Highroad Read online

  HIGHROAD

  By Jeanie Johnson

  Copyright 2012

  CHAPTER ONE

  “Voni, are you going to take forever to get dressed? We are going to be late. Do you want me to send Mirabel up to help you?” The sound of Lavonia’s father’s voice muffled through the door, as Lavonia was putting the last finishing touches on her hair.

  “Mirabel is a downstairs maid. She knows nothing about dressing a lady. Besides I have been having to do it on my own for the last three months, ever since we had to let Betsy go. If you would stop gambling away our resources we could afford a lady’s maid,” she said sweetly through the door, while she felt quite perturbed at her father’s incessant gambling.

  “You take all the enjoyment out of a man’s last few years of life,” the bluster came back through the door. “It isn’t fair the way you hide the money away from me. My own money, mind you!”

  “If I didn’t hide it, we would be in the poor house by now,” Lavonia, frowned as she came through the door, pulling on her gloves, and then reaching in her pocket for her fan. “How do you like my gown? I had to rip three older gowns apart to make this single one. I got the pattern out of a French catalogue. No one will ever know it didn’t come straight from France.” She began smoothing the material of her burgundy colored gown, as she threaded her other arm, holding the fan, through the elbow of her father. “Heaven knows we have to keep up a good front so no one will suspect our dire circumstances,” she smiled. “And you ferreting out where I hide the money, and then losing it at the tables, is not helping.” She frowned at her father, wishing he would realize the seriousness of their situation.

  “I know every nook and cranny of this house, so you are wasting your time hiding it,” he chuckled.

  “You will be the death of me, father,” she murmured as he led her down the expansive sweeping staircase. She wondered how long they would survive, if her father continued on the path he had chosen to follow, in spite of her complaints.

  Lavonia looked down upon the interior of the house, as they descended the stairs, admiring its natural beauty, but hoping her father would not notice that some of the decorations were missing. She was forced to sell so much of the heirlooms that had been handed down from one generation of Hampton’s to the next, just in order to keep the house running.

  “If you married yourself a wealthy man, it would help,” Hector Hampton said hopefully.

  “And then who would take care of you, and make sure you did not gamble the house away?” she asked, rapping his hand with her fan.

  “You are twenty three, Voni. Every man in the district would gladly wed you, if you would only give one of them a little encouragement. Max Paddington asks you every time he sees you, and you just give him the cold shoulder.”

  “Max Paddington is at least forty, father. He is skinny, and short, and is a mama’s boy. He wouldn’t know what to do with me, if he got me, but I certainly know what I would do with him. I would just throw him in the dust bin,” she laughed.

  “Becoming a Paddington is nothing to sneeze at,” he told her.

  “Every time I see the man I want to sneeze. I think I am allergic to him! One sneeze would probably blow him off his feet!” she chuckled, as she envisioned Max Paddington blowing away in a stiff breeze.

  “There is the carriage,” Hector informed her, as they went through the front door, that he held open for her. No more footman, or butler, she lamented to herself.

  Lavonia pulled the hem of her skirt, that billowed over several petticoats, into the carriage, as her father gave her a hand up, and then scooted over on the seat to allow him to sit next to her. “I hear that Marybeth, plans to sing tonight, during intermission,” she announced and found her self chuckling to herself. “She thinks she has a singing voice. I hate to disillusion her, so I never tell her how awful everyone thinks her singing is.”

  “Her voice sounds fine to me,” Lavonia’s father replied.

  “That is because you are tone deaf,” Lavonia, laughed. “You would insist a bull frog knew how to sing,” she teased.

  “Together with Marybeth they could make a fine chorus,” he laughed in return, as he turned his top hat in his lap, and studied it, and Lavonia giggled.

  Then her face straightened. “I hope Grange Gordon is not there tonight. Did you see what he wrote about me in his insulting news rag? I am going to have to give him a put down for that one.”

