Night of the Cotillion: Georgia (The Americana Series Book 10) Read online

  Night of the Cotillion

  The Americana Series: Georgia

  Janet Dailey

  Janet Dailey's Americana Series

  Dangerous Masquerade (Alabama)

  Northern Magic (Alaska)

  Sonora Sundown (Arizona)

  Valley Of the Vapours (Arkansas)

  Fire And Ice (California)

  After the Storm (Colorado)

  Difficult Decision (Connecticut)

  The Matchmakers (Delaware)

  Southern Nights (Florida)

  Night Of The Cotillion (Georgia)

  Kona Winds (Hawaii)

  The Travelling Kind (Idaho)

  A Lyon's Share (Illinois)

  The Indy Man (Indiana)

  The Homeplace (Iowa)

  The Mating Season (Kansas)

  Bluegrass King (Kentucky)

  The Bride Of The Delta Queen (Louisiana)

  Summer Mahogany (Maine)

  Bed Of Grass (Maryland)

  That Boston Man (Massachusetts)

  Enemy In Camp (Michigan)

  Giant Of Mesabi (Minnesota)

  A Tradition Of Pride (Mississippi)

  Show Me (Missouri)

  Big Sky Country (Montana)

  Boss Man From Ogallala (Nebraska)

  Reilly's Woman (Nevada)

  Heart Of Stone (New Hampshire)

  One Of The Boys (New Jersey)

  Land Of Enchantment (New Mexico)

  Beware Of The Stranger (New York)

  That Carolina Summer (North Carolina)

  Lord Of the High Lonesome (North Dakota)

  The Widow And The Wastrel (Ohio)

  Six White Horses (Oklahoma)

  To Tell The Truth (Oregon)

  The Thawing Of Mara (Pennsylvania)

  Strange Bedfellow (Rhode Island)

  Low Country Liar (South Carolina)

  Dakota Dreamin' (South Dakota)

  Sentimental Journey (Tennessee)

  Savage Land (Texas)

  A Land Called Deseret (Utah)

  Green Mountain Man (Vermont)

  Tidewater Lover (Virginia)

  For Mike's Sake (Washington)

  Wild And Wonderful (West Virginia)

  With A Little Luck (Wisconsin)

  Darling Jenny (Wyoming)

  Other Janet Dailey Titles You Might Enjoy

  American Dreams

  Aspen Gold

  Fiesta San Antonio

  For Bitter Or Worse

  The Great Alone

  Heiress

  The Ivory Cane

  Legacies

  Masquerade

  The Master Fiddler

  No Quarter Asked

  Rivals

  Something Extra

  Sweet Promise

  Tangled Vines

  Introduction

  Introducing JANET DAILEY AMERICANA. Every novel in this collection is your passport to a romantic tour of the United States through time-honored favorites by America's First Lady of romance fiction. Each of the fifty novels is set in a different state, researched by Janet and her husband, Bill. For the Daileys it was an odyssey of discovery. For you, it's the journey of a lifetime.

  Preface

  When I first started writing back in the Seventies, my husband Bill and I were retired and traveling all over the States with our home—a 34’ travel trailer—in tow. That's when Bill came up with the great idea of my writing a romance novel set in each one of our fifty states. It was an idea I ultimately accomplished before switching to mainstream fiction and hitting all the international bestseller lists.

  As we were preparing to reissue these early titles, I initially planned to update them all—modernize them, so to speak, and bring them into the new high-tech age. Then I realized I couldn't do that successfully any more than I could take a dress from the Seventies and redesign it into one that would look as if it were made yesterday. That's when I saw that the true charm of these novels is their look back on another time and another age. Over the years, they have become historical novels, however recent the history. When you read them yourself, I know you will feel the same.

  So, enjoy, and happy reading to all!

  Chapter One

  “THANKS FOR THE RIDE, Tobe,” said Amanda, bending down to peer in the car window, the scarlet sheen of her hair burning brightly in the rays of the late-afternoon sun.

  “Be sure to have Brad call me tonight.” He nodded as he gunned the engine and shifted the car into reverse.

