A Time for Everything (34 page)

Though it wasn’t quite the answer she
had hoped for, she wasn’t sure what else to say. With so many
people in attendance, any slight against Lydia could be easily
overheard should someone else happen to step outside.

Rubbing her bare forearms nervously,
she broke the awkward silence. “Thank you for the dress. It was
quite unexpected.”

“
I felt the need to
replace what you lost.” Dropping his foot back to the ground, he
pushed off the wall and stepped closer. “I didn’t think you’d come
tonight.”

“
I didn’t know if I
should… or if you… wanted me to.”

The musicians must have come back from
their intermission, because the flowing, rhythmic sounds of a waltz
floated across the veranda.

Beau held out his hand, breaking the
border of shadow and light that separated them and revealing the
calluses of a hard-working man. “May I have this dance?”

Her heart thumped a
warning inside her chest.
You’re stepping
over a line you shouldn’t cross.
But the
warm beacon of his eyes caught her in his spell, and she lost all
notion of refusing him. Slowly, carefully, as though she were about
to touch Briar Rose’s spindle, she accepted his hand. His other
hand settled on her waist, and he drew her to him, away from the
window and prying eyes. They stood like that for one eternal
moment, secure in their shadowy refuge. Portia could have soared
into the cosmos, had Beau not kept her secure in his
arms.

“
I don’t dance very well,”
she admitted quietly as she rested her palm on his chest. She could
feel his strong muscles and the steady rhythm of his
heart.

“
It’s just a waltz.
Simplest dance there is. It’s the only one I ever learned, though
Claire tried her best to teach me. Her toes paid the
price.”

“
My toes are just as
penniless as I am, so let’s not spend beyond their
means.”

“
Deal.”

Portia smiled, relaxing with their
easy banter. Beau led, keeping her hand in his firm but gentle
grip. She followed, and they soon fell into the rhythm of sultry
strings and piano chords. Glancing down at her feet, she missed her
step and landed on Beau’s toe.

“
Sorry.”

“
Up here.” His soothing,
deep voice eased her fears as expertly as he calmed his horses.
“Don’t look at your feet. Always look ahead or into your partner’s
eyes.”

“
All right.”

It
is
easier this
way
,
looking into
your partner’s eyes.
And there was no
place she’d have rather looked. His deep-set eyes were gray in this
light and softened by his serene smile. She could have stared into
them until her feet grew numb if time allowed.

As the last notes of the waltz glided
out onto the veranda, she burned into her memory the strength in
his hand on her waist, the way he smiled and gently guided her back
into the step when she lost focus. No matter what happened from
this night on, she never wanted to forget the way it felt right
then, dancing in Beau Stanford’s arms.

The final chords faded
into silence. Beau went still, but he held her there against him.
She longed to remain in the sanctuary of
him
, man and woman, united body and
soul. He let go of her hand and touched her face, trailing his
fingers lightly along her jaw. Portia lifted her chin to accept his
kiss, but her spirit fell back to earth when his jaw
tightened.

He spoke in a ragged whisper. “There’s
something I need to tell you…”

Harry’s voice shattered the illusion.
“Po?”

She and Beau parted quickly, but Harry
frowned, eyes darting everywhere but never landing on the couple in
front of him.

“
I thought you might have
gotten lost. Can I… escort you back inside?” he asked.

Beau took a step away, back into his
section of shadow and leaned against the wall where she found him
as though their dance had never happened. Tears burned the corners
of her eyes, but she blinked them into submission and took Harry’s
arm. They went back into the great hall and weaved through the
happy couples. Portia couldn’t look at their faces and tried to
block out their laughter and giddiness and whispered plans of later
affections.

She was about to ask Harry if he could
help her find Jonny and escort them out when a bell clanged from
upstairs. Everyone around them migrated toward the sound. Following
the flow of the herd was easier than escaping at the moment, so
they gathered with everyone else at the bottom of the stairs. There
on the first landing, Oliver Clemons rang a hand bell, with Polly
standing demurely beside him.

