'We poison each other,' he had said, and he was right.
The bricks were still wet with dew as she cantered down the drive toward the road. Her thoughts turned to Simon. She sensed that he had suffered more than Quinn wanted to recognize and that he was a wiser man now. Instinctively she understood that Amanda had forgiven him even if Quinn hadn't. She wondered if Quinn was capable of forgiveness, tortured as he was by the past, torn by the two conflicting halves of his nature-the proud Cherokee and the master shipbuilder.
Simon… Amanda… Quinn… They had managed to snare her in the tangled web of their lives and make her part of them.
Chapter Thirty-three
After that morning, Noelle had little time to indulge in introspection, for following Emily Lester's example, her new neighbors began to arrive at the door. She soon found that between returning their calls and making frequent visits to the shipyard, she was no longer able to supervise the house and the servants by herself. As had become her habit, she turned to Dainty Jones.
' 'Spect I'd better see if I can find Nathan Davis. Used to work for Miz Burgess 'fore she died. He's the man for the job all right.'
And so Nathan Davis was installed as majordomo of the household to double as Quinn's valet when he returned. A gentle man with chocolate skin and a trace of a limp in his left leg, he commanded the respect of the rest of the servants without ever lifting his voice.
Quinn's abrupt departure meant that he could no longer take her to Savannah, and for this Noelle was grateful. The intimacy of a journey together was more than she could have borne. Still, with the main body of the house nearing completion and a wardrobe that desperately needed to be supplemented with dresses more suitable to the Georgia climate, she had to make the trip. When she discovered that Copeland and Peale's own sloops made regular runs to Savannah for supplies, she announced that she was going along and invited Emily to accompany her.
The trip to Savannah helped Noelle temporarily put aside her unhappiness. With Emily companionably beside her, she bought upholstery and drapery fabrics to take back with her, as well as lightweight cambrics and muslins for her dresses. She returned to Televea to find that Quinn was back from Milledgeville, his trip as unsuccessful as he had predicted. Life progressed as usual.
Luke Baker was convicted of arson and sent to the state prison. Quinn immersed himself in his work at the shipyard. The weeks passed and Noelle's bedroom door remained firmly closed. Slowly she was discovering that the longing of her own body was the most formidable enemy she had ever faced.
Even though she had been warned, Noelle was unprepared for the first onslaught of summer. The Georgia sun burned saffron in the sky, and the air was heavy with heat. She discarded all but one of her petticoats and began wearing the new pastel muslin dresses Grace had finished. Nathan hung the beds with mosquito netting and set out lemonade and iced tea in sweating pitchers that puddled the silver trays that held them.
Emily, whose body was now proudly swollen, laughed when Noelle complained. 'Honey, you'll be looking back on this as a cool spell when August comes.'
Noelle grew to appreciate Televea more than ever when she discovered how much more comfortable it was than the homes of her neighbors. Not only was it exceptionally well shaded, but it had been built on a slight rise to catch the breeze. Why was it, then, that it was becoming more and more difficult for her to fall asleep, even though her bedroom was cool? Why was it that she paced the floor each night, back and forth, until exhaustion overcame her?
One morning she was sitting in the kitchen, reading a cheerful letter from Constance and eating her second slice of fresh bread heaped with the damson plum preserves that Georgina Sinclair had brought with her when she had come by earlier that afternoon.
'You gonna end up plump as Miz Sinclair if you don't watch yourself,' Dainty scolded. With her sleeve, she wiped away the faint beads of perspiration that had formed on her upper lip. 'First she brings you them pecan pies, then that lemon pound cake, now it's damson preserves. All outta jealousy, if you ask me. She wants you to end up like her!'
'You just don't like her because she said your hickory nut cake was heavier than hers.' Noelle laughed, licking a spot of jam from her fingers.
'Go on and laugh. But you jes' watch. I'll bet my great grampa's britches that next week she'll show up with somethin' else.' Drying her hands on the tea towel she kept tucked in the side of her apron, she leaned back against the sink. 'Still, I guess there's no need to fret. Except for me, I never knowed anybody could eat as much food as you and still stay so thin. You ain't breedin', are you?'
'No, I'm not, Dainty Jones! And when are you going to learn that servants aren't supposed to ask such personal questions?'
'It's all part of my job,' Dainty sniffed, not the slightest bit cowed by Noelle's reprimand. 'Women who are breedin' need special food to strengthen their blood.'
Noelle could clearly see that a lecture on the feeding of pregnant women was forthcoming, and to forestall it, she said, 'Dainty, I've decided to have a dinner party. Televea is almost finished, and I think it's time we showed it off. What do you think? Can you manage it?'
Dainty pursed her lips, clearly offended by the question. 'I may not be one of your fancy-dancy Frenchified cooks, but I reckon I know a thing or two about puttin' on a dinner party!'
Noelle suppressed a smile. 'Fine. I'll leave it to you. Let's say two weeks from Saturday. Plan on eight couples.'
Her gown was the color of the inside of a seashell shot through with silver. Somehow, it seemed just right for this special night, which was, she knew, not hers but Televea's. The weather had even been kind that day, and the breeze coming into the house was cool and fragrant from the afternoon's thundershowers.
She straightened one of the curls that teased the corners of her eyebrows and then, as the clock chimed a quarter before the hour, hesitantly went to the door of Quinn's room and knocked. Hearing nothing but silence from within, she opened the door. A lamp was burning, his evening clothes were laid neatly on the bed, but the room was empty. Their guests were scheduled to arrive at any moment, and Quinn wasn't home from the shipyard!
Furiously she stomped down the stairs into the drawing room. She had left a note on his desk last evening, reminding him he must be ready by nine o'clock. Was it too much to ask that this once he could come home before midnight? How humiliating for her to receive their first guests alone.
Just then she heard the front door slam, and she rushed out to see Quinn mounting the steps two at a time, muttering a vile oath under his breath while he yanked his neckcloth loose with one hand and unbuttoned his shirt with the other. Shaking his head, Nathan followed at a slower pace.
She shut the door and sank down into one of the newly upholstered drawing-room chairs, relieved that Quinn was home but still angry with him. To distract herself, she took inventory of the refurbished drawing room.
The pale yellow love seats and bright green carpeting reminded her of lemon sherbets resting on a bed of mint. To accent the lighter green cast of the marble in the mantelpiece, she had selected a paper for the walls with spiraling stripes of the same shade. It was a satisfying room, formal but comfortable, and cool even on the hottest of days.
Nervously her eyes traveled above the mantelpiece. Just that morning she had made the decision, but now she was beginning to have second thoughts. Perhaps on this one issue, she should have consulted him.
It was not long before the doors burst open and Quinn, resplendent in black and white evening attire, entered. His eyes found the portrait of his mother immediately and then darkened ominously as his gaze moved to his wife.
Noelle thrust up her chin defiantly. 'This was her home, Quinn. She belongs here.'
The sound of voices in the hallway prevented his response.
'Noelle, you found it!' Emily exclaimed as she and Julian stepped into the room with her brother and his wife following closely behind. 'Edwin, look! Amanda's back.'
Edwin Darcy gazed at the painting over the fireplace. 'So she is. That's a portrait of Quinn's mother,' he
