stateroom on
the Fall River boat. He told himself he was eager to get
back to Newport because the city had been so hot, with
a humid, sticky heat. He was tired of feeling perpetually dirty from the constant presence of sweat. He and
Lionel joked about how much they were looking forward to the large bathtubs and bathing rooms that adjoined each of the bedrooms at Rose Bluff.
But it was more than that. He wanted to see Audrey.
He was desperate to see her, in fact. Lionel’s warning
had left him feeling unsure of himself and of her. He
had made the transfer of funds, but he was doubting the wisdom of the investment. Were she and her father setting him up to fail miserably on purpose, perhaps as a
joke to spite the Englishman? To teach him a subtle lesson about invading America, searching for an heiress to
prop up his aging aristocracy? Or perhaps it was all just
his paranoia when he contemplated the enormity of
what he’d done-taken the last of the money and gambled it on St. Clair’s business acumen.
When he pictured Audrey in his mind, conjured up
her startling blue eyes and dark hair, he could not believe she was out to dupe him. It was nearly impossible
to imagine that her forthright nature could even conceive of trickery when being outspoken served its purpose so much better. And so his mind vacillated on the
return journey, leaving him sleepless in his berth while
Lionel snored quietly on the other side of the room.
Gannon was on the wide back porch of Rose Bluff
reading his mail and taking in the Atlantic breeze with a
new appreciation when Stella found him at three-thirty
the afternoon of their return from New York.
“Violet and Audrey St. Clair are here. Are you at
home?”
Gannon stood up and set aside his mail. “Of course.
I am always at home for Audrey St. Clair.”
“Well, it’s so hard to tell with you, Camberly.” Stella
linked her arm through his as she teased. “Half the girls
in Newport think they’ll be the next countess after the
way you cut a swath through them before you left.”
“I find that perfectly alarming,” Gannon said in all seriousness while they walked.
Stella shot him a sly look. “I am sure Violet St. Clair
does too, and that’s why they’re here”
Stella had had the St. Clairs placed in the music room
at Rose Bluff, a big open room done in the French style
at the back of the house so that the glass-paned French
doors opened onto the porch and caught the afternoon
breeze. They rose when Gannon entered the room. His
first thought was that Audrey looked lovely, dressed as
she was in an afternoon gown of cool blue trimmed in
tiny white lace. Indeed, it was nearly impossible to concentrate on anything else. Her beauty dominated the
room and his senses.
“Good afternoon, ladies. This is a pleasure.” Gannon
found the wherewithal to bow over Violet St. Clair’s
gloved hand and then Audrey’s, giving her hand a secret
squeeze as he did so. They all sat down while Stella
poured tall, iced glasses of lemonade from an expensive
crystal pitcher.
“We’ve come to talk about the picnic tomorrow,” Violet began.
Gannon racked his brain for a clue as to what she referenced. “Is that so?” he said vaguely when it became
clear that Violet was waiting for a response.
“Mrs. Astor is very kind to do such a thing for Camberly” Stella came to his rescue.
Ah, yes. He remembered now. An English-style picnic in honor of his visit. “I am looking forward to it.” In reality, the only enticement the thought of a picnic held
for him was Audrey’s presence.
“Where’s it to be held?” Stella asked, passing around
a plate of lemon cookies.
“Caro has convinced the Benton farm to let us have
the picnic there,” Violet said casually, taking a delicate
bite of the cookie.
Commandeered was more apt, Gannon thought. Caroline Astor was a woman who got her way. He could envision her taking possession of the farm with all the force
the Fall River boat. He told himself he was eager to get
back to Newport because the city had been so hot, with
a humid, sticky heat. He was tired of feeling perpetually dirty from the constant presence of sweat. He and
Lionel joked about how much they were looking forward to the large bathtubs and bathing rooms that adjoined each of the bedrooms at Rose Bluff.
But it was more than that. He wanted to see Audrey.
He was desperate to see her, in fact. Lionel’s warning
had left him feeling unsure of himself and of her. He
had made the transfer of funds, but he was doubting the wisdom of the investment. Were she and her father setting him up to fail miserably on purpose, perhaps as a
joke to spite the Englishman? To teach him a subtle lesson about invading America, searching for an heiress to
prop up his aging aristocracy? Or perhaps it was all just
his paranoia when he contemplated the enormity of
what he’d done-taken the last of the money and gambled it on St. Clair’s business acumen.
When he pictured Audrey in his mind, conjured up
her startling blue eyes and dark hair, he could not believe she was out to dupe him. It was nearly impossible
to imagine that her forthright nature could even conceive of trickery when being outspoken served its purpose so much better. And so his mind vacillated on the
return journey, leaving him sleepless in his berth while
Lionel snored quietly on the other side of the room.
Gannon was on the wide back porch of Rose Bluff
reading his mail and taking in the Atlantic breeze with a
new appreciation when Stella found him at three-thirty
the afternoon of their return from New York.
“Violet and Audrey St. Clair are here. Are you at
home?”
Gannon stood up and set aside his mail. “Of course.
I am always at home for Audrey St. Clair.”
“Well, it’s so hard to tell with you, Camberly.” Stella
linked her arm through his as she teased. “Half the girls
in Newport think they’ll be the next countess after the
way you cut a swath through them before you left.”
“I find that perfectly alarming,” Gannon said in all seriousness while they walked.
Stella shot him a sly look. “I am sure Violet St. Clair
does too, and that’s why they’re here”
Stella had had the St. Clairs placed in the music room
at Rose Bluff, a big open room done in the French style
at the back of the house so that the glass-paned French
doors opened onto the porch and caught the afternoon
breeze. They rose when Gannon entered the room. His
first thought was that Audrey looked lovely, dressed as
she was in an afternoon gown of cool blue trimmed in
tiny white lace. Indeed, it was nearly impossible to concentrate on anything else. Her beauty dominated the
room and his senses.
“Good afternoon, ladies. This is a pleasure.” Gannon
found the wherewithal to bow over Violet St. Clair’s
gloved hand and then Audrey’s, giving her hand a secret
squeeze as he did so. They all sat down while Stella
poured tall, iced glasses of lemonade from an expensive
crystal pitcher.
“We’ve come to talk about the picnic tomorrow,” Violet began.
Gannon racked his brain for a clue as to what she referenced. “Is that so?” he said vaguely when it became
clear that Violet was waiting for a response.
“Mrs. Astor is very kind to do such a thing for Camberly” Stella came to his rescue.
Ah, yes. He remembered now. An English-style picnic in honor of his visit. “I am looking forward to it.” In reality, the only enticement the thought of a picnic held
for him was Audrey’s presence.
“Where’s it to be held?” Stella asked, passing around
a plate of lemon cookies.
“Caro has convinced the Benton farm to let us have
the picnic there,” Violet said casually, taking a delicate
bite of the cookie.
Commandeered was more apt, Gannon thought. Caroline Astor was a woman who got her way. He could envision her taking possession of the farm with all the force
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