Regret Not a Moment (8 page)

“Don’t,” Helena said in a pained voice. “Don’t feel sorry for me. You always have and I can’t bear it.”

Devon, embarrassed, was silent. She groped for words that would give Helena confidence without sounding condescending. Studying the redhead, whose downcast eyes were brimming with tears, Devon realized that she was quite attractive. Marriage had allowed her to adopt styles of hair and dress that were somewhat bolder than those appropriate for a single woman, and the change suited her.

“Helena, there’s no reason anyone should pity you. You’re very attractive. And there’s no reason for Brent to look outside his marriage for… anything. Believe me, he has never, in any way, indicated to me that he is not perfectly happy with you. Of course he still likes me. We’ve been friends all our lives. But I’m certain I would know if he loved me. Don’t forget, his relationship with me ended months before he began to court you.”

“I know. But some people said there were… reasons… reasons other than love that he married me.”

“As I said before, it’s foolish to listen to gossip. No one can know more about Brent than you, his wife. Isn’t that right?”

“That’s right, I suppose,” Helena said, with hope in her voice.

“And has he ever been anything but loving toward you?”

“No… I suppose not.” Helena hesitated a moment, then went on. “Except the night of the dinner party at our house. The way he talked to you… and that day… the day of the hunt… you and he were riding together.”

“Helena, if you’ll pardon me for saying so, I think you’re allowing your own doubts to make you see things that aren’t there. Brent is a natural flirt, but I don’t think he treats me any differently from any other woman, now does he?”

Devon saw that Helena was reflecting on the question. After a few moments, the redhead’s face cleared, as though she had just learned a piece of good news. “You know, Devon, I think you’re right! I think Brent does treat everyone that way. I never really paid attention before. I was always so concerned with your… previous… relationship.”

“You see!” Devon said excitedly. She had forgotten her anger at Helena and was happy to have found a solution to the other woman’s problem.

Then Helena’s face fell. “But at the hunt,” she said, “he looked at you with such admiration. He wanted to ride with you. Oh, Devon, you just don’t see—”

“I see that you’re being silly, Helena,” Devon interrupted in a stern tone. “I see that Brent looks at my father with admiration when he takes a jump particularly well. He admires my riding. Maybe he even admires me. But he is married to you and I’m sure he loves you.”

Tears of emotional release, as well as remorse, were streaming down Helena’s face. “Yes… yes, I see what you mean.” She paused a moment and dabbed at her eyes with a handkerchief. When she lifted her face again, it had cleared. “I think you must be right,” she said, her tone tremulous but more cheerful. “Oh, Devon, will you ever forgive me for being so stupid… and for causing your accident?”

“Of course. If you promise to keep those silly notions out of your head for good.” Devon was touched in spite of herself. The other woman was exasperating, maybe foolish, but she had bared her soul to Devon and Devon could only respond with kindness.

In her elation, Helena did not measure her next words. She did not mean to hurt Devon. Helena thought of Devon as a superior being and did not realize that she was even capable of inflicting pain on her. In her excitement, she simply spoke the words that entered her head:

“And I really have no reason to be jealous of you,” said Helena. “Now I have something you don’t. I’m married and you’re not. I’m married to a man who used to court you.”

Devon was startled by Helena’s bluntness, but the real shock came from the words themselves. “You’re right,” Devon said in a stunned voice. After all, Helena did have something Devon wanted. Each night when Helena went to bed, she slept beside the man she loved. They had done things Devon could only imagine, only long for. In addition, Devon knew that some people pitied her because she was still single. Helena’s place in society was ensured by virtue of her marriage. She could attend any event she wished, whether or not she was escorted by her husband, simply because she was married. Like a swift blow that took the wind out of her, the realization that her good looks and self-confidence meant nothing to the outside world shook Devon to her very core. She did not feel pitiable. She was not pitiable, yet society was making her so. Society and her own desires, which she saw no means of assuaging.

“I just won’t be jealous anymore,” Helena continued decisively. Then, laughing in relief, she said, “It’s created an awful mess, hasn’t it? Besides, I do have Brent. He’s mine now and I don’t suppose I need trouble myself beyond that.” Helena had new resolve in her voice.

