Swarthy was the best word to describe Mr. Parker. Greasy black hair peppered with gray parted in the middle to fall over a forehead beaded with sweat. She held her smile in place as she nodded, and Mr. Parker bowed over her hand. Whatever interested him, it wasn’t the garden. “I’d be delighted, Mr. Parker.”
The double doors were left wide open, so she proceeded the man outside and down the porch steps. The garden was undeveloped, not hidden at all, and the sun was just starting its descent, casting long shadows over the foliage. She knew they would be in view of the servants, but it felt wrong to be meeting this strange man out here.
She heard scraping against the paved path and glanced over her shoulder. Mr. Parker walked with a limp. Slowing her pace, she followed the brick path through the arbor that provided entry to the garden. Sweet honeysuckle and gardenia perfumed the air, and bumblebees still worked in the late afternoon sun.
Two pine benches stood beside the little path. She took one, and James Parker seated himself on the other, pulling his stiff leg into position.
Gillian didn’t mean to stare, but he evidently felt the need to explain. “It’s a war injury, ma’am. They said I was lucky it wasn’t amputated, but it’s just as useless as a wooden peg.”
“I’m sorry.”
“I’m not. It’s what keeps reminding me. I swore when I returned home that I’d find a way to make those bas—” He smiled. “Begging your pardon. Some way to make them pay. I bought the Sentinel just for that purpose.”
“How do you propose to make them pay, Mr. Parker?”
The swarthy man stretched his neck to give the area a searching look. “I don’t have much time, Miss Carey. I shouldn’t be speaking to you at all, and Mrs. Brown wasn’t too keen on the idea.”
“Why did you want to speak to me? Forgive my curiosity.”
“Curiosity is all we have in our arsenal, Miss Carey. Did you know Alex Blaine is heading an investigation into your father’s involvement with the Klan?”
She bounded to the edge of her seat. “What?”
“I know you’ve grown fond of the captain, so this must come as a shock.”
Yes, she knew Alex was in army intelligence, but what Parker said about Papa— “It’s ridiculous. Alex…Captain Blaine has been investigating those who have been blackmailing Papa. My father has never had any involvement with the Klan. He’s always condemned them.”
“I agree there are some bad elements in the Klan now. They’ve gone too far. Lynchings and cross burnings. They use intimidation to reach their goals.”
“That’s why Papa never associated with them—that, and the fact that one of the leaders was an old political enemy.” Nor did she believe Alex would be involved. “Alex wasn’t even in Macon when all this gang trouble started.” According to Alex the outlaws causing trouble weren’t a part of the Klan, either.
“It’s interesting that he just happened to be nearby to help you in Savannah. Also interesting your father never received your letter telling him when you’d arrive.”
Her mouth fell open. “What are you suggesting?”
“That your letter was intercepted by the Yankees.”
She rolled her eyes. “How would Alex know I’d be attacked in Savannah?”
“He could have orchestrated it for all we know.” He shifted his bad leg into another position. “You’ll have to admit it was fortuitous that he was on his way to Macon when you needed an escort.”
She bit her lip literally—and bit her tongue figuratively. Alex hadn’t wanted her to accompany him from Savannah, but she’d said enough to Mr. Parker. For all she knew, he was the ringleader of the unrest. For certain he was involved. Rising to her feet, she pasted her fake smile into place. “All this is most interesting, Mr. Parker, but I wouldn’t suggest you print this speculation as truth. You newspaper’s reputation could suffer. Please excuse me, I must return to my other guests.”
Gillian gathered her skirts and ran back inside, chased by a strong desire to escape. Everyone. Her glance went straight to the staircase, and she contemplated slipping upstairs, playing sick. And she was. James Parker had made her sick, physically.
She couldn’t believe what the reporter alleged. If she did, she’d have to accept that her father was involved in nefarious dealings. Or else, the man she loved was using her.
But it wasn’t to be. Aunt Mandy hooked her by the arm. “Come dear, General Terry has arrived. He can’t stay long, but I did want you to meet him and the governor. She allowed herself to be dragged back into the stifling ballroom where servants whipped fans, in a failed attempt, to move the stale air.
