Chapter 19
The Bellaire-Norton or Norton-Bellaire mansion, depending on who you were talking to, was as magnificent as Cora had described—not in New York magnificence, but in a small Western town magnificence.
Ivy liked how Andre Bellaire incorporated the rough-cut, pinkish-brown stone she’d seen on other local buildings into his three-story home.
A cone-topped tower on the left and a copper-trimmed pergola in the middle lent distinction to the facade. Gardens edged by low walls of the same stone as the house showed plenty of new plantings.
One side of the carved double doors was flung open. Lifting up her skirts, Cora came rushing out, reaching the surrey before Ivy could even step down. “You’re here! I’ve been so worried—on pins and needles ever since I read Brian’s note and your letter. Are you all right? What happened?”
Suddenly, too drained to respond to her friend’s barrage of words, Ivy merely repeated what she’d said to Brian earlier. “I’ll be all right. Let me tell everyone at once.”
Brian came over and reached around his betrothed, extending a hand to help Ivy down.
“Thank you, dearest.” Cora went on tiptoe to kiss his cheek. “You’re our hero.”
“At least I didn’t get shot this time,” he said in a wry tone. “The idea might have crossed Torin’s mind.”
Cora slanted him a flirtatious look. “Then I’d nurse you back to health.” She took Ivy’s hand and tugged. “Come on.” She towed her up the path.
A tall Negro man, his hair wooly-white, stood in the doorway, a broad smile creasing his face.
“Rufus.” Cora flung a hand in introduction. “Remember, I wrote you? Some of Uncle Andre’s people came with him. They’re part of the family.”
Rufus gave them a little bow. “If you need anything, Miss Jackson, be sure to let me know.”
Brian came up behind them, carrying Ivy’s satchel.
Rufus held out a hand to take it. “I’ll have Sam bring up whatever else Miss Jackson has brought. Should I have him return the surrey to the livery or see to the horse?”
“Appreciate that.” Brian sketched the man a little salute. “Return, please. I don’t know how long I’ll be. The charge is already paid.”
Rufus stepped back to allow them to enter.
They walked into a large entryway patterned in leaf wallpaper above the chair rail and dominated by a sweeping staircase carpeted in green with a gold flor-de-lis pattern. Oh, dear, my new dress will match the décor, Ivy thought with her first hint of amusement since her disagreement with Torin.
Perched on the railing at the bottom of the stairs, a statue of a woman in a Grecian robe, held a flame aloft. The sun shining through gothic-shaped, stained-glass windows above the stairs cast light through their flowered panels.
Mr. Bellaire and Cora’s Aunt Rose hurried through the large square opening to a room on the right.
Mr. Bellaire reached her first. “Ivy, my dear girl.” He took her hand. “Although you’ve grown up into a pretty lady, so perhaps, I should address you as Miss Jackson.”
“Ivy, please.” She hadn’t seen the man for four or so years, when he’d visited Cora’s grandfather while Ivy was there.
He looked thinner, his once auburn hair almost completely gray.
Lines bracketed his eyes and mouth. But his hazel eyes were just as warm, and his greeting showed he hadn’t lost an ounce of his Southern charm.
A smiling Rose nudged her new husband out of the way. Behind her spectacles, her gray eyes shone.
Cora’s great-aunt had also changed in the eight months since Ivy had last seen her. She’d always been sharply intelligent and erudite. But she’d dressed simply in muted colors and styled her brown hair plainly.
Today, she wore an elegant blue-gray silk, which made her eyes look bluer.
Her brown hair, with only a few threads of white, waved in a loose updo.
Gray pearl studs and a matching necklace graced her ears and neck.
If anything, she appeared younger, lighter, and certainly, from Cora’s information, happier.
“Let me look at you.” Rose placed her hands on the sides of Ivy’s shoulders and studied her face. “You have shadows in your eyes. But you’re here now, and we’ll do our best to make everything, if not all right, then better.”
Ivy doubted everything would ever be all right. But she forced a smile and nod. “I’m so glad to see you, Miss Collier.” She caught herself. “I mean, Mrs. Bellaire.”
“Aunt Rose,” the woman corrected, lowering her hands and letting go of Ivy’s.
Mr. Bellaire touched her elbow. “And I’m Uncle Andre to you, Ivy. We’re enfolding you into the family.”
His genuine tone as well as the welcoming words touched Ivy. “Uncle Andre. Aunt Rose.” She fluttered a hand to touch her chest. “It’s good to see you both. Congratulations on your marriage. Another one of Cora’s schemes comes to fruition.” They all laughed.
