Among the Fair Magnolias Page 2

  “I know it. Osprey Cottage will be full to the rafters when everyone gets here. But it’s only for a few days. The Averys are sailing for New York a week from Thursday, and after this weekend the Ravensdales will be staying at the Wards’ cottage. Emily and John have already left for the Continent.” Mama flipped a page and consulted her list. “Seventy-five people coming, so far.”

  “Heavens. They’ll overrun this poor little island.” Abby tried to lighten her tone, but she was desperate for news of one certain invitation Mama hadn’t yet mentioned. “Any word from the Bennetts?”

  “Nothing so far, but I’m sure Dr. Bennett and his parents will attend, just as they always have. Judge Bennett is not one to miss a chance to go fishing with your father.”

  Memories of her last evening with Wade Bennett set Abby’s insides to churning. Three months apart had made her realize just how deeply she cared for him. How fervently she hoped he felt the same way about her. Last Christmas she’d thought he was ready to propose, but the holidays had come and gone without any declaration on his part. Then in February had come the unsettling quarrel that still brought tears to her eyes if she thought too long about it. What if they could never recapture the mutual delight and perfect harmony they’d once enjoyed? What if she couldn’t convince him of her change of heart?

  Mama smiled and patted Abby’s hand. “You mustn’t fret, darling. Whatever your disagreement, it can’t be all that serious.”

  But it was. They had discovered a deep and fundamental difference in what they expected from life. As dearly as she loved him, as ready as she was to admit to her faults and seek a compromise, she had wondered and worried all spring about whether things between them could ever be put to rights.

  Mama opened another envelope and drew out a single sheet of ivory vellum covered in small script. “Here’s a note from Celia Mackay in Savannah. She says that she and Sutton can’t join us this time. She’s going to become a mother this autumn.”

  Abby noted the tears in her mother’s eyes. “But that’s happy news, isn’t it?”

  “I’m delighted for Celia and Sutton, but terribly sad that her father won’t ever know his grandchild. David Browning was the most devoted father I’ve ever known. Apart from your own father, of course.”

  Abby took another bite of spoon bread. She didn’t doubt her father’s affection, even if he didn’t often show it. She loved him too. Respected him. But a part of her feared him. Not so with her mother, who was the very soul of parental tenderness. For all of her life, Mama had been the one to indulge her only daughter’s passions, to encourage her in her various pursuits.

  Seeing her mother’s sadness, Abby felt an overwhelming rush of love. A riding accident at age twelve had left Mama with a severe limp that required the use of a walking cane. But she hadn’t allowed her infirmity to sour her disposition, to weaken her faith in a merciful God, or to dampen her enthusiasm for life. Even though Abby was a grown woman now, it was still her greatest joy and pride to win her mother’s approval, and her praise meant more than that of anyone else.

  On a long breath, Mama set aside Mrs. Mackay’s letter and opened the next one. “Ophelia Kittridge is coming. And Charles is attending as well.”

  Abby’s cup banged into the saucer with more force than she intended. Her appetite fled at the recollection of her unpleasant encounter with Charles Kittridge last summer. She hadn’t told anybody what happened—not even Penny, who was her closest friend this side of heaven. It had been too upsetting. Even now the memory of it made her feel ashamed. As though the entire disgusting episode had been her fault. She pushed her plate away. “Oh mercy. What an insufferable pest Charles is, and his mother is the worst gossip in the entire Lowcountry. I don’t see why—”

  “They’re your father’s cousins.”

  “Yes, but such distant cousins they hardly count as kin at all.”

  “Nevertheless, we can’t very well exclude them. Your father still has hopes that you and Charles might one day—”

  “I know what he wants, but I wouldn’t marry Charles Kittridge if he were the last man breathing.”

  Through the window Abby watched the brown pelicans diving into the surf. She would have to at least greet the odious Charles. She might even be forced to dance with him. But the only guest she was interested in seeing was Dr. Wade Bennett. And so far, he was silent.

  Standing in the middle of her bedroom, clad in her chemise and petticoats, Abby lifted her arms as Sophronia slid the ocean-blue silk dress over her head. The voluminous skirt settled over her crinoline hoops, rustling as the maid did up the dozen tiny buttons in the back. Abby tugged at the scooped neckline to show off a bit more of her shoulders.