  “If you actually accepted someone’s hand in marriage, he would not disparage you so, Voni. You are one of the most attractive single women around, and you persist in remaining single, even when some of the younger men pant after you. Everyone knows you have turned down every man who has ever approached you, and I think the town is running out of men, who are interested in your hand. If you don’t pick soon, the bloom will be off your cheek, and no one will ask for your hand.”

  “I shall never marry,” she sniffed, wrinkling her pert little nose, “regardless of what blooms on my cheek. And don’t try to butter me up with that hogwash about being attractive. Everyone knows I am as normal looking as the next girl. Besides I made up my mind when I was young that I don’t want to be owned by a man. Precisely because they are usually vulgar, dull, insensitive, think about nothing but lose women, gambling, alcohol, and a good cigar from time to time. None of which attracts me. Grange is just tweaked because I turned down his proposal when I was sixteen. He has never gotten over it, and finds every opportunity he can to make some scathing remark about me in his damn news sheet.”

  “Voni! If you continue to curse like that, no man will ever want you!”

  “The very reason I resort to it,” she smiled. “Men make me want to swear!”

  “We have arrived, so I hope you will curb your tongue, once we get inside. I believe we are the last to arrive.”

  “I like coming late,” Lavonia informed him. “I will make a grand entrance with my new French gown, and all the simpering ladies, like Marybeth, will be envious of my superb taste in style.”

  “I’m sure they will, dear,” her father chuckled.

  Hector Hampton, was not mistaking about his daughter’s beauty, as he watched every head turn, once they entered the hall, which was lit up by a myriad of candles suspended overhead. It appeared that most men in attendance agreed with him. The light reflected in the many mirrors along the outer walls, and bounced off of her pale yellow hair which fell over one bare shoulder, in ringlets conforming to the latest style. Her long slender neck supported an angel like oval face, with high arched brows, and soft brown eyes, that could turn almost black when she was angry. Her full lips had a cherub quality to them, and the dimple in her cheek, was what attracted most of the men to her. He was proud of Lavonia, and just couldn’t understand why she refused to marry. But nothing he could do would persuade her to change her headstrong ways, so he merely sighed, as he led her into the room that was already filled with dancing partners, dressed in gowns as lovely as Lavonia’s and suits of the latest cut that caught the aristocratic eye.

  As soon as they entered, Lavonia was aware that Grange was headed her way. Just the man she wanted to talk to. He took her hand and kissed it, and gave her one of his charming smiles. She had to admit that Grange was rather nice looking. She remembered how she had called him a fop, when he asked for her hand. His dark green eyes had sizzled at her, when she said that. He was far from a fop, she thought now, but she would never admit it to him, she vowed.

  Not a dark hair was out of place, though, and he was immaculately dressed, but not like a dandy. He was too muscular to dress like a dandy, she decided, but his fawn colored coat showed off his broad shoulders quite grandly, she thought to herself, as she placed her gracefully gloved hand on his shoulder, preparing to be led into the dance.
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br />   “There is the love of my life,” Grange said to her, as he cupped her small hand in his large one.

  “Oh posh!” she grumbled, giving him a face. “You know very well you hate everything about me! What was all that rubbish you wrote the last time I attended an affair such as this? Not the words of a lover, I declare.”

  “Become my lover, and I will be a little kinder,” he grinned down at her. He stood at least twelve inches taller than her, and she had to tilt her head to look into his eyes.

  “Then you would kiss and tell, I fear, and I certainly couldn’t have that. You do enough damage to my character as it is.”

  “Oh, I didn’t know you had character,” he taunted, giving her a broad grin.

  “So many things seem to pass by you unnoticed,” she smiled back.

  “Where is Paddington? I thought he would be right here swearing his undying love for you.”

  “Right along with you?” she giggled. “Oh it is so wonderful to feel loved,” she simpered. “Now do tell me how much you love me, Grange, and I will just swoon at your feet.”

  “I’ll tell you in the next edition of my paper,” he smiled, and cleared his throat in a meaningful gesture.