She paid scant attention to the great men she met, giving automatic replies to their dry comments. If Aunt Mandy wanted to bring the two political factions together, she’d failed. The assembly had already divided into two camps. The Republicans, led by General Terry and Bullock’s crony, A. L. Harris gathered on the left, while the Democrats, led by Frank Turner and James Parker, and the larger group of locals on the right.
Gillian averted her head as Parker grinned at her. Her forehead already beaded with perspiration.
She still saw nothing of Alex.
By the time she’d made the rounds of the guests, she felt the small snack she’d eaten before dressing was going to come up. “Aunt Mandy, I fear I’m overheated. I’m not used to the climate yet. May I skip the dance and lie down for a while before supper.”
“You do look a little green around the gills, dear. Go ahead, but supper will be served at nine thirty, and Reuben will be your partner. I don’t know how I’m going to explain your absence to him.”
Gillian squeezed her arm. “I’m sure you can think of something.” She dashed before Aunt Mandy could get out a word.
In the quiet of her bedroom, James Parker’s accusations rose up like bile. Who did she believe? A fanatical newspaperman or Alex? She recalled every moment of their time together. His tenderness. His kiss.
He hadn’t taken advantage of her, even after she’d “married” him. In fact, he’d always treated her with respect, and there were times when she probably didn’t deserve respect. Was it possible he’d been using her to get information about her father, much like Mr. Parker had just tried? And she was such a blather mouth, she’d told him a lot.
She shook her head. No, it couldn’t be true. But she wouldn’t be calmed until she spoke to him, and that wouldn’t be until the bonfire.
The softness of her mattress and the quiet of the room sent her off to sleep.
She awoke with a headache and ready for bear.
It really wasn’t fair to Reuben that he was her dinner partner.
***
Gillian shoved the piece of roasted pheasant into her mashed potatoes. She supposed the food was delicious, but the bitter taste in her mouth made everything inedible.
At least Purity seemed to be enjoying herself. Cal had her laughing. Gillian’s eyes kept wandering in Alex’s direction. If the pretty blonde to his left leaned in any further, she’d be lying on his plate.
“Don’t frown so, my dear. It will spoil your pretty mouth.” Reuben’s gravel voice could set her nerves on end, regardless of what he said.
She nibbled on her roll to keep from responding.
“I was crushed when you left Macon so precipitously, without even saying good-bye. I missed you after you left more than I thought possible. Did you miss me?”
She swallowed and smiled awkwardly. “I’ve been too busy to think of anything or anyone, Reuben, but it’s nice to see you here.” The lie fell heavily in the pit of her stomach. Hadn’t she repented of her lying? Wasn’t that how she’d allowed herself to become engaged to Lord Brimington? All because she’d lied to please Grandmother. To avoid hurting the gentleman’s feelings? Before she realized he had no feelings.
Reuben’s countenance fell. “Your indifference pierces my heart, but I don’t give up easily.”
She decided to be truthful. “You’re being absurd, Reuben.”
“Absurd that you have captured my heart?”
“I’ve done no such thing. Papa should not have given you permission to court me when I don’t approve. And I’m sorry, Reuben, but I can’t now, or ever, accept you as a suitor.”
Reuben turned as red as the pickled beets on his plate, but he recovered quickly. “I know I went about things backwards, but, as I said, I don’t give up easily. I’ll give you time to get used to the idea. In the meantime, I have at least two dances on your dance card.”
Oh joy. She got through the rest of dinner and the dance without giving Reuben an ounce of encouragement. He played the persistent suitor admirably until Aunt Mandy announced Alex was the winner of the drawing to be her escort to the bonfire. The malevolent look Reuben hurled towards Alex sent fear crawling up her back.
Alex was unusually quiet on the way to the landing, but that was fine with Gillian. This wasn’t the time or place to confront him with James Parker’s accusations. She still wasn’t able to read his moods. This was one of those times he was quiet. Aloof. But even during these times, he seemed to smolder from some unknown turbulence. Strangely, his moodiness only added to his appeal.
