Holly Read online

  When Lorrie stopped, the others waited.

  “What about the treasure?” James snapped.

  “Ah yes, the treasure. Those were different times than today. After the trial, Jason asked to be released from jail for twenty-four hours so he could clear up some family matters. He gave his word as a gentleman that he’d return.”

  “He killed Arthur!” Taylor said.

  “Oh no, it was much worse,” Lorrie said, smiling.

  “Belle Chere,” Holly whispered.

  “Yes. Belle Chere. Somehow, Jason kept his brother away for a day. First, he married his beloved Julia, who was carrying his child, then he and a trusted servant—isn’t there always a trusted servant?—removed every item of wealth from Belle Chere. Jason hauled off wagonloads of silver objects and he emptied the vault—which is still in the basement, by the way—of all the proceeds from the sale of that year’s crops. If it had any resale value, Jason took it.”

  “And hid it,” James said.

  “Yes. He hid the treasure so well that it’s never been found.”

  “And he took the secret to his death,” Marguerite said. “It’s horrible what jealousy can cause.”

  “I believe I remember reading that Julia Bayard Pemberton married Arthur Beaumont,” Holly said.

  “Right again. Jason was hardly cold when Julia married Arthur, and seven months later, she gave birth to a son who looked very much like Jason.”

  “I understand why she married Arthur,” Taylor said. “If she was pregnant, she needed a husband, but why did Arthur marry her? After all, she’d publically humiliated him.”

  “Did I mention that Jason, along with being handsome, was also a cousin to Midas? My great-aunt said that Jason could buy a dying company and it would revive. At the time of his death he was a very wealthy man.”

  “Belle Chere,” Holly said again. “Arthur no longer had the money to keep Belle Chere going so he married his brother’s widow so he could use his brother’s money to keep the place.”

  “That poor child,” Marguerite said. “How Arthur must have hated Julia and Jason’s child.”

  “He never saw him,” Lorrie said. “A few months after his brother was hanged, Arthur fell off his horse, broke his neck, and died. Julia’s son inherited everything and did an excellent job of keeping the Yankees from burning the place to the ground.”

  For a few moments the five of them sat there, sipping the wonderful old brandy and thinking about the story.

  “The artifacts have never been found, none of them?” James asked.

  “No. When part of the icehouse collapsed in the seventies, we found the silver service—what you ate with tonight—that my family hid from the Yankees, but we never found the big hoard, what Jason hid.”

  “And the servant?” Holly asked. “What happened to him? He must have known where the treasure was hidden.”

  “We don’t know what happened to him. My great-aunt said she’d been told that the man was supposed to have told Julia where it was buried, but he didn’t.”

  “Probably took it himself,” Taylor said, finishing her brandy. “After poor ol’ Jason was hanged, Faithful probably went back to wherever and took everything.”

  “Maybe, but I don’t think so. The night after Jason was hanged, one of the four witnesses got drunk and was cursing Arthur Beaumont for not paying his debts. The next day he was found floating facedown in the river. Within hours, everyone in town put the story together and realized Jason had probably been innocent. However, since in those days Belle Chere was too rich to disparage, no one said anything. My great-aunt said that Arthur threatened death to the house slaves if it got out that Jason had stolen everything. Arthur was able to suppress the whole story so it never became local legend.

  “As for the hiding place having been emptied, all I can say is that my great-aunt assures me that it’s never been found.”

  Lorrie took a breath. “Anyway, I think that if anything suspicious had happened then, such as a slave suddenly becoming wealthy, the town would have questioned why.”

  “And there would have been another lynching of an innocent man,” Holly said.

  “Probably.”

  James was looking at Lorrie in speculation. “You said that this story isn’t usually told in your family. So why are you telling us now?”

  “Caught,” Lorrie said, setting down his empty brandy glass. “When the local gossip was that you’d bought Spring Hill and that all your family was returning here, I formed a devious, underhanded plot to try to persuade Holly to help me look for the treasure. All I know is that it’s on this property somewhere.” He looked at Holly, his eyes darkening, his lashes lowered. “Could I persuade you to help me search?”

