Lakeford Affair: A Romance Novel

By Theora

Lakeford Affair is a gentle romance novel about love, desire, friendship and family; it's not at all like 50 Shades of Gray.
Lakeford Affair revolves around Tristin Marlowe's journey of hope and splendor. We see how her decisions change her life and outlast her battles as she is thrust back into the social limelight, the affluent life style she was born into, the life style she was so uncomfortable with, and finds herself entangled in a power struggle between the unscrupulous Forsythe family and the handsome, affluent Hamilton Charles. As she struggles to maintain her perspective, the reader shares the heartbreak of a crippling auto accident, the fervor of a senate seat battle, and the splendor of an autumn wedding at Lakeford.

• Language: English
• Publisher: BookBaby
• Release date: May 24, 2013
• ISBN: 9781483500157

Book preview

www.tjswriteplace.com

1.

...And all our blandishments would seem defied,

... We have ideas yet that we haven't tried.

The November moon slid from behind dark clouds illuminating St. Johns’ cobblestones, its canopy of huge, leafless oaks and its stately Georgian-brick colonials standing shoulder-to-shoulder, wrought-iron gates and narrow red brick sidewalks running between them into picturesque backyards and gardens not visible from the street: you had to be invited in to see them. As a child, Tristin and her family had been welcome guests.

Tristin leaned against the black wrought-iron lamppost, wrapping her leather coat tighter around her slender body and tucked her hands beneath her arms. She checked the time on her cell and dropped it into her pocket. As she watched a cloud of her breath vanish into the cold night air, a frown creased her brow.

Tristin jumped as the garage door in front of her creaked in its metal track and jerked suddenly upward. Headlights and a navy blue Mercedes sped around the corner, darted into the garage, and screeched to a halt. The engine stopped; a car door slammed. Tristin heard rapid footsteps and a dark figure quickly ducked beneath the descending door.

Hamilton? Is that you? Tristin asked.

Who's there? the dark figure challenged.

It’s Tristin...Tristin Marlowe.

As Hamilton approached the soft yellow light of the lamppost, Tristin extended a gloved hand. Her grip was firm, but Hamilton felt a tremble. Hamilton flashed a reluctant smile. What a surprise! Come inside. It was more of a directive than a request as Hamilton placed his hand at the small of Tristin's back and firmly guided her toward the door.

Hamilton remembered Tristin as a precocious teenager who had managed to engage him in meaningless conversation whenever their families had been together. He couldn't remember the last time he'd seen her. She’d become quite a handsome young woman, though. But this wasn’t a social visit; he was sure.

As Hamilton reached around Tristin to open the front door, he enjoyed her scent and stifled the slight stirring he felt. Tristin stepped inside Hamilton’s townhouse. Her tension eased as she surveyed the warm elegance surrounding her. A tasteful eye had chosen the satiny, taupe wallpaper, Williamsburg blue carpet and the rich mahogany wainscoting. Her eyes swept across the living room to the marble-hearth fireplace, a low fire casting flickering shadows throughout the room, and the hunter-green recliner snuggled against bulging bookshelves.

Would you like a drink to take the chill off? Hamilton asked. Coffee? Something stronger? Scotch? I have Chablis and white Zinfandel if you’d prefer wine.

A glass of Chablis would be fine.

As Tristin sat gingerly on the edge of the sofa, she noticed Hamilton's reflection in the oval mirror over the fireplace. She watched as he prepared their drinks. He had removed his overcoat and gray pin-striped jacket. His snowy white shirt sleeves were taut against muscular biceps and his vest emphasized a trim waist. He hadn't changed much since his college days, she thought. He carried his six foot two frame with ease and still had a polished, confident aura about him.

As Hamilton placed Tristin’s drink on the table, she met his eyes and grew slowly crimson, shifting her position slightly on the sofa.

How is your mother? Hamilton asked, lightening the uneasy silence. It’s been at least five years since I've seen her. Not since my...parents’ funeral. I was sorry to hear about your father’s death.

Thank you.

Hamilton settled into his recliner. He waited while Tristin took a couple sips of her drink before speaking again, It's not often I find an attractive young lady waiting for me on my doorstep. Are you going to tell me what this visit is all about?

Tristin took a deep breath as her eyes directly met Hamilton's cool stare. She knew, as soon as she told him why she’d come, Hamilton’s casual demeanor would most likely disappear.

Tell me, Hamilton pressed.

I will, Tristin snapped, as she felt an unexpected surge of pride.

The flash in Tristin’s dark eyes and sharpness of her reply provoked Hamilton. But he softened his voice, steepled his hands, and questioned, Whatever it is must be important for you to have come here so late and on such a cold night.

I apologize for intruding on your privacy, Tristin replied, also softening her voice. I know how busy you are preparing for the opening of the legislature next month. I should have stopped in at the bank to see you; it was impulsive of me. Tristin hesitated, knowing she would never have stopped in at the bank. She wouldn’t want anyone to see her at a loan officer’s desk. She wouldn’t want anyone to suspect the Marlowe fortune was mostly gone.

