Heiress by Janet Dailey Read Free Book Online Page A

Ben had said. Then he noticed the carriage waiting by the front gate and turned, calling to someone in the cottage—in a heavy Texan accent that Ben found equally difficult to understand—"Betty Jeanne, the carriage is here. Are you about ready in there?"
    In the back bedroom, Babs Torrence anxiously turned to view her reflection in the mirror. "Momma, is it that time already? Am I ready? Have I forgotten anything?"
    No. It was all there: the veil of Brussels lace, "something old" from her grandmother; the wedding gown of white satin, "something new"; the pair of pearl and diamond earrings, "something borrowed" from her mother; and the cerulean ribbon around her bridal bouquet, "something blue."
    "You look lovely, darling. Absolutely lovely." Betty Jeanne Torrence discreetly shooed the maid out of the bedroom, then finally called an answer to her husband. "Tell them we'll be right there, Arthur, dear. And don't get yourself all in a dither. You know how it makes your face red."
    But Babs didn't hear a word her mother said as she looked worriedly into the mirror. The satin gown, a Dior original, was the essence of femininity, with its high lace collar and heart-shaped neckline, the satin material curving snugly in to hug her waist, making it look no bigger than a minute, then flaring out into a floor-length skirt.
    "Momma, this Merry Widow is hooked too tight. I just know it is," Babs complained for the fifth time about the strapless undergarment that was a combination of brassiere, corset, and garter belt.
    "Nonsense," her mother retorted as she busily poked another pin through the veil to hold it more firmly in place, smoothing a stray strand of Babs's ash-blonde hair as she did so.
    "It is," Babs insisted. "I just don't dare take a deep breath or I'll pop right out of it."
    "Honey, if you have room to take a deep breath, then it's not tight enough."
    "If this is a dream, I wish someone would pinch me," Babs declared and turned from the mirror, the gown and the petticoats beneath it making a soft rustling sound. "I can't believe Dean Lawson is really marrying me. Do you think he truly loves me?"
    "He's marrying you. That's what matters," her mother insisted brusquely, then tempered her callousness with a smile. "You're going to take his breath away when he sees you coming down the aisle on your father's arm. Now, you remember what I told you about tonight?" Babs nodded, desperately wishing her mother wouldn't go on about her approaching wedding night. "It will all seem strange and awkward at first, but. . . you'll get used to it. And don't worry. I'm sure Dean will expect a few tears."
    Her father appeared in the doorway. "Betty Jeanne. They're waiting for us." Smiling quickly, Babs turned, welcoming the interruption.
    "And it will be worth it," she declared, gazing with pride at her daughter.
    "I'm ready." Babs picked up the front of her skirts and hurried from the room at a running walk, brushing a kiss across her father's florid cheek as she went by. "Hurry, Daddy. We don't want to be late." As she emerged from the cottage, she stopped to stare at the carriage lavishly adorned with bridal-white flowers. She was reminded instantly of the Confederate Ball that marked the opening of Houston's debutante season. That night she had made her debut. That night she had met Dean. He had been the handsomest man there. She couldn't believe her luck when he asked her to dance, not once but twice. It wasn't until after the second dance that she found he was the Dean Lawson. By then, it didn't matter that her parents had been anxious for her to marry well; she was already in love.
    She felt exactly like Cinderella about to climb into her coach drawn by white horses and ride off to marry her Prince Charming. All that was missing was the glass slipper. But she didn't care. She was about to become Mrs. Robert Dean Lawson, Jr.
    There was a smattering of applause from the guests seated in the rows of chairs spread across the lawn when