“No… no… you should never worry about that,” replied Devon, but her voice was vague, as though her thoughts were far away.

“And I’ve been selfish taking up so much of your time when you’re still recovering. Why, you seem positively exhausted!” With a new briskness to her movements, Helena leaned down, kissed Devon on the cheek, and bade her farewell.

Alone again, Devon burrowed deep into her pillows and tiredly pulled the covers up around her neck. She felt drained. She needed to rest. But she could not rest because replaying itself over and over in her mind was the realization that life’s vivid promise, its glories, could remain closed to her. It was a possibility she had never before considered.

GRACE Richmond Des Rochers had a first name which suited her not at all. Devon’s older sister had none of the cool serenity implied by her given name. She was all vivid theatricality and prankishness. She was not a relaxing person to be around, as her nonstop chatter came in a steady stream of witticisms that could easily slip by listeners who were less than alert. In fact, there were many who had warned her husband, Philip, that she was “too chatty” for the role of diplomat’s wife. But she had used her talent with words to grasp quickly the languages of the countries to which her husband was posted and, with her ability to converse with anyone on any subject, had proved an asset after all.

Devon and Grace were the best of friends and kept in constant touch with long, revealing letters to each other. Both regretted that the career of Grace’s husband made their visits so infrequent, yet both knew that Grace was perfectly suited to the life of constant travel and new faces.

But when Grace heard of Devon’s accident, she rushed home from Paris as quickly as possible, and now, after a train ride, an Atlantic crossing, and another train ride, she descended on Evergreen in a whirlwind.

After embracing her parents and inquiring after their health, Grace demanded to see Devon. The Richmonds were eager for a reunion of the sisters, certain that Grace’s presence would act as a tonic to the convalescent. They worried that Helena’s visit, two days before, had sapped Devon of her energy. She had seemed in low spirits ever since. But when they asked if she was feeling well, she insisted that she was. Dr. Hickock had reassured them that her injuries were healing even more rapidly than he had hoped, but he also noticed her quiet distraction. He attributed it to her being bedridden for so many days and, grateful for the physical progress she was making, thought no more about the matter.

“We haven’t told her that you’re coming,” Laurel said in a conspiratorial whisper, leading Grace up the sweeping staircase to the second story. “We wanted it to be a surprise.” Her voice had a happy lilt. She was thrilled to have her eldest daughter home and was certain that Devon would benefit from the visit.

“Good. Will I be shocked when I see her?” Grace asked lightly, not really meaning the question. Almost nothing shocked Grace.

“Well… yesterday we were able to wash her hair, and that’s a big improvement, but she’s still black-and-blue,” said Laurel.

“You don’t recover overnight from a fall like hers,” Chase said gruffly. Grace looked sharply at him. For all her appearance of frivolity, she missed very little. Her father did not look well, she thought; he had lost the comfortable girth that had been with him for as long as she could remember. She knew that he was very close to Devon and realized that he must be terribly worried. She’d try to pull him out of it later, she decided. For now, she wanted to see her sister.

Grace didn’t bother knocking on the door but simply rushed into her sister’s room, a dervish swathed in a flowing red silk Paris original.

“Devon, get out of that bed at once! You’ve made your point. You’ve got my attention. Now let’s go dancing,” she said in a tone of pretend sternness.

Devon could not believe her eyes. “Gracie?”

“The same,” said Grace, folding her sister in a warm embrace, then plopping down beside her on the bed.

“Ouch!” cried Devon. “My side.”

“Oh!” Grace jumped off the bed. “I’m so sorry! Are you all right?”

“Oh, Gracie, I’m so happy to see you. I’m fine. I just can’t believe you’re here. It’s wonderful! You look gorgeous.” Devon grabbed her sister’s right hand in her left one and pulled her into the chair beside the bed. She noted, with a connoisseur’s eye, the beautiful cut of her sister’s flaming scarlet dress. She didn’t need to ask if it was a Schiaparelli. No other designer was so bold with color and line. Yet its very simplicity of design prevented the color from appearing vulgar. Grace’s perfectly manicured nails wore the same vivid shade. A chic black cloche with a net veil was seductively tilted to one side on her head, while black kid gloves and matching shoes completed the ensemble.

