Regret Not a Moment (24 page)

“Jeremiah, I want you to know that I’m very grateful for the hard work you’ve put into helping me with Firefly,” Devon said in a more serious tone.

“Firefly’s the long shot, ma’am. It’s always good to see the long shot win,” Jeremiah said with equal gravity. “If she wins, the payoff could be mighty sweet,” he added reflectively. “With two strikes against her, the odds’ll be high.”

“Two strikes?” Devon asked, puzzled.

Jeremiah nervously looked away from her and pretended to concentrate on taking Firefly’s pulse.

“Two strikes?” Devon stopped walking, forcing the young man to turn and meet her eyes.

“Well, she’s a filly and…”

“And?”

“And her trainer is a… a…” Jeremiah bent over Firefly’s right front hoof, studying it carefully.

Devon put her hands on her hips and said in a tone that was half mocking but demanding all the same, “Young man, you stand up and look at me and tell me what you mean.”

“Well… you’re a lady… I mean, a lady trainer,” Jeremiah blurted out.

Devon’s dark brows came together, forming a scowl. Jeremiah bowed his head, awaiting her wrath.

“Jeremiah, do you think you ride as well as any man in this place?”

“Ma’am?” The young boy looked up, startled at the seeming change of subject.

“You heard me.”

“I guess I ride as well as just about anyone,” Jeremiah said tentatively.

“Then why aren’t you training to be a jockey?” Devon asked.

Jeremiah looked at his employer, startled. “Well, ma’am, there haven’t been any colored jockeys in years.”

“Why not?”

Jeremiah searched for an answer, trying to arrive at one that he thought would be inoffensive to Devon.

Growing impatient, Devon said bluntly, “For no reason other than that you’re colored, right?”

“I… I guess so… I don’t rightly know, ma’am.”

“Well, I’ll make a deal with you, Jeremiah,” Devon said. She waited a few seconds until he raised his brown eyes to meet her determined gaze.

“Ma’am?”

“You help me get Firefly into the Derby. I’ll help you become a jockey.”

A vivid smile turned Jeremiah’s face sunny. “Yes, ma’am!” he said excitedly.

Devon smiled broadly in return, then signaled for them to go to the paddock.

“And one more thing, Jeremiah.”

“Yes, Miss Devon?”

Devon stopped in her tracks and turned once more to look squarely at Jeremiah. “It’s no handicap that you’re colored and it’s no handicap that I’m a woman. Only fools think like that. And so much the better for us if they do. Because that makes our victory that much sweeter. And that makes them feel like even bigger fools when we do win.”

IT seemed as though a thousand dancing lights shone from the long windows that graced the front of the elder Alexanders’ Fifth Avenue mansion. The air bore just a trace of warm weather on it, reminding visitors that spring would officially begin soon, despite the fact that it had snowed just two weeks before.

“Isn’t it a perfect evening?” Devon sighed to her mother-in-law, who was carefully inspecting each dish to be set out for the vast buffet that would be served at midnight.

“We’re lucky,” said the elder Mrs. Alexander, smiling at her daughter-in-law. “But the most wonderful birthday gift for John will be your presence here.”

Devon looked away, feeling guilty. Her mother-in-law’s serene voice betrayed no hint of criticism, nor did her expression, but Devon’s own discomfort with the subject led her to wonder if indeed gentle criticism had been intended. With an uncharacteristic lack of poise, Devon plucked at her chiffon gown. Victoria Alexander’s absolute serenity sometimes unnerved her. It was difficult to tell what lay behind her sweet expression. She had always demonstrated great kindness toward Devon, and the younger woman knew that the Alexanders were pleased with their son’s match. But lately, it seemed as though they, too, thought it wrong of her not to accompany her husband on all his travels.

Devon bit her tongue to keep from explaining the pact she had with John. After the Kentucky Derby, she kept reminding him.

Smoothly, Victoria Alexander changed the subject as she glided across the tile floor of the huge kitchen, delicately holding the sweeping skirt of her gray silk dress in one hand. “Do you think that John has guessed this is anything other than a family dinner?”

“I’m not certain. He seemed to be fishing for information this afternoon,” Devon said with a significant look, “but I didn’t give anything away.”

