In the Shadow of Lakecrest(7)
I looked into his eyes and saw his hunger for an honest conversation, for someone who wouldn’t choose flattery over honesty. I took a gulp of wine and felt the tart warmth expand through my chest, surprised to find myself feeling sorry for this man who had everything but happiness.
“Lillian told me you’re very rich,” I began. “I don’t know where the money comes from, but I assume you were raised with maids and butlers and therefore must be spoiled rotten. You have some role in the family business, though I have no idea what, because you don’t like talking about work. I’ve seen your name in the society pages, along with the words, ‘Chicago’s most eligible bachelor,’ and I’ve seen your sister’s picture in the papers, too. She’s beautiful and has a reputation for outrageousness. Not you, though. You’re reserved, even shy. And yet you strike up conversations with strange girls on ships.”
I could picture Aunt Constance’s disapproving face, egging me on.
“There is one more thing. I was warned the Lemonts are strange and have a very unsavory reputation. So I guess that includes you as well.”
Matthew, to his credit, looked amused rather than shocked. “All that may be true,” he said. “But it’s hardly a complete portrait.”
“All right,” I said. “Tell me what I missed.”
“My father died, too, when I was thirteen.” There was an ache to his voice, as if the pain of the loss was still fresh. “He was a remarkable man. Smart as a whip, bursting with confidence—the kind of person who fills up a room. Then, suddenly, he was gone, and I grew up knowing I could never fill his shoes. My mother was the one who kept Lemont Industries going while I decided to rebel and study medicine. Thought I’d be noble and save lives. When the war came along, I was so anxious to prove myself that I signed up with the Medical Service Corps. I was eighteen years old and an innocent fool. A few months in France were enough to turn me against doctoring forever. Turns out I’m not so noble after all.”
“You must be proud of serving your country,” I began.
But Matthew brushed me off. “I am rich,” he said, “and I’m probably spoiled. But I’m not lazy. I’ve spent the last few years learning everything I could about the business and planning for the future. I spend every minute of every day weighed down by my family’s expectations, wondering if I would have made my father proud.”
“It can’t be that terrible,” I said. “You must be invited to all sorts of parties and weekends at glamorous country houses.”
“A man in my position has responsibilities, as my mother likes to say. Just because I go to charity balls doesn’t mean I enjoy them. I usually spend the night fending off pushy mothers who keep telling me I simply must meet their daughters.”
“Why fend them off?” I asked. “Why not meet their lovely daughters?” I looked straight at him, daring him to answer me honestly. I was wondering why such a good catch hadn’t been snatched up years ago.
“Because I won’t marry a woman who wants to marry Matthew Lemont.” He said the name with contempt. “I’m waiting for a woman who will marry me despite my name, not because of it.”
The declaration hovered between us, fraught with weight. He’d practically handed me the key to his heart. All I had to do was use it.
“You’re the one who brought up marriage, not me,” I said lightly. “Now, tell me more about this sister of yours. What’s the wildest thing she’s done?”
But Matthew seemed reluctant to talk about his family, as if he regretted telling me as much as he had. We sat in silence as Charles cleared the soup bowls and brought in plates of poached salmon and grilled vegetables. Everything had been perfectly cooked, but I couldn’t enjoy it. Not until I found a way to lighten Matthew’s mood. Finally, I asked him if he liked going to the pictures.
“Sure. I hardly ever do, though.”
I asked if he’d seen Wings, and when he admitted he hadn’t, I told him he simply had to and began describing the aerial dogfights until he got lost in the story and his tense posture loosened. By the time I moved on to Buster Keaton’s exploits in The General, Matthew was smiling. I thought about refusing the after-dinner port Charles offered along with our dessert of orange sorbet, but before I could say anything, my glass was full, and Matthew was holding his up for a toast.
“To a delightful dinner, with a delightful companion.”
“Same to you,” I said. Our glasses clinked, and I tried not to grimace as the bitterness trickled down my throat. Hours of being charming had tired me out, and my cheeks were uncomfortably flushed.
“What do you say to some cards?” Matthew asked.
“Sure,” I said, standing up, but the floor seemed to shift under my feet. I lurched forward, grabbing at Matthew’s arm to steady myself.
“I’m sorry,” I muttered. “Forgot I was on a moving train.”
I tried to concentrate as Matthew laid out double solitaire in the parlor, but cards kept slipping from my fingers when I played them, and I couldn’t keep track of my moves. My hands felt like they’d been numbed, forcing me to make slow, deliberate movements, and an unsettling dizziness was making me nauseous. So this is what it’s like to be drunk, I thought distractedly.
When I stifled a yawn, Matthew looked at me sympathetically and said, “You look done in. I’ll see you to your room.”