Daughters of the Summer Storm by Frances Statham (good fiction books to read TXT) 📕

that. . ." Troubled anew, Eulalie hesitated. "But we were speaking of you, Marigold. The other can wait—for the moment."

"Where is Maranta?" Marigold asked, realizing she had not seen her twin that morning.

"She went with Julie and the condessa to. . ."

"Souci," the voice interrupted, as her twin pushed open the door to their bedroom. "Is it true? Are you actually going to marry Crane? But what about Sh—?"

Maranta stopped, putting her hand up to her mouth when she saw her mother. "Oh, I'm sorry, Maman. Did I interrupt something?"

"I was just leaving," Eulalie replied. "But I wish you would come into the room in a more ladylike manner, Maranta."

"I am sorry, Maman," she apologized. "I shall try to remember."

Eulalie turned back to Marigold. "Then you have no objections?" she asked, finishing her conversation with Marigold.

Marigold shrugged her shoulders, indicating her lack of interest in the question. And her mother, forced to consider it as her final answer, left the room.

"What was that all about?" Maranta asked. "Is it true that you're really going to marry Cousin Crane?"

"It would seem so," Marigold answered.

"But what about Shaun? Aren't you in love with him?"

"It appears that Shaun does not love me. That puts a stop to any plans I might have had, doesn't it?" Marigold said, with no attempt to hide the bitterness in her voice.

"Souci," Maranta murmured, "I'm so sorry." She leaned over and kissed her sister on the cheek, seeking to comfort her.

"For heaven's sake, Maranta. Can't you be anything but sorry? That's all you've said from the minute you came into the room."

"I'm s—" She stopped herself from saying it again. Maranta, silent, moved to the wardrobe and took off her morning dress. She hung it up carefully and then removed the pins from her long, dark hair. Maranta began brushing the thick, black strands, while her troubled thoughts dwelled on her golden-haired twin, still huddled miserably in the window seat.

The hurried preparations for Marigold's wedding began, with invitations hand-delivered by the servants to the Tabor friends who were in residence in Charleston.

The choice of the Tabor garden was not a surprise. It was much healthier for friends to gather in the open air, because of the fever. To many, it was not even surprising that Marigold was marrying her cousin—only that the wedding was taking place in such a hurry—three days from the time the invitations were issued. Some speculated that the bridegroom was impatient to get home to upper Carolina, since a new lode had been discovered in the Caldwell gold mine during his absence.

The day before the ceremony, a small trunk was brought from the attic of the plantation house. It contained the fragile veil of Alençon lace that Eulalie had worn in her own wedding to Robert Tabor.

The trunk was carried into Marigold's room, and Eulalie, tenderly lifting the veil, for a short moment closed her dark eyes and held the lace against her breast. And Marigold, choosing not to watch her mother and her remembrance of joy on her wedding day, turned her head. For Marigold, there was no joy, no love. Shaun had jilted her, forcing her to save face by marrying her cousin, whom she disliked.

On the morning of the wedding, another carriage arrived from Midgard, loaded with magnolia leaves and jasmine to decorate the garden. Throughout the day and up until that afternoon when Feena came to help her get dressed, Marigold had hoped that Shaun would send her some message, some excuse for not appearing, or even come, himself, to stop the marriage. Each time the giant brass knocker on the front door sounded, she held her breath and waited for the sound of footsteps coming to her room.

Now, it was too late. Crane was waiting for her. Father Ambrose was waiting.

Marigold, thinking of the tragic ceremony that would link her forever with Crane Caldwell, pushed away the veil that Feena held for her.

"I cannot desecrate Maman's veil. I don't love Crane. Let Maman put the lace back into the trunk with her memories. I will do without it."

The old woman snorted. "The veil will soften your stubborn chin, petite, just as it did for your maman over twenty years ago."

Marigold looked at Feena in surprise. "Maman was reluctant to marry Papa?" she asked. "But how could that be? He adores her—and she loves him. Wasn't that true when they married?"

"Your maman had never set eyes on Monsieur Robert. How could she be expected to love him?"

"You mean—they met as strangers at the altar?"

"Worse than that, cherie. It was a proxy marriage. Another man stood in his place. And she didn't see Monsieur Robert for over a month after the ceremony."

While Feena talked, she pinned the veil in place. And Marigold, pondering Feena's information, said in a soft voice, "I. . . didn't know that."

"And I shouldn't have told you, petite, even now. But I wanted you to know that you are not the only woman who has protested the marriage bed."

Marigold stood before the mirror and stared at the white birthday dress, the veil of delicate lace covering her face. "Did Maman love someone else?" she asked.

"How do I know?" Feena's voice was suddenly irritable. "You will have to ask her that yourself."

Eulalie came into the room, and Marigold rushed to her mother. "Oh, Maman, I don't want to go through with it. I'm afraid."

Eulalie's sympathetic, dark eyes took in the golden beauty of her daughter. No wonder Crane was in love with her. "Every young woman is afraid on her wedding day," Eulalie said in a soothing voice.

"Even you? Were you afraid, Maman?"

"Oui, ma petite. I trembled from head to toe." Eulalie smiled in a conspiratorial manner as she continued. "And I was even more frightened when I saw your papa for the first time. But Feena has probably already told you."

Marigold laughed. But a few minutes later, as she walked into the garden with her father, Marigold's topaz eyes became solemn, and her nervous hands almost crushed