“We’ve never done anything like this for him before. He probably would think it very out of character for us.”

Devon suppressed a giggle. Indeed it was out of character for the staid Alexanders to host a surprise party and midnight supper for John’s birthday. Their brand of entertainment usually consisted of dinner parties for no more than twelve; cocktails at seven, dinner at eight, home by the stroke of eleven.

Even the menu for John’s birthday was completely different from that usually served at the Alexanders’. Well, Devon said to herself, Victoria
did
ask me what all John’s favorite dishes were.

It was an odd question, Devon thought, for a mother to ask, and it demonstrated the remoteness that she had observed in the Alexanders’ relationship with their son. It was clear that they loved John, but that they felt so far removed from the daily occurrences of their son’s life that they did not know how to communicate with him. John had not lived with them, except during holidays, since he had been sent to boarding school at age twelve. As a result, they often treated him like a much-loved but distant relative.

Devon surveyed the lobster in brandy cream sauce, the rack of lamb, and the salmon
en croute.
Never had she seen any of these dishes served at the Alexanders’. Their dinner parties invariably featured a standing rib roast or a Virginia ham. Devon was touched by the effort her mother-in-law had put into John’s birthday.

“I am absolutely certain John will be thrilled,” Devon said with a glowing smile.

Victoria glanced up from her inspection of the delicacies and caught the look of genuine affection in Devon’s eyes. She smiled back at her daughter-in-law, a slightly tremulous smile that—just for a split second—seemed to acknowledge her need for help when it came to her relations with her son. But the look of vulnerability was gone in a flash, for Victoria had been schooled all her life to hide weakness.

“What reason did you give for meeting John here rather than coming with him?” Victoria inquired, indicating with a gesture that it was time for them to depart the kitchen.

The butler held the door open for them, then followed the two ladies up the gracefully curved staircase to the third-floor ballroom. “I told him I was having cocktails with Sydney. You know she’s leaving for Paris the day after tomorrow?” At a nod from Victoria, Devon continued. “She’s my best friend here, so John knows I would want to catch up with her before she leaves.”

“What a shame you are spending only a week here, my dear. We receive so many inquiries about you,” said Victoria, again with no hint of admonishment.

This time, Devon felt compelled to explain. “I’ve promised John to accompany him everywhere this summer once the Kentucky Derby is run, but, of course, it’s most unpleasant being separated so often until then.”

Characteristically, Victoria did not answer. The rustling of their skirts as they climbed the stairs suddenly sounded very loud to Devon. But she too had been trained to maintain a calm facade, and she withstood the silence with no outward show of discomfort.

The two women automatically stopped at the closed double doors that marked one of the two entries to the ballroom, waiting for the butler to open the doors for them.

“Thank you, Parker,” Mrs. Alexander murmured as they stepped into the huge room, empty except for a row of small gilt chairs along each of three walls, and four long tables covered in white linen. Each table was punctuated by two-foot-high vermeil candelabra. The walnut-stained parquet gleamed like a mirror, reflecting the starry twinkle of the room’s four massive crystal chandeliers. Hothouse jasmine was draped in garlands along the walls, imparting an exquisitely heady fragrance.

“It’s absolutely splendid!” Devon breathed.

Victoria turned to her, a happy flush beginning to rise on the pale skin of her cheeks. “Do you think he will be pleased?”

Impulsively, Devon reached for her mother-in-law’s hand and gave it a reassuring squeeze. “Of course he will!” She promptly released the hand, not certain if Victoria liked such contact. They had never touched, other than to give each other polite little pecks of greeting. But Devon knew it was no condemnation of her that this was so, for the Alexanders never touched one another, except in the same perfunctory way.

This time, however, Devon was surprised to feel Victoria’s hand reach for hers and squeeze back. “Thank you,” Victoria said quietly, though Devon was not sure why she was being thanked.

“Oh, there you are, Victoria.” The cultured voice of John’s father echoed through the expansive chamber. The two women turned and walked toward the gray-haired gentleman, a man as handsome as John but with none of his son’s charismatic sexuality. “Aren’t the guests scheduled to arrive soon?” he asked, pulling a gold pocket watch from his vest.