The clanging died down as Oliver held
up his cigar in a benevolent gesture. “I’d like to thank you all
for coming tonight to celebrate the rebirth of Paradise Plantation.
Sadly, our home will never be back to its former glory, but that
pales in comparison to the news I have to share with you
now.”

Portia’s heart skipped a beat. She
tightened her grip on Harry’s arm.

Oliver gestured to his right, where
Lydia appeared and glided toward him. When she stopped at his side,
he said, “I’d like to announce the engagement of my daughter, Lydia
Clemons, to Mr. Beauregard Stanford.”

Tucking the bell under his elbow, he
started clapping. Everyone except Portia took the cue and
applauded, even Harry, until he looked at her standing there frozen
in place. He wrapped an arm around her waist and mumbled something
to her, but she didn’t take much notice. The applause, the cheers
and congratulations pummeled her ears. Her heart beat wildly,
urging her to surrender the battle and retreat, but her knees
wobbled like soft clay.

“
Beau!” Oliver yelled over
the din. “There you are. Come on up here, my boy!”

The crowd parted slightly, as Beau
made his way from the veranda to the stairs. Lydia wore a powder
blue gown with loose pagoda sleeves and smiled ear to ear. She held
both hands out, waiting for him to claim her, as Beau ascended the
steps. When he reached her, she grabbed his hands and kissed his
cheek. Madame Peacock had won her perfect mate. Arm in arm, they
started down the stairs.

Beau’s face was a blank mask. His eyes
drifted across the crowd as they descended toward the waiting
guests. Mid-way down the stairs, he paused and caught Portia’s
gaze. In a split second, she read a multitude of emotions from him.
Guilt, shame, and such heavy sadness. Tears stung her eyes,
threatening to spill out and confess her loss. His sudden halt
stopped Lydia short. She rebalanced herself and looked at him
questioningly. Then she followed his gaze and spied the object of
his attention. She lifted one eyebrow and threw Portia a glare as
ice cold as the punch.

How can he?
How can he possibly marry that woman after what
she did to Jonny?
Tugging on Harry’s arm,
Portia whispered, “I want to leave. I have to leave.”

“
What? I can’t hear you.”
Harry said, leaning in closer.

“
I said I…”

Beau and Lydia stood just a few feet
away. Portia abandoned Harry’s arm and tried to cut through the
crowd, but they formed a dense army of well-wishers, eager to greet
the newly engaged couple. She found herself being nudged forward,
as two lines formed — men on Beau’s side and women on
Lydia’s.

The person in front of her stepped to
one side, and there she was — face to face with Beau’s fiancée.
Portia couldn’t help but picture the scissors lying on Jonny’s
bedside table and how triumphant the she-devil looked when she
‘discovered’ the evidence.

Lydia snatched her hand, squeezed it
hard, and drew Portia close enough to whisper venom in her ear.
“You thought waltzing in here wearing my dead cousin’s dress would
change his mind? You must have forgotten… I always get what I
want.”

Smiling and blushing like
any soon-to-be bride, she flung Portia’s arm away with a forceful
push, already looking to greet the next person in line. But like
the snares Jake once set with the saplings on their farm, Portia’s
hand sprang back, smacking Lydia’s face with a resounding
snap!
Horrified gasps
rippled through the crowd as Lydia’s head whipped to one side and
an earring went flying into oblivion.

Portia immediately locked eyes with
Beau. He took a step toward her, but Lydia, blond hair disheveled
and cheek flaring red, clamped onto his arm.

Expecting to be detained at any
moment, Portia elbowed her way through the shocked faces and
horrified stares to make her retreat. She wasn’t even sure if she
was moving toward the exit, with her heart beating a deafening
rhythm in her ears and tears clouding her vision. Finally, she
spotted Jonny standing just inside a parlor. He peeked out around
the doorframe, crying quietly. She reached for his hand, and he
took hold. Luckily no one had recovered from the shock of the
moment to come after them just yet. Pulling Jonny along with her,
they made their escape to Isaac and the waiting cart.

