Harmony (43 page)

Rather than gazing at her, he caught Mr. Stykem's attention. “Mr. Stykem, I already asked this of Cressie, but I wanted to ask again with you present.” Only after he had the elder man's undivided attention did he then focus entirely on the woman whose hand he held within his own.

Edwina felt tears flood her eyes. She had suspected that this was what the evening was about, so she shouldn't cry. But as Crescencia sat on the edge of her seat, smile wavering on her mouth and her father reaching into his trouser pocket for a handkerchief, Edwina could barely contain her emotions.

“Cressie . . .” Mr. Dufresne began. Edwina's eyes never left the couple. “I know we haven't known each other for all that long.” Crescencia nodded, her red-orange hair gleaming and neatly in place. “But sometimes a man and woman just know it's meant to be.” Mr. Dufresne gave her hand a slight squeeze and Edwina held her breath, trying to keep calm. “I've got an
honest job. And I've got some money saved up so that I can rent us a house.” Crescencia smiled, Mr. Dufresne's reflection caught for a moment in the glass of her wire spectacles. “You wouldn't want for anything. I'll take care of you.” A tear slipped down Crescencia's pale cheek. “Miss Crescencia Louise Stykem, will you marry me?”

Before she could give her answer, Mr. Stykem honked his nose loudly in his handkerchief. Edwina dared a glance at Tom, who stared unblinking at her, as if it had been him waiting for
her
answer. Quickly looking away, her cheeks hot and her stomach churning with raw emotions, Edwina gazed at her lap and fought off tears.

“Yes, Mr. Dufresne, I will marry you,” came Crescencia's soft-spoken reply.

Mr. Stykem sounded the horn of his nose once more, then dabbed at his eyes before speaking. “If only your mother were here to witness this.”

Crescencia, still holding Mr. Dufresne's hand, looked at her father. “Then you approve, Papa?”

“Approve? Why, my dear, I'm delighted! I never thought the day would come. Forgive me for my past pessimism, but you have blossomed into a beautiful woman.” Mr. Stykem stood and so did Mr. Dufresne; then the two men were pumping each other's hands and laughing jovially. “Welcome to the family, my boy.”

Crescencia rose as well. Edwina remained still, feeling awkward and out of place. Such an intimate moment to be a part of . . . she felt like an intruder when she should have been flattered she'd been included in this special announcement.

Tom went to his feet and broke up Mr. Dufresne and Mr. Stykem. He refused the hand Mr. Dufresne held out; instead, he took the man in a big bear of a hug and lifted him off the rug. “Congratulations, brother.” Then he set Mr. Dufresne down and Mr. Dufresne slapped Tom on the back, quite heartily. Edwina guessed it was one of those sacred male moments in which physicality was required so they could keep their masculine façades
in place. Apparently, Mr. Stykem had left that ritual behind, for he still snorted into his handkerchief and blatantly rubbed at his eyes.

Edwina stood and offered Crescencia her hand. “Best wishes to you, Cressie. I couldn't be happier for you.”

Crescencia's face was bright, her eyes sparkling. Joy became her; she seemed so much more pretty and confident. “I owe a lot of it to you, Miss Edwina. You gave me some faith in myself—and Mr. Dufresne . . .”—she cast a shy glance at him—“he gave me love.”

Biting the inside of her lip, Edwina smiled and embraced the young woman. “You had the faith all along; it just took a while to develop.”

Edwina pulled back and made a conscious effort to keep her wits about her. It would serve no purpose but to utterly embarrass her if she fell into a puddle of tears. This was harder for her than she imagined it could be. She'd known she would go to weddings and christenings and sit on the sidelines. She'd thought she would be able to handle the situations as they arose. But because she was close to Crescencia's age, this was harder to live through: because Cressie was twenty-two, her chances for a husband had been considerably dim; because Edwina was twenty-four, hers were nonexistent.

Old maid . . . spinster . . . auntie . . .

Edwina shuddered. The words society would apply to her were not easy. But worse yet were the ones she'd called herself: unworthy, ruined, hopeless.

Bucking up her spirits, Edwina managed to smile with the others, only to find Tom's gaze riding on her. Her lips softened, and she looked away. She couldn't let him see her hurt. She wanted no pity from him. She'd made her own mistakes, and she had to live by them.