“I expect so,” said Mrs. Alexander. “I just hope that John doesn’t decide to come early, before all the guests are here, or it will spoil the surprise.”

As if on cue, the front-door chimes sounded and the three Alexanders made their way to the gallery at the top of the stairs overlooking the main foyer. There they would receive their guests. Parker, meanwhile, had already stationed himself in the entrance foyer so that he could direct both staff and guests to where they should go. Three of the staff were assigned to relieve the ladies of their sumptuous furs and the men of their dark coats of cashmere, alpaca, or mohair.

Another retinue of servants, crisply uniformed in black and white, was ready to circulate among the guests with trays of cold hors d’oeuvres and champagne. The family’s baronial dining hall would serve as the permanent station for the predinner buffet of hot appetizers. They were meant to ensure that no guests suffered from over intoxication while awaiting the heavier meal to be served at midnight.

Devon and her in-laws greeted wave after wave of guests. Many of them were young, so Devon knew they were John’s friends, yet she had never met most of them. She was relieved when she spotted the familiar faces of Sydney and Bart.

“Who are all these people?” Devon whispered wryly to her friend.

“Your husband’s friends,” Sydney replied in a pointed fashion.

Even Sydney, modern-thinking Sydney, was critical of her long separations from John! Devon realized.

“Thank you so much for your help, dear,” Victoria said to Devon’s friend. Devon realized that Sydney must have compiled the guest list, since Devon, who had also contributed, did not know many of the people there.

Suddenly Devon spied a familiar face—a blonde woman accompanied by a distinguished older gentleman.

“Horace, how are you?” said John’s father, shaking the other man’s hand heartily. Devon could tell that this was someone that the elder Alexanders had invited themselves. When the man stepped toward her, Devon had an unobscured view of the young woman—Bebe Henley!

The older gentleman was speaking to Devon now. “Horace Henley, my dear. A pleasure to see you again. You were only a girl last time I saw you and your parents.”

Devon quickly focused her attention on him. He was a tall man whose blond hair was turning white. In his stature and fine bone structure, Devon could see the marked resemblance to his daughter.

Now it was Bebe’s turn to stand before her. Devon realized why she had not immediately recognized her. The young woman’s long blonde hair was pulled back into an intricately woven chignon at the nape of her neck and was covered with a diamond-studded snood. The hairdo made her look older, but more elegant. The intricacy of her hair decoration was offset by a starkly simple ivory silk gown, long-sleeved and perfectly straight. It was clear that Bebe Henley was a much more subdued person when her father was present, Devon thought.

“How do you do, Mrs. Alexander,” Bebe Henley’s voice rang out. The question was the socially correct one, but Bebe’s eyes were defiant, as if to say, I know you detest my presence here, but there’s nothing you can do about it.

Devon refused to react to the look, instead fixing the younger woman with the usual blandly welcoming expression of those faced with a long receiving line.

“How nice of you to come,” she replied coolly, waiting the proper second or two before turning to the next guest. She would not give Bebe the satisfaction of snubbing her, for that would be to reveal that she felt some emotion toward her.

“Marion!” Devon exclaimed in surprise a few moments later, recognizing her hostess from La Cuesta Encantada. “I didn’t dare hope that you would be able to make it.”

“How could you even think for a moment that we would miss John’s surprise party?” Marion chided, with a flash of her laughing blue eyes.

“How kind of you!” Devon said, enfolding her friend in a warm embrace.

Just as it seemed that all the guests had arrived, Parker came to inform Mr. Alexander that it was almost time for John to appear. Devon asked Sydney and Bart to help quiet their guests and direct them into the main salon and adjoining dining room, then Parker closed the carved mahogany double doors behind them so that John would not be alerted to the presence of the two hundred people there.

Devon, meanwhile, went downstairs to the white marble foyer to await her husband. As always when Devon knew she would see John, she felt an excited fluttering in her heart. She wondered idly if all her friends felt the same way about their husbands, or if the feeling was due to the very separations that were a subject of such criticism.

“Mr. Alexander has arrived, madam,” Parker said in his rather haughty voice. Parker’s immutable correctness sometimes tempted Devon into deliberately doing things that were just a bit incorrect by his strict standards.