The Scandalous Miss Howard

by Nan Ryan

  Douglas continued to rationalize his choice while Carrie listened, smiling fondly with affection. She was fully aware of which man was getting the better end of the bargain. It wasn’t Douglas. And it wasn’t the first time. The caring, benevolent Douglas often overruled the shrewd, business-minded Douglas.

  Darcy Tigart would receive a small salary and a generous bonus on crops at harvest time. And he and his family, a wife, whom they’d not yet met, and their thirteen-year-old son, would live, rent free, in the fully furnished eight-room overseer’s house at River Plantation. They would have at their disposal a buggy and several horses and they would enjoy an abundance of fresh fruits and vegetables from the plantation’s orchard and garden, as well as meat and eggs from the farm.

  The entrance to River Plantation was less than a mile north of the city proper. The Tigarts’ son could easily walk back and forth to Hillcrest School.

  “…and if I spend a few days out there getting him started,” Douglas was saying, “we could have the operation running smoothly again in no time at all.” He stopped speaking, looked at his smiling wife, his brows knitted. “What? What’s so amusing?”

  “You,” she said, and laid a soft hand on his chest where his shirt was open. “You’re absolutely precious when you’re defending yourself.”

  “Is that what I’m doing?”

  “It is and it’s totally unnecessary, although I find it tremendously appealing.” She moved her hand farther inside the unbuttoned shirt, raked her nails through the crisp dark hair.

  “You’re poking fun at me,” he accused.

  “No, I’m not, Douglas,” she said softly. “There is nothing quite so attractive as watching a big, strong, virile man demonstrate his innate compassion and gentleness. It touches me.” She impulsively bent her dark head and brushed a kiss across his exposed chest. “It excites me.”

  Douglas lifted his muscular arms around his wife. Carrie raised her dark head and looked into his eyes. She saw the quick flare of passion in their blue depths and sighed with pleasure. She laughed low in her throat when he urged her up off the bed and turned her to stand between his knees, facing him. She helpfully lifted her arms when he eased her nightgown up her slender body. When the gossamer negligee was bunched up beneath her throat, Douglas released his hold on it, leaned forward and kissed her round right breast.

  Trembling now, Carrie slid the gown up over her head, dropped it to the thick carpet and eagerly took a seat on her husband’s left knee. If his empathy and tenderness excited her, she knew what most excited him.

  So she cupped his face in her hands, kissed him, then whispered, “Know what I want you to do to me?”

  Douglas swallowed hard. “Tell me, angel girl.”

  She did.

  Carrie Dasheroon, looking directly into her husband’s eyes, said something shockingly scandalous, boldly using the most graphic language.

  That’s all it took.

  Douglas could feel himself stir. To hear his exquisitely beautiful, sweetly demure wife saying such erotic, forbidden words caused him to instantly harden against her bare, soft bottom.

  Carrie felt the swift, physical response and, covering his face with kisses, continued to murmur—in explicit, obscene terms—exactly what she wanted him to do to her.

  He loved it.

  And she loved exciting him.

  Years ago when they had first married, Douglas had teasingly suggested she say a taboo word. The refined, sheltered Carrie had been shocked to the roots of her dark hair at such an appalling request. She had haughtily demurred, stating emphatically that she would never allow such filth to pass her lips. But in time, she had relented.

  They had agreed that their risqueé banter would always remain strictly between the two of them and would only be spoken in the total privacy of their bedroom. Nowhere else. After much gentle coaxing and flirtatious teasing, he had finally gotten her to say the kind of coarse, crude words to him that would have made even the most foulmouthed sailor blush.

  The married lovers used the explicit profanity on random nights—or lazy afternoons—when the two of them were especially aroused, when they had been wanting each other all day long and were ready and eager to play bawdy games.

  When Carrie had come to fully realize just how much the game excited her husband, she knew that she could arouse him any time she chose. Armed with that knowledge, she had, a few times, leaned over while they were out in public—at the theater, or a restaurant, at a party—and wickedly whispered, so softly that only he could hear, one of his favorite words.

  On each of those occasions, Douglas had swiftly made their apologies to their hosts, rushed his thrillingly naughty wife home and straight up the stairs to their big four-poster.

