She was so self-contained, so closed in on herself. He kept looking at her with a grin, expecting her to grin back in one of those moments of humor they had always shared, but her smooth, still face remained as solemn as always, as if she had no more laughter in her.
His thoughts moved back to their lovemaking. He wanted to see Roanna smile again, but even more than that, he wanted to know if his baby was inside her. As soon as he could manage it, he was going to have a private conversation with her—something that might prove to be more difficult than he’d ever imagined, given the way she’d begun avoiding him.
The next afternoon, Roanna sighed as she leaned back in the big leather chair, massaging her neck to relieve the stiffness. A neat stack of addressed invitations was on one corner of the desk, but a glance at the guest list told her that there was at least a third of the envelopes still to be addressed.
Once Lucinda had gotten Webb’s okay for the party, she had begun making her battle plans. Everyone who was anyone had to be invited, which put the guest list at a staggering five hundred people. A crowd that size simply wouldn’t fit into the house, not even a house as large as Davencourt, unless they wanted to open up the bedrooms. Lucinda had been unfazed; they would simply throw open the French doors onto the patio, string lights in the trees and shrubbery, and let people wander in and out as they chose. The patio was better for dancing anyway.
Roanna had begun work immediately. There was no way Tansy could handle preparing food for that many people, so she had set herself to locating a caterer who could handle that size party on such short notice, because the date Lucinda had selected was less than two weeks away. She had chosen that date intentionally, not wanting to give people time to deliberate too much, but time enough to buy new dresses and schedule appointments with hairdressers. The few caterers in the Shoals area were already booked for that date, so Roanna had been forced to hire a firm from Huntsville that she’d never dealt with before. She only hoped everything worked out okay.
There was a ton of decorations stored in the attic and hundreds of strands of lights, but Lucinda had decided that only peach-colored lights would do because it would be such a mellow, flattering color for everyone. There were no peach lights in the attic. After a dozen phone calls, Roanna had tracked some down at a specialty store in Birmingham, and they were shipping the lights overnight.
There weren’t enough chairs, even allowing for the people who would be dancing or milling around rather than sitting. More chairs had to be brought in, a band had to be hired, flowers had to be ordered, and a printer had to be found who could print the invitations immediately. That last accomplished, Roanna was now occupied with addressing the envelopes. She had been doing it for the past three hours, and she was exhausted.
She could remember Lucinda doing this chore years ago. Once she had asked why Lucinda didn’t hire someone to do it, because it had seemed so horribly boring, having to sit for hours and address hundreds of envelopes. Lucinda had replied haughtily that a lady took the trouble to personally invite her guests, which Roanna had taken to mean it was one of those old southern customs that would continue no matter how illogical. She had promised herself at the time that she would never do something so boring.
Now she patiently worked through the guest list. The job was still boring, but she understood now why customs continued; it gave one a sense of continuity, of kinship with those who had gone before. Her grandmother had done this, as had her great-grandmother, her great-great-grandmother, going back an unknown number of generations. Those women were a part of her, their genes still living in her, though it looked as if she would be the end of the line. There had only ever been one man for her, and he wasn’t interested. End of story, end of family.
Roanna resolutely pushed all thoughts of Webb out of her mind so she could concentrate on the job at hand. She was accustomed to doing any paperwork at the desk, but Webb had been working there that morning. She still felt a tiny shock whenever she saw him sitting in the chair she had come to regard as hers, a shock that had nothing to do with the surge of joy she always felt at the very sight of him.
She had retreated to the small, sunny sitting room at the back of the house, because it was the most private, and began writing at the escritoire there. The chair had proven to be an instrument of torture to one sitting in it for longer than fifteen minutes, so she had gotten a lap desk and moved to the sofa. Her legs had gone to sleep. When Webb had left after lunch to visit Yvonne, with relief Roanna had taken advantage of his absence to work in the study. She settled into the chair, and everything felt just right. The desk was the right height, the chair was comfortable and familiar.
