Except there were no parties. There hadn't been for decades.
With the declining fortunes of the Moorehouse family, there was no money to replace either the lifestyle or the luxury their grandmother had once known. But Joy was able to keep the Golden Era illusion alive by maintaining the forty- and fifty-year-old ball gowns. In doing so, she helped Grand-Em to find a measure of calm.
And discovered a passion for clothing design in herself.
"We've got three rooms filled this weekend," Frankie said as she pulled on khakis. "Which means the leaf peepers are showing up on schedule."
The White Caps mansion had been built by their ancestors at the turn of the nineteenth century and back then, it had been one of many Moorehouse real estate holdings. Now the ten-bedroom house was all that was left of a once mighty fortune.
In the eighties, their mother and father had turned the place into a bed-and-breakfast. Following their deaths a decade ago, Frankie had struggled to keep the business going, and it appeared that they'd finally turned a corner. The B&B was on the upswing, thanks in large part to Frankie's fiancé, Nate Walker. Nate's fine French cooking had made White Caps a destination and his timely investment in the business had pulled them out of a debt spiral.
"So, about tonight." Frankie shoved her feet into a pair of beat-up sneakers. "Spike's going to mind the store here with George on backup. Nate, Tom and I are going to head over to the Bennett kitchen in another hour or so. Can you get there about five?"
"No problem."
"Thank God, Alex is willing to watch Grand-Em. Have you told him what to expect?"
Joy nodded. "I think he'll be okay and Spike's here if she gets really agitated. Fortunately she's been quieter now during evenings."
Stewarding Grand-Em through her delusions was usually Joy's job, but they needed all the hands they could get for the party.
"I'm so glad Gray gave us this chance," Frankie said, drawing her hair back. "He's a good man. For a politician."
He's not a politician, Joy wanted to say. He's a political consultant who specializes in elections.
But the correction might get her sister's attention and Joy was careful about keeping her obsession with Gray to herself. Sharing pipe dreams was almost as futile as having them in the first place.
"You're awful quiet, Joy. Are you sure you want to come tonight?"
"I'm just distracted." By the fact that she was going to get to watch Gray for three, maybe four, hours. And that maybe she'd get a chance to talk with him.
Although the exposure probably wasn't a good thing. After so many years of pining for the man, lately she'd been trying to let the unrequited fascination go. She was going to be twenty-seven soon, for heaven's sake. Living in the fantasy was getting old. And so was she.
"You don't have to come, Joy. I could have one of the waitresses sub."
"I want to," she said firmly.
Sort of.
Because he was going to look so good tonight. Grayson Bennett always looked good.
"You work too hard," Frankie said.
"So do you."
Frankie shook her head and then stared long and hard across the room. She'd worn glasses until recently, and without the lenses, her eyes seemed bluer than ever.
"You know," she said casually, "I was talking to Tom yesterday. He was asking a lot of questions about you. He's a really nice guy."
Tom Reynolds was the new line cook who'd been hired to help Nate and his partner, Spike, in the kitchen. And he was a nice guy. With a nice guy's sweet smile. And a nice guy's gentle eyes. And a nice guy's polite manner.
Except Joy liked what Gray had. The power. The charisma. The promise of breathtaking, hot sex.
Which probably would have shocked her sister.
If Frankie was the practical one, Joy was supposed to be the prim, protected youngest. Except she was getting bored with being good, especially whenever Gray Bennett came to mind.
Which, in spite of her resolve, was about as often as the grandfather clock downstairs spoke up.
Basically, every fifteen minutes.
"Maybe you and Tom should go out sometime," Frankie said.
Joy shrugged. "Maybe."
As her sister left the room, Joy sat on the bed. She knew her fixation on Gray was unhealthy. Getting tangled up in fantasies about some man she saw maybe five or six times a year was ridiculous. And it wasn't as if he encouraged her. Whenever Gray came up to the lake in the summer and she ran into him in town, he was always friendly. He even remembered her name. But that was as far as it ever got.
Well, except in her dreams. Then it went a whole lot further.
In real life, however, the attraction was totally one-sided. She was pretty certain about how Gray perceived her and it was just what she thought of Tom, the line cook. Nice. Sweet. Young.
Completely unremarkable.
