Carolina Moon

wonderful house. Not grand and elegant like the lovely old homes in Charleston with their fluidity and feminine grace. But vibrant and unique and powerful. As a child she’d thought of it as a castle. A place of dreams and beauty and great strength.
    On the few occasions she had dared to step inside, she had gawked and spoken in whispers like a pagan entering a cathedral.
    She had gone in rarely, too shy and afraid to risk the tight-lipped disapproval of Margaret Lavelle. And as yet too young to protect herself against the sharp arrows of Margaret’s thoughts.
    But she had seen and smelled and touched every room through Hope.
    She knew the view out of each window, the feel of the tile and wood floors. Under her feet she smelled the scent that hung in the tower office, the mix of leather and bourbon and tobacco that meant man.
    Papa.
    She couldn’t allow herself to see it through Hope’s eyes now, to be drawn to it, into it, that way. She had to see it through her own. Through the now.
    It was as stunning as it had been the first time she’d seen it, she realized. Stunning and proud against the sky, with towers defiantly rising. Beaux Reves. Yes, it was exactly that. Beautiful dreams with flowers spread at its feet like an offering and grand old trees guarding its flanks.
    For a few precious moments, Tory forgot that the last time she’d seen it, she’d limped up the lane with horror in her eyes and death in her heart.
    “It doesn’t change,” she murmured.
    “Hmm?”
    “No matter what goes on around it, even inside it, it stays. There’s wonder in that.”
    It meant something to him to hear the pleasure in her voice when she spoke of his home. “My ancestors had ego and humor. Both are strong traits for building.” He stopped the car, turned off the engine. “Come inside, Victoria.”
    Her smile, one she hadn’t known curved her lips, vanished. “You’re asking for trouble.”
    He got out of the car, walked around to her door, opened it. “I’m asking the woman I love into my home.” He took her hand and drew her out. She was reminded that however genteel he might be, he was equally stubborn. “If there’s trouble, we’ll deal with it.”
    “It’s easier for you. You stand on a foundation, like the house. I’ve always teetered on boggy ground, so I have to watch my step.” She looked up at him. “Is it so important to you that I take this one?”
    “Yes, it is.”
    “Well, remember that if I end up sinking.”
    They walked up the steps onto the veranda. She remembered sitting there with Hope, playing jacks or studying one of their pirate maps. Long, tall glasses of lemonade beaded with damp. Frosted cookies. The scents of roses and lavender.
    The image of it slipped in and out of her mind. Two young girls, arms and legs browned from the sun, their heads bent close. Whispering secrets though there was no one to hear.
    “Adventure,” Tory said quietly. “That was our password. We were going to have so many adventures.”
    “Now we will.” He lifted her hand to kiss it. “She’d like that, wouldn’t she?”
    “Yes, I suppose she would. Though she didn’t care much for boys.” Tory managed a smile as he opened the door. “You’re so tedious and silly.” Her heart beat too fast, and the grand foyer with its lovely green tiles stretched in front of her like a pit. “Cade.”
    “Trust me,” he said and drew her inside.
    The air was cool. It was always cool and fresh and fragrant. She remembered the magic of that, of how sharply it contrasted with the stuffy heat of her house, how the smells of last night’s dinner never smeared the air here.
    And she remembered standing there with Cade before, nearly there. “You were tall for a boy.” She fought to keep her voice steady. “It seemed to me you were tall, and so pretty. The prince of the castle. You still are. So little has changed here.”
    “Tradition is a religion to the Lavelles. We’re schooled in it from birth. It’s both comfort and trap. Come into the parlor. I’ll get you something cool to drink.”
    She wasn’t allowed in the parlor, nearly said so before she caught herself. She could sit in the kitchen if she went in the back. Lilah would give her iced tea or Coca-Cola, a cookie or some small treat. And if she helped with the sweeping, a quarter to tuck in her mason jar under the bed.
    But she wasn’t allowed in the family rooms.
    With an effort, she blocked out the old images that wanted to intrude and