Victoria stopped short and almost tripped over her skirts when she saw black men coming out of the building. She had somehow stumbled upon a Negro Party Hall. She was much farther from the Brennans than she would have guessed and had no business being here escorted in the broad day light, let alone by herself in the dead of night. However, when her teeth began to chatter she knew that she must put her fears aside and hope that these were good, God-fearing men, who would safely return her to the party. The men looked as startled as she did. “Ma’am, do you need some help?” one of them asked her.
“Yes, please. I seem to have gotten lost in the fog. Are you familiar with The Brennans?”
“Ah, but of course, ma-cherie. Were you attending their party tonight?” The older man asked her.
Victoria, now standing face to face with the men, could tell that they were impeccably dressed and were most likely Creole planters. “Yes. I need to get back there.”
“If you would allow me, I can escort you. I fear that I do not have my buggy, so we shall have to walk,” the kindly man offered her his left arm and swung a fine walking stick under the crook of his right. Under normal circumstances walking with him would have been improper, wealthy freed planter or not, but Victoria could see no other option. She prayed that this would not end badly. It could ruin her reputation, not that it wasn’t probably already ruined now anyways, but even worse, he could end up dead if the wrong person were to see this. New Orleans was progressive in its thinking, but not that progressive.
Victoria and the two Negroes had just started down the street when they heard a horse approaching. She bowed her face in an attempt to hide her identity. The rider reared up beside them. “Victoria!” the Irish-Southern drawl shouted down at her.
“Mr. Brennan?” Victoria looked up at the rider in surprise.
“Ah, Mr. Brennan, just in time it would seem. This lady seems to have wandered off from your party and gotten quite lost, quite lost indeed. Francois and I were just escorting her back to your home so that she could rejoin in the festivities.”
“Jacques! So glad it was the two of you she stumbled upon,” Wesley looked down at the elder man who was escorting Victoria. “Hand her up here to me, will you? As cold as it is the walk back could kill her.”
Humiliated as she was already, the men talking about her, as if she wasn’t standing right there, did not improve her disposition much, but by this point in time, Victoria had subdued the irrational and emotional side of her brain and regained enough of common sense that she could see the point Wesley made. She was frozen through and through now. As it was, the gown she wore offered little protection from the weather when it was dry and the fog had thoroughly soaked the garment, leaving her feeling as cold as death. She was tired of walking and short of breath thanks to the corset that she had begged Polly to pull tighter and tighter.
Victoria allowed herself to be handed up to Wesley who sat her across his lap on the horse. She wasn’t too proud to bury deep into the warmth that his chest offered her as she wrapped her arms around him to secure her position upon the horse. Wesley drew back from her and she whimpered her unhappiness at the loss of his body heat, until she realized that he was simply removing his over coat in order to wrap it around her. When he had the coat situated, he drew Victoria back to his chest. He thanked Jacques and Francois again for coming to Victoria’s aid and she also reiterated her thanks, before he spurred the horse on back to the Garden District.
A howling shriek echoed through the vacant roads. Damn cat, Victoria thought. Then she turned her concentration back to soaking up the heat offered by Mr. Brennan’s body. He paid no heed to the howling cat as he urged the horse on back to The Garden District as fast as he dare while holding Victoria in his lap. He waited until they were well out of earshot from the Creole gentlemen before he railed into her. “Are you daft, woman?”
Victoria was startled; she had almost been lulled to sleep by the motion of the horse and the happy warmth that swaddled her. Her body was in shock from the mental trauma and the sprint through the wet weather. Her strength and energy were spent. The harsh words took a few seconds to sink in. “Mr. Brennan, while I appreciate you coming to my rescue for the second time this day, I do not appreciate the way you continually take it upon yourself to scold me as if we were familiars. I have had quite a trying day. So, would you please just deposit me into my own carriage and I will eagerly return to my home.”
“Oh, Mavourneen, I know you have had a dreadful day, haven’t you.” Wesley pressed his lips to the top of her blonde hair that was unraveling from the painstakingly placed coiffure, leaving Victoria very much looking like a drowned cat. He now regretted that he had chastised her so harshly after the day that she had experienced. She may be this tough little Southern Belle, but she was still a female who must be handled delicately.
Victoria couldn’t understand why but she felt safe sitting in Wesley’s lap and wrapped in his arms, despite the fact that the man grated on her nerves with his arrogant smirks and teases, which in truth, she knew were all in good fun. Maybe that was it: his light-hearted attitude, the way he pretended to be nothing other than what he was, the same way that she did. Maybe it was just that he had already rescued her twice. Obviously, he was a good man, and that was why she felt safe with him.
So, in the safety of the dark, with her face buried in his lapels, Victoria shared her grief with him. “Christopher is going to marry that dreadful Lydia Attebury!” she sobbed. “He is marrying her for her money! After all the years that we have known each other and all of the people that believed we were going to get married, how can I possibly face them? And I have embarrassed myself even worse by running off in hysterics from your party!”
“Hush, now, fret not. I am taking you home where your family awaits you and as far as anyone from the party knows, you are already home, as well. Then, after some good rest, you will simply find another dashing man to sweep you off your feet and you will forget all about Worthington the worthless.”
