Elusive Flame

by Kathleen E. Woodiwiss

  Trying to identify the woman who approached, they peered into the shadows enveloping the porch. Finally the specks of light converged sufficiently to illuminate the smirk on Germaine’s face.

  “Well, it’s certainly evident you two can’t leave each other alone.” Though her words belied the fact, she had been titillated by the display, for it only affirmed in her mind that Beau’s appetites were nigh as vast as her own.

  “That’s the benefit of being married. We don’t have to,” Beau returned casually.

  “Really, Beau, you should consider how you might embarrass other people,” Germaine chided. “Such wanton displays should be reserved for bedrooms, not open verandas where anyone may pass.”

  “Strange, I can usually hear when someone is coming toward me, especially on a wood floor, but I didn’t notice even the lightest sound of shoes scraping against the porch.” Beau’s gaze descended curiously to her hem, which swept the floor. The open study door indicated the area from whence she had emerged, and the way she was holding her arms behind her back led him to believe that she was keeping something carefully out of sight. “Which leaves me, of course, to believe that you’re not wearing any shoes at the moment.”

  Germaine laughed, clasping both shoes in one hand, and casually swept her free hand before her to make light of his conjecture. “I don’t go around spying on people, Beau, and even if I did, that wouldn’t excuse your lewdness. I’ll have to complain to your mother about your actions. It’s certainly not safe for an innocent young girl to meander around Harthaven. Why, she’d be shocked out of her senses by such coarseness.”

  Beau was now able to face the woman and did so, leaving an arm wrapped around his wife’s waist, for he was reluctant to have her flee and leave him alone with the woman. “I’m sorry if we offended your tender sensibilities, Germaine, but I find it hard to believe that you’re shocked. In fact, if there’s an innocent among us, I’m inclined to think that it’s my wife.”

  Germaine’s dark eyes glittered dangerously in the dappled light. “What do you mean by that?”

  Beau cocked his head thoughtfully aslant. “Do you really want me to tell you?”

  “If you’re going to insult me, I’d like you to explain why you think you have the right,” she insisted unwisely, “because I’ve never done anything that I would be ashamed of.”

  “Not even skinny-dipping with Jessie Ferguson last summer…?”

  Germaine’s jaw dropped in astonishment. There was only one way he could have known about that! That clod Jessie! He just didn’t know when to keep his mouth shut! “That’s an outrageous lie, Beau Birmingham! I would never—”

  “Oh, then it must be another Germaine Hollingsworth who likes to cavort naked with her escorts. You see, Jessie isn’t the first one who has boasted of his conquest. Let’s see, his ride happened beneath a sycamore tree. And then there was Frank Lester. She rode him in his father’s stable. In fact, from what I hear, there have been quite a number of men in her life, and it seems that this other Germaine Hollingsworth usually initiates the seductions and will do absolutely anything when she gets heated up. Word has gotten around that the difference between her and the ones who do it for a living is that she does it for free and enjoys it more.”

  Germaine sneered caustically. “From what I hear you’ve visited those bawdy women often enough.”

  “Well, at least I’ve never pretended to be a Goody-Two-Faced.”

  Germaine’s chin lifted in haughty arrogance. “Obviously some other woman has been going around using my name for devious purposes, but she’d best be warned because I’m a fair shot with my father’s rifle, and anybody spreading such gibberish about me is in danger of being mistaken for a rat. In fact, Beau Birmingham, you may be taking your life in your hands if you try to tarnish my reputation with all that nonsense you’ve just babbled.”

  Beau smiled blandly. “You’d be surprised at the reputation you have, Germaine. All the studs in the area know where you live. That’s why you’re so popular with the men. I’m just surprised that you haven’t gotten caught yet.”

  “You mean like your simpleton wife?” Germaine sneered in disdain and fixed a cold glower upon Cerynise. “I’m sure the other Germaine can tell you a name of a woman who’ll take care of you in an afternoon’s time, and no one will be the wiser.”

