Kitty was waiting for them beside it. “Well, Mr. Black, was I right or what?” She ignored Roarke’s quick, angry look.
“You win, Kit—Miss Kitty,” Theran answered lightly. “I went down in flames.” At that, Chloe saw Roarke’s lips tighten as he handed her into the car.
For her own part, Chloe collected this strange exchange of words and promised herself she’d think them over later. Right now, all she could handle was the explosion of feeling inside her—the awareness of Theran that refused to quiet and the appalling realization that she hadn’t conducted herself as a lady should. Roarke’s stolid presence beside her in the car made the riot inside her even more acute.
Unaffected, Theran and Kitty chattered in the backseat while Chloe and Roarke rode in silence. After a moment, without a word, Roarke’s large comforting hand covered Chloe’s on the seat. It was like an unspoken acceptance of her, of her actions.
She glanced at Roarke’s profile. Then, within his grasp, she turned her hand up and linked her fingers between his. He squeezed her hand and held it. And Chloe relaxed. Roarke, her dear friend, didn’t think less of her and that meant a lot. Theran could go back to New York and brag about how he’d sweet-talked and kissed a Maryland girl. But she’d be okay.
In the paneled church sanctuary the next morning, Chloe sat in the Carlyle pew, the one her family had occupied since the new church had been built in 1827. The worn maple pew cradled her between her parents as she tried not to fidget. Her father always attended church during elections. Her mother attended when she was at Ivy Manor. She liked to scan her neighbors and pick out who was letting herself go, and who was flirting with whom.
Usually Chloe listened obediently to the formal liturgy and then the homily, trying to draw near to God. After all, that’s what she came to church for, wasn’t it? But today all her concentration honed in on the McCaslin family pew, which was to her right and several pews forward. In navy trousers and matching blazer Theran Black had come to church with the McCaslins. She couldn’t take her eyes off the back of his well-shaped head.
She wondered what thoughts were going on inside that head. She felt herself burn at the thought of the kisses they’d exchanged and at her own shameless willingness. She hadn’t acted like the lady she’d been raised to be. And she’d barely slept last night, going over and over what he’d said, why she’d given way like that.
He was just sweet-talking me,
she decided.
I know that. I should just be glad for the fun of dancing the tango and having a college boy kiss me.
But it hadn’t felt like fun. He’d said things no man had ever said to her. At her debut, shy young men had danced at arm’s length with her and brought her glasses of punch and told her what colleges they would be attending. A few had come calling and sat with her mother and her in the parlor and drunk tea politely. But none of them had kissed her the way Theran had. None of them had talked of love and leaving for war.
Could she believe anything he’d said last night?
Everyone around her rose to say the Nicean Creed. Chloe was caught not paying attention and got to her feet a phrase into the Creed. Her mother looked at her suspiciously. Chloe closed her eyes as if in devout meditation and recited the words, “. . . very God of very God begotten not made being of one substance of the Father by whom all things were made . . .”
The service proceeded. The priest celebrated communion and then the organ swelled with a majestic postlude. Chloe walked between her parents up the aisle. She was very aware of the fact that Theran Black strode behind them. Was he watching her, following her? A dangerous and delicious shiver slithered up her spine.
At the door of the church, her mother greeted the priest languidly and asked after his wife. Chloe shook hands with him and her father pounded him on the shoulder. “Good sermon, preacher.”
Her mother’s lip curled.
As they moved away down the steps, Kitty accosted them. “Mr. Kimball, Miss Lily, I don’t think you’ve met my classmate Theran Black.”
Shaken, Chloe kept her eyes downcast as Theran bowed over her mother’s gloved hand and shook her father’s. “It’s an honor to meet you, sir. I caught part of your speech yesterday. Good luck on your candidacy.”
The older man beamed.
“But,” Theran said, claiming Chloe’s hand, “I was most impressed by your daughter’s speech for you. You, sir, are fortunate indeed to have such a lovely supporter.”
Chloe couldn’t stop the blush that warmed her cheeks as she gazed up at him, tongue-tied, knowing every gossip in the county had cocked an ear her way.
“You have a discerning eye, sir,” her father approved. “It’s too bad you’re leavin’ for New York today or we’d invite you to Ivy Manor.”