Uncle Andre playfully wagged his finger. “Our naughty minx told us what happened. Such goings-on in Three Bend Lake—a place I’d never heard of until our Brian was shot.”
Cora raised her hands and spread out her fingers, moving them like a marionette master manipulating puppet strings. “You’re just perturbed that you weren’t able to interfere up there.”
“He made up for that lack,” Brian growled in a tone of mock frustration. But he winked at Cora.
Uncle Andre’s eyes sparkled. “I believe the role of matchmaker suits me.” He gestured for them to enter the other room.
Ivy didn’t know whether to feel hopeful or horrified.
They headed into an elegant but comfortable double parlor.
Two side-by-side velvet sofas as wide as beds with plump pillows and rounded arms looked comfortable enough to nap on.
Persian carpets covered the polished wooden floors.
Two wingback chairs in front of a corner fireplace surrounded in green marble provided another comfortable seating area.
Balloon-backed side chairs with needlepoint covers were scattered around the room for easily arranging in seating groups, depending on the number of people.
And, of course, books packed a nearby bookcase.
The Bellaires didn’t immediately take seats, instead seeming to give Ivy a chance to find her bearings and look around.
“Your home is beautiful,” Ivy murmured. “I’m looking forward to perusing your books.”
“That will take weeks,” Cora joked.
Rose placed a hand on Ivy’s arm. “I’m so glad you’re here.
I know how much Cora missed you.” She shot her great-niece a glance of mock sternness.
“Although, now I know why she hasn’t mentioned you much over these last months.
I attributed her uncharacteristic reticence to her interest in a certain special patient,” she bestowed a teasing glance on Brian, “and then being busy with her nursing cases.”
Cora squeezed Ivy’s hand. “When I told her about you, Auntie Great looked like she was going to scold. But then she got a look of reproof from her husband,” she directed a saucy look at Uncle Andre, “who kindly pointed out that I’d never actually lied, and, therefore, didn’t have anything to apologize for. ”
Their teasing and immediate acceptance were a balm to Ivy’s wounded spirits, melting the numbness that she’d carried since yesterday. No longer able to control the pain welling up, she burst into tears.
With a distressed expression, Uncle Andre enfolded her into a hug. “There, there, my girl.” He held her gently, patted her shoulder, and let her cry for a few minutes. “I know you’re hurting. But I have a feeling everything will turn out just fine.”
Embarrassed, Ivy stepped back, her hand covering her face. Before she could reach for the handkerchief tucked into her sleeve, Uncle Andre pulled out the one from his pocket and handed it to her.
His monogrammed handkerchief was large and finely made, far better than the smaller ones women used. She wiped her eyes and blew her nose.
He waved for her to keep it. “Let’s sit. I believe tea is on the way.”
Brian moved the two wingchairs from in front of the fireplace over to face the couch, keeping a low table between them. The Bellaires thanked him and took their seats.
Cora gestured for Ivy to go ahead of her to take her place on the sofa, then sat beside her.
Brian claimed the space on Cora’s other side.
Three Negro women, two of them about Ivy’s age, appeared carrying silver trays.
The housekeeper Tilda, and her two daughters, Milliana and Stephania, Ivy surmised.
Cora had told her Tilda had some Indian blood, and the beautiful cheekbones that added distinction to her face and that of her daughters attested to that heritage.
Uncle Andre looked up. “Milliana, is my daughter awake?”
“I just peeked in on her. She and the babe are still asleep. Do you want me to wake her?”
“Oh, no,” Ivy interjected. “Please let her rest.”
The young woman glanced at her employer for confirmation. When he nodded, she started helping set out the tea items on the low table in front of them.
Ivy chose a dainty sandwich, some kind of fish paste by the faint smell, and a petit four and set them on her plate.
“Delia is eager to meet you. But we insisted she nap when the baby does. As for the rest of the family, Joshua is out on a pastoral visit, and Micah is at school. He’ll burst in on us soon and eat everything left on the tea tray.”
“And more besides,” Rose said with a proud smile. “He’s reached that age where he’s about to sprout up.”
“Probably tower over me,” Andre said complacently. “Although, I’ll miss the young scamp that wormed his way into my heart from our first meeting.”
“Well, now, you have a granddaughter to spoil.” Cora took a bite of her sandwich.
“Oh, I intend to do so.”
Once everyone had filled their plates, Rose gave Ivy an expectant look. “Will you tell us what happened?”
Once again, Ivy related her story, only omitting being in love with Torin. But she doubted her perceptive listeners missed the true state of her heart.