Thurston House Read online

  “Are you unwell?” She had noticed his expression almost of pain, and she looked concerned as she laid a delicate hand on his arm. “It’s so terribly hot here in the South. Perhaps you aren’t accustomed …” Her voice trailed off and he turned to face her. How innocent she was. He was almost faint with desire for her, and deeply shocked by the power of his feelings. She was barely more than a child after all. But no matter how many times he told himself that, he was somehow not convinced. She was so much more a woman than a child. Surely even Orville Beauchamp knew that.…

  “Not at all, I’m fine. And it’s so lovely here in your garden.” He looked at the flowerbeds so as not to look at her, and then suddenly he laughed out loud. It was absurd for a man his age to be so taken with a girl, no matter how lovely she was. He looked at her then, and spoke some of what he felt, hoping to defuse it. “You know, Miss Beauchamp, you quite turn my head.” The openness of his words somehow helped, and his feelings seemed not sordid but sweet, and she laughed delightedly at him.

  “Do I? And you’re so very grown up too.…” It was the perfect thing to say and they both laughed as he took her arm and they strolled in to lunch arm in arm. They chatted about the weather and the parties she had recently attended. She claimed that the young men of Atlanta seemed terribly silly to her. “They’re not …” She frowned as she looked up at him, struggling for the words. “They’re not … important, like you and Daddy.” It was her attraction to power that once again surprised him.

  “One day they might be far more important than we are.”

  “Yes,” she nodded, conceding that he might be right, “but in the meantime they’re very boring.”

  “How unkind, dear Miss Beauchamp.” Somehow, he wasn’t sure why, but she amused him. Even when she was impossible and spoiled, he thought her delightful and funny.

  “Kind people bore me too.” She twinkled at him, and he roared with amusement. “My mother is always kind.” She rolled her eyes, and then giggled, and he wagged a finger at her.

  “Shame on you. Kindness is a lovely virtue in a lady.”

  “Then I’m not sure that’s what I want to be when I grow up, Mr. Thurston.”

  “How shocking!” He was having more fun than he had had in years, as he took his place beside her at the luncheon table, and Orville Beauchamp looked particularly pleased to see Thurston so amused by his daughter. He hadn’t seemed at all surprised to see Jeremiah in their midst again, and Camille had rapidly explained that she had invited Mr. Thurston for lunch and a stroll in the park. Anything she did seemed to meet with her father’s approval. Only her mother appeared to be constantly nervous, and in deathly fear of some terrible fate. She was the most uncomfortable-looking woman Thurston had ever met, in sharp contrast to her happy, contented daughter. Camille seemed perfectly at ease at all times. But when she wasn’t, everyone knew it, as her mother knew only too well.

  “Is my daughter behaving herself, Mr. Thurston?” Beauchamp shot the question at him from the other end of the table.

  “Most certainly, Mr. Beauchamp. I am enchanted.” And Camille appeared to be too, as she cast brilliant eyes at Jeremiah. And then, she seemed more demure for the remainder of lunch, and it was only when they were walking in the park that she made him uncomfortable again.

  “You don’t think I’m old enough to take seriously, do you?” She looked him squarely in the eye and cocked her head to one side as they strolled along in the park, and he pretended to be unconcerned.

  “What do you mean by that, Camille?”

  “You know what I mean.”

  “I take you very seriously, you’re a bright girl.”

  “But you think I’m a child.” She looked annoyed. But she wouldn’t have been if she could have heard the rush of blood in his veins. “You’re a very charming child, Camille.” His smile was warm, but not as warm as the fire in her eyes. She stared at him, obviously angry.

  “I’m not a child. I’m seventeen.” She said it as though it were ninety-three, but he didn’t laugh.

  “I’m forty-three years old. I could be your father and then some, Camille. There’s nothing wrong with being a child. You’ll get old soon enough, and wish that people saw you as young again.”

  “But I’m not a child. And you’re not my father.”

  “I wish I were.” He spoke in soothing tones, but her eyes flashed just the same.