  “Will do,” she promised. “See you!"

  With a wave of her hand she turned toward the house, smiling to herself as she imagined her mother grimacing at the way Tobe Peterson had roared down the street. No matter how many times her mother reprimanded him for driving so carelessly, he still did it—mostly, Amanda thought, to annoy her mother who treated Tobe like one of her own sons. Amanda was convinced that was the very reason he spent so much of his time at their house, because he felt a part of their family. Tobe and her brother Brad had been inseparable friends since their first day of kindergarten.

  The Petersons had large cotton holdings, exceeded only by those owned by Colby Enterprises, but Tobe's supposedly superior status in the community didn't interest him one bit. All of the Bennetts, including Amanda, tended to forget who his family was. His clothes and car were more expensive than theirs, and that seemed to be the only difference.

  She took the porch steps two at a time, swinging open the screen door of the large, two-story house and letting it slam behind her. “Mom! I'm home!"

  “Sssh!” Her mother appeared in the dining room archway. “Your grandfather is taking a nap."

  “I was,” came a grumpy voice, “until that young fool blasted out of the driveway."

  “That was Tobe,” Amanda announced unnecessarily. “He gave me a ride home. Don't let me forget—he wants Brad to call him tonight.” She walked swiftly to the elderly man who appeared in the doorway, his broad shoulders stooped with the weight of his advanced age. “Hello, grandpa,” planting a kiss on his leathered cheek. “How are you today?"

  “Ah, my hip is acting up on me again,” he grumbled, but his eyes were twinkling as he looked at his granddaughter. “Must be going to have a change in the weather."

  “There's lemonade in the refrigerator,” her mother spoke up.

  “Sounds great. Does anyone else want a glass?” Amanda called over her shoulder as her long legs carried her toward the kitchen.

  “Not me.” Her grandfather shook his head.

  “I'll have one.” And her mother followed her out to the kitchen. “How did it go today?"

  “Hectic,” Amanda sighed, removing two glasses from the cupboard and the ice tray and pitcher of lemonade from the refrigerator. “For a while this afternoon I was almost wishing the term wasn't over and I was still taking the end-of-term exams."

  “Please don't wish that on me,” her mother laughed, shaking her dark auburn hair, which was just beginning to be streaked with gray. “With all three of your brothers and yourself in college and Bonnie in high school and all your final tests falling within the same week, I don't know if your dad and I can live through that again."

  “It was pretty wild around here, wasn't it?” Amanda smiled, a tiny dimple appearing in each cheek. “All of us burning the midnight oil and fighting over the typewriter to get term papers done. I guess the pace was a bit more frantic. But teaching three new girls the ropes out at Oak Run is a little nerve-racking too."

  “I'm rather proud that Mrs. Matthews put you in charge of training them. Usually she insists on doing it herself"

&nbs
p; “I've been a guide there since I was seventeen. That's more than four years. I know as much about the plantation as she does. Besides, she's all wrapped up in the plans for the cotillion. Which was another reason things got out of hand today. She was there with the florist trying to decide what flowers should go where, et cetera."

  “Talking about the cotillion,” Mrs. Bennett inserted, “let's go and try on your dress. I tacked it together this morning. We can see how it fits and get the hemline pinned. Leave your lemonade here,” she ordered quickly as Amanda started to walk out of the kitchen with the glass in her hand. “Don't bring it into the sewing room. I don't want to spill anything on that taffeta material."

  “Are they having that dance at Oak Run?” her grandfather mumbled as they walked through the dining room toward the small room Bernice Bennett used as a sewing room.

  “They do every year, grandpa,” Amanda answered, exchanging a knowing look with her mother.

  “Jeff Davis would turn over in his grave if he knew,” he declared angrily. “It's an outright crime to celebrate his birthday in that damn Yankee's house!"

  “It's a tradition, grandpa Bennett,” her mother replied soothingly. “And Oak Run was a Confederate home long before Colonel Colby bought it."

  “That makes no difference! A Yankee owns it now. They should find somewhere else to hold their cotillion."