All she knew for certain was she wanted to explore every facet he had to offer. And he excited her. She could easily compare him to the heroes of those novels she’d read behind her grandmother’s back.
But the situation facing her wasn’t make-believe. She wouldn’t be able to shut Alex off as easily as closing a book. He was her lawful husband, after all. She was going to be open and honest with him.
The landing offered so many activities, there was little time to ponder her predicament. They greeted the band members and watched the lighting of the bonfire. Though it added to the heat of the evening, the smoke helped chase away the ever present mosquitoes.
Benches fanned out about the open gazebo where the band performed.
She and Alex declined to take any of the bench space, leaving it to the older people. Instead, they sat on a colorful quilt, a little away from the others, but not out of sight. Artistically placed Japanese lanterns added to the light of the fire, making the area as fair as midday.
Alex fetched stemmed glasses of punch. He placed one of them in her outstretched hand and lowered himself to the quilt, facing her. With his glass lifted in a toast, he said, “The night belongs to you, Gillian. Which song would like the band to play?”
“Let’s start with Dixie.”
Setting his drink on the ground, he smiled and bounded to his feet. “Always Dixie, huh? I’m joining them with the first few numbers, but I’ll be back. Save my place.” Like she’d let anyone else sit here.
The crowd roared when the band struck up the first bars of Dixie as she knew they would. She scanned the gathering, and both political sides were cheering. It was one of the few war tunes that transcended hatred. Before the band ended, everyone was stamping their feet and singing along.
With the frogs croaking in the background of the softer, more traditional numbers and the air scented with smoke, pine, and wild honeysuckle, Gillian relaxed for the first time today.
She’d collected a pile of recriminations to hurl at Alex if he admitted James Parker was right, and he intended to charge her father for insurrection—that his interest in her went no further than to gain information. That pile went up in smoke like the oak logs of the bonfire. She’d have to confront him sometimes, but not this magical night. The memory of tonight might be all she had left to comfort her during the lonely days ahead.
She expected Alex to continue playing with the band for some time, but to her surprise, he called everyone to attention. “Ladies and gentlemen, the next selection is dedicated to our guest of honor.”
Oh, no, not again. All eyes turned her way, and heat rushed to her cheeks, making her raise her fan. Then as the trumpet strains of Beautiful Dreamer filled the air, tears burned. He played so beautifully. Their gazes locked, and the air filled with an electric charge that forced her to look away.
The full band began to play waltz music, and several couples danced on the grass.
Alex returned to her, holding out his hand. “May I have the honor, Mrs. Blaine?”
He laughed as she glanced about her to see if anyone overheard. Then she forgot everyone else as she swayed in his arms with only the light of the bonfire to light their way, and the lightning bugs flitting through the dark forest beyond.
She forgot her father’s troubles, the political nonsense, her uncertain future. He was as close as when he’d kissed her after the thunderstorm, his manly scent of spice and leather tickling her nose. She was as close to heaven as she’d ever been. And maybe as close as she’d ever be in this world. He’d be leaving soon.
“I’m glad to see that smile on your face,” he said. “You looked like you were enjoying your party less than anyone tonight.”
“You mean at supper? I had to discourage Reuben, and I hate disappointing people, even annoying ones.”
“That’s good to know since I’ve annoyed you at times.”
Soft laughter bubbled from her throat. “Thank you for playing Beautiful Dreamer.”
“It fits you perfectly. A beautiful dreamer who’s ready to be awakened to a beautiful reality.”
“Don’t say that unless you mean it.”
“I mean it with all my heart.”
The ardor in his eyes held her spellbound. Her foolish heart skipped a beat, and she forgot to breathe. She moistened her lips. If he kept looking at her like that she’d have to kiss him, regardless of who watched. She’d forget the talk that would follow, or that their marriage was pretend.
She ordered her features to hide emotions that would expose her vulnerability. “Tell me about your home.”
“The farm?”