Harry called out, “Wait!” and caught
up to them, panting. “Isaac, take Jonny on home. Portia can ride
with me.”

Isaac looked to Portia as though
seeking her approval. She nodded, too upset to care how she got
back, so long as she could lie in bed and try to forget this night.
Isaac helped Jonny into the cart, while Harry led Portia to another
carriage.

She sat quiet, numb even,
as Harry took the long way back, driving through the quiet evening
streets of Lebanon. The back of her hand stung, so she rubbed at it
absently, wondering what Beau thought of her savagery. Worse yet,
she couldn’t squash her feeling of satisfaction —
oh, how good it felt to smack that blonde
peacock
— but oh, how wrong of her to feel
that way. When they reached the road leading to the Stanford’s
place, Harry broke the silence.

“
I’m sorry, Po. If you ask
me, Beau is a fool, and Lydia’s past due for a good beating. She’s
all fluff and no substance. Good for a poke or two, but not a
lifetime commitment. Know what I mean? Her money’s attractive, all
right, but he can turn this farm around if he’d just give it some
time.”

She didn’t answer — what
was there to say, anyway?
What’s done is
done
.

They pulled up to the house, and he
helped her out of the carriage. She started to pull away from him,
but he kept hold of her hand.

“
I’m tired,” she said,
avoiding the angry fire in his eyes. “I want to go
inside.”

“
Po, listen to me.” He
released her hand and captured her upper arms instead, pulling her
close. “I know you think he felt something for you, but let’s face
it. You don’t have what he wants. You need someone who understands
what it’s like to have nothing. Me and you — we could set out on
our own and make something of ourselves.”

“
Harry, I—”

He smashed his lips
against hers. She tried to wriggle free, but his fingers became
cold, hard shackles. The horse whinnied, and the carriage rattled
when he pushed her against it, kissing her wildly. His wet tongue
probed her tightly closed lips, digging up things she wished she
could scrape from her mind.
“You such a
pretty girl.”
Whiskey and body odor, her
daddy’s hands locked around her neck, a shock of pain, bawling her
eyes out, trapped under a hundred eighty pounds of dead
weight.

Portia jerked her head to the side and
broke free of his mouth. “Let me go!” Bringing her hands to his
chest, she tried to shove him away, but to no avail.

“
Damn it, Po. You still
want him, don’t you? Even after tonight.” The fury in his voice and
the beastly glint in his eyes fueled her courage. She would
be
no
man’s
whore, not again.

“
I don’t know what I
want,” she screamed, “but I know I don’t want
you
!”

With that, she lifted one foot behind
her, drew back her knee and brought it full force between his legs.
He made a strangled sound and released her. She took off, making it
onto the porch as he cupped his crotch with both hands and fell to
his knees.

She threw open the door to see Bessie
there and let out a startled scream.

“
Honey, what’s wrong?” The
question had barely left her lips before she looked outside over
Portia’s shoulder, her face contorting with horror. “Dear Lord,
what’s he done to you?”

She couldn’t answer, not with her
throat constricted and eyes burning. Fisting her skirts in both
hands, she sprinted up the stairs and into her room. Her pillow
caught the night’s burdens, and she cried until there were no tears
left, until she couldn’t breathe. She cried alone, like she’d done
every day since Jake and Abby died.

Always alone.

Still in the
borrowed dress that once belonged to Claire
Stanford, Portia sat on the edge of the bed in her darkened room.
No more tears, no anything really, except emptiness. Harry,
horrible as he acted tonight, was right about one thing. She had
nothing Beau wanted. Leaning over, she rested her elbows on her
knees and covered her face with both hands. She should have
listened to Frank and Ellen, should never have come to Lebanon. She
came to escape the pain, not to accumulate more.