Regret Not a Moment (32 page)

“Morgan,” he whispered, “I’ll always take care of you. I promise.”

“IT’S a surprise for you!” John said, placing the large satin-ribboned box on Devon’s vanity with a flourish.

“What’s the occasion?” She laughed.

“Valentine’s Day and your getting your figure back.” John grinned with the excitement of a little boy, his blue eyes sparkling.

“Well… almost…” Devon said ruefully, pinching an extra inch of skin around her waist. She slid the huge pink ribbon off the box and lifted the glossy white cardboard lid. Inside lay a gown of scarlet velvet, absolutely devoid of adornment except for luxuriant black mink cuffs.

“It’s gorgeous!” Devon breathed.

“You’ll wear it to the ball this evening?” John held it up to Devon, admiring the blush the rich red cloth brought to her cheeks.

“This evening?” Devon looked questioningly at her husband.

John looked crestfallen. “You haven’t forgotten!”

Devon looked down in embarrassment. “Well, I wasn’t sure we would attend. You know Morgan’s been a bit fractious today. She’s—”

“Now look here, Devon,” John declared, pacing back and forth across the pastel Aubusson carpet in frustration, “we have people to look after Morgan. We haven’t been out together since before Christmas.”

“That’s not so!” Devon protested. “Just last night we went to your parents’ house for dinner. And last week we went to Delmonico’s with Sydney and Bart.”

“That’s not what I mean and you know it,” John replied impatiently. “I’m talking about social events. Of course, that was natural for a time, but there’s no reason to go on behaving as though we live in a cloister!”

“John, I know you enjoy parties. Why don’t you go without me,” Devon ventured. She had lost her taste for such occasions. First, in the summer, there had been the death of Firefly. It had taken something out of her, had left her bereft for weeks. Despite that, she had dutifully attended all the social engagements she had promised John she would.

They had sailed in Newport, partied in Saratoga Springs, and gone hunting at the Whitney estate in Thomasville, Georgia. She had looked forward to the final days of her pregnancy with relief at the respite from the constant social whirl. Now John wanted to resume their former life as though they had no new daughter at home.

“I don’t want to go anywhere without you!” John exploded. “I want you to remember that you have a husband and that you owe me some time and attention, too.”

Devon turned away from him guiltily. He was not the only one to sound that lament. Grace, home for a New Year’s visit, had warned her not to neglect her husband. Grace had returned to Europe in the first week of February, but her words lingered behind to haunt Devon.

“Remember, you have an extremely attractive husband. And you have neglected him—no, don’t argue—just close your mouth and listen,” Grace had said in her usual blunt fashion. “You’ll recall that I warned you at the beginning of your marriage to remember your duty is to him first—not your parents, not your children, but your husband. Now it turns out that you’ve had long separations while you’ve pursued this racing thing.”

Devon protested, “But John gave me Willowbrook to make it what it once was!”

“And I understand you have a trainer capable of doing just that—”

“But—”

“Hush! Listen to your big sister. There’s something wrong between you and John. I see it. I wouldn’t say anything if I didn’t love you, but I can’t sit by and watch you throw a wonderful marriage down the drain.”

“He loves me and he’s absolutely crazy about Morgan!” Devon denied her sister’s words, but deep inside she feared they were true.

Sensing she had struck a chord, Grace relented. “That’s right. Now you have a chance to make everything right between you again. Don’t throw it away or you’ll regret it the rest of your life!”

“I have no regrets,” Devon said coldly, “I haven’t regretted one moment that I’ve spent on the racing, and certainly not one moment that I’ve spent with Morgan!”

“You’re being foolishly stubborn,” Grace replied with equal coldness, “and you may not regret it yet, but you will one day if you continue like this. John is admired by many women. I’ve only been here one month, and I’ve already heard rumors—”

“Don’t be ridiculous! Just because we were apart a lot this spring. John’s never been unfaith—”

“Probably not,” Grace said in a maddeningly skeptical voice.

“You don’t think—” Devon exploded, outraged.

“No,” Grace admitted, “but I think he’s on the verge and I think that if he does you have no one to blame but yourself.”