  “I’m sure you will,” she frowned. “Why I interest you enough to write about me in your scandalous sorry excuse for a news paper, I shall never guess.”

  “Because you are so predictable, my dear. It amuses my readers. They have been making bets on who you will turn down next.”

  “Why is my marital status such an interest anyway? Certainly there are other things to occupy their minds.”

  “How many men now, have asked you to marry them? I am sure my readers would like to know.”

  “Including you?” she laughed. “I thought you were the one who was keeping score.”

  “I am just curious,” my darling, “has any of them tried to kiss the celebrated virgin?”

  “Is this an interview?” she replied, batting her eyes at him. “If you want an interview with someone, you should go talk to Marybeth. She has been trying to fall into your lap, every time she crosses your path. Have you tried to kiss that celebrated virgin yet?” she quipped.

  He pulled her a little tighter in his arms. “Marybeth is hardly a celebrated virgin. She is closer to a marrying age than you are, and is determined to make it to the alter, long before she reaches your years. As for my kissing her, you know that would compromise the chit. I prefer the women of the night. They don’t have any mama’s that will come to their rescue insisting on marriage.”

  “And to think you wanted to marry me all those years back? What has kept you from finding some honest woman to share your bed, so I don’t distract you so much?”

  “I have decided marriage would be too boring for me,” he smiled, putting his cheek closer to hers, “but if you accepted me, I might change my mind.”

  “There you go again, leading me on,” she flirted. She knew he was a bawl-faced liar. “It is all those sweet nothings you write about me that just sweeps me off my feet.”

  “And you deserve every loving word,” he snickered.

  “Oops, the dance is over,” she smiled, and turned away from Grange, wanting to gag.

  Well she did her duty and gave him his dance. She liked to get it over with and out of the way, so she could enjoy the rest of the evening. He always danced at least once with her, so he could tease her about her lack of a husband, never a lack of a partner, because Lavonia knew how to flirt, and bat her eyes, and simper, the way she was expected to do. She knew all the quips to counter with, when the man flirted back, and just how close to draw them in, while still holding them at arms length. She loved the attention, because it gave her the opportunity to laugh at their attempts to woo her, when she knew exactly what they really wanted. A soft body in bed, and someone to call their property. Not to mention bringing babies into the world, through crude means, to carry on the honored name of some family she did not give a fig about. No man was ever going to touch her soft body, she vowed to herself, except while they were dancing.

  “There you are, my sweet!” Lavonia turned to see the one person she loathed beyond any other man that ever offered for her hand. Max Paddington.

  “Max, dear, I didn’t think you had the stamina to venture onto a dance floor,” she smiled.

  “I have been known to dance, and I am not as old as you pretend that I am,” he smiled back.

  “I fear you are the one who is pretending,” she replied, batting her eyes at him.

  “Come dance with me, and I shall prove my talent,” he insisted.

  “You have caught me at a bad moment. I was just on my way to….Oh there you are, Grange. I don’t believe we have shared our dance yet. Do excuse me, Max,” she smiled, as she grabbed Grange’s arm, pulling him back out onto the floor.

  “I do believe you love me after all,” Grange chuckled. “Two dances in a row? You make me blush!”

  “I would suffer to dance with you all night if I knew it would keep that little toad away from me,” she growled.

  “And I would love to accommodate you, in that case. I love you even more when you put on that angry face,” he laughed.

  “I’m sure you do. It must be what attracts you to me,” she sighed. “I can’t think of any other reason.”

  “If you keep dancing with me, all your young men will think you are sweet on me, and it will break all their hearts.”

  “I intend to break their hearts anyway,” she informed him.

  “Poor blokes. I feel sorry for them. I know how it feels when you break hearts.”

  “What? Not over the pain yet?” she responded.

  “As though it happened yesterday,” he lamented.

  “Well, sweet dear, you must get over it sometime. It is making you a bore.”

