“This might hurt, the first time,” he said
. “Are you certain?”
“I’m glad, Phillip
. Glad that you’re the first.”
“I mean to be the only,” he promised as he lowered himself into her.
He’d been right. There was a tearing pain, but beyond that came exquisite pleasure as they moved gently, carefully. She placed her hands against his back, to guide his pace. At first their motion remained maddeningly slow, then faster, faster, until their rhythm filled her, overwhelmed her, until the light swelled sun-like and then shattered into a thousand dazzling shards.
Sound erupted from her, a cry of exultation that he took up only one split second later.
Panting, she let the light roll past her, past them. Phillip lowered himself beside her, then draped an arm across her chest.
“Shae,” he whispered, his voice logy with contentment
. “Shae, I’ll keep you safe. You won’t be sorry.”
She kissed him gently, allowing the heat of their passion to dissipate into soft sweetness
. When finally it ended, she said, “I’ll never be sorry for anything I do with you. I only wish I’d always known you.”
“Just think of all the years to come
. Marry me, Shae. I never want to spend another night apart.”
“If I tried to paint the way I feel now, I could never find a color bright enough
. Of course I’ll marry you. Of course.”
He kissed her, held her tenderly, until they slept in each other’s arms.
*
Shae woke, she had no idea how much later, to a rush of hope and strength
. Anything felt possible, from innocent answers to the questions regarding Lucius and Mother to the quick arrest of Phillip’s attackers. Together, she and Phillip would find solutions. From now on, she was no longer alone. Their love was permanent, a marvel cut from granite.
Still nude, she rose, feeling the need to find out if one of Claire’s dresses would fit her
. It might be late, but if they were going to meet Phillip’s family, she couldn’t very well do it in her bedraggled state. As she washed her face then brushed her hair, she thought that appearing in an older woman’s clothing wouldn’t be her choice. But now it hardly seemed to matter. She refused to concern herself with vanity, with anything beyond the joy that she now felt.
*
“Phillip!” Lydia’s voice barely rose above the clatter of hooves and gig wheels on the shell road. The strain of repeated calls had left her hoarse.
The moonlight illuminated two shapes riding toward her on the otherwise deserted street
. Someone had heard her cries. A light wind ruffled nearby palm trees, and White Wing started at a cat that ran across his path, nearly underneath his hooves. The silvery form darted beneath a row of oleanders that served as a windbreak for several frame houses. As the night progressed, her search had led her closer to the gulf.
As the men approached, Lydia thought for the first time of her own safety, of the risks a woman took alone on the streets this late at night.
She tugged lightly on the reins, trying to shake off her jitters. It was possible these men might know of Phillip’s whereabouts, and despite her sudden nervousness, that was what she’d come for after all.
They pulled up their own horses far enough away that she couldn’t distinguish the men’s faces
. In this part of town, no street lamps augmented the thin moonlight.
“Lookin’ for Payton, ain’t you?” The voice, coming from the gig’s left, had a hard edge to it.
Lydia swallowed and reassured herself that a person didn’t have to be genteel to treat a lady gently. Surely.
“Yes, I am searching for my brother,” she rasped, with all the confidence that she could muster.
“Your brother?” The other man had moved to flank her, on the right. “That’s pure coincidence. We’re considerable int’rested in finding him ourselfs.”
“I understand the police are out looking as well,” she warned them, now certain that the two did meant Phillip ill
. And maybe anyone in Phillip’s family. Were they disgruntled workers from the docks? The silhouette the moon cast of the man on her right showed broad shoulders, a muscular build. Considering the threats Frindly had spoken of, the facts seemed to fit.
This time, when she swallowed there was a lump in her throat, huge and hard as an oyster shell
. Her first attempt at speech was an inaudible hiss, but the second time, she somehow willed her voice to function. “Since you haven’t seen him, I’ll be leaving now.”
Without waiting for an answer, she flicked the whip across White Wing’s back
. As if he sensed her trepidation, the aged gelding took off at a gallop. Lydia didn’t move to check his breakneck speed. She didn’t dare to. For when she looked behind her, she could see the men were following.
And if they meant her harm, she no longer had the voice to scream for help.
*
As Shae stepped into the dimness of the Olivers’ bedroom, she turned on a lamp, and her cheerful mood evaporated
. Weak light illuminated a dark, carved headboard, a night table, an oval mirror, and several more of Claire’s porcelain dancers arranged on a corner whatnot. Far too many reminders of the couple who had lived here. And loved here, too, Shae realized, much the same as she and Phillip loved. At one time, the older couple must have felt what she had, that they were forever. That their love made them immune to life’s dilemmas. Immune, even, to death.
The enormity of the thought brought tears to her eyes
. With love, there would be loss. There would have to be, somehow. And whatever separated her from Phillip would be as painful, perhaps as awful as her mother’s disappearance.
She wondered if she could bear such pain again
. A wave of fear engulfed her, and she whispered a prayer that she wouldn’t have to face it for a long, long time. Then she wondered if she would be selfish to pray that she died first.
Shaking her head to dispel the troubling thoughts, she walked to a tall, black walnut wardrobe, then opened the door
. She reached into the hanging dresses and carefully examined each one, trying to free her mind of the ghost, the dead hopes, of the woman who had worn them.
At the wardrobe’s back, an image of her own eyes stared blankly outward
. Shae screamed and backed away, her blood’s flow whooshing in her ears.
She listened for several long moments, certain that she must have awakened Phillip
. When he neither called nor came to her, she sagged onto the bed.
