Deception (44 page)

As January gave way to February, Connor felt she could ask for no further contentment. Cleo was growing rounder and rounder as the foal inside her grew and developed. Her due date was mid-March. Whenever she thought about her dreams, Connor wanted to pinch herself. Everything she’d ever wanted had come true.

“Makes you think you’re tempting the gods, doesn’t it?” Willene asked, as she brought a tray of coffee in to Connor one bright February morning. “This is your third week of marriage. I’ve never seen two people take to each other better. Mr. Clay looks like a young boy.”

“He is happy, isn’t he?” Connor asked. The workmen were due to arrive and begin on the garden room, and so she was lazing about, indulging herself in a late morning. She stretched and gratefully accepted the cup Willene handed her. “What about Renata? How does she seem to you?” Both children had been extremely busy with their own pursuits, and Connor hadn’t pushed a relationship with either. On the surface, things were going better than she’d ever dared to hope.

Willene looked at the bed, but didn’t take a seat. “To my surprise, she hasn’t seemed nearly as upset as I thought she’d be. It’s almost like she’s waiting for something.” Willene’s hand grasped the bedpost. “It’s a little unsettling, honestly. Maybe I’m just a superstitious old woman, but I feel that Renata knows something.”

Connor nodded. “I get that same sense. It’s as if she knows something we don’t. It’s foolish on my part, I know, but it gives me the creeps. Even when I know that nothing is going to happen. Clay and I are so happy, I don’t think anything could destroy that.”

“She’s a headstrong child, and she was set against this marriage.” Willene pushed her glasses up and then clasped her hands behind her back. “I worry about her.” She sighed. “And about you. There are days when Renata reminds me too much of her mother.”

Connor put the coffee cup down and readjusted the pillow behind her. “I really think the bad things are behind us. I don’t want to think about problems.”

Willene refilled Connor’s cup. “Will you be needing anything else?”

“You don’t have to wait on me,” Connor chided lightly. “It’s nice of you to treat me to coffee in bed, but don’t act like I expect you to do it.”

“But you can expect it, if you like.” Willene was amused. “You’re Mrs. Sumner now.”

“I may be Clay’s wife, but I’m still Connor Tremaine.” Connor grinned. “There has been something I’ve wanted to ask. That photo of you—Renata had it.”

“She pulled it out of the trash and couldn’t believe it was me.” Willene laughed and shook her head. “It doesn’t make you feel too good when a young child doesn’t believe you were ever young and pretty.”

“You were beautiful.” Connor looked up to be certain she hadn’t hurt the cook’s feelings by her use of the past tense.

“I wouldn’t go back, though. There’s not enough money to get me to go back to that age again. Being old is hard enough. The process of getting to be old is sheer suffering.”

Connor laughed. “What I wanted to ask about is the ring—on the hand of the person who was torn out. My mother had one that looked exactly like it.”

“Are you sure?” Willene looked doubtful.

“Absolutely. It was an heirloom.”

“That’s true enough.” Willene finally took a seat on the foot of the bed. “That ring has caused a lot of trouble for the men who wore it.”

“Men?”

“That was the ring that identified the members of the James Dickerson Clan.”

Connor sighed. “Then it’s a good thing it’s buried with my mother. I seem to remember something about it now.” She looked up suddenly. “But who was wearing that ring in the picture with you?”

Willene smiled. “Now, that’s one secret you
won’t
get from me. That’s my past, Connor Sumner. And sometimes, we Alabama women can be as close-mouthed as you Californians about the past.”

Connor gave Willene a wry smile. “So, your young love is a secret. A man who wore the Dickerson Clan ring. That’ll give my imagination some food for thought. Did you love him a lot?”

“There were seven of those rings, from what the stories say.” Willene ignored her last question. “When Dickerson was buried, he wasn’t wearing one. He musta given his to Hilla before she left.”

“My mother always wore hers. I wish I could remember exactly what she said about it.” Connor frowned. “Mama married so young, and Daddy moved her all over the place. She wasn’t as close to her family as she’d have liked.”

“Why didn’t you keep it?” Willene asked.

