Another Homecoming (6 page)

Her father’s voice rose a notch. “What on earth are you talking about?”

“You know very well what I mean. You’re always forming these absurd attachments with protégés. We should have had a son, just like I said.”

Kyle stiffened. A son! She had always dreamed of having a baby brother. But her mother had never allowed her to even mention it. Kyle could scarcely believe her ears. Her mother had wanted a son?

Her father’s astounded laugh rang through the closed doors. “Like
you
said? In case you have forgotten, Abigail,
I
was the one who begged you for a son after Kyle—”

“Don’t be petty. I meant
instead
of—”

“That is more than enough.” A new tone had entered her father’s voice. A dangerous coldness. “I want no more of that. Not ever.”

Clearly Abigail realized she had gone too far, for her voice took on a conciliatory note. “But to invite him into our house, especially tonight when so much hangs upon—”

“Our daughter is just fifteen years old.” A trace of anger grated in Lawrence’s voice.

“And growing up fast,” Abigail retorted.

“That’s right, she is.” Behind the closed doors, Kyle was able to visualize her father’s determined strength in standing up for her. “Which means that in time she will grow into handling her own affairs.”

“Oh, really, Lawrence.” Scorn dripped from Abigail’s voice. “She doesn’t have the faintest inkling of how to handle relationships
or
money. Do you know, I have even had to stop her allowance. She has the absurd tendency of giving it away to the first poor person who comes into sight.”

“There’s nothing wrong with a little charity,” Lawrence said, but a note of doubt had crept into his tone.

“Let us be realistic, please. It is high time this issue be settled in everyone’s mind. Which makes it even more bizarre that you would even dream of inviting this other young man—”

“The matter is closed,” Lawrence replied stonily.

Her father’s heavy footsteps started toward the library doors, with Abigail’s continuing argument in close pursuit. Kyle inched her way along the dark paneling, then flew up the stairs.

Once in her own bedroom, she shut her door on the words that seemed to have followed her. She turned on the radio and waited impatiently as it warmed up to the strains of the new hit song, “Only You.” Shakily she seated herself at her little vanity and studied her reflection. She was certainly not pretty, not like Emily Crawley, who had even the oldest boys stopping to watch as she walked by. Kyle’s nose turned upward slightly, almost like a miniature ski jump. She always felt that her shoulder-length hair was too thick, even after she had brushed and brushed until her arm ached. And it seemed such a strange color—not brown and not blond, just a sort of butterscotch.

Whenever Kyle examined her reflection, like now, she felt as though her mother’s disapproving gaze was there as well, pointing out all her flaws. Large eyes stared back at her from a face that was shaped like a reversed teardrop, descending from a broad forehead to a pointy chin, which of course made her mouth look even bigger than it really was. Especially tonight, when her mother had personally selected an odd peach shade of lipstick, then had made her paint her fingernails so they matched. It was almost as though Abigail wanted to make her look years older than she was. Even the dress had been personally selected, and Kyle was wearing Gran’s pearls for the very first time.

Some girls would have been pleased with the chance to seem older and mature. Not Kyle. What with the constant lessons in etiquette and speech and dance and on and on and on, Kyle felt she was constantly on display. Constantly being prepared for something, being formed into an ornament to be polished and set upon a mantelpiece. Kyle picked up her brush with a sigh. No, growing older held nothing for her but a vague foreboding. As Kyle brushed with swift, hard strokes, her mind went back over the quarrel. What had her mother meant when she said “instead”? Instead of what?

The doorbell rang. Before the chimes were silenced, Kyle had stood, turned off her radio, and started for the bedroom door. Her mother would scold if she was not there to greet their guests. Besides, her mother would never dream of continuing an argument in public. Abigail always presented her loveliest smile to the outside world when she was angry. As Kyle hesitantly moved down the stairs, she wondered if perhaps that was why she herself smiled so seldom. Her mother made the act seem like a lie.