Tristin continued, Its mother. She’s had a stroke. She’s been in rehab for weeks, in an assisted living facility not too far from here. Her insurance only covered the hospital. Soon we’ll be taking her home to Three Oaks. She’ll need nurses and therapy and...and the house needs major repairs. The cost will be astronomical. I need to borrow some money. Quite a bit I’m afraid. There, she’d said it all.

I’m sorry about your mom’s failing health, Tristin. I was under the impression your father had left your family in sound financial condition.

The back of her eyes burned; there was a suffocating lump in her throat. Tristin knew one of the necessary evils of asking Hamilton for money would be having to defend her mother’s and father’s honor, the family name, whatever. Father left trusts for Jonathan and me. Most of that money went for our education. The rest of his estate went to Mother as it should have. She had always been competent in money matters. Neither Jonathan nor I thought to question her financial management. It really wasn’t our place. It seems she made some unwise investments, with the help of Colin Forsythe. There's incredibly little money left. Tristin was breathless.

Jonathan's law firm should be doing well by now. Isn't he able to help with the bills?

Some. Not enough. He has a wife, child and new home; he doesn't have much to give. Brushing a wisp of hair from her forehead, Tristin wished the inquisition would soon be complete. She was practically begging for money. Couldn’t he just say yes...or no?

The questioning continued. And where are you employed now, Tristin?

I have a book store here in Annapolis, The Book Den.

I know where that is. It's a delightful little book den, so the name, very clever. It’s close to my legislative office. I just discovered it; it hasn't been open long, has it?

A year almost. I opened it last January.

You don't happen to own that property, do you?

Don’t I wish! No. I’m renting.

No collateral there. Have you thought of selling Three Oaks?

No! We couldn't! Mother would never give up Three Oaks. Five generations of Marlowes have been born and raised there. No!

Hamilton added cheerfully, realizing he’d struck a nerve, I’m sorry. I know how you feel. I’d never sell Lakeford, either. I’m sure I’ll be able to loan you the money as long as you’re willing to use Three Oaks as collateral. Hamilton rose and strode purposefully to the bar. He mixed himself a second drink. Do you want another?

No, thank you. She really did want another, this time a big dirty Martini, but she had to drive home.

Tristin wondered what Hamilton was thinking. He seemed to be taking a very long time mixing one scotch and water. His reflection turned slowly in the mirror. Something was going on in that handsome head of his.

Maybe, just maybe ..., he mumbled more to himself than to Tristin. All of a sudden he looked at Tristin as if he were seeing her for the first time. Have you eaten? I'm starved.

Not since noon.

Me either. Let’s see what my housekeeper has left in the fridge for me tonight? Hamilton quickly disappeared into a narrow hallway.

Tristin stood up, her shoulders and head ached. She was glad to be alone. As she walked, she found herself in the dining room at the back of the living area. The decor was casual, nautical, with white wicker furniture and teal blue accents. She looked through the picture window into the darkness, seeing little but her own image.

Though their backgrounds were the same, Tristin reflected, both born and raised in Dulaney Valley, specifically the historic Dulaney Tryangle, an exclusive section northwest of Baltimore, both attended private schools, rode to the hounds, enjoyed gala affairs at the country club: no longer, she had chosen ‘the road less traveled by’...

Tristin had discarded high society, had chosen a more down-to-earth lifestyle. She had attended a mid-western university rather than the prestigious Worthington College in the Valley. After graduation, Tristin had stayed in Colorado for almost two years, worked as a stringer for a small newspaper, skied and enjoying the last bit of total independence. Once she returned east, she knew things would be more complicated. She returned to Maryland just before her father’s death, when her mother’s health began to fail. She opened the Book Den with the last of her inheritance. Tristin had leased the storefront and the apartment above it on Main Street in the bustling business and tourist district of Annapolis. She was twenty-six years old, well on the way to owning her own business, and in control of her life—not totally, she acknowledged. With her mother's recent stroke and the realization that her ancestral home could be lost, Tristin desperately needed the financial assistance of someone she could trust. So, the austere, slightly older, stick-in-the-mud, family friend, Hamilton Charles, seemed the logical choice.

Hamilton had established himself as one of the most prominent of Maryland's residents. At his father's death Hamilton had taken over the family banking business and had added two new branches in as many years. He was president of the Charles Construction Company, the largest builder on Maryland's Eastern Shore. For the past eight years he had served as a State Legislator and was now in the thick of a campaign to become one of Maryland’s two U.S. Senators.

Tristin recalled that the last time she’d seen Hamilton had been at his parents’ funeral. He had been extremely somber which was to be expected, especially in view of the tragic death of both his mother and father in a car accident one bright and sunny day. The spontaneous charm and warmth she had been smitten by in her early teens had been replaced by a reserved indifference. Understandably! But he had barely acknowledged her existence that day. She now realized it had been nothing personal, but her teenage fantasies about him had suddenly evaporated.

She hadn't forgotten his captivating smile and intense blue-gray eyes, though.

