His Mountain Miss (Smoky Mountain Matches) (9 page)

Chapter Ten

“I’
m off for the day.” Mrs. Calhoun poked her head in the study door late Thursday. “Your supper is warming on the stove. Don’t leave it there too long,” she said with a smile, “else the potatoes will get soggy and the creamed corn will cease being creamy.”

Lucian turned from the window. “I’ll remember. Thank you.”

“Is there anything else you need before I leave?”

“Actually, I was wondering if you could answer a few questions for me.” These past few days with Owen and Sarah had kept his own family in the forefront of his mind.

Her wrinkles became more pronounced. “I’ll do my best.”

Coming around the desk, he leaned his weight against the edge so as not to tower over her. Embarrassed to be involving her in private family matters, but determined to find answers, he forged ahead. “Did my grandfather ever mention wanting my mother and I to come and visit?”

Resting a hand on the back of a chair for support, Mrs. Calhoun regarded him with regret-filled eyes. The subject obviously troubled her. “After your mother left, Charles became a different man. He spent much of his time closeted in here or in the library, preferring to be alone. I’m sorry, I wish I could help you, but he didn’t speak with me or Fred about what happened. We wanted to help. And although we made it clear we were available if he needed a listening ear or a shoulder to cry on, he chose not to come to us.”

Disappointment gripped him. “He apparently didn’t have a problem opening up to Megan.”

Her face smoothed, brightened. “Her friendship brought a bit of joy back into his life. I’ll always be grateful.”

“You didn’t think it strange?” he felt compelled to ask. “A young woman spending time with an elderly man when she could be out doing a hundred other more exciting things?”

“Megan is a helper by nature, a nurturer. The type of girl that, when she sees someone in need, drops what she’s doing and rushes to their aid. In Charles, she saw a hurting, lonely old man.”

“So she befriended him.”

“Yes.”

Lost in thought, he trod back to the window and leaned against the frame.

Perhaps he
should
leave the house in her hands. Even if he did find a way around the stipulation and put it up for sale, who knew how long it would take for a buyer to materialize? He could be tied to this place indefinitely. A shiver of alarm worked its way up his spine. No, he couldn’t have that.

“Mr. Lucian?”

He jerked around, having forgotten the other woman’s presence.

“You seem to be a fine man. I’m certain Charles would’ve been proud.” A warning worked its way into her eyes. “But you’ll be returning to New Orleans soon, and I’d hate to see Megan hurt. She’s a very special young lady. The townsfolk wouldn’t look kindly on anyone who took advantage of her kindness.”

Lucian stared. She thought he was like his father? Capable of sweeping an innocent girl off her feet and wresting her from the only home she’d ever known, only to revile her the rest of her days? Once settled into married life, Gerard had come to resent Lucinda’s lack of social connections, of town polish and upper-class education.

He spoke stiffly. “You have no need to worry on that score,
madame.
I have no intention of engaging in a passing indulgence and absolutely no designs on Megan O’Malley.”

Oh, didn’t he? Hadn’t he nearly kissed her twice already? Did he not think of her practically every moment?

Shoving the hair off his forehead, he softened his stance. “Your concern is understandable. The last thing I want to do is cause problems for her.”

Lips pursed, she studied him, gave a brisk nod. “Well, now that I’ve said my piece, I’d better get home. Fred will be wanting his supper.”

Preoccupied, he bade her good evening. Before he could change his mind, he sat down at the desk and, locating a sheet of blank paper, began to write. His lawyer probably wouldn’t understand his instruction to cease and desist, but it made all the sense in the world to him. Leaving Megan in charge meant he could go home and put this unhappy chapter behind him. His mother and grandfather were gone, their secrets buried with them.

What’s done was done.

Running again?
an accusing voice prompted.
When are you going to face your problems head-on? The grief will follow you wherever you go, you know. You can’t avoid it forever.

“There are no answers here,” he grumbled aloud. No way to discover if his mother had, in fact, deceived him. And, coward that he was, wasn’t he glad of that? Relieved?

No, this was the best way for all involved. The house would stay in the family, which meant the next Beaumont generation could come and visit one day. Learn about their ancestors. Perhaps even take up residence here.

