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THE TAILLIGHTS of Jordan’s car glowed like twin red beacons as Margot followed her to Rosewood. Beside her, Jade sat curled in a ball, knees raised, her head buried between them. Though her thin shoulders still shook, her sobs had grown less violent, a sign that the mild sedative Dr. Lyons had prescribed was starting to take effect. Convinced that her reaction to their father’s question about Nicole had killed him, Jade had become hysterical, deaf to Dr. Lyons’s assertion that an embolism had caused his cardiac arrest. With a heart already severely traumatized, the hospital team had been unable to revive him.Dr. Lyons had counseled that the best thing to do was to let the sedative do its work and for Jade to sleep. It would be the first small step along the road to healing emotionally; Margot and Jordan had left the hospital with her as quickly as possible.For her own part, Margot wasn’t sure when she would be able to sleep; certainly not while she could still recall the feel of her father’s hand in hers, then the sensation of it going limp as he passed from one world to the next. She would never forgive herself for not telling him the second their eyes met that she loved him. Now her father was dead and she’d come back too late to make things right and repair the rift between them.They exited the highway, turning onto smaller and smaller roads, and the area, even in the dark, began to look increasingly familiar. They were soon passing houses and stores she remembered: Anderson’s Foods, Warburg Hardware, the Coach House—a restaurant with the most delicious fried chicken and corn bread Margot had ever tasted.Just beyond the small brick post office, Jordan turned left onto Piper’s Road. Margot straightened in the rental car’s seat. She gripped the steering wheel tighter and her tired and gritty eyes strained to see every dip and curve of the last two miles of country road that led to Rosewood.Then there it was: the break in the trees where the line of dark post and rail fence began that signaled the beginning of her family’s property. Of course, the southern pastures were empty now, the horses safe in the barns for the night.Ahead, Jordan signaled left and turned into the wide, graveled driveway. Margot followed slowly, feeling that familiar rush of awe when the night sky vanished, blocked out by the chestnut trees that formed a quarter-mile-long allée. The trees had been planted the year the house had been built. They towered majestically, their branches meeting in a cathedrallike arch; in the headlights, the leaves that still clung to them gleamed dark gold.Unconsciously, Margot caught and held her breath as the car rounded the final curve and Rosewood’s columned façade came into sight.Framed by the dark night, the house appeared hauntingly romantic. The stuff of dreams. Lights shone through the sheer curtains, and suspended above the front door, the oversized iron lantern bathed the front porch in a welcoming glow. The illuminated house was a forcible reminder that the routines of daily life unfolded in spite of tragedy. Even as their father had lain in the hospital, the housekeeper—was it still Ellie Banner?—had prepared the house for their arrival before departing for the night.As she pulled up behind Jordan’s car, Margot’s gaze pored over the old house, hungrily taking in the details: the graceful carved swag that decorated the frieze above the two-story-high fluted Corinthian columns; the intricately lathed railing that wrapped the length of the front porch and the twin side porches. A sudden vivid memory sprang to mind, of her father carrying her ailing mother downstairs to the side porch, her frail body wrapped in wool throws needed to keep her warm in the July heat. He’d laid her upon the chintz-covered chaise longue near the white carved railing so she could breathe the perfumed air of her favorite tea roses.A tap on the window startled her. She had no idea how long she’d been staring at the house, lost in memories. The passenger seat was empty. Jade had gone while she’d sat here, her chest aching with regrets.Margot tugged on the door handle and stepped out of the car.“I just wanted to make sure you were okay.” The concern in Jordan’s voice was plain.“I’m fine. Really. I guess I lost track of time.” The crisp night air stung her damp cheeks. Quickly, she turned away. Bending inside the car, she wiped her tears with the back of her hand before retrieving her bag off the console. She slammed the car door shut and faced her sister. “I’d forgotten how beautiful the house was,” she lied.“Yes, it is,” Jordan said as she turned to fix her gaze on the graceful lines of the house. “It’s funny, whenever I come here now, I find myself thinking about Frank and Georgie.”The easy familiarity in Jordan’s voice confused Margot until she realized that her sister was speaking of their ancestors and not some longtime friends. “You mean Francis and Georgiana Radcliffe, who lived a couple of hundred years ago?”