As she entered the living room, Randolf Crawley approached. Inwardly she quailed that he, the last person she wished to see, should quite naturally be the first guest to arrive.

“Kyle, good evening.” He flashed a smile. “How beautiful you look.”

“Thank you, Mr. Crawley,” she said, feeling her mother’s eyes upon her. “How are you tonight?”

“You really must call me Randolf, please.” He tugged on the starched cuffs to his shirt, pulling them down below the sleeves of his tuxedo so that the heavy gold cufflinks glinted in the chandelier’s light. “We’re almost family, you know.” He laughed at his own quip, then added, “I suppose you’ve heard the news. Father has retired, and I have taken over his place on the board.”

“Yes. Congratulations.” Kyle managed the words with a courteous smile, though she felt little interest in the man’s promotion.

Randolf’s gray eyes swept over her form. “You look truly spectacular,” he said warmly. “That blue in your dress complements your hair beautifully.” He didn’t seem to notice her blush of embarrassment. “Let’s see, you must be seventeen, isn’t that right?”

“Fifteen,” Kyle corrected. She felt terribly uncomfortable and out of place. “Just barely fifteen.”

“Of course. She’s the same age as me, aren’t you, dear Kyle?” Emily Crawley moved up beside them, her eyes appraising Kyle from top to toe. “I must say, you have made quite an effort tonight.”

Kyle tried to put a little brightness into her voice as she asked, “How are you, Emily?”

“Oh, almost as bored as you, I imagine,” the girl replied, giving her sleek blond hair a pretty toss. But she did not look bored. Not at all. She surveyed the rapidly filling room with shining eyes. “Why on earth my brother wanted me to accompany him tonight, when there’s nobody but old fuddy-duddies around, I shall never know.”

“Almost the entire Rothmore board is here tonight,” Randolf replied. “Not to mention Senator Allenby over there.” He gave Kyle another look and a little bow. “If you ladies will excuse me, I must go and say hello.”

Emily watched her older brother walk away, then said, “Isn’t it exciting, how this is all working out? In just a couple of years, we will be sisters.”

Kyle stared at her. “What are you talking about?”

Emily Crawley had the ability to look particularly beautiful when amazed. “Don’t tell me you don’t know.”

“Know what?”

Emily lifted her perfect little chin and let out a peal of laughter. “Kyle Rothmore, you are positively too droll!” She regarded Kyle with eager eyes. “Think about it for a moment, my little innocent sister-to-be. How your mother has been urging you to come and spend time with my family—at my house with my dear older brother. Pushing you to attend certain meetings, making certain you are seated next to each other. Doesn’t she speak of him a great deal?”

Kyle took a step back in genuine horror. “Not Randolf. No, I, it’s . . .”

“Whyever not?” Emily followed her, stepping closer, her gaze eager to observe every shred of Kyle’s reaction. “Randolf is a prize, don’t you think?”

With great effort Kyle struggled for the most polite reaction possible. “But he’s so . . . so
old
.”

“Dear Randolf is hardly
that
ancient, although I do admit he’s getting a bit long in the tooth.” Emily’s laugh was shrill. “But never mind. In ten years or so age won’t matter hardly at all, will it?”

“I didn’t, I never . . .”

“Yes, imagine, me being the one to break the news. Isn’t that positively delicious?” Emily studied Kyle’s face and showed a moment’s disappointment that there was no further reaction. She pressed, “I’ve heard it said that Randolf is one of Washington’s most eligible bachelors. You must be
so
excited.”

“Yes,” Kyle said quietly. She had quickly determined to keep everything she was thinking from showing. Especially here. “Well, if you will excuse me, I must greet our other guests.”

Emily’s obvious frustration gave Kyle the strength to turn and walk to her father. He reached out an arm to encircle her as he proudly introduced her to the people standing nearby. Kyle forced herself to smile and make all the expected responses. She continued on around the room, speaking to everyone in turn, doing it so well that even her mother stopped her to say how nice it was to see Kyle making an effort. Just how much effort Abigail would never know.

