would be considered a spinster by some people.
“The house is just ahead, Miss,” the driver shouted through the window that separated him from the passenger compartment.
The lights of the house glittered through the trees and the waving strands of gray Spanish moss that hung from them. I sat forward in the seat, my hand clinging to the strap beside the curtained windows.
We moved past one last line of trees and there it was.
“ Marshbay.” The name whispered through my lips unbidden.
The place was like nothing I’d ever seen before. This was no typical white colonnaded southern mansion. Lit by the last remnants of the afternoon sun, the house resembled more a fortress or a prison than it did a gracious southern home. It was low, a vast ramble of sand-colored masonry buildings with a square tower at the front that rose fifty feet above the ground. A long, straight driveway to the house lay between rows of tall palm trees.
This was a fantasy house, a Moorish fortress that melded building to marsh and sea, a place of mystery with windows covered by ornate, spiked wrought iron. Atop the building, small turrets with open windows sat, like dozens of eyes, facing the ocean. I held my breath as the sun crept down the turrets, fading them slowly to gray. In that moment, the house seemed almost to live and breathe.
When we stopped at the front, I pulled my white lace shawl tighter about my shoulders. I took the driver’s outstretched hand and stepped down from the coach. It pulled away and I was left standing before two huge oak doors flanked by doormen.
I felt as alone as I’d ever felt in my life. For a moment I actually thought of running after the coach and going home as quickly as the horses could carry me. But I remembered the promise I had made to my mother and I could not disappoint her.
Taking a deep breath, I brushed my hand over the material of my gown before reaching back and pulling the bustled train up. I lifted my head and walked toward those doors as if I’d done it a hundred times. When I reached the top of the steps, two men, dressed in livery, stepped forward, each grasping one of the huge doors and opening them, bowing slightly to me as I stepped into the house.
I entered a sunroom, now cool and serene, filled with potted palms and baskets of marsh rushes and sea lavender. This room opened onto a vast open courtyard that looked to be surrounded by the house.
My gaze was drawn to a large fountain in the center of the courtyard, weathered to a rich patina as it sprayed water on bronzed laughing figures of children. Multi-colored lanterns sparkled among the tall, symmetrically placed Sabal palms surrounded by native plants and brilliant hibiscus. Small round tables covered with white linens and lit with lamps sat about the courtyard. Guests gathered about the area, laughing and talking, while the aroma of expensive perfumes mingled with the scent of candles and flowers and the salty sea.
I stood transfixed, looking out into this courtyard filled with people, while above us the sky turned dark and the first sprinkle of stars appeared. This was a world I’d never experienced and it simply took my breath away.
“Miss Brady?”
I turned to see an older gentleman dressed in formal attire and wearing white gloves. “Come this way please,” he said. “The family is expecting you.”
I noticed several people at the top of the marble steps that led down to the courtyard— a tall, slender older woman wearing a black beaded gown spoke with another couple. Next to her stood a tall, dark-haired man staring straight at me. His bold gaze made me feel disconcerted and self-conscious.
Nervously, I pushed back errant wisps of hair that tumbled about my face and hoped I didn’t look like the wayward swamp girl I felt I was.
“Miss Isabella Brady,” the butler announced to the guests, leading me to the group on the stairs. I don’t know how I managed to follow him.
I found myself staring into
“The house is just ahead, Miss,” the driver shouted through the window that separated him from the passenger compartment.
The lights of the house glittered through the trees and the waving strands of gray Spanish moss that hung from them. I sat forward in the seat, my hand clinging to the strap beside the curtained windows.
We moved past one last line of trees and there it was.
“ Marshbay.” The name whispered through my lips unbidden.
The place was like nothing I’d ever seen before. This was no typical white colonnaded southern mansion. Lit by the last remnants of the afternoon sun, the house resembled more a fortress or a prison than it did a gracious southern home. It was low, a vast ramble of sand-colored masonry buildings with a square tower at the front that rose fifty feet above the ground. A long, straight driveway to the house lay between rows of tall palm trees.
This was a fantasy house, a Moorish fortress that melded building to marsh and sea, a place of mystery with windows covered by ornate, spiked wrought iron. Atop the building, small turrets with open windows sat, like dozens of eyes, facing the ocean. I held my breath as the sun crept down the turrets, fading them slowly to gray. In that moment, the house seemed almost to live and breathe.
When we stopped at the front, I pulled my white lace shawl tighter about my shoulders. I took the driver’s outstretched hand and stepped down from the coach. It pulled away and I was left standing before two huge oak doors flanked by doormen.
I felt as alone as I’d ever felt in my life. For a moment I actually thought of running after the coach and going home as quickly as the horses could carry me. But I remembered the promise I had made to my mother and I could not disappoint her.
Taking a deep breath, I brushed my hand over the material of my gown before reaching back and pulling the bustled train up. I lifted my head and walked toward those doors as if I’d done it a hundred times. When I reached the top of the steps, two men, dressed in livery, stepped forward, each grasping one of the huge doors and opening them, bowing slightly to me as I stepped into the house.
I entered a sunroom, now cool and serene, filled with potted palms and baskets of marsh rushes and sea lavender. This room opened onto a vast open courtyard that looked to be surrounded by the house.
My gaze was drawn to a large fountain in the center of the courtyard, weathered to a rich patina as it sprayed water on bronzed laughing figures of children. Multi-colored lanterns sparkled among the tall, symmetrically placed Sabal palms surrounded by native plants and brilliant hibiscus. Small round tables covered with white linens and lit with lamps sat about the courtyard. Guests gathered about the area, laughing and talking, while the aroma of expensive perfumes mingled with the scent of candles and flowers and the salty sea.
I stood transfixed, looking out into this courtyard filled with people, while above us the sky turned dark and the first sprinkle of stars appeared. This was a world I’d never experienced and it simply took my breath away.
“Miss Brady?”
I turned to see an older gentleman dressed in formal attire and wearing white gloves. “Come this way please,” he said. “The family is expecting you.”
I noticed several people at the top of the marble steps that led down to the courtyard— a tall, slender older woman wearing a black beaded gown spoke with another couple. Next to her stood a tall, dark-haired man staring straight at me. His bold gaze made me feel disconcerted and self-conscious.
Nervously, I pushed back errant wisps of hair that tumbled about my face and hoped I didn’t look like the wayward swamp girl I felt I was.
“Miss Isabella Brady,” the butler announced to the guests, leading me to the group on the stairs. I don’t know how I managed to follow him.
I found myself staring into
Similar Books