“Hmm… And where pray tell will I find such a dashing man after ruining my reputation tonight?” her voice drawled with sarcasm as she fought back the sadness and tried to harden her heart. She snuggled in even deeper to his chest. The fog and darkness that had been terrifying moments earlier swaddled her like a blanket now that she was safe in this hero’s arms.
“Not all men find intelligent, hysterical, danger prone women to be unattractive,” he chuckled.
Victoria snorted in an unseemly manner. “And you, you must think that I am a fool too after I told you that I had an understanding with him. Did you know when I told you that? Did you already know that he was engaged to her?”
“You are no fool, Mavourneen, and no, I did not know that he planned to wed Lydia, until I danced with Lydia and she told me.” The horse clopped up in front of Victoria’s home. The butler opened the door and came out to assist Victoria down off Wesley’s horse, but Wesley pulled her in close to him again. “Try to stay safe, Mavourneen. Sleep well. I shall call upon you soon.” He whispered with another kiss upon her hair, he handed her down to the awaiting slave, just as Mrs. De’Muerre and Samantha rushed out the door.
Chapter Three
Though Victoria’s excursion on the night of the party caused her to be bedridden for the next several weeks, she would never know how truly close to death she had been that night. The combination of cool, moist air and the weakening of her body from mental and emotional trauma had attacked her lungs and left her with a cough that would not subside, as well as a raging fever that the doctor failed to break for several days, causing Victoria to suffer from hallucinations. Polly sat beside her mistress night and day nursing her to the best of her abilities in an attempt to help the doctor break the fever. She mixed tonics and placed herb wraps and pastes upon her mistress’s chest to help ease the cough and quicken the lessening of the fever.
The fever caused Victoria’s brow to bead with sweat as she tossed and turned in her bed. Victoria would
fight against invisible demons and tangle herself further into her bed sheets. During these hallucinations, Polly would sing to Victoria and fan her. In the infrequent moments of semi-clarity, Victoria would call out and beg for help. Victoria prayed aloud to God to place his healing hand upon her, in fear that she had the bloodletting disease that the others in the county had succumbed to, unable to comprehend what was truly going on around her. Though the bloodletting disease was not what she was infected with, her fear was still well warranted.
In fact, on the night of the Brennan’s party several other victims had fallen prey to the bloodletting disease in the very district that Victoria had found herself lost in on that night. Francois, one of the Creole planters who had come to her aid, was one of them. Victoria only narrowly escaped the same fate. Had Wesley not taken her back home when he did, she would not have been laid up in bed as she was. She would have been laid to rest in her family’s crypt.
On the upside, the malady that Victoria suffered from did keep her out of the public eye for a long enough time that she did not have to bear witness to the announcement of Christopher and Lydia’s engagement. By the time that she was able to get up and about again, most of the talk regarding her flight from the party had subsided as well, since the majority of the planter families had returned to their farms in order to process their harvests and prepare for the coming winter.
Mr. and Mrs. De’Muerre silently thanked the Lord that Christopher had become engaged to another. Mr. De’Muerre had long been aware of the declining economic and social standing of the Worthingtons. Mr. Worthington had come to Mr. De’Muerre a while back to ask for a loan. While Mr. De’Muerre had once considered Mr. Worthington a good friend, he had witnessed the way that gambling and drink had destroyed the honorable man that he had formerly known. Mr. De’Muerre had to refuse his friend. The Worthington name was tarnished with bad debt. Mr. and Mrs. De’Muerre spent many evening hours discussing how they would handle the situation should Christopher ask for Victoria’s hand. They did not want to see their daughter’s name and honor be tarnished through association with the Worthingtons, nor did Mr. De’Muerre want her to be used for her dowry.
Therefore, when it came to their attention that Christopher was now to wed another they silently rejoiced. They knew Victoria was upset, but they also knew that she would not have to wait for long before callers who would be more suitable would begin to appear. Victoria’s parents also had not been blind to the particular attention that the elder Brennan boy had paid to her. From what they currently knew of him, he seemed to be most suitable, indeed.
On the first day that Victoria was allowed to rise from bed and emerge from her room, Victoria learned that the Brennans had left for their newly finished plantation estate the day before. Now that Victoria was deemed healthy enough to travel, the De’Muerres would be returning to their home as well. Victoria had been saddened to learn that the Brennans already made the journey to the country because she wanted to thank Wesley for his kindness to her. It turned out that he had called upon her family several times during her illness in order to check in on her and leave her little tokens and ‘Get Well’ wishes. Her favorite was a hand carved turtledove with a note that was signed ‘Faithfully Yours.’ Though the gift giving was quite inappropriate, Victoria had already arrived at the conclusion that Mr. Wesley Brennan was not a stickler for society’s rules.
