“Thanks be to . . .” Dora muttered before her voice stuck in her throat.
Mamaw opened the door to Carson’s room and in the corner, dominating the space, she saw Mamaw’s imposing French vanity. Dora stood staring at the beloved priceless antique, speechless.
“The vanity is yours, Dora.”
Dora walked slowly to the vanity, her hand reaching out to delicately trace the elaborate curves of the brass mirror.
“Oh, Mamaw,” Dora said breathlessly. “How did you know how much I loved this?”
Mamaw smiled indulgently. “I’m your grandmother. I should know such things.”
Dora turned to face her. “But what will you use?”
“Oh, child, at my age, the less I look in the mirror, the better.” She glanced at Lucille, who stood by the door beaming with pleasure. “Especially not if that old bird won’t give me her skin cream recipe.”
Lucille’s grin widened. “Too late now, anyway!”
Mamaw sniffed and shook her head with resignation. Turning to Dora, she took her hands. “My dear girl, you’ve worked so hard to rediscover how very beautiful you are, inside as well as out. I hope you’ll look in this mirror every day and see that beauty reflected.” She squeezed Dora’s hands. “You hear?”
Tears spilled over Dora’s eyes as she nodded, her laugh broken with a choked cry.
“You’re ruining her makeup!” Harper cried, laughing.
Mamaw held Dora in her arms, relishing the softness of her, the sweet scent of tuberose in her perfume, and the depth of feeling Dora was allowing herself to unleash, at last.
Chapter Twelve
The glimmering candlelight on thick white cotton tablecloths, the original lowcountry art on the walls, the orchids in bud vases, the hum of conversation punctuated with occasional laughs, the clinking of silverware—all combined to create the ambience of a perfect dinner date.
Dora shifted nervously in her seat and swirled the cabernet in the large crystal bowl of her wineglass. She took note of her perfectly polished pink nails. Tonight she wore her new shimmering blue silk dress that Harper had found for her during their shopping spree. Mamaw’s large, creamy pearls graced her neck, and she knew she looked her best in the elegant Charleston restaurant.
Across the table, Devlin studied the oversized menu. He, too, was transformed tonight, handsome in his beautifully cut tan suit, a blush-pink shirt, and a Ferragamo tie. She studied his hands on the menu—they were not long-fingered, like Cal’s. Rather, they were wide and ruddy from being out on the water. A man’s hand. On his ring finger he wore a thick gold signet ring. She sipped her wine, her imagination taking a turn in this romantic restaurant. What, she wondered, would those hands feel like on her body?
Devlin looked up from the menu and, catching her perusal, smiled.
“You look beautiful tonight. That reminds me . . .” He set the menu down and, with a gleam in his eyes, reached into his breast pocket to pull out a small jeweler’s box. He set it on the table before Dora.
“What’s this?” she asked, feeling a sudden panic.
“Nothing big, just something I saw that I thought you might like. Go ahead, open it.”
Dora cast him a glance of mock suspicion and reached for the gray velvet box. Opening it, she found a pair of large blue-stoned earrings within a border of tiny diamonds.
“They’re beautiful!” she exclaimed, shocked at their size. They had to have been costly.
“I always said your eyes are the color of aquamarines. Topaz are too clear. Yours are a deeper blue, like the deep ocean.”
“I can’t accept these. They’re too expensive.”
“Please, don’t play that game. We’re way past that. I saw them, I want you to have them, and they match your dress. Aren’t those enough reasons to put them on right this minute and let me enjoy seeing you in them?”
Dora grinned and plucked the earrings from the box. It took a moment to slip the pearls from her ears and replace them with the aquamarines. When she was finished, she searched her purse for a mirror and pulled it out to study her reflection. The large aquamarines were dazzling and they were, indeed, the same color as her eyes, making them pop against her soft tan.
“I was right,” Devlin said, leaning back in his chair with a smug grin.
“Thank you,” Dora said, lowering the mirror to give Devlin her full attention. “Thank you times ten. I’ve never had such beautiful earrings. I’ll treasure them.”
“Don’t be putting them in a box, afraid to wear them. You should wear them every day. If you lose them, I’ll get you another pair.”
Dora listened to the words with wonder. Cal had always been so frugal. He never splurged on a gift of jewelry for her. He was the type to buy her an appliance or a scarf. Tonight Devlin was offering her dinner at a five-star restaurant, fine wine, and now a gift—this was a full-court press.
The waiter stepped up to the table. He was dressed in black pants, a white shirt, and a black bow tie. After a few words of chitchat he launched into a description of the evening’s specials with a flourish. Dora’s mouth was watering after weeks of low-fat, lean meals.
Devlin picked up the menu and began ordering.
“Let’s start with some lobster cakes. Then we’d like the she-crab soup.” He glanced at Dora. “It’s the specialty of the house. You’ve got to have some.” Looking again at the waiter, he said, “That honey-roasted duck sounds good, too. And I can tell you right now we’re both going to want some of your famous coconut cake.”
“Devlin, wait . . .” Dora interrupted.
Devlin turned his head, expectant.
Dora turned to the waiter. “We’re going to need a few more minutes.”
The waiter nodded and discreetly stepped away.
“Dev, I can’t eat all that. I’m on a . . .” She didn’t want to use the word diet. “The doctor said I can’t eat all that fatty food. Lord, the she-crab soup alone could kill me.”
Devlin’s smile dropped as his eyes widened. “I’m sorry. I forgot. What an idiot I am.”
“No,” she said in a hurry, not wanting him to feel bad. “You were being a gentleman. But I think it’s best for me to order my own dinner.”
“Of course,” Devlin said, but she could tell he was flustered at his mistake. He raised his hand briefly and the waiter quickly reappeared.