papers will be signed, perhaps a court appearance will be required, and then you can go on with your separate lives. Scotty, of course, will return to college. And you can go back to Oregon or Missouri or wherever it is your parents are currently camped out.”

Claire didn’t care for his tone. She knew she’d promised Scotty not to take any money from his parents, but she didn’t have to take any garbage from them, either. She was their daughter-in-law, after all, and all they’d given her was a lousy cup of tea. And that hadn’t even been volunteered.

“I’m not trash,” she finally said. “And even if I were trash, you could learn a few manners.”

“I doubt a girl like you has anything to teach me about manners,” Mr. Hughes said.

Claire yearned to slug him in his weak chin. No wonder Nicky avoided all the Boston aspects of Megs’s life. “I don’t know what ‘a girl like you’ means exactly,” she said. “Could you be more specific?”

Mr. Hughes stared at her. “Cheap,” he said finally. “Whorish. Someone who uses her body to get what she wants.”

“Dad!” Scotty said.

“Really, Brad,” Mrs. Hughes said. “I think you should keep such opinions to yourself.”

“That’s right,” Claire said. “Because if I am what you said, then I’ll do anything I can to get money out of you. And if I’m not, then you’re just going to make me angry, and I might seek revenge by getting money out of you.” She smiled just to see his reaction. He didn’t smile back, but there was a greater look of respect in his eyes.

“You’re tougher than I thought,” he said.

Claire nodded. “I’m tough,” she said. “But I’m not cheap and whorish.”

“Please apologize to her, Brad,” Mrs. Hughes said. “This is a terrible situation, and we don’t want to make things worse by alienating her. Scotty’s future depends on what we do.”

Scotty looked miserable. Claire remembered how he’d been the night before in New York and tried to decide whether marriage or being back home was the problem. Probably both. She was in no mood to take all the blame.

“I spoke in haste,” Mr. Hughes said. “I’m sorry if I offended you.”

Claire laughed. “You called me a whore,” she pointed out. “Of course you offended me.”

“Then I am indeed sorry,” Mr. Hughes said. “My wife is right. This is no occasion for name-calling. I lost my temper. It’s natural that I would be worried about Scotty. He’s only nineteen, and his future lies ahead of him. You can destroy that future, and that alarms me.”

It was a pretty speech, the sort Claire might make under similar circumstances. “I never meant to hurt Scotty,” Claire replied. She felt as though she were speaking in a foreign language, one whose words she knew but wasn’t comfortable with. “I love him, and I thought he loved me. I guess I was wrong. I guess it doesn’t matter. Even if he does still love me, we wouldn’t stand a chance. Not without your blessing.”

“I cannot possibly offer you my blessing,” Mr. Hughes declared. “When Scotty is older, and picks a bride more, shall we say, more conventional, then I’ll bestow my blessing.”

“I hope he’ll be very happy then,” Claire said. “I do want that for Scotty, that he should be happy. You believe me, don’t you, Mrs. Hughes?”

Scotty’s mother nodded. Claire realized that she didn’t even know her own aunt’s name. This was hardly the time to ask. Evvie might know.

“I’m sure you’re a very nice girl,” Mrs. Hughes said. “Young and impetuous, but respectable. Not any of those things Brad said about you. And I know you appreciate how worried we are about Scotty. Someday you’ll have a son, and then you’ll truly understand.”

If Claire had had any fantasies about mothering, she’d lost all interest in the past ten minutes. “I only hope I’ll be as good a mother as you are,” she said. “Scotty loves you so much. He told me about the time you share together, how he doesn’t get to see nearly enough of you, but when he does, how much he cherishes that time. That’s one of the things I love about Scotty. How much he loves you, even though you almost never had enough time for him. I mean, with him.” She smiled and poured herself another cup of tea.

“There will be legal arrangements to be made,” Mr. Hughes said. “Can we count on your cooperation?”

Claire nodded. She lifted the teacup to her mouth, and as she looked up, she saw a young man dazzling in his good looks. He had to be Schyler, she realized, her heart pounding. He was perfect. It should have been the two of them together. They would have made a couple so glorious that the world would have stopped to worship them.

Schyler stared straight at her, and smiled a smile of pure recognition. It wasn’t so much that they looked alike, although there was a resemblance. It was the shared soul of two great beauties. Claire yearned to make love with him. It would be like making love with a mirror.

“It’s Grandfather,” he said. “He wants to speak with Scotty.”

“No,” Scotty said.

“I’ll speak with him,” Claire said. She wished Schyler weren’t there to confuse her. “If he’s going to be angry, he might as well be angry with me.” She stood up, realized she was still holding the teacup, then bent down to put it on its saucer. As she rose, she again made eye contact with him. Their shared gaze was so powerful it hurt.

“I’ll take you,” Schyler said.

“No,” Claire said. “Just tell me how to find him. I’ll go myself.”

“Upstairs,” Schyler replied. “Second door on the right.”

“Thank you,” Claire said. She was astounded she could still walk. She brushed past Schyler as she left the room, and wondered if everyone else could feel the electricity. Schyler could, she knew. He wanted her as much as she wanted him, and now, thanks to this ridiculous marriage, it might be years before they could ever get together.

Claire forced herself to concentrate on her mission. She was about to meet Sebastian Prescott, Nicky’s father, Sybil’s only hope. Nothing else mattered. Everything she’d gone through, she’d done for this moment. Everything she still had to face would be justified by the outcome of this meeting.

She knocked on the door, and waited for him to say, “Come in.” The voice was imperious and angry.

Claire took a deep breath and turned the knob until the door opened. There he was, sitting behind a desk in a room lined with first editions and paintings of setters and spaniels. There he was, Nicky’s father, the only person in the world Nicky truly resembled, except for his daughter Claire.

Claire entered the room and walked straight toward the man. She’d managed to grab her overnight bag when she’d left the living room, and she held on to it tightly. When she reached the desk, she put the bag down first, then swung herself up on the desk until she was sitting two feet away from Sebastian Prescott. She witnessed his shocked response to her nerve, her closeness, her face, her very being.

“Hiya, Gramps,” she said. “It’s about time we met, don’t you think?”