  “You do not. That’s a lie. I saw how you looked at me when we danced last night. But today you keep reminding yourself of who I am, that I’m Orville Beauchamp’s daughter, and I’m only a girl. Well, I’m not a child. I’m more woman than you know.” And with that, she pressed her body against his, and kissed his lips, and he was so astounded that he almost took a step back, but he found that he couldn’t move anywhere but closer to her, and without thinking, he let desire take the upper hand and he crushed her against himself, kissing her with all the passion he felt for her. And when his lips left hers at last, he was aghast at what he’d done. He didn’t even remember that it was she who kissed him first.

  “Camille … Miss Beauchamp … I must apologize.…”

  “Don’t be a fool … it was I who kissed you.…” She seemed not to have lost her sangfroid at all, and as the others rounded the turn in the path, she looked quite in control, and she quietly took his arm. “We’d best keep walking so the others don’t notice.…” And then dumbly, he let her take his arm, and a moment later he began to laugh. Nothing like it had ever happened before. She was easily the most outrageous girl he had ever met.

  “How dare you do such a thing!”

  “Are you shocked?” She looked only a trifle concerned, mostly she seemed pleased, and he wanted to stop and shake her until she screamed and then hold her close … and he forced himself to listen as she continued talking. “You know, I’ve never done that before.”

  “Well, I certainly hope not. People might begin to talk.” He was laughing now. Imagine being kissed by a seventeen-year-old girl, but more than that … imagine kissing her back.… It was all like a dream, and she looked at him with curiosity in her eyes.

  “Will you tell?”

  “What do you suppose would happen if I did, Camille? You’d be chained to your bed for a week … or a year … and I’d be tarred and feathered by your father and run out of town on a rail.” She laughed with glee, obviously delighted by the prospect. “I’m glad all of that appeals so much to you. Actually, it’s not the way I usually care to leave town myself.”

  “Then don’t go.” Her eyes almost pleaded with him.

  “I’m afraid I must. I have a business to run in California.” She didn’t seem to object to that, but there was something sad in her eyes.

  “I wish you didn’t have to go. There isn’t anyone like you here.”

  “I’m sure there is. You must be surrounded by young, handsome men, just begging for the sight of you.”

  “I told you, they’re all stupid and dull.” She sounded pettish as she glanced up at him. “You know, I’ve never known anyone like you before.”

  “That’s a very nice thing to say, Camille.” He could have said the same, but he didn’t want to encourage her. “I hope we meet again sometime.”

  “You’re just being polite.” Suddenly, she looked almost near tears as they stopped on their walk again and she looked up at him. “I hate it here.”

  “In Atlanta?” He was shocked. “Why?”

  She looked beyond the trees in the park. She knew it well, and knew how different her life was from her mother’s when she was young. She had certainly heard enough about it in the course of her life. “It would be different if we lived in Charleston or Savannah, but … Atlanta is different from all that. Everything here is ugly and new. People aren’t as genteel here as they are in other parts of the South, and when we go there, people aren’t as nice to us. It’s like my mother … she knows the difference, she tells us about it all the time. It’s as if Daddy isn’t good enough for her, and she thinks I’m lik
e him”—she made a face—“and Hubert’s worse.” Jeremiah laughed. “I hate being here. Everybody here thinks like that. They accept Mama … but they whisper about Daddy and Hubert and me … they don’t do that up North, and I’m tired of it here. No matter how much money your mama and daddy have, they talk about you all the time, who your grandfather was, where your money came from … look at Mama, she doesn’t even have a penny to her name, but they still think she’s all right, and we’re not … have you ever heard of anything so dumb?” Her eyes blazed as she looked into Jeremiah’s eyes. He knew precisely what she meant, but it was a difficult topic to discuss with her, and he was stunned that she had brought it up, and so candidly. She really was an amazing girl. Nothing was forbidden to her, not even his arms or his kisses.

  “In a few years, Camille, no one will care. Acceptance comes with time, and perhaps your father’s …” he stumbled over the words, “… fortune … is still very new. But they’ll forget in time. By the time your children come along, all they’ll remember is who your grandfather was, and how well you’ve dressed for the last twenty years.” But he didn’t quite believe that and neither did she. The South was different.