Victoria was supervising the packing of her clothing trunks in preparation for their return to the plantation. In her hand, she held the carved trinket from Wesley. She was searching for something to wrap it in to prevent it from succumbing to any damage on the jouncing journey when the butler announced that she had a guest in the morning parlor. Victoria hummed the polka tune that she and Wesley had danced to while she ambled down to the parlor, swishing her skirts about her with her hand, nearly dancing her way down the stairs. The gentleman, who was dressed in a suit that was as dark as his hair, turned to face her as she entered. “Wesley?” her hand flew to her chest as her heart began to beat briskly at the sight of him. “I mean, Mr. Brennan. I thought your family had moved to the farm.”
Wesley took her delicate, callous free hand (the hand of a real lady) within his labor leathered manly hand and placed it in the crook of his arm. He led her to the sofa. “Well, Miss De’Muerre, I mean Victoria; I could not leave until I knew that you were well. I would have just worried about you the whole time and been completely useless to my father.”
Victoria decided that she would let the informal use of her given name pass since she had slipped up and used his first, and he had been truly kind to stay and call upon her. “I received your gifts. I want to thank you for them. I especially adore the turtledove,” she held it up for him to see. “Also, I want you to know that I am grateful to you for your assistance in safeguarding me the day and night of our meeting, and for your discretion in the matter as well. You should know that I am not usually so reckless.”
“I am glad that you are well and safe. It pleases me to know that you like my carving.”
“You carved the bird yourself? I assumed that you had purchased it from somewhere.”
“Yes it is a little hobby of mine. Do you know what the turtledove symbolizes?”
“Yes,” she admitted shyly. “They represent faithful love.”
“Aye, they do,” Wesley’s Irish brogue was intense in the moment. He had not let go of Victoria’s hand as they sat there, which Victoria was suddenly very aware of, and she tried to pull her hand out of his. He held it tight in his own, refusing to let go, emphasizing the earnest nature in his voice as he continued. “Will you allow me to call upon you when we return to the country? I know that things with you and Worthington have just ended, but allow me to help you forget him. I admire you, Miss De’Muerre and I want the honor of getting to know you better.”
Victoria just nodded her head while looking at their interlocked hands. Her cheeks grew rosy and red under his fervent gaze. Wesley pulled her imprisoned hand up to his lips and placed on gentle kiss on her center knuckle. “I must leave for the farm now but our parting will only be for a little while, Mavourneen. I know that your family is leaving soon as well. I will call upon you in a few days once we both get settled in, if it pleases you,” Wesley stood and assisted Victoria to her feet as well.
“Yes,” Victoria said breathily. Being in the presence of this man did strange things to her, but she liked it. “Yes, Mr. Brennan. That would please me greatly.” She walked with him to the foyer and he bowed to her, caressing her knuckle with a kiss once more before turned out the door with his impish grin stretched wide across his face. Victoria immediately brandished her lacey fan and fluttered it about her flushed face. She suddenly felt very warm.
The next morning the De’Muerres’ household was aflutter with activity in preparation for the family’s departure. Mrs. De’Muerre directed the slaves to cover furniture and lock up shutters. The whole home had to be prepared for the long winter season in which it would stand empty, save for the few slaves and household overseers that stayed to tend the house year round. The kitchen crew prepared baskets of food for the family to take on the road. The footmen loaded the wagons with trunks and carpetbags until almost midday. At the eleventh morning hour, everything was packed, and the family was finally ready to leave.
The sisters rode along with their parents in the coach at the head of the long line of wagons that transported their belongings and slaves. Mr. and Mrs. De’Muerre discussed the business that would require tending to as soon as they arrived. The rhythmic rocking of the coach had quickly lulled Samantha to sleep which left Victoria alone, lost in her bewildered thoughts as she looked out the window to the passing countryside. The caravan had journeyed about halfway to their destination when Victoria saw it: smoke billowing up toward the sky from the out buildings of a plantation property. Mr. De’Muerre and a few of the male Negroes rode out to see if they could help put out the fires. Mrs. De’Muerre and the girls stayed with the cavalcade a
nd paced while they waited.
After several hours, all the fires were doused or were under control and the men returned to the caravan. The spur of the moment firefighters told tale of another outbreak in the slaves’ quarters proving the theory that the outbreaks were moving in closer to town and the outbreaks on the night of the ball were not a mere happenstance. The planter set fire to the contaminated slaves’ huts in an attempt to, hopefully, help stop the spread of the strange disease. Mr. De’Muerre now worried that he had been too hasty in bringing his family back out to the farm, but they all did their best to convince him that all would be fine, so he reluctantly agreed to continue the journey.
It had been dark for several hours when the long line of Spanish moss draped oak trees came into view marking the De’Muerres’ property line. The trees were the inspiration for the sister’s great grandfather when he named the property Mossy Oak Manor. Their property was one of the few that had a cobbled driveway up to the main house. The house stood formidable and elegant, a dark shadow against the setting sun. The home was three stories tall, though the main floor was actually the second floor. The home was painted Robin’s Egg blue and trimmed in white gingerbread accents with white pillars and railings. Those railings supported the second floor porch and the steps, which led up to the main entrance there. The first floor of the house was reserved for the kitchen, pantry, and house slave quarters. Tall chimneys stood at the east and west end of the house billowing smoke up to meet the clouds that accented the grapefruit red sunset.
The Possessive Kiss: Victoria's Story: Book Two of The Kiss Series Page 4