Stung, Devon argued, “Each person is responsible for his own behavior, and there is no excuse for adultery!”

“There may be no excuse, but there’s usually a rationale. And, sometimes, it’s a fairly good one.”

“Well, I never thought I’d hear you express such old-fashioned views,” Devon huffed. “You always went on so about the freedom of Frenchwomen. What about me? What about the things that interest me? Why shouldn’t I be free to pursue them? And why should I have to give up everything I enjoy for fear of losing my husband.”

Grace looked levelly into her sister’s eyes. “I’m not old-fashioned. I’m realistic. Of course, you’re free to do as you wish. And it may be that Willowbrook is more important to you than your husband is. Or that Morgan is. If so, then that is your choice. But don’t be surprised if that choice offends John. And don’t be surprised if you lose him to another woman.”

“But that’s not fair!” Devon protested like a child railing against the inevitable.

“No,” Grace said grimly.

“You can’t agree that it’s right!”

“No.” Grace shrugged.

“Then why should I go along? John works. He spends all day at the office. He could spend more time at Willowbrook, but instead he’s always trying to persuade me to come to New York. Well, here I am and you’re saying it’s still not enough.” Devon cut herself short, surprised at her own resentment and hostility. Was her husband less important to her than her own pursuits? How had it happened? There had to be a way to resolve the situation.

As though reading her thoughts, Grace said, “I’m surprised that you seem to care so little for his happiness. For your happiness as a couple. You seem completely absorbed in your own separate world.”

“Morgan is his daughter, too!”

“Morgan doesn’t need you by her side every minute. I think you’re using these things as an excuse to hold John at arm’s length. And for the life of me, I can’t understand why. But thinking back, even as early as your engagement, it seemed you were reluctant to make the kind of concessions a wife usually makes for her husband. Remember when you didn’t want to spend Christmas in New York with him that first year?” Grace asked.

“That has nothing to do with—”

“You’re too stubborn,” Grace said with finality. “That’s fine, of course, if you want to spend your life alone, but if you want to share it with a man—”

“But this is 1935! Women work. We have the vote. We aren’t supposed to just be our husbands’ appendages!”

Grace burst out laughing—cynical laughter that was devoid of mirth. “Oh, you poor naive child! Where in the world did you ever get such ideas? No wonder you’re unhappy. You haven’t accepted the truth.”

“Which is?” Devon said angrily.

“That no matter how ‘modern’ our society becomes, a man will always expect to be the number-one priority for his woman. Try it any other way and you’re doomed to fail. You can fight it. You can resent it. But if you don’t give in to it, you’ll lose the man. It’s as simple as that.”

“Well, I do resist it. I have things I want to do with my life—
my
life, independent of John’s, and I intend to do them,” Devon said defiantly. She could make it work, she told herself. She would spend more time with John. They would go out more. She would show him that she loved him. But she would not give up her racing. She would not turn over the upbringing of her child to servants. And she would not deny herself the pleasure of achieving something apart from her family.

Grace heaved a sigh of resignation. “I hope you enjoy your other pursuits very, very much. Be certain that they’re worth what you pay for them. If they are, then you’ve made the right choice. But realize, my dear, that you are making a choice, and that you must be prepared to live with the consequences.”

It was that conversation that came back to Devon now as she regarded the scarlet velvet dress on the bed. John had specifically had it designed in her racing colors to please her. Now it was her turn to try to please him. “You’re right, John. And anyway, with such a beautiful new dress to wear, I know I’ll enjoy going out,” Devon said as enthusiastically as she could. She rang the bell to summon Alice.

“Would you please prepare my bath. We’ll be going out tonight,” Devon told her maid. The look of approval in Alice’s eyes made her feel no better. It seemed the whole world disagreed with her.

THE first time Devon placed her daughter, Morgan, in the saddle in front of her, the child cried so much that her parents were afraid she would make herself ill.

“For heavens sake, Devon, give it up!” John said, reaching up to take the child.

“I don’t understand why she’s so afraid. I’m holding her, after all.” Devon was not mounted on one of her racehorses but rather on a mild pinto gelding used for pleasure riding.