“We want you to stand up for us,” Crescencia said. “Our dearest friends, Mr. Wolcott and Miss Edwina.”

“And I'll be there to give the bride away.” Mr. Stykem laughed, his voice still wobbly with excitement.

“Me and Cressie,” Mr. Dufresne began, slipping his arm comfortably about Crescencia's waist, “we thought
a Christmas Eve wedding would be nice. I know it doesn't leave us much time to plan, but we're both too anxious to wait longer.”

“I never envisioned myself as a winter bride,” Crescencia said, blushing as she looked Mr. Dufresne. “Or . . . for that matter . . . a bride at all. I'd hoped I could one day wear Mama's gown, but I was afraid to hope too much.”

Mr. Stykem opened the liquor cabinet and produced a bottle of sherry. “This occasion calls for a toast. Crescencia, if you would be so good as to get your mother's cut stem glasses that go with Grandmother Frederick's English crystal service.”

“Yes, Papa.” She went into the dining room and opened the hutch.

Edwina knit her fingers together and stared a hole into the vine and grape leaf carpet pattern. Mr. Dufresne's and Mr. Stykem's voices surrounded her, but she didn't hear the words. Lost in her own silence, she needed to collect herself.

She felt Tom draw up behind her. Slowly, she turned her head and met his eyes.

“Good news about Shay and Miss Stykem,” he remarked. His tone was quiet and guarded, as if he knew how affected she was by Crescencia and Mr. Dufresne's marriage plans.

“Yes. Isn't it.” She refused to lower her gaze from his. “I'm quite happy for them, and I'll be honored to stand up for Crescencia.”

“Can you stand up there and accept that you'll never have a turn?”

“Of course I can,” she half snapped. “I'm a mature woman. I know my place.”

He leaned closer and lowered his voice, saying for her ears alone, “I don't think you know anything of the kind, Ed.”

“Sherry, everyone!” Mr. Stykem exclaimed through the frost enveloping Tom and Edwina. He began to pass out the glasses, giving one to Edwina and winking. “My
dear, I hope you aren't one of those women who've taken the solemn pledge. A little splash won't damage your sensibilities.”

She readily took the glass. “I'm certain it shan't.”

Soon everyone had a drink in hand and Mr. Stykem stood proudly, his chest puffed like a robin's. “This moment is one of special meaning not only for my daughter, but for me. And for her mother.” He blinked his eyes, then fumbled inside his trouser pocket and came out with his handkerchief. “I wish my Louise could be with us to toast her girl and her intended. Because she is not, let me say that we are both giving you our blessings.” Then to Cressie, with a gleam of mischief in his gaze, “I suppose this means I'll have to find another secretary to run the office.”

Crescencia gaily laughed through the tears shimmering in her eyes. “Yes, it does.”

Her father came forward to kiss both of her cheeks. He raised his glass. “To Crescencia and Mr. Dufresne.”

“Shay,” Mr. Dufresne said, correcting him.

Edwina's glass rose to the toast, then mechanically, she brought it to her lips. The first dry sip exploded on her tongue, then warmed and burned a trail down her throat as she let the sherry slip into her mouth. She would have drained the glass in one quick swallow if she thought she could get away with it.

“Shall I cut some cake now for anyone?” Crescencia asked, cheeks rosy.

“I'll take the biggest slice you can manage to fit on my plate,” Shay replied with a broad grin.

Laughter abounded, Edwina's included, only hers felt wooden and hollow. She hated herself for being so weak. Crescencia deserved her utmost enthusiasm right now, and anything less was simply selfishness. Edwina knew she should behave better. So she put her misgivings about her own unwedded future behind her and truly partook in the rest of the evening, sitting in the parlor eating cake and drinking tea—there was more sherry for
the men—and listening to Mr. Stykem reminisce about Crescencia when she was a girl.

At nine o'clock, the gathering broke up when Mr. Stykem said he was going to retire. Mr. Dufresne and Crescencia announced they were going to stay in the dining room for a while to write the invitations and make plans for the wedding. They saw Tom and Edwina to the door, Crescencia giving Edwina a parting hug. Then once outside, Edwina pulled the cold night air into her lungs. Tom held the gate open for her and they walked side by side up the block to her house.

