Regret Not a Moment (3 page)

“Alexander, what brings you to our part of Virginia?” asked Chase. He knew the answer already, for it had been the subject of discussion among the men of his circle.

“Mr. Magrath owns some real estate in New York I’ve been considering taking off his hands,” replied John casually. Unlike many of the gentlemen of his day, John chose to work. He bought tenements in New York, renovated them, and resold them at low cost, but profit nonetheless, to former tenants. The hardworking immigrants who became John’s buyers were given their first chance at living decently in the United States, and John made money from the sheer volume of buyers.

“A rather tough time for investors nowadays,” said Chase.

“A time of opportunity, provided one was wise enough to avoid the stock-buying craze.”

“Amen. Land is always the best investment.”

Devon reappeared in the doorway. She had used the time alone to calm herself, and she felt more in control now. Still, the pounding of her heart was unnaturally fast. “Shall we have a look at the stables?” She was anxious to escape the confines of the house, the scrutiny of her parents. She wondered if they could see the effect Alexander had on her.

“By all means,” replied John. He rose and crossed the room-sized Persian rug to reach Devon.

When the two had left, Laurel picked up her embroidery, while Chase simply stared into the fire. They did not speak for a long time. Finally, Chase looked up to find Laurel looking at him, a satisfied smile on her face.

“How long do you expect to be in Virginia, Mr. Alexander?” asked Devon. Visitors to the vast estates of the South often stayed for weeks, even months at a time. Devon hoped that would be the case with John.

“Until my business here is concluded,” he replied cryptically.

Devon did not feel that she knew John well enough to pry further, so she asked nothing more about his business. John noticed this and admired her discretion.

“You say you like to ride. Do you like to hunt?” asked Devon, gesturing to the rolling meadows around them. Indeed, the graceful brick manor house surrounded by century-old boxwoods was only a small portion of Evergreen. The Richmonds’ land stretched to every horizon.

“Very much. Do you enjoy horseracing? That’s more our sport in New York.”

“I don’t really know a great deal about it, but it seems a very exciting sport.” In the brisk afternoon air, the atmosphere between them was less charged. They could relax somewhat, get to know each other.

The stables were some distance from the house and it was a cool day, so Devon walked down the flagstone path at a speed that had John hurrying to keep up. Even so, John absorbed with interest the details of the meticulous grounds. The path’s boxwood border was carefully trimmed so that not a leaf was out of place. In front of the hedge, flanking the little path, was a perennial flower bed, artfully designed so that something was almost always in bloom no matter what the season. John paused a moment and turned back toward the house, appreciating the casual richness of the ivy growing over the back portico and up the chimney, of the Palladian windows that graced the facade of the structure. Everything about the Richmond home bespoke quiet elegance, order, and care. There was nothing ostentatious about Evergreen—it had a comfortable, cozy aspect despite its size—but every detail was of the highest quality. And there was serenity to the place that John found a marked contrast to New York.

“What do you do here for excitement, Miss Richmond?” asked Alexander.

Devon reflected for a moment. “I’m not sure how to answer. Excitement isn’t necessarily what we seek here. We travel for that,” Devon added with a smile.

“You seem a very intelligent young woman. What do you do to occupy your time?”

“Well, for a while I was away at school, so I’ve enjoyed becoming reacquainted with our place.”

John looked around him appreciatively. Freshly painted white fences in perfect repair stretched over rolling green hills. A small pond in a valley about half a mile away mirrored graceful weeping willows and the deep blue sky. Several horses, their coats gleaming in the sun, grazed in another field filled with yellow flowers.

Following his gaze, Devon remarked, “Those always bloom here in autumn. They make my sister sneeze terribly.”

“Does your sister live nearby?”

“No, she lives in Paris now. Her husband is a diplomat.”

“And what do you do when you are here?”

“Mostly I ride. I also train my own horses.” Devon paused before continuing, “After our conversation at the Magraths’, I can’t help feeling that you seem unusually worried about the possibility that I may be vegetating here, Mr. Alexander. Is there a reason for that?”