  “I don’t care. I’m going to get out of here some day and go north.”

  “Things aren’t so different there. People are snobbish in Chicago and New York, and even in San Francisco sometimes, although it’s a little different there because everyone is new.”

  “It’s worse in the South. I know it is.” She wasn’t entirely wrong, and their eyes met again as he watched her face. “I wish I lived in California with you.” It was a shocking thing to say, and he suddenly wondered if she was going to assault him again, and he more than half wished she would.

  “Camille, behave yourself.” For the first time he sounded stern, but she liked that too.

  “Why aren’t you married by now? Do you have a woman in California?”

  Things were getting worse. There was no stopping this girl. “What is that supposed to mean?” He sounded annoyed with her as he looked away.

  “It means a mistress. My father has one in New Orleans. Everyone knows that. Do you?”

  Jeremiah gasped and looked her firmly in the eye. “Camille, that is a shocking thing to say.”

  “It’s true. My mother knows it too.” And then, “Well, do you?”

  “I do not.” He shoved Mary Ellen from his mind, she was not a mistress after all, and this child had no right to know about that. Or about anything. She was a great deal too free.

  “What do you know of things like that?” She was far too knowing for a girl of seventeen, and suddenly he disapproved, as they began to walk back in the direction they had come. But the way she tucked her hand into his arm suddenly warmed his heart again. “You are a little minx, you know, a vixen, and if you were my child, or my ‘woman,’ as you put it, I would beat you every day.”

  “No, you wouldn’t,” she laughed musically in his ears, and she had read him well, “you’d love me to pieces because we’d have a lot of fun.”

  “Would we now, and what makes you so sure of that? I’d make you scrub floors, and pull weeds, and work in the mines …” But what was he saying, he was playing her game again. But how could one not? There was something absolutely irresistible about the girl.

  “No, you wouldn’t. We’d have a maid.”

  “Of course not. I’d treat you just like an Indian squaw.” But it was obvious that she didn’t believe a word he said, and he found himself standing too close to her as they left the park, aware of her delicate perfume, the rustle of her silks, the warmth of her slender arm, and graceful neck … the tiny little ears … he felt a wave of lust wash over him again, and suddenly backed away from her. What on earth was this girl doing to him? There was something devilish about her as she looked up at him.

  “I like you very much, you know.” It was the end of the afternoon and the light in the sky was as soft as her skin.

  “I like you too, Camille.”

  He thought he saw a tear in her eye and he was stunned. “Will I ever see you again?”

  “I hope so. One day.” They said very little to each other then, and walked home arm in arm, and he felt almost a sense of loss when he said good-bye to her and returned to his hotel. And all night, as he tossed and turned, he had to push her from his mind. And he was even more upset to realize how relieved he was when Orville Beauchamp sent him a note at the hotel the following day, asking him to dine with them. And when he saw Camille again, he realized how desperately he had missed her since the night before, but that was ridiculous, even to him. But his eyes caressed her face, and she seemed relieved to see him again, as though she had been afraid she never would, and they scarcely took their eyes off each other during the entire meal. Beauchamp noticed it himself, and his son looked amused, and when at last Orville and Jeremiah were alone over brandy and cigars, Orville Beauchamp looked directly at him. There was no preamble to his speech and Jeremiah felt as though he had been punched in the chest at the sound of her name.

  “Thurston, Camille means everything to me.”

  Like a youth, he felt flushed. “I can certainly understand that. She’s a lovely girl.” Oh God, what had he done? Did he know that they had kissed? He felt like an errant boy about to get a ferocious scold, but it was well deserved. And he waited nervously.

  “The question I want to ask you”—he looked Thurston right in the eye—“is just how lovely is she to you?” He didn’t mince words, and Thurston almost flinched. He deserved what was happening to him. He had no right to flirt with a girl of her age, yet surprisingly, Beauchamp didn’t seem upset, but Jeremiah had to deal now with what he had asked him.