“She’s only two years old! It doesn’t matter why she’s afraid. Either she’ll get over it or she won’t, but there’s no use in forcing her to stay up there.”

“I know that,” Devon said, insulted by the implication that she would allow her child to suffer in order to satisfy a desire of her own. Sometimes it seemed that she was always defending her actions to John. She handed the squalling baby down to her father and then dismounted herself.

“Riding is just not for everyone,” John declared.

“Oh, she’ll get over whatever’s bothering her,” Devon said confidently, “it’s just a matter of time.”

“Maybe,” John said, a note of skepticism in his voice.

“Don’t you want her to ride?” Devon asked, handing the reins to a groom and walking toward the main house.

“I don’t really care,” John said mildly.

Devon took Morgan back from John and crooned to her until she quieted. After the child was calm, Devon said to John, “You like to ride. I like to ride. Why wouldn’t you want Morgan to enjoy it?”

“Devon,” said John, stopping and turning his wife toward him, the baby cradled in her arms, “it just isn’t important. That’s why.”

Devon pulled away from her husband and shrugged as best she could with her burden.

John and Devon had frequent disagreements about Morgan’s upbringing. John, though he loved the child, wanted her raised at Willowbrook so that he and Devon could spend weeks at a time alone at their New York home. He did not want the burden of full-time parenthood. He wanted to live freely and as a couple at least a few months of every year. Devon, on the other hand, believed that the child should travel with them. It was a constant source of arguments.

Then again, there were times when they seemed to realize that they were endangering their relationship, and they would make an effort to be especially kind to each other, for there was real love between them.

Now, feeling guilty, John asked, “Would you like me to look after Morgan awhile so you can work in your greenhouse?”

Devon, appreciating John’s effort to make peace, said, “Thank you. I’d like that. It’s time for her nap, so you can just give her to Penny.”

Devon watched them go, the tiny child cradled against her husband’s broad chest. She had an overwhelming feeling of love for them both—a feeling that was laced with sadness, though she could not say why.

DEVON and Morgan scanned the vegetable garden for the most select pumpkins. “Can I make faces on them?” Four-year-old Morgan was breathless with excitement.

Devon smiled down at her daughter’s eager face. “You can draw the faces, but Daddy has to cut them.”

Morgan’s face fell. “But Daddy’s not here!”

“He’s coming home this afternoon,” Devon soothed.

“Yay!” Morgan did a little dance of excitement. She wished her daddy were
always
here, but Mommy said he had lots of work in New York. That made his visits very special. But sometimes it seemed like they had to get to know each other all over again every time he came to Willowbrook. At least Mommy was always here. And they did so many fun things! Morgan loved her father, too, but he wasn’t as casual and cozy as her mother. He never seemed to get dirty and go in the woods with her like her mother did. Her father, though, could throw her up in the air and catch her by her waist without even hurting her. So that made up for a lot.

“Will Daddy…” Morgan hesitated.

“What is it, sweetheart?” Devon kneeled next to her daughter so that their eyes were on the same level.

“Read me a story tonight?”

Devon ruffled her daughter’s hair. “I’ll bet he’d like that,” she assured her.

But when it came time to tuck her in that night, only Penny came. When Morgan asked for her parents, Penny told her they were talking. Morgan could hear them. It was loud. They talked loud a lot, but not when Morgan was in the same room, she noticed.

A few minutes later, though, Morgan received a pleasant surprise. Her mother came to say good night to her looking like a beautiful fairy in a fluffy pink dress. Instead of smelling like hay, as she usually did, she smelled like flowers. She had white sparkles hanging from her ears and neck, just like raindrops.

“Is that ice?” Morgan asked, touching the hard, bright surface.

Devon laughed. “In a manner of speaking, I suppose.” Seeing the look of puzzlement on Morgan’s face, she clarified her statement. “No, it’s not ice. Those are diamonds.”

“They look like magic!” Morgan breathed.

“A lot of people think they are,” Devon said with a smile, “but they’re not.”

“When’s Daddy coming to read me my story?”

Devon looked at her child, almost a replica of herself at that age. She looked so peaceful, her shiny black hair neatly plaited for sleep, her crisp white cotton nightdress blending with the lavender-scented bed linens.