Actually, Alexander expected someone as intriguing as Devon to be occupied with intriguing pastimes. That she did nothing that he classified as exceptional was a slight disappointment to him. “No… no. You just don’t seem like the sort of person who would be content with life in the country.”

Devon stopped, turned to face John, and looked keenly at him. Under her scrutiny, he felt embarrassed by his judgmental attitude. “I suppose I know very little about it,” he admitted, looking down.

His embarrassment amused Devon, who said coolly but gently, “Then we’ll have to familiarize you with the charms of country life. That way, you can make educated judgments about its attributes relative to city living.”

“You make me feel quite provincial,” said John in an apologetic tone, looking at her from under his brows. “Can you forgive my narrowmindedness?”

Devon could not suppress a smile. “If you’ll pardon me for making a generality,” she said, not unkindly, “I find that many New Yorkers share your outlook. They can’t believe that there is intellectual stimulation outside Manhattan, except, of course, in France or England. As you’ve pointed out, it is a provincial point of view.” Devon concluded her words as they arrived at the stable, a massive white wooden structure with room for at least forty horses. Like the rest of the farm, it was spotless. “In fact, I’ll show you a perfect example right now of how stimulating country life can be,” she added, her smile growing larger.

Devon led John to a spacious stall. At first, John could not see within, then he spotted the most magnificent horse he had ever seen. The creature was entirely black, a shining, ebony vision.

“This is my baby,” said Devon, caressing the horse’s nose as it nuzzled her fondly.

“What a superb creature!” said John, in awe. “A Thoroughbred?”

Devon nodded. “A stallion. Sirocco is his name. Perhaps you’d like to come over tomorrow for a ride? We can even have a picnic if the weather is nice. You can take Sirocco,” she said, giving him a sidelong glance. “I think you’ll agree then that life in the country can be exciting after all.”

“I’m not sure I should take you up on that offer, but I can’t resist,” said John, smiling. He was actually an excellent rider, and had even played polo at university.

Devon showed him several more horses before leading him to a large greenhouse beyond the stables. Stepping inside, John was overwhelmed by the perfumes that filled the air. Exotic flowers grew from hanging pots, as well as from flat trays and large planters on the floor. John observed species he had never before seen, even in the most exclusive florists in New York.

“What are all these?” he asked in wonder.

“Orchids mostly. Some gardenias that I bring inside for the winter. I love their scent. I grow jasmine too, for the same reason.”

“You mean all this is yours?”

“It is. I experiment with plant breeding. Some of these species are found only in one place in the world.” Devon walked over to a planter suspended from the ceiling. Over its side tumbled a mass of large red flowers, about four inches in diameter, that had petals like swallows wings. Devon plucked one and handed it to John. On closer observation, he saw that each flowers innermost petals were a delicate waxy white with pink around the edges. “For example, this orchid grows only on the Caribbean island of Tobago. Nowhere else. Can you imagine that?” Devon asked dreamily.

“It’s beautiful,” said John. “How did you find it?”

“I went and got it,” said Devon in a matter-of-fact tone. John looked at her in surprise. But without further elaboration, Devon turned and led him back to the house.

LORETTA Morgan stretched dreamily, then settled back against the blue satin cushions of the chaise longue in a provocative pose. “This way?” she asked the man standing in front of her.

“No. Move a little forward, Loretta. Let’s see more of you,” he answered curtly.

The young woman leaned forward, emphasizing her cleavage. “Better?”

“Perfect… okay… now!” Loretta gave a languid smile and looked up at the man seductively. As soon as she heard the camera click, the look of allure disappeared from her face and she stood up. Paying no mind to the photographer, she stood impatiently as her maid removed one sequined gown from her voluptuous body and replaced it with another. The photographer, busy with his camera, didn’t even notice. To him, one famous actress was very much like another. They were all difficult. They were all prima donnas.

As if to confirm this, Loretta, now fully clothed, preened before the mirrors that covered three walls of her dressing area.

“Okay, Loretta, let’s see a little leg.”

Loretta went through the paces professionally and mechanically. Her mind was elsewhere. She was thinking of John Alexander. It had been three days since she had last been with him and she missed him, truly missed him.