  Now tonight, in the total privacy of their bedroom, while the big mansion slept, a naked, laughing Carrie sat on her husband’s knee and teased him in the manner he most liked to be teased. She squealed with pleasure when he abruptly rose to his feet with her in his arms, turned about and dropped her onto the middle of the soft, silk-sheeted mattress.

  She watched as he hastily undressed. Letting his clothes lay where they fell, he was naked in seconds and anxiously joined her on the bed. He urged her slender legs apart, made a place for himself between them and said, “Know what I’m going to do to you, you brazen, wicked wench?”

  “I have no idea, you vile, unscrupulous seducer,” she whispered playfully. “You’ll have to tell me.”

  He told her.

  And then he took her.

  Five

  The minute Ladd introduced Laurette to Jimmy Tigart, she got the sinking feeling that nothing would ever be quite the same again. It wasn’t that she didn’t like Jimmy. She liked him well enough. He was friendly and pleasant and his teasing was good-natured and he was fun, but she missed being Ladd’s only best friend. For as long as she could remember it had been Ladd and her. Now Ladd and Jimmy were frequently together and Ladd no longer paid her as much attention.

  For a year the three of them all attended the Hillcrest School together, but Laurette was, sadly, often left out of their after-school adventures. A fact that secretly pleased her mother. Marion felt it was high time her daughter’s friends were girls, not boys. To ensure that the willful Laurette made friends of her own sex, Marion enrolled her daughter in the prestigious Hunnicutt Academy for Young Ladies in the autumn of 1855 after Laurette turned eleven.

  Laurette was outraged. She protested angrily, but calmed somewhat when Ladd told her that he and Jimmy would no longer be at Hillcrest, either. Both were to attend the private military academy located at the corner of Claiborne and St. Michael. Jimmy was attending as a scholarship student.

  Ladd and Laurette remained close, but she missed him. Fortunately, just as her mother had hoped, Laurette met new friends at Miss Hunnicutt’s academy. Girlfriends. There were several young ladies she liked immediately. Missy Tyler and Belinda Vance and Paula Gentry were all very nice.

  But her best friends quickly became the Parlange twins, Juliette and Johanna. After losing both their parents in a tragic riverboat explosion more than a year ago, the twins, who were two months older than Laurette, had come to Mobile to live with their paternal grandparents, Judge Noble and Lena Parlange.

  The twins were almost identical in appearance: raven-black hair, pale, porcelain skin, large emerald eyes and full, wide mouths. But the pretty young twins were as different as night and day in temperament. Juliette was quiet, demure and studious while Johanna, like Laurette, was fiery, boisterous and outspoken. Laurette liked them both and they liked her. She visited them at the Parlanges’ Springhill home and the twins came often to the Dauphin Street mansion.

  Soon after meeting them, Laurette introduced the twins to Ladd and Jimmy Tigart. When the boys had left, the frank Johanna had innocently commented that while both Ladd and Jimmy were both nice looking, Ladd was downright adorable. Laurette’s dark eyes immediately blazed.

  “Johanna Parlagne,” the firm-jawed L
aurette stated, “Ladd Dasheroon belongs to me.”

  Johanna laughed uproariously. “Don’t be silly, Laurette.”

  “I’m not being silly,” Laurette snapped. “Ladd is mine and always has been. I intend to marry him when I’m old enough.”

  Again Johanna laughed, but promised she’d never use her abundant charms to dazzle Ladd.

  The trio spent many an hour in Laurette’s bedroom, Laurette and Johanna gossiping and screeching with laughter, while the calm Juliette smiled with amusement.

  The friendship between Ladd and Jimmy Tigart seemed solid, but it became even more firmly cemented one hot summer afternoon when the boys, now thirteen and fifteen years old respectively, slipped down to Pirate’s Cove for a swim. The secluded inlet was a favorite swimming spot.

  Far, far out in the bay, a buoy bobbed. There was a definite chop to the water as a warm wind blew steadily in from the open seas to the south. The two boys had often talked about swimming out to the distant buoy, but had never seriously considered doing it.

  Still, on this particular sultry summer afternoon, Jimmy felt adventurous. Smiling, pushing his damp sandy hair back off his face, he challenged Ladd.