  Sophronia frowned and rearranged it to her own satisfaction. “Now. That looks more like the lady you s’posed to be.”

  “Oh, for goodness’ sake.” Abby scowled. “This is 1860. And I’m twenty-three, not forty.”

  “Don’t make no difference. Ladylike is ladylike.” Sophronia opened a box and drew out a pair of kid pumps. “Try these slippers on your feet. I hope the heel is high enough so’s I don’t have to take up the hem of that gown. I got plenty more to do ’fore Saturday gets here.”

  Abby slid her feet into the shoes, not bothering to do up the buttons, and clumped over to the big cheval glass in the corner. She twirled around, the skirt belling about her ankles. This was not the gown she’d wanted. She had hoped for something more sophisticated. But Mama had enlisted the modiste, Mrs. Finley, in her cause, and Abby had finally given in. Now she had to admit her mother was right. The cut of the bodice flattered her small waist. The shimmering blue silk showed off her glossy brown hair and brought out the faint blush in her cheeks.

  Even Sophronia, who rarely smiled, beamed when Abby turned to study the back of the gown in the glass. “You sure is a vision, Miss Abigail, and that’s the truth. Won’t be no empty spaces on your dance card.”

  Abby kicked off the shoes, which were already beginning to pinch her feet. “We won’t have dance cards. Despite the fancy clothes, the dance is informal—though you wouldn’t know it, the way Papa is carrying on.”

  “He wants to be gov’nor real bad, I reckon. Got to impress the muckety-mucks so’s they’ll vote him in come wintertime.” Sophronia retrieved the kid shoes and returned them to the box. “He sure is excited that the governor hisself accepted his invitation.”

  “He was on pins and needles for an entire week, waiting for Governor Gist to reply.” Abby’s face clouded. “I’ve hardly seen anything of Papa all spring.”

  Turning her back to Sophronia, she motioned for the maid to begin undoing the buttons. “Though these days Papa’s no fun at all anyway. It’s as if he’s forgotten how to talk about anything except politics. Secession this and secession that. It gives me a headache.”

  Sophronia chuckled. “I don’t understand politics neither.”

  “Oh, I understand it. But since the men are the only ones who can vote and will do as they wish regardless of what the women think, any discussion of it seems entirely pointless.” Abby stepped out of the blue gown and reached for her simple green day dress. She slipped it on and adjusted the matching satin sash. “I do miss taking the boat out with Papa.”

  “The summer just beginnin’ though. You and your daddy’ll have plenty o’ time once this weekend is over.” Sophronia carefully folded the dress and returned it to its muslin nest.

  Outside, a horse and rig clopped along the beach road. Abby parted the curtain and looked out. A tall, broad-shouldered man with dark curly hair got out and brushed the dust from his gray jacket and trousers. He glanced up at her window as if he expected to find her waiting there.

  Abby’s breath caught, and her heart expanded with sudden joy. After three long months, Wade Bennett had come home.

  CHAPTER TWO

  “QUICK!” ABBY FLAPPED A HAND AT SOPHRONIA. “HELP ME with my shoes. I want to catch Dr. Bennett before he—”

  “No, ma’am. You ain�
��t gonna go chasin’ after no man. Not even Mr. Wade. You just go wait in the parlor like the lady you was raised to be.” Sophronia picked up Abby’s hairbrush and began dragging it through Abby’s tangles. “’Sides, you ain’t even done up your hair this mornin’. Looks like the rats done slept in it.” Sophronia clucked her tongue and shook her head. “No, ma’am. You ain’t ready to receive no gentleman callers.”

  Abby sighed and submitted to the maid’s attention, her ears straining for the sound of Wade Bennett’s voice in the downstairs hall. But it was the creaking of wagon wheels and the sound of female laughter that drew her attention back to the window.

  “Looks like more guests arrivin’ from the ferry.” Sophronia reached for Abby’s jet hair combs. “I reckon Miss Avery and Miss Ravensdale be glad to see you.”

  “I suppose.”

  Sophronia anchored Abby’s hair combs and handed her a small round container. “Put some rice powder on your nose. Then go make our comp’ny feel welcome.”