She wondered at her chances of marrying John. At times, she had felt that he might propose. Then, suddenly, he would grow distant. Once she had mentioned the possibility to him, but he had treated it as a joke, saying, “Why ruin a perfectly good love affair, Loretta?”

That was easy for a man to say. But Loretta’s public was beginning to wonder why their twenty-eight-year-old idol (thirty-four if the truth were known) had never married. Marrying a man like John Alexander, handsome and from a venerable old New York family, would enhance her career. And it would give her something no career, no matter how successful, could give her. Respectability.

She did not know why this last was so important to her. She had certainly not been brought up with it.
Maybe that’s why I want it so much,
she mused.

THE morning sun that streamed through Devon’s open window warmed her body as she lay in bed. Not fully conscious yet, she was nonetheless aware of a delicious sense of anticipation. Shaking off her sleep, she tried to remember the reason for her happiness. Ah, yes, John Alexander. She sighed to herself. John Alexander was coming to the house today to go riding with her. The thought of seeing him filled her with a forbidden sort of excitement.

Devon had been brought up carefully. It was expected that her husband would be the first man with whom she shared a bed. But she was not cold. She had had the same sexual longings and schoolgirl crushes as her friends. And she had tingled pleasantly at the kisses of her beaux. But she had never met a man who could sustain that feeling. Now, she was excited at the prospect that John Alexander might possibly be a man she could love.

Humming to herself, she threw off the white linen and lace comforter and hurried to the carved cherry armoire that housed her riding clothes. She selected pale gray breeches, a blue cotton shirt that enhanced the aqua of her eyes, and a mauve and gray Harris tweed jacket. After washing her face, she tied her hair into a ponytail with a lavender ribbon, finished dressing, and went downstairs to breakfast.

“Good morning, darling,” said her mother, “you look lovely.”

“Thank you. Mr. Alexander is coming over to go riding.” Devon noted the look her parents exchanged and smiled to herself. She went to the Hepplewhite sideboard laden with blueberry muffins, eggs, and Smithfield ham. Devon helped herself to a generous portion of each, then joined her parents at the gleaming, banquet-sized mahogany table. The Richmonds had frequent guests, so the table was always open to its full length, but when they were alone the family sat together at one end. Despite the grandeur of the room, the family’s emotional closeness gave warmth to their surroundings.

Teasingly, Devon asked, “You both seem bursting to comment on my visitor. May I ask why?”

“It’s not that at all, Devon, we just… we just—” Her father groped for words, but he found it embarrassing to discuss courtship with his daughter.

“We think Mr. Alexander is very pleasant, dear,” interrupted Laurel smoothly. “And Mr. Magrath speaks very highly of him. Weren’t you saying that we should invite him for dinner, Chase?”

“I don’t remem—” Chase began, before catching Laurel’s eye. “Why yes, now that you mention it. Yes, yes, of course. Only yesterday, Devon, I was saying—”

Devon was unable to stifle her laughter. “Mother, Dad, you don’t have to pretend. I would love for Mr. Alexander to be invited to dinner. I hope to have the chance to know him better and, yes, I think he’s very interesting. Does that tell you everything you’d like to know?”

Chase opened his mouth to answer and then closed it, at a loss for words. But Laurel was unruffled. She took a sip of coffee. She did not speak until she had returned the cup to its saucer. Then, looking innocently at Devon, she said, “Well, we must do everything we can to be hospitable to Mr. Alexander, mustn’t we?”

Devon simply nodded and smiled at her mother.

Really, thought Chase, women were supposed to be subtle but sometimes, he had learned, they could be most outspoken. It was quite disconcerting.

Devon was pleasantly surprised to discover that John rode truly well. Not that the ability was particularly important to her, much as she enjoyed it; it was just that, like most good riders, Devon disliked people who claimed to ride more skillfully than they actually did. Both the horse and the rider were ill-served in such cases, Devon believed.

“You were too modest, Mr. Alexander! I think you’re more than ready for Sirocco,” Devon exclaimed. John had suggested that he warm up on a more gentle horse. He had led one of the Richmonds’ geldings through a series of intricate jumps in the riding ring and impressed Devon with his skill. She opened the gate to the riding ring so John could exit and change mounts.