  “My wife probably doesn’t even know what you’re talking about, Germaine, but we’re not interested in your offer. In fact, we’re thrilled that we’re going to have a child. Thank you for nothing.”

  Germaine’s lips curled in contempt as she stepped to the outer edge of the porch and leaned against a column to slip on her shoes. Then, smoothing her skirts down, she assumed an air of ladylike grace and strolled back to the French doors through which she had slipped some moments earlier.

  Cerynise finally let her breath out in a relieved sigh. “I have a feeling Germaine doesn’t like you much anymore.”

  Beau’s eyebrows flicked upward briefly. “I doubt that she liked me all that well before. It was probably the lure of being able to call herself a Birmingham and the idea of spending my money that interested her far more. After being spoiled by her parents, it must be difficult for her to imagine herself marrying a man of meager means.”

  “Not even if that man were you?” Cerynise came back into his arms. “Poor Germaine. How foolish for a woman to set her heart on riches when a man like you is far more valuable. But then, I’m sure there is no duplicate for Beauregard Birmingham.”

  Beau leaned down to savor the fragrance of her hair. “You’re prejudiced, madam.”

  “Aye, terribly,” she agreed, snuggling against him. “Now kiss me again before we have to go in.”

  Fifteen

  ONLY A FEW of the azalea bushes were still in bloom as the end of May approached, but after being arrayed in their vivid fuchsia, snowy white, and deep magenta hues, the city and countryside lost much of its splendor when the blossoms finally wilted. The same held true with the gardens around Beau’s house. On a morning near the middle of the month, Sterling Kendall arrived at the Birmingham residence bearing boxes upon boxes of seedlings he had started as well as shrubs and several flowering trees with their roots carefully bound. With the younger man’s full approval, the professor spent several days transforming what had been a pleasant enough area into a garden that promised to be spectacular. After mulching around the tender plants, Sterling instructed his niece on their care, advising that such work was not only nourishment for the spirit but also provided, he was wont to suspect, useful lessons in nurturing a child.

  Although Cerynise approached the task as an apprehensive novice, she soon realized the joy to be found in horticulture. It was an unexpected thrill to see a profusion of flowers bursting forth after weeks of careful tending. The garden soon became one of her favorite places in which to work and relax. When she wasn’t painting in the study, she could often be found outside, tilling the beds, trimming away spent blooms, or trying to capture the beauty of the flowers on canvas before their color faded. It gave her an equal sense of satisfaction to create extravagant bouquets for the house, and soon the rooms that the couple were most wont to use bore the rewards of her work. Even Beau began to take an interest and, when he had time, would join her in her endeavors in the garden. New wrought iron furniture was purchased and placed in cozy settings beneath trees, in the gazebo where they frequently took breakfast and lunch, and here and there alongside the brick paths. At times, the two laughed and cavorted like puckish children, throwing dirt or sprinkling each other with watering cans until one or the other gave chase. But with Cerynise’s growing girth, it was usually Beau who caught her and swooped her up in his arms amid her gleeful squeals.

  As dirty and muddy as they sometimes got in their frolicking, it was not long before a small, white, brick-based shed was built in the garden area. It had a separate compartment for washing and another for dressing. Latticework extended vertically above the flat roof, masking from normal v
iew a large, lidded, rectangular copper box which, after being fully exposed to the sun for several hours, heated the water it contained. The bottom portion of the box was perforated, but to control the flow of water, another sheet of copper could be raised or lowered by a lever attached to a pull chain. Once it was completely down, more water could be added and saved for another day. The contraption provided the couple with a warm rain shower of sorts, allowing them to freshen up after doffing their dirty work clothes. Clean clothes, soap and towels were always on hand, and though they delighted in showering off together, Beau was inclined to slip outside in the morning and indulge himself in a morning cleansing before he dressed for work. Though it was much easier than filling the tub in the dressing room upstairs, the water was not always warm at that early hour. Nevertheless he found it refreshing.