Lucian would not return. But he’d never forget this place...or Megan.

* * *

By the time Friday afternoon rolled around, Lucian was certain he’d made the right decision. Owen had told him not to come today because he had errands to tend to, so he’d meandered aimlessly about the house. All this free time was making him antsy. And fanciful. He’d caught himself entertaining thoughts of Megan, wondering what it might be like if she were mistress of this house, picturing the two of them together sharing breakfast in the garden or playing a game of chess in the parlor. Holding hands in the moonlight, stealing kisses beneath the stars...

The doorbell rang. He blinked, threaded fingers through his hair. He really needed to get back to New Orleans. Perhaps even begin his search for a wife. There were a number of young ladies who’d made their eagerness to fill the position clear and who’d meet his qualifications perfectly. They wouldn’t marry him expecting anything other than financial security and his good name. Easy enough expectations to meet.

Steeling himself to face Megan, to resist the pull she had on him, he left the study and made his way to the front of the house. Wall sconces threw soft light against the floral papered walls. His boots striking the hardwood echoed throughout the cavernous Victorian. Lucian couldn’t wait to see her reaction when she learned he was giving her charge of it.

But when he swung open the door, it wasn’t her waiting on the porch. A silver-haired man dressed in an inexpensive brown sack suit and a woman whose jet-black hair belied her age stood smiling at him.

“Mr. Beaumont?” The man, who topped Lucian by about three inches, stuck out his hand. “I’m Reverend Monroe and this is my wife, Carol.”

“How do you do?” His nod encompassed them both. Spying the cake in her hands, he stepped back. “Would you like to come in?”

In the entry hall, Mrs. Monroe lifted the plate. “Would you mind if I take this to the kitchen? I know the way.”

“Certainly.
Merci beaucoup.
”

The reverend accompanied him into the parlor. Lucian offered him a seat, but he declined, regarding him with wise eyes that seemed to have the ability to pierce a man’s facade. Lucian forced himself to meet the man’s gaze without flinching.

“I’d intended to come much earlier to welcome you to town, but Carol’s sister and her family have been visiting. How are you settling in?”

“The truth is I’m not here for much longer. This was to be a short business trip. Due to unforeseen circumstances, I’ve stayed longer than I’d originally planned. But I’ll be leaving next week.” He pursed his lips together. Why was he blathering on like this? He had nothing to hide.

Except, this was a man of God. Could he somehow sense Lucian had fallen away? That he hadn’t darkened the door of a church in more than a year? And that he kept his mother’s Bible close but never opened it?

The reverend’s expression revealed sincere regret. “I’m sorry to hear that. I was looking forward to getting acquainted. Your grandfather was a faithful member of our congregation. A fixture on the front row in all my years of preaching in this town. Every Sunday on his way out the door, he’d shake my hand and tell me he was praying for me.”

Emotion clogged his throat. Hearing that his grandfather was a praying man made the emptiness inside yawn wider, a cavern that refused to be filled. A yearning for something he couldn’t pin down.

Mrs. Monroe joined them then, saving him from having to reply. “I left your cake with Mrs. Calhoun. The children will be arriving soon for story time, won’t they?” She nudged her husband. “We should get going.”

“I’d actually like to stay.”

At his unspoken question, Lucian said, “Please do. A few of the parents stick around and help serve the refreshments.”

Mrs. Monroe beamed her approval. “I think it’s wonderful how you’ve allowed the town to continue using this place. You’re a generous man, Mr. Beaumont.”

If they only knew... He realized suddenly that Megan could’ve easily spread the word of his original intentions, turning the tide of the town’s opinion against him. It would’ve been a strategic move, a way of putting pressure on him. But she hadn’t done it. Further proof of her selflessness, her kind and humble spirit.

He glanced at the mantel clock. She was late, which wasn’t like her. Had something happened? Was she ill? Crossing to the window, relief spread through him at the sight of her coming up the lane. He squinted. What on earth was she wearing?

* * *

Anticipation she shouldn’t be feeling danced along her nerve endings, hammered her heart against her rib cage and lengthened her stride. In the past few days, she’d thought of little else besides Lucian and the many reasons she mustn’t care for him. Since she was a day-dreamer by nature, often preoccupied with her thoughts, her sisters hadn’t noticed anything out of the ordinary.