“Well,
you
look perfectly awful,” declared Grace, “but not as bad as I thought you’d look, I must confess.”

“I feel better now. But, tell me, when did you get here? How long are you staying?”

“I don’t know how long I’m staying yet. That partly depends on you.”

“Well, if it depends on me, then stay at least until Christmas. Can’t Philip and the kids come here for the holidays?”

“Possibly. We’ll see about that later. Tell me how this horrid thing happened to you. I hear that idiot Helena caused it.”

“Oh, Gracie, she’s not so bad. She didn’t do it intentionally. Anyway, it’s a long story. I’ll tell you about it later.” At the mention of Helena’s name, a small frown creased Devon’s brow. She was still depressed by her conversation with Helena. Reflecting on her life as she lay immobile in bed had caused her to despair for the future. She had realized that, with her sister far away, she would be quite alone in the world if anything happened to her parents. She had friends, of course, but they were mostly married. Where would she fit in? she wondered. If she moved, she was certain she would be even more alone. The prospect was frightening. And the feeling of fright was alien to her. The very newness of her emotions filled her with malaise.

Grace, observing the quiet trouble of her sister, was disturbed. “What’s wrong with you?” she asked, studying Devon’s face.

Devon jumped a bit as Grace’s voice intruded on her reflections. She had almost forgotten her presence. Laughing lightly in an attempt to hide her mood, she replied, “Nothing’s wrong. I just was thinking how much I miss having you around to talk to.”

Grace looked at her skeptically, but let the matter rest. “Well, as you know, I’ll talk your ear off while I’m here. Enough to compensate for all the times I’m not here,” she said self-mockingly.

“Tell me everything about Paris, Grace. Do you love it? Your letters always make your life sound so glamorous!”

“There is a certain glamour to life there, but it rains a beastly amount,” said Grace with a laugh. “Almost as bad as London.”

“But you seem to prefer it to London,” said Devon.

“Oh, yes. I like the freedom of Paris. I like the way Frenchmen look at a woman. I like the way Frenchwomen dress and behave. I’ve rather adopted the French outlook, I’m afraid. I’m not certain how well I’ll do when we have to move on,” said Grace, with a sigh of regret.

“What do you mean, the French outlook?”

“Well, you’ve been there. It seems that women are regarded as desirable until they are really quite old. As I grow older, I find that trait very endearing. Then, there’s always such scandalously juicy gossip. It seems that love affairs are, if not exactly accepted, at least not too harshly judged. Mind you, I would kill Philip if he ever… well, you know… but it does lend a certain piquancy to social gatherings. And there’s something else, too. Many of society’s intellectual leaders in Paris are women. Women are valued for their intelligence. I find that refreshing, don’t you?”

“Yes,” said Devon, with more intensity than she intended. “It sounds quite ideal. I guess I wasn’t there long enough to find out much about how the society works. And I was there as a tourist.”

“Wouldn’t you like to come for a visit? You know we’d love to have you.” Grace took Devon’s hand in hers and squeezed it.

Devon squeezed back, loving her sister so very much. How she wished Grace lived closer! “Maybe when I’m back on my feet again. Of course, that won’t be for months. It would be fun to travel back together on the ship though, wouldn’t it? But I don’t suppose you can stay that long,” said Devon with disappointment.

Grace, concerned at her sister’s uncharacteristically low spirits, attempted to tease her out of her mood. “Well, I’ll certainly stay until you get your looks back. If I leave before then, I’ll have no memory of what the beauty of the family is supposed to look like.” Grace was not a beauty like Devon. Her round face was nothing like Devon’s high-cheekboned one, nor did her coloration have any of the drama of Devon’s. Whereas Devon had startling aqua eyes with shining ebony hair, Grace had more mundane brown eyes with curly auburn hair. But Grace had a sparkle that made men flock to her. With her dramatic style of dressing and her theatrical gestures, she had never had cause to envy her younger sister’s looks. Instead, she took great pride in Devon’s beauty.

Devon frowned at the mention of her appearance. “My looks? Fat lot of good they’ve done me so far.”

“What’s this? Self-pity? That’s something I’ve never heard from you, Devon,” said Grace, going from gay to serious in a split second as she sensed her sister’s depression.