  Beau was now managing the shipping company and warehouses which his uncle owned. In that capacity, he also directed the unloading of company ships. He excelled at his work, but as yet he had refused to accept a full partnership, avoiding the commitments that would tie him down to land when he had every intention of making another voyage.

  Stephen Oaks had returned from his northerly venture along the coast, having made a considerable profit on the cargo he had taken with him. From his trip, he had gleaned much needed machinery for the area of Charleston, proving himself a shrewd merchant as well as a competent sea captain. More recently he had been prone to visit his captain’s residence on a regular basis, not so much to talk about business with Beau but to pay court to Bridget who, from Cerynise’s viewpoint, was falling head over heels in love with the man. In her free time the maid could often be seen strolling arm in arm along the street with the future captain of the Audacious.

  Cleveland McGeorge had set about to prove that he could sell Cerynise’s paintings even with her name on them. It had taken him a while, but he had been successful on three different occasions, selling two to New York gentlemen and the last and best of the three to Martha Devonshire. Thereafter he had had inquiries from almost every wealthy family in the Charleston area. It gave him great satisfaction to create a demand for them and stir up competition among the interested parties by telling them that they would have to wait their turn, for in truth, Cerynise couldn’t paint fast enough to appease everyone now seeking to buy one of her paintings.

  The portrait of Heather and her daughters was coming along very nicely. Soon the faces would be done, which was always the most challenging part. Filling in the gowns and hair would be fairly easy, and Cerynise had all hopes of finishing the painting well in time for Heather’s birthday in July.

  Cerynise had come to the realization that she had never been happier in her life. She was married to the man whom she had always adored, and with each passing day it seemed their love for each other deepened. They were looking forward to the arrival of their first child with great enthusiasm, and they began to make lists of acceptable names for both genders. The room beyond their bathing chamber was soon designated as the new nursery, and although it was mostly furnished with new pieces, Beau’s own cradle was brought to them from the attic at Harthaven, where it had been stored for at least a score of years.

  Any moment in which Cerynise and Beau found themselves alone together was greatly enhanced by their growing love for one another. They enjoyed being secluded and were wont to make much of those interludes in the privacy of their home. Their courtship equaled or even surpassed what fabled lovers from Shaksperean, Chaucerian, and a whole host of other bygone tales had supposedly luxuriated in and was as close to an adventure in paradise as anyone could imagine. Still, they were inundated with invitations from nearly the whole social block of Charlestonians. Cerynise left Beau with the task of choosing which engagements they should accept and those they’d have to graciously refuse. An elegantly penned note from Martha Devonshire was among those they responded to with a visit. Beau hadn’t been at all sure how the evening would turn out, for he hadn’t been around the woman that much to speak of, but after no more than a few moments in the elder’s presence, Cerynise had taken to Martha as quickly as she had Lydia Winthrop years ago. To their delight, they found the normally reserved lady had a marvelously dry wit that even had Beau holding his sides with laughter.

  On Saturdays and weekdays, Beau usually came home to have lunch with Cerynise a little before noon, but if an appointment had been scheduled near the time he was supposed to return, he’d arrive as much as a half hour early just so he could spend the same amount of time with her and not be late for his meeting. Whether they dined in the garden or at the long, imposing table in the dining room, they sat close together, laughing and talking about numerous things. Cerynise was always anxious to hear what he had been doing at the shipping company or what interesting character he might have met. Beau willingly appeased her curiosity, sparing her the more boring details, and at times would even discuss some small annoyance that he had had to deal with, for his wife had a way of easing his irritation with gentle, judicious reasoning when nobody else could. After the meal, they would either wander in the garden together or retire to the privacy of the study until he had to return to work.

  One morning near the end of June, shortly before noon, Cerynise was cutting flowers for the house when the creaking of the garden gate drew her attention. Curious to see who was arriving by way of the street, she faced the portal just as a harsh male voice rasped “Kill!” In the next instant a huge black dog came bounding through the entrance. Immediately the gate slammed shut behind him.