  Abby dabbed her nose with the powder, then fastened her shoes and made for the door. Sophronia was right of course. As eager as she was to see Dr. Bennett, it was better to wait for him to seek her out. With her luck Papa would be watching, and he seemed always to be looking for some reason why the handsome young doctor was unsuitable company for her.

  She ran downstairs to the foyer, where Penny and Theodosia stood surrounded by a mountain of hatboxes, trunks, and portmanteaus. Both girls squealed when they saw Abby, and the three joined in a noisy, awkward embrace.

  Theo Avery pulled away, her green eyes dancing. “Guess who was on the ferry with us this morning.”

  “Dr. Bennett.”

  “Yes!” Penny sent Abby a triumphant smile. “Didn’t I tell you there was nothing to worry about? Didn’t I say he’d be the first one off the ferry for this party?”

  “You did.” Abby grinned. The thing she loved most about Penelope Ravensdale was that Penny always saw the bright side of any situation. No matter how hopeless it seemed, Penny simply assumed the best would happen.

  “Well then?” Theo glanced out the foyer window to the group of other guests gathering outside. “Where is he?”

  “I saw him arrive, but he must have gone on to his family’s cottage.”

  “Well, he’ll be here soon enough,” Theo said. “Maybe it’s better if you don’t see him until the dance. Make a grand entrance in that stunning new gown.”

  At Abby’s questioning look, Theo went on. “Mama and I were at Miss Finley’s last month to pick up our own dresses, and we saw her putting the finishing touches on that beautiful blue skirt. She told us it was yours. Honestly, Wade Bennett is going to melt right through the floor when he sees you in it.”

  Hector, the Claytons’ driver, came in with more luggage. Mrs. Avery and Mrs. Ravensdale trailed in his wake. Hector nodded to Abby. “Where you want these things, miss?”

  “Theo, you’re in with me,” Abby said. “I’m not sure which room is Penny’s. Mama has a list somewhere.”

  “Well, no matter.” Mrs. Avery turned to Hector. “Just leave it all here for now. We’ll sort it out later. Hello, Abigail my dear.” The older woman planted a cool kiss on Abby’s cheek. “You’re looking well.”

  “You too. Mama says you’re leaving for New York next week?”

  “Yes. Spending the summer in Saratoga. We always enjoy it so. Don’t we, Theodosia?”

  “Yes, Mama,” Theo said, rolling her eyes and shaking her head no to Abby.

  Penny, her blue eyes merry, stifled a laugh. “We’re staying right here on the island this season. There is no place on earth better than Pawleys.”

  Mama entered the parlor, leaning heavily on her ebony cane. “I’m sorry to keep you all waiting. There was an urgent problem in the kitchen, but it’s sorted out now. Luncheon will be served shortly, but I imagine you’re ready to get settled after your trip.”

  Mama removed a list from her pocket and swiftly directed everyone to their rooms. As planned, Theo was assigned to Abby’s room overlooking the ocean while the Ravensdales were given a larger room facing the marsh and the tidal creeks. Mrs. Avery took a smaller room at the back of the house.

  “Abigail, I need your help,” Mama said as their guests headed for their quarters. “Augusta Milton has offered to let the Kittridges use her cottage this week. I meant to send Hector for the key, but it slipped my mind. Miss Augusta left it beneath that red flowerpot on the piazza. Would you be a dear and run over and get it for me?”

  “Right now?” Abby wanted to catch up with Penny and Theo before they had to sit through a long and tedious meal, during which Papa and the men would talk politics and the ladies would sit smiling politely and mute as death.

  “Yes, please. The Kittridges are due on the afternoon ferry, and I don’t want Ophelia to have to wait to settle in. Her health hasn’t been good this spring, and she will be in need of a nap when they arrive.”

  On the other hand, Miss Augusta’s cottage was just down the beach, nestled in the dunes next to the Frasers’ Pelican Cottage—and just steps from the Bennetts’ cottage. Perhaps she would see Dr. Bennett after all.

  Abby grabbed her old straw hat from the peg beside the door and set off down the beach. Later in the season the air would be humid, thick, and still, but today a cooling breeze lifted her hair and stirred the stands of sea oats dotting the dunes. Down the beach a couple of young boys, their bare arms already reddening in the sun, launched a dinghy into the glittering surf. They waved to her as she crested a dune and started up the short boardwalk to Miss Augusta’s cottage.