“Yes, sorry. Frank and Georgie are the nicknames Mama and I gave them. She knew everything about them, the history of the house, too. She used to tell me stories. I’d sit beside her on the bed and she’d talk to me about how Frank—Francis—built the house for Georgiana when she accepted his proposal for marriage. In one of his letters to the architect, Francis wrote that he wanted him to design a house as graceful and lovely as his wife-to-be. Then he traveled to New York and commissioned Duncan Phyfe to build all the furniture for Rosewood, because Phyfe was the finest craftsman in America and nothing was too good for Francis’s beloved. The pieces were transported here from New York by the wagonload. Can you imagine how many wagons it must have taken?”Margot imagined the rumble and creak of the wagon wheels. Would the chestnuts in the allée have even been planted yet?Beside her, Jordan sighed. “I loved those stories. I could never hear enough about Francis and Georgiana. Even then, when I was, what, maybe ten, I understood how rare their love was. Francis wasn’t interested in building some grandiose edifice to impress the world with his wealth and social standing. He wanted a house that would symbolize his love for Georgiana, for their future children, and for their children’s children. That’s why Rosewood feels special, because it was built out of love.” Her voice faded on a wistful note and for a moment they both stared at the graceful lines of the old house.Then, as if waking from a reverie, Jordan shook her head and gave a soft, rueful laugh. “Lord, I am such a hopeless romantic! Richard’s always teasing me about it. That reminds me, I’d better call home. I promised Richard I would as soon as we arrived.”
Doubtless eager for the reassuring sound of her husband’s voice, Jordan started toward the house. When she realized Margot wasn’t with her, she looked back. “Margot?”
“Go ahead. I think I’ll take a walk. I’m not quite ready to go inside the house yet. Too many memories.”
“Oh, gosh, I am so sorry! I wasn’t thinking.” She turned back immediately. “This must be so hard for you. All those years and Dad wouldn’t forgive you. I tried talking to him but nothing seemed to soften him. Then Nicole started up, claiming that I was upsetting him terribly by mentioning you all the time. She issued this ultimatum, telling me that if I persisted in bringing up your name when I visited Rosewood, she would arrange it so that I wasn’t invited anymore. She would have, too, uncaring that it would mean depriving Kate and Max of their grandfather. So I let it go and gave up on Dad. I’m sorry. I should have been stronger and stood up to her bullying. You always did.”
Margot touched her arm. “Hey, it’s all right. You did what you could. I can’t remember how many of my letters went unanswered, how many calls refused, before I realized he just wasn’t going to forgive me. But if I hadn’t left Rosewood when I did, I’d have probably been too old to break into modeling. Then where would I have been?”
“Maybe here at Rosewood?”
“No. Nicole and I were heading straight for a major blowup. Even if I’d managed to keep my temper in check for the chance to work at Rosewood Farm, Dad would still have favored”—she paused, Travis’s name on the tip of her tongue—“any man over me.”
“Dad always did view the world traditionally.”
Margot choked back a sad laugh. “That’s a fact.”
“It’s certainly how he chose to run the farm. Do you realize, Margot, Dad never once hired a female to work at Rosewood?”
Yeah, not even his own daughter, Margot thought. “I guess that’s something we simply have to accept about him.” Fighting off a chill of sorrow, she rubbed her arms. “It’s all water under the bridge now in any case. I’m happy with my career. Before I left for Italy, Damien Barnes called. Dior is launching a new product line and they want me to be their face. They’ve offered me a two-year contract.”
“Oh, Margot, congratulations! That’s a huge break for your career, isn’t it?”
“Yeah.”
“This is so exciting. You’ll be everywhere. I just loved it when you landed on the covers of Vogue and Elle last year. I was so proud of you—and it was so darned satisfying knowing it must be driving Nicole nuts to see your face on her favorite magazines. Lord, she was unpleasant.” Her voice dropped. “It’s hard to believe she’s gone.”
“I know. I kept thinking of her on the flights to Boston and Washington. She was only forty-two, Jordan.”
“And Dad only sixty-four. It’s awful. They had so much left to do in life. But the person I really feel bad for is Jade. Listen, I’m going to go inside and telephone Richard and then look in on Jade. If she’s still awake, I’ll see what Ellie left in the refrigerator and fix her a bite to eat. Do you want anything?”
Food. Eating. The notion sounded bizarre after all that had happened.
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