  Never in her life had Cerynise seen the likes of such a dog. Not only was the beast tall enough to reach almost to her waist, but it was solidly built with a chest as broad as a large oaken bucket. He had a massive, square head and eyes that gleamed like yellow fire. For a moment, Cerynise stood frozen with prickling horror, staring into that fierce gaze. Then the animal’s hackles rose on end, and his fangs were slowly bared in a low, growling snarl as a whitish drool dribbled from his muzzle.

  Cerynise’s heart leapt into her throat as the beast began moving forward menacingly, watching her every movement as she backed cautiously away. The word Kill! had shattered any illusion about his reason for being there. The dog intended to dispense with her in a most brutal fashion. Unless this was some kind of prank it was an imminent possibility. Indeed, she was afraid that she was looking death fully in the face, but this one was black with brown markings.

  Cerynise searched behind her for the closest haven and caught sight of the bathhouse. As she neared it, her throat constricted with fear, for the dog seemed to be advancing upon her faster than she was progressing. Even if she managed to reach the shed in time, she wasn’t at all sure the structure could withstand an assault from such an enormous brute.

  Her mind flew in a frantic search for a swifter and surer escape. The servants were upstairs cleaning the front bedrooms. If she screamed, she had serious doubts that they would be able to hear her. Philippe had gone to the market to buy fruit for lunch, and though he had said he’d be back shortly, he hadn’t had nearly enough time to return. Cerynise didn’t know the exact time, but she guessed it was too soon to hope that Beau would come strolling in, yet she prayed fervently that this was one of those days when he’d arrive home early.

  Cerynise calculated her chances for gaining the safety of the house. Even if she started running, she couldn’t hope to reach it in time, for the dog would surely quicken his pace. With his long legs it wouldn’t take any time at all before he attacked her. Indeed, the chances of her effectively bringing about her own deliverance seemed beyond her capability.

  “Nice dog,” she cajoled fearfully, willing to try anything.

  Much to her alarm, the sound of her voice seemed to incite the animal. He started barking furiously. Frantically she peered through the open slats of the board fence, hoping to spy its owner and demand his help or at least a reason for this attack, if by some strange fluke the order to kill had been meant for someone else. If, on the other hand,
this was some kind of prank, she wasn’t feeling the least bit amused. To be exact, she was frightened nigh out of her wits. Yet her sweeping search found no one; the culprit was either hiding and awaiting her death or had already left.

  Suddenly the barking ceased, to be replaced by a throaty growling, which Cerynise found infinitely more intimidating. His fangs showing in an evil grin and his yellow eyes feeding almost hungrily upon her movements, the dog crouched lower to the ground, preparing to launch himself upon her. In a panic she whirled and fled toward the bathhouse. Even so, she was hampered by her bulk. Hearing his huge paws thumping against the brick path behind her and coming ever closer, she screamed in dread of the animal sinking his teeth into her flesh. She careened around a tree and threw a quick glance over her shoulder just in time to see the animal plow headlong into the same sturdy trunk she had just rounded.

  The dog was momentarily upended and dazed, giving her time to lengthen the distance between them, but he quickly twisted around and got his legs beneath him. Her feet flew, propelled by fear, but as fast as she raced, she could hear the hound loping behind her once again, swiftly closing the space between them. She shrieked in terror, knowing that any moment she’d be taken down and possibly killed. Then, to her overwhelming relief, she espied Beau charging out of the house with a poker in his hand. He raced past her, and the vicious snarling was swiftly turned to surprised yelps punctuated by a repetitive thudding of the iron bar. Cerynise winced at the gruesome sounds, for it seemed she could actually hear the grating of metal scraping against bone. The yelps and pitiful whines rapidly dwindled until Cerynise could hear nothing behind her but the movements of her husband as he dragged the animal out of sight. A moment later she heard Beau striding hurriedly back to her by way of the brick walk. Trembling to the marrow of her being, she faced him and saw that he still clasped the now-bloody poker in his hand. His shirt and arms were bespeckled with red, but to her he looked as resplendent as a knight in shining armor.