  “Oh, grandpa,” Amanda scolded teasingly, wrinkling her nose at his long-held dislike of anyone born north of the Mason-Dixon line. “If it weren't for Mrs. Matthews and the Colby money, there wouldn't be any cotillion. Try to forget who owns the plantation and remember that we're celebrating the birthday of the former president of the Confederate States in a fine old southern home. The way you carry on sometimes about Yankees, a person would think you'd fought in the Civil War yourself."

  “My grandpappy did!” he answered testily, his dark brows gathering together in a thunderous frown. “Many's the time he sat me on his knee and told me stories about the burning of Atlanta and the way Sherman's army raped and pillaged the land on their way to Savannah."

  “All that happened more than a hundred years ago, too,” Mrs. Bennett reminded him. “And it's best forgotten."

  “Nobody's forgotten, nobody in Georgia, leastways. If they had, you wouldn't be having any cotillion to celebrate Jeff Davis's birthday,” he retorted smugly.

  Mrs. Bennett lifted her shoulders in an expressive shrug toward her daughter and Amanda smiled. There wasn't any reasoning with her grandfather. There was the North and the South, and if he had his way, never the twain should meet.

  “Come on, Amanda,” her mother waved to her. “Let's try that dress on."

  Amanda followed her into the sewing room while her grandfather began whistling “Dixie” as loud as he could. “The old reprobate,” Amanda said smiling. Then her eyes saw the gown on the dressmaker's form. “Mom, it's beautiful!” she breathed.

  “You'll have to put the hoops on so I can make sure it hangs right. I don't think it will matter if you don't have the petticoats on."

  Eagerly Amanda stripped down to her underwear and stepped into the wide-hooped underskirt while her mother carefully removed the old-fashioned-style ball gown from the form and placed it over her daughter's head. She stood impatiently while her mother put in the essential pins to keep it on, then dashed to the full-length mirror.

  “You are a genius, mom,” Amanda vowed. But while she was admiring her reflection, Bernice Bennett was frowning in dissatisfaction as she put in a tuck here and there.

  “With six children to clothe and feed and send to college, I'd better know how to sew to save money,” she murmured, adjusting the shoulder straps designed as mock sleeves. “I doubt if we could have afforded to buy you a gown to go to the cotillion."

  “I would rather have this gown than any you could buy,” Amanda answered fervently. “I look like a genuine Southern belle."

  The material was a rich green that shimmered from emerald brilliance to deep forest shades where the many folds draped over the hoops to her small waist. It artfully molded her breasts while setting off her ivory cream skin and the red gold of her hair.

  “The neckline is a bit too low,” her mother declared.

  “No, it's not,” Amanda protested. Her liquid brown eyes beamed at her mother with impish mirth. “It's a bit daring, maybe, but if it were any higher, I'd look like a Puritan."

  “You would look like a proper young lady,” her mother replied. The front screen door slammed. “Is that you, Brad?” Mrs. Bennett called, turning briefly away from her daughter. “I'm in the sewing room."

  “Is Amanda there?” her brother answered, his voice coming nearer. “Cheryl is with me."

  “I'm in here, Cheryl,” Amanda answered, “trying on my gown for the cotillion."

  The dark-haired girl appeared in the doorway with a tall, lanky young man hovering behind her. Her eyes widened as she saw Amanda.

  “Oh, Mrs. Bennett, you didn't make that, did you?” Cheryl exclaimed. “It's gorgeous! With that beautiful red hair of yours fixed back in ringlets, you'll look fantastic, Amanda! What a shame you don't have green eyes!"

  “Amanda wouldn't want to trade in her spaniel eyes,” her brother teased. “She enjoys having men drown in those liquid pools of brown."

  “I wish I could drown you!” she threatened.

  “Hush, you two!” their mother intervened. “And hold still, Amanda, so I can pin this neckline."

  Amanda tilted her head in mock sorrow to Cheryl. “Mom thinks the neckline is too low."

  “Oh, no, Mrs. Bennett, don't raise it,” the dark-haired girl protested. “These old gowns always had some cleavage showing."