She had belonged in this chair, she thought. She refused to let herself feel resentment, however. She had felt needed here for the first time in her life, but soon she would have something that belonged solely to her. Lucinda’s death would be the end of one part of her life and the beginning of another. Why fret over this symbol of power when she would soon be moving on anyway? Only to Webb could she have given it up without heartbreak, she thought, because all of this had been promised to him long before she assumed, by default, the stewardship of Davencourt.
There was a great deal of difference between handling financial paperwork and addressing envelopes, at least in the significance of it, but the physical requirements were the same. Working at last in relative comfort, she let her mind slip into neutral as she worked through the invitations.
At first she was scarcely aware of the fatigue creeping through her body, she was so accustomed to it. She forced herself to ignore it and carefully wrote out a few more addresses, but suddenly her eyelids were so heavy she could barely hold them open. Her fears for the past two nights that she would fall deeply asleep and sleepwalk had been groundless; despite the fatigue that dragged at her, she had merely dozed in fits and starts, managing to get perhaps a total of two hours’ sleep each night. Last night, again, she had been almost painfully aware of Webb’s presence next door, and she had awakened herself several times listening for his movements.
Now she became aware of how quiet the house was. Webb was gone, and Lucinda was napping. Greg and Brock were both at work. Gloria and Lanette might be against having the party, but they had both gone shopping for new dresses, and Harlan had gone with them. Corliss had left right after breakfast, with a careless “I’ll be back later,” and no indication where she was going.
Despite the efforts of the air-conditioning, the study was warm from the fierce summer sunlight pouring through the windows. Roanna’s eyelids drooped even more and closed completely. She always tried not to nap during the day because that only made it more difficult for her to sleep at night, but sometimes the fatigue was overpowering. Sitting there in the warm, quiet room, she lost the battle to stay awake.
Webb noticed when he pulled into the garage that Roanna’s car was in its bay, and Corliss had returned as well, but Gloria and Lanette were still out shopping. It was the presence of Roanna’s car, however, that caused a hot little thrill of anticipation to shoot through him. She’d had afternoon meetings both days since he’d come home, and he had half-expected her to be gone this afternoon, too, even though she hadn’t said anything about an appointment. In the tightly knit structure of small towns, business and social obligations often overlapped, with the former being conducted at the latter. Until he was fully integrated into county society again, Roanna would have to fulfill those obligations by herself.
Somehow he hadn’t expected that he would see so little of her. In the past, Roanna had always been right on his heels no matter what he was doing. When she’d been seven or eight, he’d actually had to keep her from following him into the bathroom, and even then she had huddled in the hallway waiting for him. Back then, of course, she had just lost her parents and he had been her only security; the frantic clinging had gradually ceased as she adjusted. But even when she’d been a teenager, she’d always been right there, her homely little face turned up to him like
a sunflower to the sun.
But she wasn’t homely now; she had grown into a striking woman with the sort of strong, chiseled bone structure that wouldn’t yield much to age. He’d braced himself to resist constant temptation; he couldn’t take advantage of her heartbreaking vulnerability just to satisfy his lust. Damn it all to hell, though, instead of being vulnerable she was downright remote with him, and most of the time she wasn’t even around. It was as if she actively avoided him, and the realization jolted him deep inside. Was she embarrassed because she’d slept with him? He remembered how closed her expression had been the next morning. Or did she resent it because he was going to inherit Davencourt instead of her?
Lucinda said Roanna had no interest in running Davencourt, but what if she was wrong? Roanna hid so much behind that calm, remote face. Once he’d been able to read her like a book, and now he found himself watching her whenever he could, trying to decipher any flicker of expression that might hint at her feelings. For the most part, though, all he saw was the fatigue that drained her, and the mute patience with which she endured it.