“As it turns out, we will be taking a later train.” Theran turned to the McCaslins. “Kitty here wants to stay just a bit longer. She’ll miss her early Monday classes, but it will give me a chance to get to know your lovely daughter better.”
For once, her father didn’t appear to have a ready reply.
“May I call on you this afternoon, Miss Chloe?” Theran asked, a grin in his eyes.
Chloe glanced at her father and then her mother. Both looked startled. She took advantage of this. “Yes, of course, Mr. Black. I—My parents and I look forward to receiving you.”
L
ater that afternoon, Theran sat beside Chloe on the edge of an antique settee. Rich mahogany and warm maple gleamed with a mellow polish and he was aware that the room must be filled with old family pieces. The exterior alone of Chloe’s home, a white-pillared and ivied manor, should have been enough to tell him he was out of his league. But the interior bespoke a daunting history of wealth and family heritage. Now, in the formal parlor, the atmosphere wasn’t chilly. It was frigid.
Mrs. Kimball’s nose was in the air. Across from him, she sat like the queen, her back stiffly held away from touching the matching loveseat. She’d just poured tea from a sterling silver tea service. Having refused a cup, Mr. Kimball stood by the fireplace. He had one hand on the ornate mantel and one hand in his jacket pocket and looked as if he were about to begin a speech.
Edging forward on the settee, Theran turned sideways to face both the parents. Chloe sat frozen beside him like a store mannequin. Was she having second thoughts? Her pale loveliness had captivated him all over again. She had “beauty too rich for use, for earth too dear.” He didn’t have words of his own to describe her, so he was left quoting Shakespeare. But she’d barely looked at him when he’d been announced by the Negro butler. He couldn’t believe Chloe had a butler. Not even Kitty’s family had a butler. He’d only seen butlers in moving pictures. Meeting Haines at the door had thrown him. And a young, pretty black maid in uniform had brought in the tea tray. Had he come on a fool’s errand?
He stiffened his resolve and suppressed the urge to tug at his tight white collar. “Faint heart ne’er won fair lady,” or something like that. He grinned. He’d never been beaten yet.
“Excellent tea, Mrs. Kimball,” he said and gave the grande dame his most charming smile—one that usually sweetened up mothers and austere aunts.
“What are you studyin’ up at that college?” Chloe’s father asked, giving him the beady eye.
Theran smiled to himself. The old man didn’t want him taking anything for granted. “I’m a civil engineering major.” Theran remembered Kitty’s coaching and added, “sir.”
“And what does a civil engineer do?” Mr. Kimball gave Theran his full and unflattering attention. Theran was reminded of a bulldog.
“The automobile is going to change the way America travels.” Theran infused his voice with confidence. “I’ll be planning bridges, routes, viaducts for the new highways automobile travel will demand.”
Chloe looked sideways at him. “That sounds interesting, don’t you think, Daddy—”
“Think you’ll make a good living at that?” Her father cut her off and rocked back and forth on the balls of his feet.
Theran gave Chloe a reassuring smile. “I’m glad you asked that, sir. Yes, I’ll make a good living and will be able to support a wife. You see, that’s why I’m here. I want to ask your permission to court your lovely daughter.”
Chloe’s lips parted, but she said nothing.
Theran wondered why. She’d acted the shy little thing yesterday—but only until he’d kissed her. After last night, she couldn’t be opposed to his suit, could she? Not after the way she’d returned his kisses. His blood warmed nicely at the remembrance.
Mrs. Kimball sat up straighter and gave Theran an affronted look. “You presume too much, young man—”
Mr. Kimball was laughing. “No, he doesn’t. If he’d presumed too much, he wouldn’t have asked for permission.”
“Just so, sir.” Theran’s thin china cup and saucer rattled briefly as he set them down on the piecrust table beside him. “I realize that you don’t know me, but I can give you references if you wish. If Chloe were a New York coed, this would be easier. We’d date awhile and then I’d be taken home to meet her parents. But Kitty explained to me that courtship is a little more old-fashioned out of the city.”
“We certainly don’t act as rashly as this,” Mrs. Kimball said in a dismissive voice. “You just met Chloe last night and we know nothing of your background, your family. You can’t make me believe that you—”
“He’s young.” Her husband cut her off, his voice a slashing counterpoint to her heated tone. Theran had never heard his quiet, dignified father use that tone of voice to Theran’s mother. He looked back and forth between man and wife.
