Total pages in book: 63
Estimated words: 58521 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 293(@200wpm)___ 234(@250wpm)___ 195(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 58521 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 293(@200wpm)___ 234(@250wpm)___ 195(@300wpm)
Naturally, they saw the burning of the manor not as an end, but only as a blip on the radar of their regular schedule of sin, debauchery, and occasional all out murder.
“Would you like some sweet tea?” my mother simpered, eyes all but glazed with adoration as she looked at Walker’s father. She picked up a crystalline pitcher of tea with mint leaves and strawberries floating in the top and held it towards his goblet.
“Why yes, Marianne, that would be so lovely. Thank you.”
Mr. St. Claire’s genteel Southern manners grated, especially when, as my mother poured his tea, he looked past her and winked at me. As if to remind me who was in control of not only this lunch, but my entire life.
It was difficult to swallow down the few bites of collard greens, fried green tomatoes, and slow-cooked brisket I could manage throughout the meal, even though it was all delicious. Walker had no such difficulty, I noticed. He devoured everything put in front of him. Then again, I supposed he’d had to live with his father his whole life.
Like me, my mother only nibbled at the food, but I knew she was only concerned about her figure. She probably thought I was doing the same and would tell me what good manners I had later. All of it made me want to chuck the table over sideways and call them all soulless hypocrites. What did manners matter when we were giving warmth and succor to a serial killer?
But Walker had convinced me this was the only way. If we wanted to be together, we had to play the game. No matter if I wanted to scream, or throw a tantrum, or—
I reached for my sweating tea and chugged half the glass. Everyone around the table seemed so relaxed, meanwhile I was strung as tight as a compound bow.
Somehow I managed to get through dessert, and then it was finally time. Walker wiped his mouth with his cloth napkin before placing it back in his lap and looking at my mother. “Mrs. VanDoren, I want to thank you so much for your charming and elegant hospitality, not only tonight, but the last two months as I’ve been courting your beautiful daughter. I wanted my parents to be here when I begged the great honor of asking for Jasmine’s hand in marriage.”
My mother immediately began fanning herself as delight lit her entire face. “Oh my goodness, you’re such an eloquent young man.” Mom beamed first at him, then at me, and in her gaze I could see the joy at all her hopes for me finally realized.
And I was struck by such a mix of emotions. This was our plan. Walker and I crafted this moment quite carefully. We would court one another properly, out in the open for all of Darlington to see. We’d pretend outwardly that I had never been a belle, that I knew nothing of the Oleander or the sudden fire that set the whole county abuzz with gossip and rumor, and that I was still the naive girl who’d come home from college this summer hoping to court an eligible bachelor.
My mother flung her arms around me, squeezing me to her in a tight embrace and there were genuine tears in her eyes as she pulled back from me. “I’m so, so proud of you,” she said. It was one of the few times in my life she’d ever said anything like that to me.
I smiled back at her, even as inwardly I thought, oh mother. Why, of all things, was this what she chose to take pride in her daughter for? I was amazing for so many more reasons than my ability to catch a man. I was only sorry it took this long for me to see it.
But I loved my mother, and I wouldn’t take this moment away from her. So I just squeezed her hands and kept my smile as even as possible.
“Well, this calls for celebration!” Walker’s father said, clapping his hands together. “Tell me you have something stronger on hand than just sweet tea, Marianne.”
My mother turned her face towards Mr. St. Claire. “Of course, Jack.” She lifted a hand to alert the caterers and they rolled a drinks cart forward. “Just tell them your pleasure.”
The catering staff person who came forward to mix drinks was a slender young woman, and I didn’t miss the way Mr. St. Claire’s eyes quickly sized her up and down. Angry heat flushed my cheeks. Was he already calculating how he could get fresh belles and restart the madness again? Walker told me he’d heard about secret talks among the Elders to begin having parties in member’s houses until the Oleander could be rebuilt.
I stood up abruptly from my chair.
“Jack,” I said, “now that you have your drink, I’d be so obliged if you’d take a walk with me to look at the gardens. They’re so lovely this time of year.”