always, Griffin was unfailingly polite, but also careful not to give the girl and her mama the least bit of hope. The musicians finally made their appearance, and Starke supervised their disposition on the walkway between the lawn and garden. One by one the other guests drove up, elegantly alighted from their vehicles and left their gifts with Brenda to be displayed on one of the tables outside. Mal walked in at half past three. Almost everyone had arrived by four, and there was still no sign of Fitzsimmons and Allegra Chase.
Griffin instructed Starke to inform him immediately upon Miss Chase’s arrival and did his brotherly duty, circulating among the guests. He asked Mrs. Dearing about her prize-winning rose garden, complimented Miss Groves on her afternoon frock, shared a mild joke with the elderly Mr. Nordstrom and had a brief discussion of polo ponies with young David Scribner. Gemma smiled and laughed and accepted birthday wishes with the poised bearing of a well-bred young lady. The women stared at her hair, but no one offered a comment on its altered appearance. The string quartet played Lehar waltzes in the background, while Starke and Brenda replenished the punch bowl and kept the trays of sandwiches and hors d’oeuvres continuously supplied with fresh delicacies.
Two hours after the party began, Starke approached Griffin with a too-blank expression on his impassive face. “Fitzsimmons has just pulled into the drive,” he said. “Shall I detain Miss Chase in the hall?”
“I’ll be right there, Starke.” Griffin smoothed his expression to match Starke’s for sheer blandness, offered some excuse to the matron with whom he was speaking and hurried back into the house. He’d passed through the summer parlor and was halfway to the vestibule when he heard her voice.
“Don’t apologize, Fitzy. I don’t mind being late, and I’m sure Mr. Durant feels the sa—” She stopped as she saw Griffin, and a grin spread across her face. “Speak of the devil.”
Griffin came to a halt, his mouth gone dry. “Miss Chase.”
She wagged her finger. “Allie, remember?”
“Allegra.” He examined her from the crown of her dark head to the high heels of her scarlet patent leather pumps. His first response was dismay at her choice of garments: an elaborately beaded, sleeveless red party frock that actually fell above the knees, rolled fleshcolored stockings, and a blazing orange bandeau embellished with an enormous aigrette. But he was horrified by his own reaction to the sight of her—the violent rhythm of his heartbeat, the almost unbearable awareness of her warm, womanly fragrance, the hungry stirring of his body…
“Cat got your tongue?” Allegra asked, her smile even wider than before. She noticed Starke and pressed a pair of small, elaborately wrapped boxes into the butler’s hands. “I hope I haven’t missed all the fun!”
Fitzsimmons came up behind her. “I’m sorry for being so late, sir,” he said to Griffin. “There was an inordinate amount of traffic—”
“And I wasn’t quite ready when Fitzy arrived at my place,” Allegra said. “Like my new dress?” She spun around, lifting the already short hem even higher. “I wore it just for you.”
Griffin went hot and cold by turns. “Miss…Allegra,” he said hoarsely, “I hope you realize that this is a young lady’s birthday party, not a—”
“Two-bit dance hall?” She strolled toward him, the fringes along her hemline swinging with every step. “Scared that my obviously bad breeding will send the old biddies and their offspring straight to the fainting couch?”
Griffin held himself very still. “I apologize if I’ve offended you.”
“I’m not offended. You invited me against your better judgment, but you did it anyway.” She walked around him, her heels clicking on the parquet floor. “I think you wanted to see me again.”
Griffin had no ready retort. After a long silence he said, “Most of the guests are outside, but Starke will see that you receive everything you might require in the summer parlor.”
Allegra stopped in front of him. “Convenient, isn’t it? The desirable guests are outside, and I have to stay indoors.”
Griffin wanted nothing more than to seize her arms and give her a good shake. “You won’t be left alone. Either I or Gemma will keep you company.”
“Ah. Now I understand.” She looped her arm through the crook of his elbow. “Takeme to this summer parlor of yours. I can’t wait to see how the other half lives.”
Together they walked through the hall and the music room to the summer parlor. Sunlight streamed through the tall windows and French doors. The guests in their airy dresses could be seen circling about the refreshment tables like flocks of gaudy butterflies. Allegra paused where the edge of the light crossed the carpet.
“Very nice,” she said, gazing about the room. “I’d expected horsehair sofas and clawfoot tables.”
“Even I have become aware that we live in the twentieth century.”
She smiled up at him. “There’s some hope for you yet.” She threw herself into an antique Stickley chair. “Well? Where’s the birthday girl?”
“If you’ll excuse me, I’ll let her know you’re here.” He signaled to Starke, who waited in the doorway, and then stepped out through the French doors into the garden. No one who greeted him would have guessed he was less than tranquil. As soon as he informed Gemma about Allegra’s arrival, she broke off her conversation with the Pemberton boy and rushed into the house.
Griffin began circulating again, the back of his neck prickling at the thought of his sister alone with Allegra. Ten minutes passed, then fifteen. Hewas just about to go in and fetchGemmawhen the French doors swung open wide and Allegra sauntered out onto the garden walk.
“Ah,” she said, stretching her arms above her head, “what a beautiful day!”
Seldom had Griffin felt so astonished or so gripped with sheer terror. In his mind’s eye he saw not smooth, pale skin but blistering flesh, red as Allegra’s frock, turning sere and black in the harsh light of day. He abandoned Mrs. Higgenbotham and charged toward Allegra, ready to cover her body with his own and push her back inside the house.
Her face, cool and unmarred, turned toward him. He skidded to a halt seconds before he reached her, his legs trembling with reaction and relief.
There was nothing wrong with her—no burns on her cheeks, discolorations of her hands or peeling skin on her bare arms. She regarded him with a half smile as if to ask what the fuss was all about.
“Allegra,” he said. “What—”
“When can I open my presents, Grif?” Gemma asked, emerging from the house to take Allegra’s arm.
He stared at his sister, trying to make sense of her words. The party came crashing down around him like rotted timbers in an abandoned house, all chattering voices and screeching violins. The smells of human sweat and rank perfume overwhelmed his senses.
“Oh,” Mrs. Dearing cooed next to his ear, “is this the entertainment, Mr. Durant? Are we to have a Vaudeville show?”
It took Griffin a moment to realize that Mrs. Dearing was referring to Allegra, who examined the curious guests as a tigress might study a herd of plump, pampered deer in a royal park. “I’d be happy
