Her husband looked clueless. “Bidding war? Over doilies?”
Nitzi Merchant, the high school secretary, smiled from across the lawn. Snow knew that Nitzi would be her biggest competitor for textiles. “Word has it a Brambleton ancestor was known for her handmade lace doilies. There might be kerchiefs, too. A textile like that, made over a hundred years ago, could bring in a nice profit.”
“There’s a market for doilies?” he asked, still incredulous.
“I knew it was a mistake to let you come.” The doors had been opened while Snow attempted to educate Caleb, and the crowd was already filing into the house. Snow hurried to catch up. “Just be quiet and stay out of my way,” she said.
Guilt set in the moment the words were out. Caleb had done nothing to deserve her temper, but she was already getting curious stares from the locals. Knowing the questions would come, and she would soon be the subject of town gossip, put Snow on edge. She’d worked so hard to blend into this town, which wasn’t easy for a woman with olive skin and a mass of dark, curly hair.
Auctions were always an adrenaline rush, but today felt heavier. As if there were more at stake than winning an item or two. The reason was obvious. Thanks to Caleb, the perfect little life she’d created in Ardent Springs was about to go out the window.
The need to deal with their impromptu marriage had loomed somewhere in her future, and Snow was realistic enough to know this day would come. But that didn’t make her any less resentful of his sudden return to her life.
“I’m sorry,” Caleb whispered in her ear as they reached the front door. “I didn’t mean to mess anything up.”
Hesitating on the threshold, she gave her husband a weak smile. “I know. I’m sorry, too. But this is really important to me.” She offered the thin lie to cover how she really felt. Not that the auction wasn’t important, but her business wouldn’t fold if she left the Brambleton house empty-handed.
Her status in Ardent Springs was the real issue.
Something Snow hadn’t realized she cared so much about. What she had here she’d created on her own. Now, with Caleb’s arrival, her life could unravel like a sweater with a loose thread. One wrong move and . . .
Snow reined in that thought. This was a temporary blip in her plan. In a few weeks, Caleb would see they were a bad match.
“Where do you want to start?” Caleb asked, drawing Snow back to the moment. He was glancing at the flier in his hand, then up at the array of rooms jutting off the foyer. “The stairs are blocked, so if they’re bringing out a dresser, it must be down here somewhere.”
Caleb looked like a man on a mission, and Snow’s guilt increased. He was so determined to make this work. She almost wished it could.
Almost. But then she remembered their two months of awkward, uncomfortable marriage and regained her sanity. Not that every minute of their marriage had been bad. When they were alone, Snow could ignore the reality of her surroundings, and Caleb’s upper-crust status. She’d let her heart rule her head and all but convinced herself that he really was the one.
And then they would leave the sanctity of their room and the censure and snobbishness of his parents would all but suffocate her. The fancy dinners, always endured in private dining rooms, given the McGraws couldn’t possibly be expected to mix with the regular folk, made her food taste like cardboard as she struggled to choke it down and pretend she didn’t hate every passing moment.
Caleb had been blind to his parents’ true nature. Or he’d been ignoring it for so long that he didn’t see it anymore. Though he was miraculously down-to-earth and open-minded, there were moments she feared he would eventually grow to be more like them. Once he took over the family business, who was to say he wouldn’t become another version of Jackson, the ruthless company leader with little concern for anything other than his own pleasure and the bottom line.
Fears she would never speak aloud. Whether he ever turned ruthless or not, Caleb would someday be in charge of the vast family fortunes, and Snow would be expected to continue the tradition of influential yet obedient matriarch. A role she never could or would want to play. Especially not after seeing what the position had done to the mean-spirited woman who was Vivien McGraw.
Shaking herself back to the present, Snow examined her surroundings and picked a direction. “The ladies’ parlor is to our left,” she said, examining the layout on the bottom corner of the flier. “We’ll start there.”
Chapter 6
Passing through the open pocket doors, a sliver of excitement shot down Snow’s spine when she spotted the white mantelpiece leaning against the wall. The entire facing had been removed, and carefully from the looks of it. She couldn’t be sure of its age, but the house dated back to 1898. Snow checked the sheet of paper in her hand. The mantel had been installed in 1909.