Magnolia

3

BECAUSE CLAIRE HAD BEEN SO DEVOTED TO HER uncle, and so involved in helping him, she hadn’t tried to make friends of the few other single women in the community. She felt that lack keenly as she was helped to get ready for the wedding ceremony by an excited Gertie. At least she had someone who was “family” at the most exciting event of her young life.

“I wish your uncle could see you now, Miss Claire.” Gertie sighed. “You look pretty as a picture.”

“Of course I do—the veil covers my face!” Claire teased, smiling. She didn’t have a traditional wedding gown. She wore an elaborate white silk-and-lace dress that she’d made for a debutante’s coming out. The debutante had decided at the last minute that she didn’t want it. It was Claire’s size, so she’d kept it for herself. She was glad now that she had. With the addition of a huge white hat with a concealing veil, and the small bouquet of autumn flowers that Gertie had picked for her and threaded with a silver ribbon and white lace, Claire looked the picture of a modern bride.

“That wasn’t what I meant, and you know it,” Gertie scolded. She straightened a fold of the long flaring skirt. “There. You look perfect. Mr. John will be ever so proud.”

“Mr. John” hadn’t looked as if he felt very proud of her when he’d glimpsed her briefly at the front door, Claire thought miserably. For the past three weeks he’d been very attentive and courteous, taking her out to poetry recitals and musical concerts every night. He’d been a charming companion. His affection for her was as evident as it had ever been…but that was all. There was simply nothing more. There had been no kisses, no effort to make their relationship anything more than friendship. And today, when the ceremony was to take place, he suddenly looked haunted. Claire had a sudden fear that he might have second thoughts at the altar—a picture of herself being left there forming in her mind.

“Why, your hands are trembling!” Gertie exclaimed, taking both of them in hers to warm them. “Now, child, don’t get overwrought. Honestly, marriage is very nice. Harry and I have been together for thirty years, and we’ve been so happy. You’ll be happy, too.”

Claire met the gentle, laughing dark eyes evenly. “Yes, but Harry loves you.”

Gertie gnawed on her full lower lip. “Sometimes love comes later.”

“Or not at all,” Claire added, remembering that John had invited his employer—and wife—to the wedding. John might be worried that the gossip about Diane and himself brought some of these people to the wedding out of sheer curiosity. Surely that was what made him look so concerned—not regret for having asked her to marry him! She had to think that he was glad to be marrying her or she’d go mad.

In fact, John was trying not to see Diane, so beautiful in her glorious white-and-black-patterned dress, so elegant. She was smiling, but she looked worn, and her husband wasn’t smiling at all. John had worried about her since the day of Claire’s uncle’s funeral. Eli had been quite brisk with her, and hostile toward him, as if he’d heard the gossip about them and was angry. John had wanted to talk to Diane badly, to find out if she was being mistreated by her husband because of the wild rumors. But he hadn’t dared approach her for fear of making the whole situation worse. But today, she’d detained him at the back of the church while they were momentarily alone. There had been tears in her eyes.

She tugged at his sleeve and coaxed him into an empty room. “I never dreamed you’d actually go through with it. Oh, don’t! Don’t!” she pleaded, clinging to his arms. “John, you simply can’t go through with it! I was wrong. I made a terrible mistake. I admit it freely. I married only to spite you. But what if my marriage were suddenly dissolved and you were tied to Claire? You have to stop the wedding!”

“What are you talking about, Diane?” he asked, holding her tight by both upper arms. “You’re still my friend…”

The fire in his eyes thrilled her. She leaned into his body, giving him all her weight, and lifted her face. “It isn’t friendship I want. I love you!”

His breath caught in his throat. “You said…”

“I lied! I was trying to make the whole terrible situation easier for you, but now I must speak. I must. John, you mustn’t go through with this. I’ll promise anything, anything…if you’ll walk out of the church. Anything, my darling,” she whispered boldly.

He thought he might scream. Her eyes promised heaven, her lips… He bent toward them, pulled by invisible strings. And then he suddenly realized who he was—and who she was—and where they were. He drew away, slowly, reluctantly. Perspiration beaded above his upper lip. “It’s too late,” he bit off.

“No!” she said. “You could walk out!”

“How?” he demanded through his teeth, tormented by the anguish on her lovely face. She loved him. She still loved him! And he was about to be married! “Diane, half of Atlanta is out there. I cannot!”

She looked at him through tears. “I was a fool! Only recently have I realized how much I love you. But there’s no reason for you to ruin your life, as well. John, you don’t love her. You love me!”