Thank God he hadn’t heard her screaming at a portrait
. A portrait that the Olivers had hidden away. Her heart thumping wildly, she patted Jasper as he leapt onto the bed beside her.
“You know Claire hated you jumping on the furniture,” she said, but the words fell gently, meaningless as puffs of settling dust.
Trembling, Shae rose and walked nearer to the painting. Pushing aside dresses, she grasped it by its gold frame and lifted it out of the wardrobe. And saw that she’d been wrong.
The face that looked back at her wasn’t quite her own, the chin a bit more pointed, the sweep of hair a redder gold
. The eyes, though, were the same. Her mother’s eyes, as bright a green as hers, which now reflected in the mirror on the wardrobe’s door.
And along with a lovely, low-cut evening gown, her mother wore the same cameo that gleamed tonight against her naked flesh.
Her father had painted this, Shae remembered, for she recognized the work. But she hadn’t seen the portrait since her mother’s disappearance. Though surprised, she felt relieved that it had not been destroyed as she’d supposed. This at least would help her keep her mother’s memory, just as would the cameo.
For now, she decided to put away the painting
. With no heirs, Lucius might have left the disposition of his estate to King Rowan. If her father saw the portrait, he might well destroy it before she had the opportunity to collect it.
As Shae returned the painting to its resting-place, the frame bumped something in the wardrobe’s corner
. Pushing aside another skirt, Shae found a closed box of thin wood, neatly labeled, “Rowa
n
Household Records.”
Carefully, she avoided touching it, as if it might be filled with spiders
. Why on earth would Lucius keep her family’s records here instead of at her father’s store? Were they older ledgers, from the time before the family left its Philadelphia address? Or did he keep duplicates for his own reference at home?
Feeling vulnerable, Shae located fresh undergarments and then donned them
. Afterward, she decided on a well-made, orchid-colored dress. By adjusting its back tie, she was able to make it come quite close to fitting, at least close enough to do for the time being.
Once again, her mind returned to the box’s contents
. If Lucius had had the necklace and the portrait, what else might there be? Thinking of the way her heart raced when she found the painting of her mother, she wondered if she had the strength to lift the lid to see what lay inside.
She hauled out the box and placed it on the bed
. Inside, something slid and rattled around the thin, wooden container. Something that didn’t sound a thing like old receipts or ledgers.
She turned a latch and opened the dusty box
. A cry caught in her throat as she recognized the mass of carelessly strewn earrings, chains, and bracelets. She reached inside for a familiar circle, then held it in her fingers to the light.
A golden ring, set with a diamond
. Her mother’s wedding band. Dear God.
Shae’s vision grayed, and she had to sit down on the bed
. Alberta’s accusations rang in her ears.
The wanton tramp took all her jewelry and ran off with the first man who would have her.
She remembered Father’s bitter explanation to the investigating officers that Glennis must have taken the handcrafted pieces to fund another life.
Shae raised her trembling hands to cover her ears, as if she might blot out the voices
. Tears squeezed through her tight-closed eyes.
Lies
. All lies, they’d told her. Father must have made Lucius hide the jewelry, to cover up the crime. The crime of murder, Shae was sure now. King Rowan had beyond doubt killed his wife.
Jumping up, Shae flung the wedding ring into the wooden box, where it landed with a bright, metallic chink
. She didn’t want to look at it, didn’t want anything but to go accuse her father, to rage against the heartless bastard for his crimes. Fury rose up in her, powerful without the buffer of her earlier doubts, almost murderous in its intensity.
King had slain not only Glennis, but her memory
. Though Shae had never stopped missing her mother, so many times she’d hated her for her abandonment. She thought of all the shame she’d borne, and all the whispers, the ones that had driven her from school.
Because her mother left her
. Because her mother ran away.
How many years had she listened to her father’s orders
? How many years had she paid for Glennis’s supposed crimes?
Glennis might have been unfaithful, but she’d never stolen from them
. And she never would have run off, abandoning her daughter to a monster and his kin.
Shae found her shoes lying in the guestroom and stuffed her feet into them
. Phillip still slept peacefully, and for a moment, looking at his form in the near-blackness, she felt her rage abate, felt a surge of tenderness.
She thought of waking him to tell him, but decided against it
. The blood he’d lost had left him weakened, and the words she had to say were for her father’s ears alone. She pulled the bedcover over his bare shoulder, then kissed his warm temple.
Glancing at the clock on her way out, she wished she had a horse now
. Even Delilah’s high jinks would be better than relying on her feet so late at night. But as she stood on the front porch, she thought of the velocipede stored in the back shed. She’d nearly forgotten Father’s expensive birthday gift.
She must be sure to thank him, she thought bitterly as she retrieved it, then walked it toward the house’s front
.
Carefully balancing the two-wheeled contraption, she mounted from the raised porch
. She was proud to have mastered the velocipede, with its pair of heavy rubber wheels, front larger than the back, but even so, Shae would feel better if she had Delilah. Usually, she and her friend, Cynthia, had ridden on the few streets smoothly paved with cypress blocks. It was hard to imagine how she’d manage the unwieldy machine on a shell-road in the dark.
Ignoring her misgivings, she hoisted the dress’s skirt. Though her action bared the same span of ankle that had earlier inspired her aunt to forbid her riding, she pedaled off into the night.
*
Justine peered at the clock for at least the hundredth time this evening
. Almost midnight, and still she had heard nothing.
Louise had prayed with her, but God, like Mr. Frindly’s message, offered no answers
. The police were no more helpful. Their search had turned up nothing, not even her twin sister in the gig.