  “This gown will have a quarter of an inch less cleavage,” her mother stated emphatically. “That's all I can gain without ruining the line."

  “I wish I didn't have a tan,” Cheryl sighed. “I can't figure out what I'm going to do to cover the white streaks where my swimming-suit straps were. I'm going to have to experiment and see if I can cover it up with makeup."

  “All done,” Mrs. Bennett announced. “Why don't you two run out to the kitchen while Amanda changes? There's lemonade in the refrigerator and cookies in the jar."

  “Hurry, Mandy,” Cheryl urged. “I just found out the most fantastic thing. I'm dying to..."

  “I'll be right there."

  “Careful,” her mother admonished. “It's only tacked."

  Once the gown was off and safely on its form, Amanda scurried into her slacks and top. “I love it, mom. Maybe when Tobe sees me in it, it will make up for the fact that his parents are making him go to the cotillion."

  “I think it was sweet of him to ask you to go.”

  “Heaven knows, I've talked about it enough.” Amanda grinned. “It's been my dream to be invited to it. I consider myself lucky that Tobe is between girl friends right now."

  “He certainly plays the field,” her mother agreed with a wry smile. “You'd better hurry out to the kitchen before Cheryl forgets what it is that she's ‘dying’ to tell you."

  With the remains of a smile still curving her mouth, Amanda hurried toward the kitchen. Cheryl did tend to exaggerate and overreact, but they had always been close friends and had become even more so since Cheryl had started dating Brad. For all the comments made about her gossiping tongue, if Cheryl were entrusted with a secret, she would keep it to her dying day. And there were many secrets shared between them.

  “Here I am,” Amanda stated, walking into the kitchen where Cheryl and Brad were sitting at the table. “What were you going to tell me?"

  “Sit down, sit down.” Cheryl motioned toward the chair beside her, which Amanda took. “Well, you know that Colby Enterprises transferred their computer and data-processing operations to Atlanta last year, and their electronics plant here in Oak Springs will be completed in June—next month."

  “Yes, everybody knows that.” Amanda tilted her head inquiringly toward the brunette.

  “Here's som
ething that most people don't know.” Cheryl paused to add suspense. “Rumor has it that Jarod Colby is moving to Georgia permanently. More specifically, he's going to take up residence in Oak Springs at the Winter House."

  “Are you sure?” Amanda's heart gave a funny little leap. A mask swept over her face to conceal the fleeting twinge of excitement.

  “Positive.” Cheryl made the motion of crossing her heart. “It's even been said that he's giving up his directorship in that steel company in Pennsylvania. He's centralized all his companies here in Georgia. And—are you ready for this—” Cheryl leaned closer. “He's going to be the official host at the cotillion this year!"

  “Now that I find hard to believe,” Amanda said dryly.

  “Supposedly he's going to announce his decision to live here permanently."

  “He might as well,” Brad said with a derisive laugh. “He practically owns the whole town. I suppose when we're introduced to him at the dance, we'll be required to bow in his royal presence."

  “Who's that?” Grandfather Bennett demanded as he limped into the kitchen to catch the last of Brad's statement.

  “Jarod Colby, who else?” he replied.

  “Why would you be introduced to that Yankee carpetbagger?"

  “He's going to be at the cotillion,” Cheryl explained, darting a sparkling glance at Amanda. “Isn't it exciting?"

  “Humph!” her grandfather snorted. “If it was me meeting him, I'd spit in his eye."

  “Considering the fact that dad manages his cotton mill, it's a good thing you don't meet him, granddad,” Brad chided.

  “And if I was your dad, I'd still spit in his eye and find me a better job where I wasn't working for no Yankee!"

  “Just think, Amanda,” said Cheryl, lowering her voice to a whisper. “You're finally going to get to meet him!"

  Once Amanda would have been a quivering mass of jelly at that prospect, but that was a long time ago.

  “It doesn't matter so much anymore,” she answered her friend, shrugging her shoulders to show her indifference.

  Cheryl gasped before a knowing smile appeared on her face. “You don't mean that!"