A slender moon's glow reflected off the wheel-packed snow in the street and off the snowmen and snow families children had put up in yards, eerily making the night as light as dawn. The sidewalk and houses were clearly in view, their stark landscape bare and dormant for the winter. House lights offered cheery beacons in windows. Some families had left bay window draperies parted; in the openings, Christmas trees were covered with ornaments and trimmings. Curls of wood smoke from brick chimneys gave the air a festive scent.

“Did you know what Shay and Miss Stykem were going to say tonight?” Tom asked, both hands shoved into the pockets of his coat.

“I suspected.” She glanced at him. “Did you know?”

“I guessed.”

The sound of snow compacting beneath their shoes was the only conversation between them until they reached Edwina's gate. Pausing, Edwina put her hand on the latch. “I'll be seeing you.” She made a move to undo the hinge, but he stopped her with a hand over hers.

“I'll be seeing you?” he repeated, the pitch of his voice causing her to look up into his face. “You're upset about this, Edwina. I saw you. You were shaking.”

Turning away so he couldn't see the lie in her eyes, she countered, “I wasn't.”

“You were.”

His warm fingers caught her chin and made her look
into his eyes. “Her getting married has made you jealous. You wished it was you.”

When he stared at her in such a forthright way that went right to all she felt inside, she couldn't evade the issue. “I can wish about it all I want, but it's not going to happen.”

“Because you won't let it.”

“And you know why.” She threw the words at him, disgusted with herself for ever letting Tom Wolcott come within a fraction of her heart.

They eyed each other, the tension closing in on them thicker than a blanket of fog. Before Edwina could protest, Tom pulled her flush against his chest and held her tightly in his arms. His mouth came down and covered her lips in a demanding kiss that left her reeling, then paralyzed. She hadn't been prepared, so she hadn't made him stop. The thrill of the kiss made her lose reason. She didn't want him to stop now. His tongue slipped inside her mouth and she allowed it—she encouraged him. Her gloved hands rose to his shoulders in an attempt to keep him close rather than push him away. Desire prompted her to be careless. She let him take full command of her mouth. But this was crazy. Stupid. She knew it.

This is crazy!
The words echoed in her mind, giving her the will to break from Tom's mouth and gasp, “We can't do this here. Somebody might see us.”

Surprise darted through her when he swore, “I don't give a damn. I
want
somebody—the whole town—to see us.”

“Why?” she cried. “So I can be made a laughingstock?”

He moaned. “Jesus, Edwina. You don't get it. I'm not ashamed of what we have. But you are.”

She furiously shook her head, her hands balling into fists on his shoulders. “I'm not ashamed. I just know I can't flaunt a relationship with you. If I did . . . why, I'd be called horrible things. I'd never be able to show my face in town.”

Tom swore at her. “But you sure as hell were able to after Rutledge.”

The words cut. They drew painful blood, made her feel jilted all over again.

“Ed . . .” Tom's hands lifted to cradle her cheeks. “Ed, I'm sorry. I didn't mean it.”

She could barely breathe. She didn't even know if she could walk, much less do so with any kind of dignity. “I'm going inside now.”

“Edwina.” Evidence of his remorse for the hurt he'd caused shone in his eyes. She believed he was truly sorry. She'd pushed him into saying something that she had known all along. She'd been able to go on after Ludlow only because she had come back to a place where nobody knew her secrets. And the only way to go on after Tom was to leave here—run away, hide.

“I'm going inside,” she repeated, fighting tears and the sickness gnawing in her stomach.

Then before he could say another word, she slipped away from him and ran up the walkway to the safety of her house, where a cat was more forgiving than any human being ever could be—Edwina included.

•  •  •

Thursday, Tom stayed away from Edwina. And he let more than half of Friday go by before reaching a decision on how to proceed. He'd avoided her not because he wanted to, but because he thought that she needed to have time to herself, time to understand that he wasn't a heartless bastard who was just using the situation for physical gratification and nothing more. He didn't really think she saw him that way, but after what he'd said about Ludlow Rutledge, he wouldn't blame her if she told him to go to Hell.

He hadn't meant to open her old wounds like that. It had been reprehensible of him. Resentment over that son of a bitch Rutledge had prodded him into becoming an insensitive ass. All Tom had intended was to make Edwina realize that she had pulled herself together after that college professor broke their engagement. She was
strong. She'd survived. Why couldn't she continue to survive with him? Here in Harmony.