I apologize for leaving you for so long, Hamilton said, returning with Caesar salad, silverware and plates. Please, have a seat. I'll only be a few minutes more.

Tristin sank gratefully into the blue-cushioned wickers.

Hamilton returned quickly with a platter of poached salmon topped with a dill sauce.

It looks scrumptious, Tristin remarked. She hadn’t realized she was so hungry.

They ate silently, at first, each stealing occasional glances at the other. Finally Tristin could stand the awkward silence no longer. She fired two quick comments at Hamilton, hoping to disperse the tension. Tell me more about your parents. I don't remember too much about them except that they were good friends of Mom's and Dad's. This house has been in your family for years, hasn't it?

Yes, for as long as I can remember this has been our home away from home. Mother loved coming here. She would have liked coming more often or staying longer. I suspect she really preferred Annapolis to the country. Not Dad! He took immense pride in his beloved Lakeford.

Hamilton relaxed and leaned back in his chair, scotch glass suspended in air. "I especially remember the annual Fourth of July parties here. It was the one time of the year my mother would actually roll up her sleeves and pick steamed crabs for herself. She'd actually sit at a table covered with a Baltimore Sun newspaper tablecloth and hammer away at those delectable crustaceans. She'd even have a beer...or two. The party always started at high noon and ended at the last sputter of the last sparkler. It seemed every boat in the county tried to jam into the harbor to watch the fireworks. We had a great view from the backyard. And it was the only time Dad didn't have a fit about people walking on his grass.

Tristin had leaned forward, listening intently to Hamilton's narration. She smiled at the memory of her family’s part in the festivities; girlhood memories she struggled to hold on to.

For a moment, Hamilton found himself lost in her dark eyes. He enjoyed the feeling for an instant, and the nostalgia, then forced himself back to the real reason for her visit, and the idea that had begun to take shape in his mind. In that instant Hamilton decided to present his unusual idea to Tristin. It would be slightly more bizarre than her request.

Tristin watched Hamilton's expression change and knew their moments of reminiscing were over. That was delicious, she stated sincerely, my compliments to the chef. It's getting late, though. I have to get up early so I can visit Mom at rehab before I open the store. In an attempt to show her good humor, Tristin added, I don't have banker’s hours like some people I know.

Hamilton replied with a half smile. He wasn't amused. Before you go, I may have a solution for both of our problems. It may seem a bit extreme, at first, hear me out. Hamilton straightened his shoulders, loosened the knot of his silk tie, and popped the top button of his shirt. He pushed his chair away from the table as though he were getting up. He didn’t; he leaned forward. Do you remember Elaine Forsythe? Hamilton blurted.

Yes. I know Elaine, Tristin answered, wondering how they’d gotten on this subject.

Hamilton’s jaw tightened and his eyes narrowed. She's become a problem for me. Hamilton's tone was heated. Elaine wants to be Mrs. Hamilton Charles. She's beautiful all right, well educated, politically and socially prominent, but menacing. We were involved a while back; it’s ended. She refuses to accept its end. She calls me at the bank, at my legislative office here in Annapolis, at my homes; she even sends me flowers. She’s become a political liability. Just last week there was an editorial in the Sun entitled, The Senator’s Bridle to Be. A play on words, bride, bridle... Standing abruptly, Hamilton walked to the window and stared out into the night. What I need to discourage her is another woman in my life, a fiancée. You would do nicely.

I would do what nicely? Then it dawned on Tristin, Oh!

Hamilton turned from the window. I know this sounds bizarre. But if Elaine thought I was in a relationship with someone else, you, someone with whom there is history, she would realize our marriage, hers and mine, would never happen. At this moment, Hamilton seemed a little breathless.

Why don’t you just tell Elaine to...to get lost?

I have, with similar words. It's not that simple with Elaine. She only hears what she wants to hear. We met this evening. I wanted to work things out amicably. I invited her out to dinner at the Maryland Inn, the busiest spot I could think of on Friday night. I thought busy and noisy would be a good thing. But, as I stepped through the front door, she screamed my name, ran to me, threw her arms around my neck nearly knocking the tray out of a waiter’s hand, and gave me a sloppy wet kiss that everyone noticed because they were still looking in the direction of the scream.

Tristin pressed her lips together struggling to keep a smile from betraying her amusement. Poor Hamilton, she thought, he wouldn't dare damage his pristine image by displaying a bit of emotion. Tristin was imagining the look on Hamilton’s face as he tried to disentangle himself from Elaine’s arms. She managed to control the wicked little smile and returned her attention to the conversation and his: proposition.

Anyway, when we were finally seated, I attempted to explain how her outbursts and interruptions were troublesome both for me and my staff and her outlandish public displays of affection made me appear to be campaigning for bachelor-of-the-year instead of Senator. She ignored me. She insisted she loves me and would make the perfect senator's wife. In frustration, I excused myself saying I had to make a phone call. I left her at the table. For all I know, she's still sitting there.

Tristin was still struggling with her composure, and the little beads of sweat popping out on