And the truly pathetic thing was, even though she knew all that, even though she wanted to forget about Grayson Bennett, she still couldn't wait to see him tonight.
* * *
GRAY WORKED HIS FATHER'S TIE into a Windsor knot. Ever since the stroke five months ago, Walter Bennett's left side wasn't working right. The physical rehab helped, and with time's passing his brain had recovered some, but his fine motor skills were still compromised.
"You ready for tonight, Papa?"
"Yes. I. Am." The words were slow and slightly garbled.
"Well, you look sharp as hell." Gray measured his efforts. A little tug to the right and the tie was perfect.
Walter tapped his chest with a gnarled hand, pushing aside the strip of bright red silk. "Happy. Very. Happy."
"Me, too." Gray smoothed the tie back into place.
"Are. You?"
Gray walked over to the bureau and picked up his father's gold cuff links. They were heavy in his hand, marked with the Bennett family crest. He had a pair just like them, given to him when he'd turned eighteen and headed off to Harvard.
His father stamped his foot, a habit he'd developed when he had to get someone's attention. "Are. You?"
"Sure."
"Don't. Lie." Walter was stooped with age, far shorter than he'd been when he'd had his youth, but he was still a big man. And although he wasn't fierce by nature, not like his only son, when he wanted to be, he could be very direct. The trait was no doubt one of the reasons he'd been such a successful federal judge in D.C.
Gray smiled to reassure his father. "I'm looking forward to getting back to Washington."
Which was lie number two.
Walter huffed as his cuff links were put on and Gray had the feeling he was being given a stiff lecture in his father's head.
"You. Should. Talk. More."
"About what?"
"You."
"There are much better subjects. Besides, you know the Dr. Phil stuff's never been my thing." Gray stepped back. "Okay, Papa. You're done. I need to shower and change."
"Change," his father said. "Change. Is. Good."
Gray nodded, but cut off the conversation by heading for his own room. On his way down the hall, he paused in front of Cassandra's guest room.
And sometimes change wasn't so good.
After he'd learned about Cassandra's husband's death, Gray had made a point of going to New York City to see her in person. He'd worried that with Reese gone, she'd be all alone in the midst of the Manhattan social tilt-a-whirl. Fortunately, their mutual friend, Allison Adams, and her husband, the senator, had taken to watching over the new widow like a hawk. But it was still a difficult time.
If Gray and Allison hadn't ridden her so hard, Cass never would have agreed to come up for the weekend. She'd have continued to nurse her broken heart in that big penthouse on Park Avenue all by herself.
Gray kept walking. Cassandra and Allison were two unusual women for the circles he ran in. They loved their husbands and were faithful to them.
Which was why Reese's death struck him as unfair.
Most of the ladies Gray knew, and he used the term lady loosely, thought fidelity was something you had for a clothing or shoe designer. The fact that some sap slid a diamond on their finger and they'd thrown on a white dress made little impression on their libidos.
But maybe he was just bitter.
Yeah, only a little, he thought.
Gray shut the door to his room and took off his polo shirt. He'd had a lot of women come on to him over the years and a good number had been married. But he couldn't blame his distrust of the fairer sex solely on his contemporaries.
No, he'd learned his first lessons at home.
From mommy dearest.
Belinda Bennett was a blue-blooded, well-
moneyed beauty. Real top-drawer stuff if you looked at her Mayflower roots and all that patrician bone structure. Unfortunately, she was first and foremost a harlot. A rebellious, misbehaving, spoiled brat who seemed determined to make her mark on her back.
As if getting screwed by men who didn't give a damn about her was a badge of independence.
God, the things she'd done to his father. The humiliation. The degradation. And all of it caused by what she'd done with his friends at the club. His tax attorney. His own cousin. As well as the gardener, her tennis instructor, the choir master.
Hell, even Gray's camp counselor and his prep school English professor hadn't been off-limits. And she'd also managed to find her way into the pants of two of his buddies from college. Former buddies, that was.
Gray turned the shower on, kicked off his shorts and stepped under the water.
His father was a good man. Weak when it came to love, but a good man. Unfortunately, this combination meant he'd stayed in the marriage even though he'd known what was happening. Even though his heart had gotten broken over and over.