  Holly restrained herself enough to keep from jumping up and dancing about the room. “Yes, I think I could do that,” she said, as though contemplating the matter. When the others burst into laughter, not at all fooled by her apparent reticence, Holly laughed, too.

  “I’ll split it with you,” Lorrie said.

  Holly wanted to say, You mean like in community property? but she didn’t. “My reward will be in writing a dissertation that gets me my doctorate. Instead of writing the whole history of the house, I’ll write the true story of Arthur, Jason, and Julia, and I’ll end it all with photos of pre–Civil War artifacts I found hidden.”

  “If anyone can do it, it will be you,” Lorrie said, looking at her so hotly that a little trickle of sweat ran down the back of Holly’s neck.

  “Shall we start tomorrow?” Holly asked. Lorrie and Belle Chere. Life was good.

  “Oh,” Lorrie said, “there’s a problem. I’m afraid I have commitments in town. I have a lot of work to do to set up my new law practice. There isn’t enough work in Edenton, so I have to make my former clients believe that I’m willing to go where they are.” He shrugged. “Living out of a suitcase is a price I’ll have to pay to be able to take care of Belle Chere. In fact, I have to go to New York tomorrow.”

  “That’s all right,” Holly said. “I know where the attic is. I’ll just—”

  “Stay here all day alone?” James said. “Over my dead body. I’ll send that lawn boy to stay with you. He looks strong enough to protect you and heaven knows he’s a terrible gardener. He cut the daffodil leaves down yesterday. I doubt if they’ll bloom next year.”

  “I think it would be safe for Holly to stay here during the day,” Lorrie said. “I don’t see the need for an escort.”

  “Humph!” James said. “Last week we got a call from the police saying they suspected she’d been kidnapped. All of us went through hours of hell before we heard she was safe. You know what happened to her? She was wandering around inside one of those rotten old houses she loves so much, saw a rattlesnake—yes! a rattler—and fell into a concrete-lined pit. It was only by chance that some trucker found her and got her out before she died of exposure.”

  His eyes bore into Lorrie’s. “I know that you two revere this place, but the truth is that every other board is probably being held up by termites holding hands, and I can tell you that when it comes to old houses, my daughter has no sense at all. What if she fell through the attic floor or got herself locked in your vault? What if a ceiling fell on her? With you gone and with us busy, she could go for hours undiscovered. No, if she’s here then she isn’t to be alone. If it’s not to be the gardener who doesn’t know a weed from a flower, then who else plans to stay with her? One of you?”

  For a moment no one spoke. What James had said was true.

  “I think the gardener will do nicely,” Marguerite said.

  Taylor smiled at Holly and she knew what her stepsister was thinking. She would be visiting Belle Chere to continue her pursuit of the handsome gardener, away from her stepfather’s watchful eye.

  Holly wanted to protest, but could think of nothing to say, You see, Dad, she could say, I want to marry Lorrie, but I keep having sex with the gardener. I’m afraid that if the gardener’s around me all the time I�
��ll get caught and that will ruin my chances with Lorrie.

  No, she couldn’t say that. She was just going to have to rely on her own self-control. Or, better yet, she was going to have to rely on the beauty and mystique of Belle Chere to distract her from the dark good looks of Nick Taggert.

  She gave her father a weak smile and she could swear she saw a twinkle in his eyes, as though he was up to something.

  In the next second, she grinned. Her father was helping her to reel Lorrie in. If she was there, at his house, alone all day and waiting for him, Lorrie would feel secure. But if she was there with an incredibly handsome and sexy man, maybe Lorrie would return from his trips sooner. Hadn’t they just heard a story about the horror that jealousy could cause?

  The twinkle in her father’s eyes deepened, and Holly looked back at Lorrie. “Yes,” she said, “maybe it would be better to have someone with me. He can move boxes about in the attic.”

  “I find that I’m quite jealous of the gardener,” Lorrie said, his eyes boring so hotly into Holly’s that for a moment she thought he might be going to say something intimate.