“What other home do you have?”
He chuckled. “Flat land between rolling hills and a little blue lake. It’s not a large farm, but it’s getting more than my father can manage. He used to grow wheat and corn and a variety of produce. Now, it’s mostly corn. It’s hardier, but harvesting corn calls for a lot of seasonable labor. That’s why I need to get up there before fall harvest.”
“What was it like growing up on the farm?”
“A lot of hard work. When I was growing up, part of it was devoted to dairy farming, though my father had some help. The cows had to be milked early every day, and the milk had to be either bottled or carried to the churns by six o’clock. That was Adam’s and my job.” He crunched his brows. “Didn’t you grow up on a farm?”
“I remember picking cotton, and Papa grew tobacco, too. I remember exploring the barns where the tobacco was curing. The smell was heavenly, but like the O’Grady sisters, I often wondered how it could stink so much in cigars and cigarettes.”
“We only grew things to eat, but I guess whatever is grown, whether the farm is large or small, it takes a lot of work.” Was he trying to discourage her from wanting to follow him to the farm? It seemed that way. But she heard a longing in his voice, too. His heart belonged on the farm, regardless of how hard the work.
The dance came to an end, and they drew apart. A frown crossed Alex’s face. “I see your most ardent admirer is waiting his turn for a dance, but I promise to rescue you if he bores you.”
Her glance picked Reuben out of the crowd standing with a group of gentlemen and looking her way. She lifted a brow. “And you flatter yourself that you can save me from boredom?”
Alex laughed. “I’ll certainly try.” He patted her cheek, then she watched him march directly to the blonde who’d been his dinner partner. A strong desire to follow him and snatch him away from the woman coursed through her, but what would that serve except to make a scene?
On the other side of the clearing, she spotted Purity. Cal and two other gentlemen surrounded her. She waved her arms, as if telling some story, and laughing along with the men. Gillian chided herself for stewing over petty concerns. She would win Alex’s love. Of course she could, if it were God’s will. Plen
ty of arrows remained in her quiver to shoot through his heart. On the other hand, Purity had little chance for a happy outcome.
Reuben was pushing his way around knots of people, coming in her direction. She turned her back to him and scurried toward the privy, set off in the trees, knowing he couldn’t follow her there.
A cowardly thing to do, perhaps, but her nerves couldn’t take another second with Reuben.
After a few minutes of enduring the stench of the privy, she ducked her head out and found Reuben speaking with an older woman. A lively dance number filled the air, and she searched the grounds for Alex. No one would think it strange if she sought out her escort. But Alex was nowhere to be seen.
Instead of returning to the group, she dashed recklessly into the dense brush and trees. Pushing through a thicket of briars and saplings, she snagged her skirt. She tore it free with an impatient jerk, renting the exquisite fabric. It wouldn’t be fit to wear again, although if things turned out as she wished, she wouldn’t be needing a ball gown for a long time.
She stumbled onto a winding path, possibly made by animals in search of water. The smell of rotting vegetation and fish confirmed the river was nearer than she’d expected. Remembrance stirred. She’d been here fishing with her brothers as a child.
John and Matt hadn’t wanted her along, believing she’d be a nuisance. Never having much patience with her, they’d been particularly gruff that day. It was Will who’d persuaded Papa to let her come.
She came close to the river bank. Moonlight reflected off the gently flowing water sent a melancholy ache through her.
On that day so long ago, Will had bated her hook and showed her how to cast. Even though he’d lost his own opportunity to fish, he’d stayed with her when the others went off to a better place.
Amanda and her guests would be wondering where she’d gone, so she ought to return to the party, but a desire to meditate further on her memories held her back. Perhaps this was a part of the healing process of grief Alex had spoken of.
She followed the path along the river bank. It was all coming back to her now. Will had taken her to where the river branched, and in the middle, there was a little island. She’d begged him to take her to the island, and, against his better judgment, he did. Unable to swim, she’d depended on Will to get her across.
The Captain's Challenge (The Wolf Deceivers Series Book 3) Page 20