  “I bet I can swim all the way out to that buoy.”

  Ladd grinned. “Is that a dare?”

  “It is.”

  “Let’s go,” said Ladd, rising to his feet.

  Laughing and shouting, the boys raced each other across the sand and into the water. A relentless August sun beat down from a cloudless sky, turning the lapping waves into thousands of blinding mirrors of light.

  Halfway to the buoy Ladd could feel his arms and legs begin to knot and ache, but he wasn’t about to admit it. He continued to slice through the steadily roughening waters, ignoring the burning of his lungs, the aching of his limbs.

  Minutes later, terror seized him when he realized that he was not going to make it. He was tired, so paralyzingly tired, he could no longer fight the strong current.

  He was about to go down when Jimmy, glancing over his shoulder, saw that Ladd was in deep distress. Jimmy immediately turned and swam back. Ladd’s head was just disappearing beneath the surface when Jimmy reached him and pulled him up.

  “I’ve got you, Laddie,” Jimmy said, “I’ll get you back to shore.”

  And he did.

  When Ladd told his parents of Jimmy’s selfless heroics, explaining how his friend had saved his life, Carrie and Douglas were tremendously grateful to their landseer’s son. They assured him they would never forget what he had done. Douglas proved it. A West Point graduate, he used his considerable influence to get Jimmy a much coveted appointment to the military academy.

  And, when Darcy Tigart passed away in the winter of 1857, Douglas allowed Jimmy and his mother to stay on in a summer cottage at River Plantation.

  In the early autumn of 1858, Ladd, Laurette, their parents, the Parlange twins and a host of other well-wishers were at the busy downtown levee to see Jimmy off to West Point, New York. There was laughter and high spirits and, when the time came for Jimmy to board the waiting riverboat, a lot of back-slapping and hugging.

  When Jimmy turned to Laurette, she noticed a strange look come into his hazel eyes. And when he enfolded her in his arms, she felt his heart race against her soft bosom as he briefly pressed her closely to him.

  Swiftly he released her and she wondered if she had imagined the whole thing. But she knew that she had not. Jimmy had regularly jested and flattered and flirted with her, but she had always assumed it had been nothing more than harmless teasing. Now she was not so sure.

  Troubled, she watched as he grabbed the laughing Johanna Parlange and gave her a big bear hug, then turned to the quieter Juliette, causing Juliette to blush profusely when he planted a kiss on her pale cheek.

  Lastly, he embraced Ladd. The two boys clung to each other for a long moment.

  And then Jimmy was gone.

  Laurette felt guilty.

  She couldn’t help it, she was glad Jimmy had gone away. At long last she had Ladd to herself again. In Jimmy’s absence, Ladd spent more time with her, but to her dismay, he continued to treat her as he always had. Like a little sister or a member of the same sex. Couldn’t he see that she was growing up? Didn’t he realize that they were no longer children?

  No matter how hard Laurette tried to entice Ladd, intrigue him, make him see that she was turning into a woman, Ladd seemed not to notice.

  In despair, she told her best friends, the Parlange twins, that she was convinced Ladd, whom she adored, would never look on her as anything other than a friend. A sister.

  Until, one day, abruptly, without warning, everything changed.

  Not for Laurette.

  But for Ladd.

  It was the winter after Jimmy had gone to the Point. Ladd had turned fifteen the summer past, Laurette fourteen. On a gray December day, Laurette, at his mother Carrie’s invitation, had come over to help decorate the tall, fragrant evergreen tree that stood in the parlor.

  When Laurette arrived, Ladd answered the door.

  In that instant, Ladd Dasheroon saw Laurette Howard in a totally new and different light.

  “Hi!” she said cheerily.

  “Hello,” Ladd managed to reply, after nervously clearing his throat.

  He stared at her, hypnotized. Her large, dark eyes were sparkling with life and her lips were full, pink and soft looking. She wore a hooded cape of scarlet velvet and her chilled cheeks were almost as red as the luxurious wrap.

  Ladd realized, with no small degree of surprise, that his little Laurette was rapidly changing. Had changed before his very eyes. She was growing up. She was no longer a child. She was a very pretty girl. He wondered when it had happened. And why he hadn’t noticed. It was as if he were seeing her—meeting her—for the first time.