  James cleared his throat. “Since that’s settled, I suggest we go home. Tomorrow I have a sermon to prepare.”

  Feeling a bit dazed, Holly followed her family out of the sitting room. For years she’d dreamed of this, dreamed and wondered. She’d been so young when she’d spent a summer with Lorrie, and over the years she’d wondered what kind of man he’d grown into. Sometimes she’d run across people from Edenton and she’d always asked about Lorrie. Everyone knew of his family and the estate of Belle Chere, and nearly everyone claimed to “know” him. Many people had said he was a snob.

  But the Lorrie she’d spent the summer with and the man she’d remet again tonight seemed as far removed from being a snob as could be. As an heiress, Holly well knew that you had to be standoffish to people. Too many times, when people had discovered that she was heir to Hollander Tools, they’d changed toward her. Suddenly, their voices were different, and whatever Holly said was outrageously funny or profoundly wise. When she’d fled from these people, she’d later heard that they’d said she was a snob.

  As Nick held the door open to the big SUV her father had bought, Holly looked around Belle Chere. There was an age and an elegance to the place that only centuries could attain.

  “Are you also the gardener?” she heard Lorrie ask from behind her, then turned to see him frowning. He was looking Nick up and down and didn’t seem to like what he saw.

  Nick, on the other hand, was smiling at Lorrie in such a superior, “I won” way, that Holly wanted to kick him. “Yes, sir,” Nick said. The words were right, but there was a mocking tone in Nick’s voice. This is not going to work, Holly thought.

  In the next second, Lorrie grabbed her arm, spun her so she was pressed against his body, and kissed her. It was a proper kiss—on the mouth, but with no tongue since her parents were looking on—but Holly was so nervous, what with everyone looking, that she couldn’t decide if she liked it or not.

  As abruptly as he’d clutched her, Lorrie released her and stepped away. He looked into the back of the car at her father. “Sorry, sir. Moonlight. Old friend who’s grown into a beautiful woman.” He shrugged in a way that was very appealing.

  “Perfectly all right,” James said, taking his wife’s hand in his. “I’ve experienced a little moonlight in my lifetime.”

  Holly started to say something, but Nick put his hands on her waist so tightly she couldn’t take a breath. He lifted her, set her down hard in the passenger seat, then shut the door in her face. The next second he was behind the wheel and they were leaving Belle Chere.

  Holly wanted to stand up through the sunroof and wave good-bye to Lorrie and to all of Belle Chere, but when she tried to turn, she found that the hem of her dress was caught in the door. She was sure Nick had done it on purpose. When she looked at his profile, she saw a muscle working in his jaw.

  Holly turned her head and looked out the window—and smiled. Okay, so she knew she should be angry. Nick had acted in an infantile way. For that matter, so had Lorrie. If he hadn’t seen Nick, didn’t know that Nick was going to be “guarding” Holly, Lorrie would never have kissed her in front of her parents.

  Yes, she should be angry at both men. They were using her in some primitive, male tug-of-war.

  But, try as she might, Holly couldn’t be mad. It felt too good to have two handsome men fighting over her. Too, too good.

  She leaned back against the seat and closed her eyes. Everything was going to her plan. Tomorrow she’d start her research, and if she was lucky, she’d find a treasure that had been hidden for over a hundred and sixty years—a treasure that Belle Chere needed. She hadn’t had much time to look around tonight, what with Nick and all (she glanced at him but he was staring straight ahead), but she’d seen several repairs that were needed. Preserving a place like Belle Chere took a fortune. She knew Lorrie had been left no money when he’d inherited Belle Chere, so all he had was what he earned. For all his success as a lawyer, Lorrie was only twenty-seven. He hadn’t had enough time to earn the money he needed.

  So how grateful would he be to a woman who found the treasure? she wondered. If she found it, it would be Lorrie’s and he’d be rich. He’d never be accused of living off his rich wife as she’d heard an old schoolmate of his say about Lorrie’s first wife.

