First Impressions Read online

  “Did everyone in town know about her son? About what he did?”

  “Sure. We know about each other.”

  Eden looked down at her wineglass to hide her smile. To someone who’d never lived in Arundel, what Brad had just said was impossibly pompous. He was a member of a society that “knew” the others in that society. They would have known about Mrs. Farrington’s son, but they would still have accepted him into their houses because he was one of them. But if an outsider had come into town and done what Alester Farrington had tried to do, they might have hanged him.

  “When Mrs. Farrington died, you lost one of your families,” Eden said, smiling at him. She had lived too many places and seen too much in her life to dislike “family” in any form. To her mind, that’s what these people in Arundel were: a large family with a very long history.

  “Yes, but as Mrs. Farrington said to me, perhaps it was for the better. Many bad things had happened in the Farrington family. She was of the old school and believed there was a bad ‘strain,’ as she called it, in her family. Genetics.”

  Eden started to say that she probably knew more about the Farrington family than anyone else on earth, since she’d spent years reading about them, but she said nothing. And she was tempted to tell him about her book, but again, decided to say nothing.

  “What I really want to say is that if I seem a bit too familiar I ask your forgiveness. It’s just that I feel as though I’ve known you for a long time. I know that we both share a fondness for cheesecake and that we both dislike hollyhocks. I know that you like rabbits but don’t like dogs much. By the way, I own three dogs, all of them well mannered and polite, I might add. I know you aren’t married, that you’re beautiful, talented, and smart, and with those things added to owning this big house, you’re going to have a lot of male interest. I’m concerned that in a sense of everything being fair in love and war, that half a dozen people will rush to tell you all about how horrible I was while my wife was dying.”

  “Were you horrible?” Eden asked softly.

  “No. I stayed with her, but I didn’t love her. As I said, we’d already filed for divorce. I spent a lot of time here in this house during those years. I think I needed someone as bossy as Mrs. Farrington so I wouldn’t have to think. It was the worst time of my life.” He leaned back in his chair, and after a moment, he smiled. “Now that I’ve told you my deepest, darkest secret, what about your life? And I know about what happened to you to give you your daughter, so that doesn’t count.”

  More questions, Eden thought. “Of course Mrs. Farrington would have told you about that,” she said grimly. “But then I’m sure it was all over town from years before.”

  “Yes, she told all of us, but she did so because she didn’t want people thinking you were just some hot pants teenager who’d fooled around with her boyfriend. She wanted people to understand.” He smiled at her. “All of us did understand. I don’t think anyone was discourteous to you while you were here, were they?”

  “No,” Eden said, looking at him. She realized that Mrs. Farrington had told the “family” about Eden and the word was sent out that, in spite of her unmarried-and-pregnant state, she was to be treated kindly, not snubbed. Even though Brad had not been in Arundel during those years, he included himself in the “we” of the people who understood.

  Eden was about to say more when a movement at the doorway caught her eye. It was just a flash, then it was gone. A mouse? she wondered. But no, she didn’t think so.

  “How about if we take our wine outside?” Brad asked. “I’d like to see that lawn I worked so hard on, and maybe you could tell me of your garden plans.”

  “I haven’t had time to really look at the outside,” she said, thinking that the only time she’d been out was when she’d gone to McBride’s house to take him soup. And with the thought of that man she knew what she’d seen in the doorway: McBride’s foot. He was just outside the door, listening to her and Brad. How long had he been there? And, more important, why was he there? Just old-fashioned snooping? Prurient interest? Was that all it had been when he’d been snooping through her house at night?

  “Yes!” Eden said. “Let’s go outside.” She said this too loud and too fast. Part of her wanted to let McBride know that she knew he was there. She’d like to see his face when she caught him!

  As she pushed away from the table, she glanced at the glass-doored cabinet and saw McBride’s reflection in the glass. He didn’t look guilty or embarrassed, just gave her a little nod and a smile, acknowledging that she’d seen him.

  Her first instinct was to confront him, but she didn’t. She didn’t want to get Brad involved in this. She would deal with McBride on her own.

  Standing, Eden tucked her arm in Brad’s, and they left the house with their full wineglasses. Brad was telling her about the fenced garden that Eden had designed so many years ago, but it was difficult for her to concentrate on what he was saying. Somewhere in the back of her mind, she realized that Brad knew a great deal more about gardening and about Mrs. Farrington than he’d let on. Something he said made her give him her attention. “What did you say?”

  Brad chuckled. “Didn’t think I knew about that, did you? I said that I helped Mrs. Farrington pull the silver out of the floors and the walls. By that I mean that I used the crowbar and she criticized. I told you she made me work like a slave. Before the renovation could begin, she made me help clean out the inside of the walls and the floors. I must say that you ladies certainly did a lot of work when you put all those in there.”

  “And that’s when you found the Paul Revere teapot.”

  “Not me, but yes, that’s when it was found,” Brad said. “I was the one who arranged the sale for her.”

  Eden looked at him. “I think she must have cared a great deal about you if she trusted you with a Farrington heirloom.”

  He leaned toward her so close that his lips were near her ear. “But she wouldn’t show me what’s buried in the garden. She told me about what you two had done, but she also said that whether or not those things were dug up was up to you.”

  Eden had to laugh. She was beginning to like this man a lot. Perhaps even beginning to trust him. Maybe she should tell him about McBride’s snooping. Maybe Brad would go in there and beat him up for her. She didn’t care if McBride was bleeding from every orifice, after Brad left she was going to tell McBride to get out of her house. Spying on her! Of all the ungrateful—“I’m sorry, what did you say?”

  Brad was looking at her. “You suddenly seem distracted. And why do you keep looking at the house?”

  “I saw someone at the window. I’m sure it was only Mr. McBride.”

  “I really do wish you hadn’t moved him into your house.”

  “I didn’t. The invitation was until he recovered from the wounds I gave him.” Her tone let him know that it wasn’t any of his business. She changed the subject. “Now, tell me, what would you do with this garden?” It was growing dark; the warm air felt wonderful. She could smell the freshwater creek down the hill, and the night was so quiet that she was sure she could hear fish jumping.

  They stopped when they reached the fenced garden. Many years ago, not long after Melissa was born, Eden had found some garden plans tucked inside a book. They were just crude sketches, but the paper was so old it had intrigued her. The book holding the papers was from the 1930s, but the drawings looked much older.

  Mrs. Farrington had smiled when Eden showed them to her and said that her father had searched for those drawings for years. They were the original garden plans, drawn by Josiah Alester Farrington in 1720 when the house was built. Her father said the garden had stayed intact until the 1840s, when his grandfather had torn them up and put in what were called “carpet beds,” designs created with annuals. The colorful gardens had been all the rage then but were extremely labor intensive. During the First World War, most of the grounds had been plowed up and put to cotton. After the war, paths were mowed through the weeds, and sometimes an