“And there’s a war on.” Mr. Kimball paced back and forth in front of the fireplace. “He’ll be drafted soon—”
“I’ve enlisted, sir,” Theran said. “And I’ll leave for officer’s training camp in a week’s time.” He stood and faced Chloe’s father squarely. “I took my final exams early and my degree will be mailed to my parents after the commencement in May. I’ll be in uniform by then, trained and ready to sail for France.”
“Indeed?” Mr. Kimball lifted both eyebrows, but a cagey look lingered in his eyes.
Theran didn’t have time to try to figure out what that meant. “Yes, I couldn’t wait around for the draft board. I like to be in the thick of things.”
“Then your suit is most certainly out of the question,” Mrs. Kimball declared.
“I won’t be gone long.” Theran turned to her. “The Germans are hanging on by their fingernails. A few sorties by fresh American troops and they’ll lay down their arms and surrender. Germany is nearly bankrupt.”
“I honor you, young man.” Kimball used the same voice Theran had heard him use at yesterday’s speech. “Europeans will be no match for our doughboys.”
“That is neither here nor there,” Mrs. Kimball snapped. “I’m sure you are a patriotic and even admirable young man, but my daughter will marry a gentleman—”
“Mrs. Kimball—” Theran interrupted, but to no avail. The grande dame marched on.
“The Carlyles, my family, have lived in this house for over two hundred years. Our ancestors arrived on the
Dove
, one of the first two ships to arrive in Maryland.” She lifted her voice and squared her slender shoulders. “We have connections to the peerage in England. Who are your parents, Mr. Black?”
“My father owns a grocery store in Buffalo, New York.” Theran looked her directly in the eye. “He’s of Scottish descent. My parents don’t appear on any social register.”
“A grocer?” Mrs. Kimball looked aghast.
“It’s an honest way to make a living.” Theran was stung by her expression. “My father has a large library and is an intelligent man but circumstances prevented him from fulfilling his dream of a college education. I’m benefiting from his ambition and so will my sister. I am not now nor will I ever be ashamed of my parentage.”
Mrs. Kimball frowned and glared at the same time. “No doubt, but Chloe has been to finishing school.”
“Well, I won’t hold that against her.” Theran grinned. He couldn’t be too angry with Chloe’s mother. After all, his mother wouldn’t be thrilled to hear he’d fallen in love with a girl she’d never even met.
Chloe smiled then, sparkling suddenly like a diamond catching the light.
Mr. Kimball burst into dry laughter. “I always told you, Lily, you make too much out of pedigree. If you’d held yourself to the same ambition you have for Chloe to marry a gentleman”—Kimball’s tone taunted his wife—“you wouldn’t have married me. May I remind you that you had Ivy Manor, but I had money?”
This exchange, as before, made Theran uncomfortable. He’d never heard his dad use that tone to his mother or anyone else.
I don’t like you, Kimball,
he thought suddenly.
Her face rosy, Mrs. Kimball pursed her lips. Theran felt a little sorry for her, even if she was a snob. “Mr. and Mrs. Kimball, all I want is your permission to get to know Chloe. May I correspond with her?”
“No.” Chloe’s mother raised her voice.
“Yes, of course.” Mr. Kimball raised his louder. His wife averted her face. “There’s no harm in a few letters. You’ll be leavin’ for France soon and a patriotic American girl should give a soldier all the encouragement she can. I think I can reply for my Chloe that she’d be honored to receive your letters and write a few of her own.”
Theran moved forward to shake Kimball’s hand.
Maybe he’s just an old blowhard after all.
Perhaps all politicians were like this. “May I take Miss Chloe for a short walk?”
“Certainly, certainly.” Mr. Kimball waved them away.
Mrs. Kimball scowled but said nothing, refusing even to look his way. He didn’t really care.
Outside, Chloe walked silently beside Theran. She led him into the garden at the rear of the manse. High, blazing-yellow forsythia bushes shielded them from the windows. Red and yellow tulips edged flower beds and the sun warmed Theran’s back. The pastoral setting suited Chloe. She was as achingly lovely as she had been the day before. Something inside him wanted to reach out and touch her, make certain she was real. Her continued silence disconcerted him, however. Was she having second thoughts? “Chloe, what are you thinking?”
She merely paused but didn’t look up.