  Smiling, Holly relaxed against the seat. Yes, everything was working out perfectly to her advantage. It was as though some cupid had planned everything.

  Except for Nick, she thought, opening her eyes and looking at his profile. Only her meeting with Nick didn’t seem to fit. She needed to figure out a way to get rid of him. Maybe tomorrow she’d call Hollander Tools and see if they had a manager trainee program. If not, she’d strongly suggest that they create one. Yes, she thought, a fabulous job would be the way to get rid of Nick. If she set him up with a job and therefore a future such as he’d never be able to obtain on his own, her conscience would be clear.

  Smiling broadly, she was pleased with herself. She had everything figured out.

  Chapter Ten

  HOLLY WAS SURE THAT THE ATTIC OF BELLE CHERE was the hottest place on earth. The windows had long ago been nailed shut, then painted over, and her conscience wouldn’t allow her to pry them open. No, the windows would need to be carefully taken out, the paint removed, the frames repaired, then put back into place.

  She’d worn her best white linen trousers, cute little flat sandals, and a black cotton sleeveless top. She’d thought that she’d be cool enough, and she’d thought that the research would so absorb her that she’d be able to bear the heat, but it was still morning and she was sweltering.

  Yet again, she looked at the big fan at the end of the long, dusty room. How many years since anyone had turned it on? she wondered. From the look of it, it had been new in about 1957. She wasn’t surprised to see an old wooden toolbox open beside the fan. It looked as though someone had tried to fix it but had given up and walked away.

  She stepped between two horsehide-covered trunks to look out the sealed, dirty window. She could see Nick below, lying in a hammock under an enormous pecan tree, his eyes closed and looking as cool as ice.

  This morning he’d been a pain. Because her father had insisted on all of them hearing the first draft of his sermon, Holly hadn’t been able to leave the house until 9:00 A.M. She’d been dying to get her hands on the Belle Chere files, but she’d had to wait. When she got away, Nick was sitting on the porch waiting for her.

  “Which car will you be wanting, Miss?” he asked.

  “Cut it out,” she snapped, not looking at him. She was checking the contents of her red leather briefcase to make sure she had all her research materials. Without looking at Nick, she walked to her own car and prepared to get behind the wheel, but Nick brushed her hand away, signaling that he would drive.

  They didn’t speak during the few minutes it took them to get to Belle Chere. Without
looking at him, she used the key Lorrie had given her and opened the front door, leaving Nick outside.

  It was as cool in the house as eighteenth-century technology could make it. The central hall was, as they say, “high, wide, and handsome.” For a moment, Holly hummed a tune and waltzed about the hall. Parties had been held in the hall. Who designs houses for dancing nowadays? she thought.

  She stopped waltzing and decided to go straight up to the attic before it got too hot. But it already was too hot. Centuries-old houses were one thing, but centuries-old air was another.

  By 10:30 she was so sweaty she felt as though she’d been swimming. When a bead of sweat dropped off her nose onto an old document, she knew something had to be done. Tomorrow she’d get service people to install a new fan—or a window air conditioner. But for today…

  She glanced out the dirty window again and saw that Nick was still dozing in the hammock. Maybe she should give him something to do, like change the oil in her car. Rotate the tires. Clean the pistons. Did pistons need cleaning?

  Holly stripped off her clothes down to her underwear and sandals. And necklace, she thought in dismay. Since she’d met Nick she’d been wearing the big yellow stone he’d given her. Silly of her to wear something so gaudy and so cheap, but she liked it. There was something about the stone that appealed to her. She’d decided it wasn’t glass but was something else, a citrine maybe? She should give the necklace back to him, of course, and she meant to. But for now…

  She tucked the stone into her bra, turned to an old leather-bound trunk, said, “Show me what ya got!” then opened it.

  It was an hour later, when she was stretching on her tiptoes to pull down boxes, that she heard a sound behind her. Turning, she saw Nick and gasped—and when she did, the boxes began to tumble.

  In an instant, Nick was behind her, his long arms reaching above her head to push the boxes back up.