Twilight's Child (Cutler 3)

He stopped and smiled maddeningly.

"This brand on my right is more concentrated. It takes less powder per pound of laundry, even though it costs more, understand? What this means is we can save a lot of money by buying the more expensive brand. I told Mother this once. I told her. She just shook her head, didn't listen, was too busy with something else . . . whatever," he said, waving in the air, "but I was right." He gazed at me, his eyes brightening even more and hit smile even more maddening. "I was right."

"Will we really save all that much, Randolph? I mean, is it worth it for you to go through all this?"

"What?" He swung his shining blue eyes my way, totally devoid of any expression. He behaved as if he didn't know who I was. It sent icicles sliding down my spine. "I'm sorry," he said. "I've got to finish this study. I'll talk to you later, okay? Thank you, thank you," he muttered, and he went back to scooping the powder carefully and exactly into the measuring cups.

I watched him for a moment and then hurried out and upstairs. Mother had to know about this, I thought.

As I stepped onto the second-floor landing I was surprised to hear the sound of my mother's laughter. I approached slowly, for I also heard the distinct sound of a man's voice. I knocked softly on her outer door and then entered.

"Yes?" Mother called, her voice filled with annoyance. I peered in and saw her sitting on the settee, a most handsome and distinguished-looking man seated in the wing-back chair across from her, his legs crossed comfortably.

Mother was dressed in one of her bright blue angora sweaters and a matching cotton skirt. She had her hair brushed down softly over her shoulders and wore long, dangling diamond earrings and a matching bracelet. She had returned to wearing makeup as well and looked as bright and happy as I had ever seen her.

"Oh, Dawn, I'd like you to meet Mr. Bronson Alcott, a dear, dear old friend of mine," she said, beaming. The flood of color in her lovely face made her even more beautiful.

"So this is the young lady I've heard so much about," Bronson Alcott said, turning his attention to me.

He was a tall, sleek-figured man with a light brown mustache under a perfectly straight Roman nose. He had his hair cut short and neat, the chestnut-brown strands glimmering under the light of the Tiffany lamp. A smile formed around his bright, laughing aquamarine eyes.

"Hello," I said.

"Bronson is the president of the Cutler's Cove National Bank," Mother explained. "The bank that holds the mortgage on this hotel," she added pointedly.

"Oh." I turned to him again. For a banker his skin was remarkably tanned. He wore an amused smile, as if he were about to wink at me. He kept his long, graceful hands crossed over each other on his knee. Even though he looked like a man in his mid-forties, I thought he could easily be older.

"I'm very happy to finally get the opportunity to meet you, Dawn," he said. His voice was deep and resonant, which complemented his perpetually sexy smile. Mother looked mesmerized by his every word, his every gesture. He stood up and extended his hand. I took it and felt myself blush at how intensely he drank me in, gazing at me quickly from head to foot. He didn't release my hand quickly.

"Is this an engagement ring?" he asked, still keeping my fingers firmly in his.

"Yes," Mother said dryly. "It is."

"Congratulations. Who's the lucky young man?" he asked.

"No one you would know, Bronson," Mother replied before I could.

He tilted his head, his smile softening.

"Someone from out of town?" he pursued.

"I'll say he's out of town," Mother said, beginning to buff her nails. "He's in the army."

"His name is James Gary Longchamp," I said, eyeing Mother with daggers.

I saw that Bronson wasn't going to sit down until I did. He was the quintessential Southern gentleman who easily made every woman feel a little like Scarlett O'Hara. Reluctantly I sat beside Mother on the settee, and he returned to his wing chair.

"So when is the wedding?" Bronson asked.

"Soon after Jimmy—I mean James—is discharged," I replied, again flashing defiance at Mother. She uttered a short, nervous laugh and continued buffing her nails.

"I told her, tried to explain to her how she shouldn't rush into anything, how she would now be the center of attention for every distinguished, available bachelor in Virginia, but she insists on pushing ahead with this childhood romance," Mother complained.

"Let's not be too harsh, Laura Sue," Bronson said, his eyes twinkling. "You and I once had a childhood romance."

Mother blushed. "That was different, Bronson, entirely different."

"Your mother broke my heart you know, I've never really forgiven her. But," he added, nodding, "I suspect mine was not the only heart broken in those days. She had a trail of beaux that stretched from here to Boston."