Even though Kyle tried to concentrate on the guests’ conversations, her thoughts were constantly turning to Emily’s words.
Randolf
. She was to be traded for a union between two powerful families? She felt as if there were a ball of ice where her heart should have been. As she continued about the room, she glanced over to where her father stood laughing with his group of cronies. Surely he had not been a part of this plan, surely not. It hurt more than she could bear to think otherwise.

Then her father broke away from the group and hurried across the room to the door. She watched as he walked up to a newcomer, a young man with dark hair and a grave, hesitant air. Lawrence’s arm circled the young man’s shoulders as he led him into the room to begin introducing him around. A brief moment of attention was granted his arrival, but as soon as Lawrence was pulled elsewhere, the young man was left standing alone.

Kyle felt drawn to him and to his slightly bewildered demeanor. He looked no more comfortable with the gathering than she did. Kyle imagined herself seeing the grand chamber through his eyes, the curved ceiling almost three stories high, the four grand chandeliers lighting yards of polished wood and precious carpets, the glittering people, the servants in their best uniforms, the sparkling platters and crystal.

As she started across the room, suddenly Emily was at her elbow. “That’s the plebe Randolf was telling me about, isn’t he, the one your father has pulled up from the masses to stand at his beck and call?”

“He’s to be Father’s new assistant,” Kyle commented mildly.

“Doesn’t he look so utterly ordinary,” Emily remarked. “I suppose it will be my duty to have him escort me into dinner. No doubt he will bore me to tears with a discussion of actuary tables and the like.”

Kyle ended further comments by walking away. She approached the young man, reached out her hand, and said, “Good evening, I am Kyle Rothmore.”

“Kenneth Adams.” He had a charming smile. “Mr. Rothmore mentioned that he had a daughter. I am very happy to meet you.”

The familiar courtesy was spoken with a natural sincerity. Kyle found herself drawn to this pleasant young man. Before she could think of something else to say, Bertrand appeared in the doorway to announce, “Ladies and gentlemen, dinner is served.”

“May I take your arm?” Kyle whispered to Kenneth.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t—”

“Quickly, please.” She was so startled by her boldness that she could scarcely breathe. She reached for his extended elbow, then motioned him toward the dining room.

Four faces confronted them in quick succession. Randolf was halfway across the room and headed toward her when he stopped abruptly. He looked shocked, but swiftly gathered himself. He gave Kyle a formal smile and a slight bow before casting a wrathful glance at Kenneth. Emily was moving their way as well, and showed genuine astonishment at Kyle’s maneuver.

The next face Kyle caught sight of was her mother’s. Abigail’s gaze burned so fiercely Kyle had to turn away. She had never dared to deliberately cross her mother before. The realization of what she was doing left her knees weak.

“Well, look at this, would you.” Lawrence Rothmore’s ruddy features beamed with genuine pride. “Leave it to my daughter to make our newest guest feel right at home.”

That’s right
, Kyle thought silently. The perspective her father placed upon her actions granted Kyle the strength to straighten her shoulders.
I’d do anything for you, Daddy
.

As she thought the words, Kyle knew they were true. If her father wanted her,
needed
her to marry Randolf Crawley, the reasons did not really matter. Then and there, Kyle knew that if her father asked, she would do it. Even though the thought alone was enough to send ice water through her veins, she would do it for her father.

Lawrence’s breath wheezed noisily as he beamed at them both. “Not many people are lucky enough . . .” He broke off to cough. Beads of perspiration spotted his forehead.

“Are you all right, Daddy?”

He waved away her concern. “Working too hard. That’s why I need myself a young man—borrow his legs.” Lawrence straightened, pulled a spotless handkerchief from his pocket, wiped his brow, then signaled a hovering Bertrand over. “Go out there and rearrange the place cards so these two young people can sit together.”