Connor thought back to her mother’s funeral. “I don’t know. It meant so much to her. It was sort of a symbol of her life with my father.”

Willene lifted her eyebrows.

“Well, she got the ring from her mother on her wedding day, along with a talk about the hardship of marrying a traveling man with a love of horses.” Connor smiled. “I think she meant to give it to me on mine. Anyway, the ring was always a symbol of her love for Dad, and the fact that she never regretted her decision. It just seemed right to leave it with her.”

“Probably better for all if those rings disappeared forever,” Willene said. “There’s more than one in the grave by now.”

“What about the ring in the picture? Do you have it?” Connor asked.

“No, not by a long shot. The man in the picture never offered it to me, nor would I have taken it. Well, I might have taken it, but I couldn’t have worn it. Around these parts, that ring would have meant serious trouble.”

“I forget,” Connor said. “The past is never dead in Mobile.”

“Never,” Willene agreed, as she rose and gathered up the coffee things. “Now you’d better be up and ready for those workmen. They’ll have half the room gone before you know what happened.

As soon as Willene was gone, Connor hit the shower. As she wrapped a towel around her hair, she thought of the ring Renata had found in the orchard. Clay had taken it, and she hadn’t thought of it since then. But the design had been so distinctive. She looked at the emerald and opal ring and her wedding bands. The designs were unusual. As was the design of the ruby ring.

On a hunch, she went to Clay’s bureau. There was a small Chinese box where he kept the sparse jewelry he wore—cufflinks and his wedding band. The ruby ring was there, pushed up against the side. Connor slipped it on her finger. Even with the dirt still crusted around the jewels, it was a rare piece. She took it off and checked the inscription again: “Forever, my love. RAB.”

“Connor, the men are here.” Willene rapped on the door.

“Coming.” She slid the ring back on her finger. She wanted to remind herself to ask Clay about it, and he’d promised to come home early enough that they could take Apollo down the trail before the children came in from school.

The morning passed quickly with the carpenters. Connor’s idea was to return the garden room to nearly its original state. The skylights would remain, along with the vaulted ceilings, and the pool would be converted to a spa that would allow her and Clay to relax together.

It was with no little satisfaction that Connor watched the mirrors in the hallway being dismantled and removed. With a fresh coat of pale peach paint on the walls, the room began to soften and take on a more feminine cast.

She was about to change clothes and go to the barn when the telephone rang. She picked up the receiver, wondering who’d call in the middle of the day. Clay’s voice warmed her.

“Looks like we’re going to have to cancel that ride,” he said, regret clear in his voice. “I need to spend some time with a client, and we have to plan the April campaign for Northern Alabama. Benedict is getting very bitchy.”

Connor laughed. The campaign manager had been in a bad mood since the wedding. He didn’t care for Connor, and he didn’t care for Clay’s desire to be with his new bride. She’d known that Clay would have to tend to his future, she could only wish it hadn’t happened so soon. “I hate it, but I suppose it’s inevitable.”

“If you don’t mind, I’ll stay in town tonight. We’re going to be at it late, and I’d rather get through it all and have time for you tomorrow.”

Connor hesitated. She wanted Clay home, with her. But she’d known there would be nights—more and more often as the election drew closer—when he wouldn’t be home. This was the first. “I understand.” She sighed softly into the phone. “What will I do to occupy my time, though?”

Clay groaned. “Don’t torment me, Connor.”

She laughed, pleased with his reaction. “I’ll miss you.”

“I’ll miss you, too. Are you sure you’ll be okay?” There was a sincere note of worry in his voice. “Of course. What could happen to me at home?”

“Give the children my love.”

“I will. And I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“Early enough for that ride.”

Connor replaced the receiver. Well, the plans for the afternoon were shot. She thought a minute. The children were both at school. Now would be a perfect time to explore the third floor. She’d been wanting to go up there ever since she’d arrived at Oaklawn. A horse trainer had no business exploring the house where she was a paid employee. But the mistress of the house had every right.

Connor was grinning as she took the front stairs to the second floor. She paused for a moment at the landing. She’d never gone in Renata’s or Danny’s room. She didn’t intend to do so now. That would be an invasion of privacy. She hurried on to the third floor, remembering that Sally was afraid of it. But then, Sally was afraid of the dark, and a host of other things that couldn’t really hurt her.