  “Careful, or I may not save you from Max the next time,” he threatened.

  “So gallant of you,” she murmured. “Thank you for the second dance, Grange. Now you can get back to collecting unimportant news,” she told him as the dance ended.

  Grange watched her walk away, her skirt swishing behind her, causing his eyes to rise to her swinging hips, and then her pale shoulders glimmering in the candle light, and her ringlets bouncing against her neck, as they caressed that shoulder in the same way he wished he was able to do.

  He got the same feeling he always got when he looked at her, ever since she was sixteen. And yet inside there was the need to put her in her place, and mock her, in his news paper, because she was right. He hadn’t gotten over his broken heart yet, after all these years.

  He was glad she would not marry, because then he could still hope she would change her mind about him. He had held all the women off, pursuing his favor, for this long, because as of yet, he had not been able to find anyone that he thought held a candle to the lovely Lavonia Hampton. He was determined to have her one way or another. He just didn’t know how he was going to go about doing it.

  His view was blocked by Marybeth Banner, with her red curls bouncing around her face, and he let out a sigh. “Marybeth. How sweet you look tonight, and I understand you plan to entertain us with your lovely voice during intermission.”

  “Oh you do flatter me, Grange.” She tapped his shoulder with her fan. “I see that Lavonia is still batting her eyes at you.”

  “She’ll never give up displaying her charms,” he smiled. “But now that you are here, my evening is complete.” He took her hand and kissed it as he led her out onto the dance floor, but he did not hold her close, like he had held Lavonia, and Marybeth, gave a little frown, in her disappointment.

  “Just look at the way, she flaunts herself at him,” Lavonia almost growled, under her breath.

  “What was that?” Jane, the young girl standing next to her, asked, turning her head.

  “Nothing,” Lavonia replied.

  It wasn’t that she was jealous of Marybeth flirting with Grange. All women flirted, just as she did, and she didn’t even like Grange. But it was the
way she was so obvious about it. Grange appeared to be lapping it up, and she thought it beneath him to be so hoodwinked by Marybeth’s attempts to play a practiced flirt. Usually flirting was a form of art, and meant next to nothing. Just a way to carry on a charming conversation with a man. But she was certain that Marybeth was trying to be more than just charming.

  Marybeth was practically clinging. Something that Lavonia knew scared away the most ardent man. She thought she could give the chit a few lessons, but knew she wouldn’t. It was the excitement of the chase, that pulled them to you, she smirked to herself. Stupid men! That is why she had such a line of them all dying for her to accept them as her special one. Something she would never do, she vowed. She also realized that was what kept Grange watching her like that love sick puppy he had been, when she was sixteen, while he wrote scathing accounts of her every move in his miserable newspaper. What would he ever do if she made an about face and agreed to marry him? He would probably run in the opposite direction, back into the arms of his women of the night.

  The thought gave Lavonia cause to pause. What made women of the night ever want a man slobbering all over them? It was disgusting and crude. A light kiss could be pleasant, but anything more than that, merely turned her stomach.

  “I see you have no partner now,” Max interrupted her thoughts.

  It’s no wonder she hadn’t noticed him coming. He was only a couple inches taller than she was, and she was barely five feet tall. She took in her breath with resignation, and offered her hand.

  “You know how I feel about you,” Max began, as he led her out onto the floor. “I don’t know why you keep putting me off. I have so much to offer you,” he insisted.

  “Only five two? That is not much,” she murmured.

  “Don’t tease, Lavonia. A man’s stature says nothing for his ardor. I am as virile as any man,” he told her.

  “That is what frightens me,” she smiled. “I do not want or need your ardor, Max. If I wanted to marry someone I hated as much as I dislike you, I would marry Grange. At least his stature has something to say. Since I turned him down years ago, and have never changed my mind, that gives you very little chance to win my favor. Dancing is one thing, but that is all you shall ever get from me, Max, and even that is a scrap I could refuse to relinquish.”