“I know.” He groaned, holding her hands tight. His black eyes adored her. “I love you more than my life!”

She pressed closer to him. “My marriage may not last much longer,” she whispered urgently. “I can say no more, but I may be free sooner than you realize. John, you have to stop the wedding. There cannot be two spouses between us. There’s something I simply must tell you about Eli—” She caught sight of her husband coming along the hall and sprang away from John. She was laughing by the time Calverson joined them. She recovered so quickly, John thought—much more quickly than he could.

“Oh, John. What a story!” she said, dabbing at her eyes. “You simply must tell Eli!”

Her husband relaxed when he saw the tears of laughter on her face. “Later, my dear, later,” he said, nodding toward John. “This fellow has some marrying to do.” With that, he took her arm and drew her across the threshold.

She looked over her shoulder at John, her eyes wild and desperate and pleading.

John was distraught. Diane hadn’t said a word to him in weeks. Now, at his wedding, she was declaring her love, begging him to forgo this marriage, promising a future for them, insinuating…what? And he, who loved her, and now knew for certain she loved him, was on the verge of marrying another woman. Instead of one barrier between them—her own marriage—he was creating two.

Was he mad to marry Claire, when he didn’t love her? His eyes sought Diane’s across the room and his pained expression brought a sad but reassuring smile to her lips. He turned away, miserable. Diane…his love, his life! He was losing her forever, because of his need to stem foul gossip about her and his pity for Claire. Why hadn’t he realized in time how deeply he was committing himself with this marriage? He hadn’t thought there was a chance of Diane’s marriage ending. Now there was the possibility—now, when it was almost too late! There could be no easy divorce, no quick annulment of his marriage to Claire even if Diane should suddenly become free, because that would create twice the gossip. Of course, they could go away…

There was still time, he told himself. He could stop this, right now. He could go to Claire, tell her that he hadn’t been thinking straight, that despite his compassion for her situation, he didn’t love her and couldn’t marry her. He could do that!

He even made the attempt. He joined her as she entered the church sanctuary, his feelings in turmoil.

She gave him a clear, uncomplicated look, something akin to worship in her soft eyes as she stared up at him, flushed with delight.

His lips parted to speak the words that would end the farce. But somehow, looking into those soft gray eyes through the thin white veil, he couldn’t find the words. He just stood there, speechless. She looked so pure, so untouched, so innocent. So much in love, he thought bitterly. And suddenly, the thought of hurting her was insupportable.

“Is…something wrong with my dress?” she asked worriedly.

“No,” he replied curtly. He glanced back at the full church and made a rough sound. “Wait for the music, Claire,” he said stiffly, and turned to go back down the aisle to the altar, where the minister waited to marry them. He was disgusted with himself. Pity was no excuse for marriage. His heart was forever Diane’s, now more than ever.

Good Lord, would he ever forget what Diane had just confessed to him? Would he ever forget the torment in those beautiful eyes? How could he have thought to marry Claire when a simple loan of money would have done equally well? But sanity had come far too late to save him. He could hardly walk out of the church now, with half of Atlanta’s most prominent citizens watching. The scandal would ruin him…and Claire. He had to go through with it.

Claire heard the music start and she walked down the aisle, all alone. There was no one to give her away; there were no bridesmaids, no attendants. It was a church wedding, but more funereal in tone than joyous. John had looked angry, unhappy. She glimpsed Diane through her veil and saw the woman looking straight at John with a curious, drawn expression. She still wanted him, it seemed. And a split second later, she saw John’s head turn helplessly toward Diane, saw his tormented gaze rest on the other woman.

As she stopped by his side and the minister began speaking, Claire’s heart raced. John was in love with Diane, and, judging by the way she was looking at him, it was reciprocated. Diane loved him, too! Claire felt trapped. John was as helpless in his emotions as she was in her own.

She loved him, but it wasn’t going to be enough, ever. He’d live with her, someday he might even make love to her and they might have children. But he’d be dreaming of Diane, loving Diane, wanting Diane, every minute of every day—just as she wanted him. It was going to be an empty triumph and a hollow, heartless marriage. And she’d realized it too late, overwhelmed as she had been with grief for her uncle and hopeless love for John.

The minister asked John if he took Claire to be his wife; he replied “Yes,” in a terse, forced tone.

The same question was put to Claire. She hesitated. At that instant, she felt John’s hand grasp hers, hard. She said the word without conscious volition, flushing. He put the ring on her finger, and the minister concluded the service, adding that the groom could kiss the bride.