Pale winter light probed through the wooden shutters that enclosed the back windows of the third floor. The room was enormous, a wooden cathedral of red and gold. Connor inhaled sharply. The smell of cedar came from walls, ceiling, and floor.

The stairway fed into the front of the room, and Connor turned to look at the front windows. Yellowed shades were tightly drawn, a fact she remedied immediately.

The extra sunlight brought out the beautiful wood of the walls and ceiling. Connor walked halfway around the room, pushing back the shutters and thinking what an excellent ballroom it would make. The windows, almost floor-length, were wonderful. As Sally had indicated, there was little of the mustiness associated with an unused room. Only one corner was filled with trunks and boxes, a virtual wall of furnishings that had been deemed unfit for the downstairs but not shabby enough to discard.

There was little else to investigate, so Connor went to the first large box. Books, heavy books. Feeling only slightly like a snoop, Connor opened several other book-filled boxes. Dropcloths covered over two dozen lumps of furniture mixed among the boxes, along with toys, hatboxes, old fans, and other odds and ends. It was no wonder Renata and Danny liked to play up here.

Lifting the edges of a few dropcloths, Connor found three chairs which, once reupholstered, would be perfect for her sitting room. And a daybed. Connor looked at its graceful brass curves. That, too, would be a nice addition to her room. In all likelihood, some of the furniture had come from the room when it was a sewing room.

Talla’s discards. Connor smiled at the thought. Maybe she should think of the furniture as Sumner furniture which Talla had disliked. It didn’t matter; she liked it. She’d have to get Jeff and Old Henry to help move it back down to the first floor. Amazing as it seemed, Old Henry still had plenty of strength, even though he was getting on in years—and ornery. She went back to her plundering.

There was even an old carpet rolled up and leaning against the wall. When she had some help, she wanted a look at the pattern. If it was as nice as some of the Orientals downstairs, she might revise her color scheme around it.

The fever of discovery took hold, and Connor waded in among the boxes and crates, lifting lids and pulling out old curtains and clothes. The materials were expensive, and though some of the fashions were very old, she could see the fine workmanship. She found a trunk full of riding clothes monogrammed with Clay’s initials. He’d bought some things but hadn’t taken the time to search through the third floor for his old things. Taking out several pairs of breeches and a couple of coats, she put them aside to take down with her. She lifted the lid of a steamer trunk and pulled out a blue dress that looked as if it had been made before the turn of the century. How had women ever managed to endure such hot confinement?

She was folding the dress to replace it when a whiff of perfume caught her attention. It was odd that a scent could survive such a long time. Her hands holding the shoulders of the dress stopped in midaction and she brought the dress to her nose. Perfume wasn’t something she wore everyday, but she liked a few scents. She’d stopped wearing Opium when Willene had told her it had been Talla’s favored scent. The blue dress smelled like Opium.

Laying the dress on the daybed, she turned back to the trunk. The clothes were neatly folded—
too
neatly folded for things that had been stored away for years and years. She lifted out several other dresses, all antique. Black satin caught her eye. She knew it was the duplicate of her wedding dress before she even lifted it out. The veil was underneath it.

Harlan and Renata.

It was as simple as that. All her suspicions were confirmed. Harlan had hired an actress to hide in the house and torment Connor, and she’d used the third floor as a base for her disappearing act. Connor now had all the proof she could possibly want. All she had to do was take the black wedding dress and the blue dress downstairs and show them to Clay.

And what would be the end result? Grief, dissent, accusations, lies, Renata forced to endure her father’s wrath. No. Connor refolded the dresses and tucked them back in the trunk. She and Harlan had come to terms with each other, as strained as their relations might be. Without her uncle’s help, Renata couldn’t do much damage. The wise thing was to close the trunk and never open her mouth about any of it. Let the past finally die at Oaklawn.

The trunk snapped shut with a solid sound. Dust motes jumped into the pale light. Kneeling beside the trunk, Connor smiled. Now that she knew for certain, she could put it out of her mind forever.