  And he was utterly enchanted.

  From that memorable moment when she stood there on the cold, windswept veranda swathed in flaming red velvet, Ladd never again thought of Laurette Howard as a playmate. Or even as a little sister.

  Now, whenever he held her hand as they crossed the street, or climbed the church steps together on Sunday morning, or went for a walk along the river, the touch of her soft fingers laced through his own gave him an indescribable thrill.

  No matter that he was only fifteen, she fourteen, Ladd Dasheroon was in love with Laurette Howard. He didn’t dare tell her. He knew her too well. She’d just laugh in his face if he told her. So he kept it from her, pretended nothing had changed, went out of his way to treat her just as he always had. But it was far from easy. Every time he saw her his heart skipped several beats, his palms grew moist and his knees became disturbingly weak.

  He couldn’t tell her, but he had to tell someone. So he wrote a letter to Jimmy, exclaiming his newfound love for Laurette and swearing Jimmy to secrecy.

  Never dreaming that Jimmy secretly wanted the blossoming Laurette for himself.

  And that he intended to have her.

  Six

  Saturday the twenty-third of July, 1859.

  Laurette Howard’s fifteenth birthday.

  Ladd Dasheroon’s sixteenth birthday.

  Engraved vellum invitations, banded in gold, had gone out two weeks ago. A twenty-piece orchestra from New Orleans had been engaged. An expansive menu had been planned by a trio of Mobile’s most sought after chefs. Melba Adair, as usual, had insisted on providing bowers of fragrant flowers from her famous gardens.

  This gala in Dauphin Way—the combined birthday celebration—had become legendary. The festivities had been an annual affair since the summer of ’45 when Ladd Dasheroon had turned two years old and Laurette Howard had reached her first birthday.

  On this balmy Saturday evening the formal event was hosted by the Dasheroons. As darkness descended, the brass-and-crystal chandeliers blazed in every room of the big red mansion. Downstairs, in the spacious dining room, a sumptuous buffet, fit for royalty, was laid out on the long linen-draped table.

 
; Upstairs, the ballroom was beautifully decorated with hundreds of prized white roses, camellias and gardenias. A half-dozen chandeliers, suspended from the eight-foot ceiling, cast a soft, mellow glow on the polished parquet dance floor below. Gilt chairs lined the walls in deference to the older guests who preferred to sit and watch rather than dance.

  The matching double doors—a set at each side of the ballroom—were thrown open onto a wide balcony that spanned the entire front of the grand house. An unseasonably cooling breeze wafted through the open doors, stirring the brocade curtains in the giant ballroom and keeping the dancers from becoming too warm.

  Guests had begun arriving as soon as the sun had gone down. The younger set was well represented. Dozens of Ladd’s and Laurette’s school chums eagerly hurried up the stairs and into the ballroom. Tall, shy, fresh-faced boys laughed and flirted with pretty young girls in shimmering summer dresses.

  The older crowd turned out as well. Colonel and Mrs. Ivy. The Adairs. Judge Noble and Lena Parlange. Miss Foster, their dear music teacher. The Far-adays. The Pirrilliats. A cortege of carriages, transporting the city’s formally attired elite, came in a steady stream up the graveled front drive. Gentlemen in dark, well-cut evening attire escorted jewel-bedecked ladies in colorful silks and satins.

  All were ready for a delightful evening.

  And across Dauphin Street, inside the Howard home, Laurette was still in her camisole and petticoats as full darkness fell over the city. The Parlange twins, beautifully gowned in shimmering blue silk, were anxiously waiting for Laurette to get dressed.

  “For heaven sake, Laurette, make up your mind!” said Johanna with annoyance. “The dancing’s already begun. I can hear the music from here.”

  “I know, I know,” said Laurette, frowning with indecision.

  On Laurette’s lavender-canopied four-poster bed lay a half-dozen ball gowns. Tried on and quickly discarded. Laurette’s personal maid, the usually indulgent Ruby Lee, balled fists on her hips, stood shaking her head.

  “Laurette Taylor Howard,” said Ruby Lee, “you are going to be late to your own birthday party and that is mighty rude, if you ask me!”