If he’d realized how much trouble this damn party would be for her, he never would have agreed to it. If she was still working on it when he got inside, he was going to put his foot down. Her face had been drawn and wan, and dark circles lay under her eyes, evidence that she hadn’t been sleeping. Insomnia was one thing; staying awake at night and working incessantly during the day was something else. She needed to do something she enjoyed, and he thought a long, leisurely ride was just the ticket. Not only did she love riding, but the physical exercise might force her body into sleep that night. He was getting antsy himself; he’d gotten accustomed to spending long hours in the saddle almost every day, and he missed the exercise as well as the soothing company of the horses.
He entered the kitchen and smiled at Tansy, who was humming happily as she meandered around the kitchen, never getting in a hurry or seeming to have any design in her movements, but nevertheless putting together huge, scrumptious meals. Tansy hadn’t changed much in all the years he’d known her, he thought. She had to be in her sixties, but her hair was still the same salt and pepper it had been since he’d come to live at Davencourt. She was short and plump, and her kindhearted nature shone out of her blue eyes.
“Lemon icebox pie for dessert tonight,” she said, grinning, knowing that it was his favorite. “Be sure you save enough room for it.”
“I’ll make a point of it.” Tansy’s icebox pie was so good he could make a meal of it by itself. “Do you know where Roanna is?”
“Sure do. Bessie was just here, and she said Miss Roanna’s asleep in the study. I’m not surprised, I’ll say that. You could tell just by looking at the poor child that the last few nights have been bad, even worse than usual.”
She was asleep. Relief warred with disappointment, because he’d been looking forward to that ride with her. “I won’t disturb her,” he promised. “Is Lucinda awake from her nap yet?”
“I imagine so, but she hasn’t come downstairs.” Tansy sadly shook her head. “Time’s weighing heavy on Miss Lucinda. You can always tell when old folks start going, ’cause they stop eating food they used to love. It’s nature’s way of winding down, I guess. My mama, rest her soul, loved kraut and wienies better’n anything, but a few months before she passed on she said they just didn’t taste good no more, and she wouldn’t eat ’em.”
Lucinda’s all-time favorite food was okra. She loved it fried, boiled, pickled, any way it could be prepared. “Is Lucinda still eating her okra?” he asked quietly.
Tansy shook her head, her eyes sad. “Said it don’t have much taste this year.”
Webb left the kitchen and walked silently down the hall. He turned the corner and stopped when he saw Corliss with her back to him, opening the study door and peeking inside. He knew immediately what she was about to do; the little bitch was going to slam the door and awaken Roanna. Fury shot through him, and he was already moving as she stepped back and opened the door wide, as wide as her arm would allow. He saw the muscles in her forearm tighten as she prepared to slam the door with all her strength, and then he was on her, his steely fingers biting into the nape of her neck. She gave a stifled little squeak and froze.
Webb eased the door shut, then dragged her away from the study, still holding her neck in a tight grip. He hauled her head around so that she was looking at him. He’d seldom in his life been more angry, and he wanted to shake her as if she were a rag. On the scale of things, waking Roanna from a nap was nothing more than petty and spiteful, no matter how desperately she needed the sleep. But he didn’t give a damn about the scale of things, because Roanna did need that nap, and the spitefulness angered him all the more because it was so senseless. Corliss wouldn’t accomplish or gain a damn thing by disturbing Roanna; she was simply a bitch, and he wasn’t going to put up with it.
Her face was a picture of alarm as she stared up at him, still with her neck arched back in an uncomfortable position. Her blue eyes were rounded with startlement at being caught when she had thought herself alone, but already a sly look was creeping into them as she began trying to figure out a way to slither out of this predicament.
“Don’t bother with the excuses,” he said bluntly, keeping his voice low so Roanna wouldn’t be disturbed. “Maybe I’d better spell things out, so you’ll know exactly where you stand. You’d better pray that the wind never catches a door and slams it while Roanna’s asleep, or that a stray cat never knocks anything over, and God forbid you should actually forget to be quiet. Because no matter what happens, if you’re anywhere on the property, I’m going to blame it on you. And do you know what will happen then?”
Her face twisted as she realized he wasn’t going to listen to any of her excuses. “What?” she taunted. “You’ll get out your trusty andiron?”
