then put a hand on her arm.
“That’s all for now, ladies and gentlemen,” he said pleasantly, and with a firm hand he began to steer her across the lounge. Frank was waiting with the car and Cecelia gratefully got in and sank back against the cushions.
“Sorry about that,” Gil said as the car started up and moved away. “I’ll get a press release out tomorrow and that should satisfy the gossip mongers.”
“I hope so,” said Cecelia doubtfully. It had just occurred to her that she knew nothing whatever of Gil’s world. She had never seen him in his own milieu, only in hers. She had never met his friends, his business associates, his professional and social acquaintances. It was an aspect of marriage to him that she had not yet had a chance to consider, the fact that he belonged to a world vastly different from the world she was accustomed to. All during her father’s illness, and then on their honeymoon, there had been just the two of them. She realized now that, childishly, she had somehow thought that that’s what it would continue to be, with only the added—and welcome—addition of Jennifer. She had a sinking feeling, as she listened to him question Frank closely about people she did not know, that her honeymoon was over.
As they turned into the driveway of Gil’s home the uneasiness that had been building inside Cecelia during the ride intensified. She had been to The Birches before, but it seemed now that she was seeing it with new eyes. What would it mean, she thought, to be mistress of such a house?
Her new home was a beautiful stone Georgian manor house set well back from the road and surrounded by manicured lawns and old trees. Gil had shown her the entire house before they were married and introduced her to the small army of daily servants who saw to the upkeep of the grounds and the house. The inside of the house was as graciously lovely as the exterior. On the first floor there were a large living room, a banquet-sized dining room, a breakfast room that served as the family dining room, a morning room with French doors opening to a flagstone patio, and an oak-paneled library. Upstairs were seven enormous bedrooms and baths. There was a separate servants wing, where the Rosses lived. And on the grounds there were a beautifully landscaped pool and a Hartru tennis court.
They came into the large central hall, both Gil and Frank carrying suitcases. There was the sound of hurried steps on the stairs and then Jennifer appeared. “Daddy!” she cried and ran across the hall to throw herself into his arms. Gil dropped the suitcase he was holding to swing her up off the floor for a minute.
“What are you doing home from school?” he asked with mock severity.
She glowed up at him. “Nora said I could stay home today to be your welcoming party.” She turned to Cecelia and hesitated, looking a little shy. Cecelia held out her arms and the little girl hugged her fiercely. Over her silvery curls Cecelia’s eyes met Gil’s; there was a faint smile on his lips and tenderness in his light gray eyes.
When Jennifer stepped back Cecelia said to her, “I’m dying to hear about my horses. What’s been going on? Is everything okay?”
“Yes. Miss Rice has been terrific,” Jennifer responded. “Gucci has a swollen nose, though, and Lady is still sore....” Jennifer was a mine of information and chattered all the way upstairs and then back down again as they went into the breakfast room to have lunch. Gil’s eyes glinted with amusement as he listened to his wife and daughter but he made no move to interrupt a conversation they both apparently found fascinating.
Cecelia’s honeymoon ended abruptly at two o’clock that afternoon with a telephone call. Gil came back from the library where he had taken it, his fair brows knitted together. “That was Hank at the office,” he told Cecelia. “Trouble is brewing in the Middle East. I’m going into the office for a while.”
“All right,”
“That’s all for now, ladies and gentlemen,” he said pleasantly, and with a firm hand he began to steer her across the lounge. Frank was waiting with the car and Cecelia gratefully got in and sank back against the cushions.
“Sorry about that,” Gil said as the car started up and moved away. “I’ll get a press release out tomorrow and that should satisfy the gossip mongers.”
“I hope so,” said Cecelia doubtfully. It had just occurred to her that she knew nothing whatever of Gil’s world. She had never seen him in his own milieu, only in hers. She had never met his friends, his business associates, his professional and social acquaintances. It was an aspect of marriage to him that she had not yet had a chance to consider, the fact that he belonged to a world vastly different from the world she was accustomed to. All during her father’s illness, and then on their honeymoon, there had been just the two of them. She realized now that, childishly, she had somehow thought that that’s what it would continue to be, with only the added—and welcome—addition of Jennifer. She had a sinking feeling, as she listened to him question Frank closely about people she did not know, that her honeymoon was over.
As they turned into the driveway of Gil’s home the uneasiness that had been building inside Cecelia during the ride intensified. She had been to The Birches before, but it seemed now that she was seeing it with new eyes. What would it mean, she thought, to be mistress of such a house?
Her new home was a beautiful stone Georgian manor house set well back from the road and surrounded by manicured lawns and old trees. Gil had shown her the entire house before they were married and introduced her to the small army of daily servants who saw to the upkeep of the grounds and the house. The inside of the house was as graciously lovely as the exterior. On the first floor there were a large living room, a banquet-sized dining room, a breakfast room that served as the family dining room, a morning room with French doors opening to a flagstone patio, and an oak-paneled library. Upstairs were seven enormous bedrooms and baths. There was a separate servants wing, where the Rosses lived. And on the grounds there were a beautifully landscaped pool and a Hartru tennis court.
They came into the large central hall, both Gil and Frank carrying suitcases. There was the sound of hurried steps on the stairs and then Jennifer appeared. “Daddy!” she cried and ran across the hall to throw herself into his arms. Gil dropped the suitcase he was holding to swing her up off the floor for a minute.
“What are you doing home from school?” he asked with mock severity.
She glowed up at him. “Nora said I could stay home today to be your welcoming party.” She turned to Cecelia and hesitated, looking a little shy. Cecelia held out her arms and the little girl hugged her fiercely. Over her silvery curls Cecelia’s eyes met Gil’s; there was a faint smile on his lips and tenderness in his light gray eyes.
When Jennifer stepped back Cecelia said to her, “I’m dying to hear about my horses. What’s been going on? Is everything okay?”
“Yes. Miss Rice has been terrific,” Jennifer responded. “Gucci has a swollen nose, though, and Lady is still sore....” Jennifer was a mine of information and chattered all the way upstairs and then back down again as they went into the breakfast room to have lunch. Gil’s eyes glinted with amusement as he listened to his wife and daughter but he made no move to interrupt a conversation they both apparently found fascinating.
Cecelia’s honeymoon ended abruptly at two o’clock that afternoon with a telephone call. Gil came back from the library where he had taken it, his fair brows knitted together. “That was Hank at the office,” he told Cecelia. “Trouble is brewing in the Middle East. I’m going into the office for a while.”
“All right,”
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