  Abby found the key beneath the red flowerpot and took a moment to savor the view from Miss Augusta’s piazza—the undulating sea oats in the powdery-white dunes, the gentle curve of the wide beach reaching out to the sea. She shaded her eyes and looked toward the Bennetts’ low-slung cottage, but the dunes obscured her view. A gust of wind sent her hat tumbling across the sand. She lifted the hem of her skirt and chased after it, stopping when someone called her name.

  Charles Kittridge bounded across the sand, one arm raised in greeting. He scooped up her hat and jogged over to where she stood.

  “Hello, Cousin,” he said, proffering her runaway hat. “This is yours, I believe.”

  Abby jammed her hat onto her head and started for home. “My mother wasn’t expecting you until later.”

  “The Nina docked early in Georgetown, and we caught the noon ferry.” He swung into step beside her. “What’s your hurry?”

  “My mother needs me. I don’t want to keep her waiting.”

  “Ah. I’m glad to see you too, Miss Abigail.”

  She strode on, the spring sunshine warm on her face, the key to Miss Augusta’s cottage pressed into her palm.

  “Aren’t you glad to see me?” Charles asked.

  Abby didn’t bother turning her head to look at him. “You have some nerve asking me that after what you did last summer.”

  “You aren’t still miffed about that, are you?”

  “Miffed?” She stopped walking and regarded him, arms akimbo. “I was never merely miffed at you, Charles. I was furious, and I still am. If I’d had my way, you never would have been invited to this barbecue, so I’d be grateful if you’d stay away from me for this entire weekend. Do that, and I might not tell Papa about your disgusting behavior.”

  He laughed. “I doubt he’d be too upset. After all, he’s given me to understand he might look quite favorably upon my asking for your hand.”

  “Yes, I know he hopes for just such an outcome, chiefly because then our plantations would be joined as well. But I can assure you that I will never consent to marry you. Not in a million years.”

  His smile vanished. He flushed beneath his tan. “I wouldn’t be too sure about that if I were you.”

  She resumed walking. “Short of kidnapping me, you have no chance.”

  “Because you’ve got some silly, girlish notion in your head about that common country doctor, Wade Bennett.” />
  “He is a doctor, but far from common.”

  “Your father thinks he is.”

  “My father thinks the same of anyone who is not a planter. It’s one of his shortcomings.”

  “He adores you, Abby, and only wants your happiness.”

  “If that’s true, then I have nothing to worry about. Because what would make me happy is to marry Dr. Bennett.”

  “Yes, Mother mentioned that you tagged after him last fall, collecting plants and such for some kind of scientific experiment. Personally I can’t think of anything more tiresome than tramping through the stinking pluff mud looking for heaven knows what.”

  “I wouldn’t expect you to understand. You think of nothing besides your horses and hunting and going out with your friends.”

  “What else is a gentleman of means to do with his time? I’ve plenty of servants to look after my plantations. It’s one of the things I love best about being rich. My time is my own. I can’t imagine wasting it on some nonsensical experiments that won’t ever amount to anything.”

  “Dr. Percy doesn’t agree. That’s why he asked Dr. Bennett to work with him in Washington this spring. They’re making wonderful progress.”

  “You sound loyal to your Dr. Bennett now, but from what I heard, it was that very trip to Washington that was the source of your disagreement last winter.” Charles shook his head. “You’re like most girls I know—unable to make up your mind about anything. But let’s be honest, Cousin. You are rich. You’ve always been rich. You will never be happy married to some poor doctor, irrespective of how he makes your foolish heart flutter.”

  Abby turned away and swiped at her eyes. The last thing she wanted was for Charles Kittridge to see that he could make her cry.

  “Marry him, and you’ll find out that being poor is not in the least romantic.” Charles jammed his hands into his pockets.

  “The Bennetts aren’t poor. They own a fine house in Charleston and a cottage here. Judge Bennett is one of the most respected men in the state—even Papa will admit to that. And Dr. Bennett is developing a reputation in Washington. I won’t be surprised if he becomes as important as Dr. Benjamin Rush.”