He did, to give him credit, lift the veil from her face and look at her, but his expression was troubled. He bent and barely brushed his cool, firm lips against her own, in a kiss so very different from the one she’d hoped for, dreamed of, wanted with every thread of her being.

He took her arm and they walked down the aisle to the standing congratulations and happy cries of the audience. Only Diane didn’t cheer them on. John glanced at her miserable face once and felt his heart go cold. He looked away. He walked out the door without a single glance backward.

THEY ARRIVED AT JOHN’S apartment late, after the boisterous reception. It might have been fun, except that Diane looked like a grieving widow, and John’s forced smiles wore on Claire’s nerves. By the time it was over, Claire felt as if she’d been shaken to pieces.

The apartment was nice. It was on Peachtree Street, in a very pleasant neighborhood, with trees lining the road out front and plenty of them around the yard. Claire wished it were light enough so that she could see more. Tomorrow, she’d look at that shed John had told her about. She could keep Uncle’s motorcar there.

She hesitated in the doorway of the upstairs floor of the sprawling, late-Victorian house where John lived. There were fancy sofas and chairs in the parlor and curtains at the windows. There was a large ashtray, with a half-smoked cigar in it, and a fireplace in which a fire burned briskly, because some September evenings were cool even this far south.

“This will be your room,” John announced in a subdued tone, twisting the crystal doorknob of a door that led off the parlor.

She walked into it. It was small, but neat, with an iron bedstead painted white and a damask coverlet on it. There was a washstand with a pitcher of water and a large bowl on top of it, along with a mirrored dresser and a chifforobe. All anyone could want, she thought hysterically, except for a husband.

“Thank you for not insisting that we share a room,” she said discreetly, and without looking at him.

“It isn’t a hardship, since we don’t have a normal sort of marriage.” Angry, guilty, he knocked his hand against the dresser, welcoming the pain. “I must have been out of my mind!” He looked at her fully then, with eyes so bitter and full of agony that she felt his emotions bite into her body.

Her fingers clutched the lace curtain. “I didn’t trap you,” she reminded him curtly. “You convinced me that it would be for both our sakes.”

“Yes, I did,” he replied honestly, getting his feelings under tenuous control. “It was an act that we can both spend our lives regretting!”

She didn’t know what to say. He looked destroyed.

He closed his eyes and opened them again. He felt as if he’d aged twenty years. “Well, it’s done. We must make the best of it. There’s no need for us to be much together. You can keep the apartment tidy and I’ll go out to work each day. I often work late into the evening, even on Saturdays. We have church on Sundays. Occasionally I go to my club to play tennis.”

Apparently she wasn’t to accompany him. “I should like to have my uncle’s motorcar moved here,” she said proudly.

He sighed and made an odd gesture with a lean hand. “If we must.” He had no heart for argument. Diane’s lovely tear-filled eyes haunted him.

“We must,” she replied firmly. “Furthermore, I want my wheel.”

His eyebrows lifted. “You ride a bicycle?”

“Certainly I do. Most young ladies have wheels these days. It’s wonderful exercise. There is a bicycle club in the city.”

“It’s dangerous,” he said, concerned for her daredevil schemes. First a motorcar, now this. “A woman racer fell off her wheel and was injured. And I understand that in at least one city it has become illegal to ride a wheel at night unless it is properly lighted, so that it won’t frighten carriage horses.”

“I know all that,” she replied. “I’ll certainly obey all the rules. In any case, I don’t ride at night.”

He stuck his hands in his pockets and studied her carefully. He really didn’t know her at all. She was his friend. But she was also a stranger who would now share his life, even though it was only a partial sharing. He wasn’t sure how he was going to like this.

Neither was Claire, despite her hunger for his love. She grimaced. “Is there indoor plumbing?” she asked.

“Of course. Down the hall,” he replied. “And you have access to the kitchen, but Mrs. Dobbs supplies all meals. You may check with her about the schedule and ask for any particular dishes that you like. She’s quite accommodating.”

“I’ll do that.”

She took off her hat, replacing the big pearl-tipped hairpin through the fabric. Without it, she looked fragile, and very young.

She wounded him, looking like that. None of this was her fault. He scowled as he thought how disappointing a day it must have been for her. He hadn’t done anything to make it easier. In fact, he’d been openly hostile most of the time, because of what Diane had said to him, because of that stricken look on Diane’s face. He could hardly bear the pain.

“I’m sorry,” she said unexpectedly, lifting her wan face to his eyes. “I knew that you wanted to back out of the wedding today, and it was too late. You didn’t think this far ahead, did you?”