In the Shadow of Lakecrest(12)
I wanted to tell the driver to turn around. To take me back to the city, where I’d be safe. I told myself I was just nervous about meeting Matthew’s family, that the house itself had nothing to do with my ominous sense of dread. But that didn’t make it any easier to face what was coming.
The driver stopped halfway up the curved front drive, where a half dozen cars were unloading passengers, and got out to open my door. I twisted the gold ring on my left hand as I cautiously stepped onto the gravel and stared up. The arched stone entrance was carved with an inscription that I guessed was Latin.
Matthew smiled at my bewildered expression. “My grandfather Obadiah bought up mansions in Europe and shipped the pieces over here. Monstrous, isn’t it?” He threw out the insult with affection, as if describing a decrepit but beloved family pet. “Ready?”
“I don’t know if I’ll ever be ready.”
Matthew took my arm and ushered me toward the door. His eyes darted to the other guests around us, then back to me. He was nervous, too.
“You’ll be fine,” he said.
I knew as soon as I stepped inside the house that I wouldn’t be. The two-story entryway was enough to intimidate anyone, given that every square inch was covered in marble. Statues of two women in flowing togas flanked a staircase that rose up from the center of the room, splitting in the middle to soar in opposite directions. But it wasn’t the grandeur of the space that upset me; it was the lack of grandeur in my fellow guests. The people exchanging greetings and sipping glasses of lemonade wore simple white dresses and cream linen suits. My midnight-blue New York dress, with its silver trim and rows of shimmering glass beads, looked flashily out of place. I wished I could slip under the stairs and hide until the party was over.
“I’ve got it all wrong,” I murmured to Matthew. “I’m completely overdressed.”
“You look swell,” he said. “I can’t wait to show you off.”
He veered off to the right, and I followed. We passed a huge dining room that looked like a fairy-tale castle’s banquet hall, then walked into an equally enormous sitting room. A stuffed moose head loomed menacingly over haphazard groupings of armchairs and card tables. The floor was covered with at least five Oriental carpets in mismatched shades of green, red, and yellow. I’d known the Lemonts were rich, but I couldn’t imagine how much money it had taken to build such rooms, then fill them with that much furniture and art.
Matthew said dryly, “My grandfather was a great collector. Of everything.”
We emerged onto the terrace, a stretch of flagstones that ran along the back of the house, where at least a hundred guests mingled among white wicker furniture, potted bushes, and flower boxes bursting with blooms. A vibrant green lawn seemed to extend into the sparkling waters of Lake Michigan. It looked like a magazine photo of a summer resort. Not quite real.
The crowd enveloped us as soon as we walked outside. There was an atmosphere of anticipation as everyone jostled to get closer to Matthew to shake his hand or greet him. He moved determinedly through the well-wishers, introducing me simply as “Kate,” his eyes focused elsewhere. I did my best to be gracious, but it was impossible to remember anyone’s name, let alone how they knew Matthew.
“Matts!”
A woman lunged into Matthew, tossing one arm around his waist while I dodged the cigarette held in her other hand. “Where have you been? I’m so bored I could die.”
He leaned into her, his back blocking my view of their faces. She had the sort of long, lean body that every woman wishes for and so few achieve, and her cream silk dress emphasized her slender shape. She whispered something in Matthew’s ear, pressing her chest into his arm, her lips so close to his face I could have sworn she’d kissed him. Her hand ruffled his hair, and I felt a twist of unexpected jealousy. She looked like just the sort of rich, spoiled debutante Matthew claimed to dislike, yet here he was, completely under her spell. He whispered something back, and the woman swirled around to face me. Her dark-blonde hair cascaded in neat waves along either side of her face, framing round blue eyes. Her narrow lips and sharp chin gave her looks a certain severity, but she was undeniably gorgeous.
“Kate, this is my sister, Marjorie,” Matthew said.
“A pleasure to meet you,” I said.
I reached out my hand, and Marjorie waved her cigarette in the air between us. Her smile came uncomfortably close to a smirk. Though I disliked the way she fawned over Matthew, I didn’t feel the same visceral hate for Marjorie that I felt for Lakecrest. There was something fascinating about her elegant self-assurance, and I na?vely believed she’d be welcoming when she found out about the marriage. For Matthew’s sake, at least.
“Aren’t you precious!” she exclaimed. “Remind me where you’re from? Kansas?”
“Ohio.”
“I knew it was somewhere like that. A place where people are nice.” She made it sound like a disease. “Tell me. How does a sweet young thing from Ohio land a husband as hard to please as my dear brother? You must reveal all your secrets.”
Taken aback, I turned to Matthew. He looked down, embarrassed, and muttered, “I called Marjorie this morning while you were asleep.”
“A secret wedding!” Marjorie gushed with exaggerated delight. “So romantic. I must tell you, Matts, I almost begged off this boring party, but I had to see Mum’s reaction. I never thought you capable of such intrigue.”