  “I’m not sure I understand what you mean.”

  “You heard what I said. Just how attractive is my daughter to you?” Oh my God …

  “Very attractive, of course, sir. But I must apologize if I have offended you and Mrs. Beauchamp in any way … I … there’s really no excuse for—”

  “Hush! Men always behave like fools around her. Old, young, they all go half mad when she turns those blue eyes on them, and she’s well aware of her own powers, Thurston, don’t delude yourself. I wasn’t complaining about any affront. I was asking you a direct question man to man. But perhaps I’d best explain myself first. She’s what I love most in this life. If I had to give everything up, business, money, house, wife, and save one thing … Camille would be it. She’s all I really care about,” he considered his words and then thought better of what he’d said, “just about, anyway.” He grinned, and then his features sobered again. “And I want to get her out of the South. This is no place for a bright girl. They’re all fools here, overbred, overrun, with no money left, and the ones who have the money, like me”—he looked honestly at the man sitting across from him—“aren’t the kind of man I want for her. They’re crass and uncouth, unrefined, and more than half of them aren’t as smart as she is. She’s a remarkable girl in many ways, the best of two worlds, but because of that, she doesn’t fit here. The men like her granddaddy are all weak and whining and poor, the others aren’t good enough. Thurston, there is no one good enough for her here. Not in Atlanta, or Charleston or Savannah or Richmond, or anywhere in the South. I was thinking of taking her to Paris next year, and introducing her to the aristocracy.” Jeremiah found himself wondering how Beauchamp would have managed that, although at times it was amazing what money could do. “In fact, I’ve been promising her that for a long time. But when you walked into our house last week … Thurston, I had an amazing idea.” Jeremiah felt his entire body grow cold. His whole life was about to change, and he knew it. “You’re the perfect man for her. And she appears to be very taken with you.” Jeremiah thought instantly of the kiss she had attacked him with the day before, and it had been far from repugnant to him. “You’re a good man. I’ve heard it from everyone, and I like you myself. And I trust my instincts above all, and my instincts tell me you’d be good for her. It’s not everyone
who could handle Camille.” Jeremiah laughed at that, it was really an overwhelming thought, and he found himself staring at his host. “Well? What do you say? Would you be interested in marrying my daughter, sir?” It was the bluntest question that had ever been put to him, like buying cattle or land or a house, and yet he had an insane desire to say yes. He had to take a deep breath and set down his glass before responding to his host, and the silence sat between them like a boulder in the room.

  “I’m not quite sure where to start, or what to say, Beauchamp. She’s a remarkable girl, there’s no doubt about that. And I am deeply flattered by all that you’ve said. It’s easy to see how deeply you care about the girl, and she’s richly deserving of the feelings you bear for her.” Jeremiah could feel his heart pounding again, it seemed as though it hadn’t stopped since the first time he had laid eyes on her, but what he said now could affect the rest of his life and it was essential that he weigh each word more carefully than gold. “But I must tell you, sir, I am almost three times her age.”

  “Surely not that much …” Orville Beauchamp looked only faintly perturbed.

  “I am forty-three years old. She is seventeen. I would think that an age difference such as that would be repugnant to her. In addition, I live some twenty-five hundred miles from here, in a place far less sophisticated than this. You spoke of introducing her to the aristocracy of France.… I am a miner, sir … I live a simple life, in an empty house, ten miles from the nearest town. It’s hardly an exciting life for a young girl.”

  “If that were the only thing stopping you, you could move to town. To San Francisco. There’s no reason why you couldn’t run your mines from there. They’re established by now. You couldn’t be here if they were not.” Jeremiah had to concede that that much was true. “You could build her a house in town, and she’d get used to your country life in time.” He smiled. “It might even do her good, sometimes I think: her life is too frivolous here, although I have to confess, I’m partially responsible for that. I don’t like her to be bored, so we take her to balls a great deal of the time. But your life might do her good.” Camille’s father knit his brows. “But that’s not the point. The real point is, could you care for her?”