His hand tightened on her neck, making her wince. “Worse than that,” he said in a silky tone. “At least from your point of view. I’ll throw you out of this house so fast your ass will leave skid marks on the stairs. Is that clear? I have a real low tolerance for parasites, and you’re so close to the limit that I’m already reaching for the flea powder.”
She flushed a dark, ugly color and tried to jerk away from him. Webb held her, lifting his eyebrows at her as he waited for a response.
“You bastard,” she spat. “Aunt Lucinda thinks she can force people to accept you, but they won’t ever. They’ll be nice to you for her sake, but as soon as she’s dead, you’ll find out what they think of you. You only came back because you know she’s dying, and you want Davencourt and all the money.”
“Ill have it, too,” he said, and smiled. It wasn’t a nice smile, but he didn’t feel nice. Contemptuously he released her. “Lucinda said she would change her will if I’d come back. Davencourt will belong to me, and you’ll be out on your ass. But you’re not only a bitch, you’re a stupid one. As it stood before, Roanna was going to inherit instead of me, but you’ve acted like a malicious spoiled brat to her. Do you think she’d have let you go on living here, either?”
Corliss tossed her head. “Roanna’s a wimp. I can handle her.”
“Like I said: stupid. She doesn’t say anything now because Lucinda’s important to her, and she doesn’t want her upset. But one way or the other, you’d better be looking for somewhere else to live.”
“Grandmother won’t let you throw me out.”
Webb snorted. “Davencourt doesn’t belong to Gloria. It isn’t her decision.”
“It doesn’t belong to you yet, either! There’s a lot that can happen between now and when Aunt Lucinda dies.” She made the words sound like a threat, and he wondered what mischief she was considering.
He was tired of dealing with the little bitch. “Then maybe I’d better add another condition: If you start shooting off your mouth and causing trouble, you’re outta here. Now get out of my sight before I decide you’re already more trouble than you’re worth.”
She flounced away
from him, sashaying her ass to show him she wasn’t scared. Maybe she wasn’t, but she should damn sure take him at his word.
He quietly opened the study door to make certain they hadn’t awakened Roanna with their argument. He’d tried to keep his voice low, but Corliss hadn’t had any such concern, and grimly he promised himself that she’d be out on the street tonight if Roanna’s eyes were open.
But she still slept, curled in the big office chair with her head tucked into the wing. He stood in the doorway, watching her. Her dark chestnut hair was tousled around her face, and sleep had brought a delicate flush to her cheeks. Her breasts moved up and down in a slow, deep rhythm.
She had slept like that the night they’d spent together—what time he’d let her sleep. If he’d know then how rare real, restful sleep was for her, he wouldn’t have awakened her all those times. But afterward, each time, she had curled in his arms just that way, with her head pillowed on his shoulder.
A sharp pang of longing went through him. He’d like to hold her that way again, he thought. She could sleep in his arms for as long as she wanted.
CHAPTER 16
Corliss was shaking as she climbed the stairs, but the trembling was as much inside as out. She needed something, fast. She hurried into her suite and locked the door, then began to frenziedly search all of her favorite hiding places: inside the tiny rip in the lining on the bottom of the sofa, the empty cold cream jar, the bottom of the lamp, the toe-shapers for her shoes. She found exactly what she’d known she would find, nothing, but she needed a fix bad enough that she looked anyway.
How dare he talk to her like that? She’d always hated him, hated Jessie, hated Roanna. It simply wasn’t fair! Why should they get to live at Davencourt while she had to live in that stupid little house? All of her life she’d been looked down on at school as the Davenports’ poor relation. But sometimes good things did happen, like when Jessie was killed and Webb blamed for it. Corliss had silently celebrated; God, it had been so hard to keep from laughing at that turn of events! But she had made all the proper noises, looked properly sad, and when Webb had left, pretty soon things had fallen into place and her family had moved into Davencourt, where they should have been all those years anyway.