Her life was good—like a rich chocolate cake. Plain. Unexceptional. But good. Lucian’s presence in her life was like sweet, decadent icing on that cake. His presence added depth and excitement and meaning. Paired together, the two created a delicious concoction.

Well, you’d better get used to cake without icing, because Lucian isn’t sticking around. He has a life to get back to. A perfect, beautiful, spoiled young debutant to choose.

That
put a damper on her anticipation.

Climbing the steps, a scowl twisted her mouth. She really was a foolish, naive girl. Her wayward heart had actually entertained the notion that he could come to care for her.
Her.
A simple mountain girl who would stick out like a sore thumb in his glittering world. She didn’t know the waltz. Or which fork to use. When she laughed, it wasn’t a polite twitter but a full laugh that would no doubt shock polite society.

Josh was right. She read too much. This was real life, not fiction.

The door opened before she could press the bell. Instead of admitting her, Lucian crossed the threshold and pulled the door closed behind him.

The humor warming his black eyes to melted chocolate robbed her lungs of breath. He was always so serious and somber that this unexpected lightheartedness made him seem like an entirely different man.

Folding his arms across his strong chest, straining the shoulders of his gray, pin-striped coat, he looked her up and down. “Who are you supposed to be? Or should I say what are you?”

She smoothed the furry pelt covering her hair, the one Nicole had fashioned into a sort of headdress for her. It was hot and itchy and tended to pitch forward into her eyes, but the kids would love it. “Tonight’s story is
Little Red Riding Hood.
Can’t you guess who I am?”

Eyes twinkling now, his head fell back and he laughed, a rumbling, husky sound that tickled her ears. The unrestrained curve of his generous lips, the flash of white teeth, the glimpse of happiness in his otherwise stern face, evoked an intense yearning deep within her. A yearning to see this man happy more often. To see his smile. To hear his laughter.

Oh, wow, she was in way too deep. She couldn’t start caring about his happiness!

“Ah,
mon chou,
you are something else.” Grinning, he shook his head. “I’ve never met anyone quite like you.”

She didn’t have a response to that. So she simply gazed at him, soaking in this new Lucian to remember later, after he’d gone. Gradually, the humor faded and was replaced with his customary intensity. Her disappointment was sharp.

“I need to talk to you about something.” His gaze shifted past her shoulder to the lane. “Ollie and a few others are here. Later, all right?”

“Yes, okay.”

What could he possibly want to talk about? Her stomach dipped. What if he’d heard from his lawyer? What if he’d found a way to circumvent Charles’s wishes?

Her nerves were stretched taut throughout the evening. She rushed through the story and afterward had trouble making small talk with the parents. Distracted, that’s what she was. Just when she thought they’d bidden good-night to the last of the guests, Tom showed up. She hadn’t seen him since the previous Friday night, the night of their confrontation. As impatient as she was to learn Lucian’s purpose, she couldn’t bring herself to dash the cautious optimism on her good friend’s face.

Tom may not be cake icing, but he meant a lot to her.
He
wasn’t going anywhere.

Asking him to wait in the entryway while she gathered her things, she hurried to the parlor where Lucian was finishing the cleanup.

Picking up her reticule from the settee, she slipped her hand through the ribbon loop. “I’m sorry. Our conversation will have to wait. Tom’s waiting to walk me home.”

An empty pitcher in his hands, his gaze shot to the door and back. He didn’t look pleased. “Do you have free time tomorrow?”

“Once I finish my morning chores. Do you want me to come here?”

He considered the matter for a moment. “Would you mind showing me some more of the area? I can ask Mrs. Calhoun to prepare a picnic lunch. My horse is in need of exercise,” he tacked on.

An entire day with Lucian all to herself? The prospect eclipsed any dread of what he might tell her.

A smile bloomed across her face. “I’d like that.”

“Magnifique.”
His answering smile, slow and easy, heated her inside and out. She would never, ever take that smile for granted. “Shall I meet you at your place, say, around ten o’clock?” he asked.