What could I say in reply?
“I’ll never understand why a smart man like you would fraternize with those Immortals.”
“Maybe because they’re kind and decent. And they’d never stab a man in the back just to see if their knife is sharp enough.”
He smiled. “Maybe not. But reporting to parade in your drawers won’t get you in good with Professor Hammond’s niece either.” He squinted off toward the river. “I’m betting a man could see clear to Peekskill from Fort Putnam on Saturday. Too bad you won’t be with her.”
I stalked back to the barracks and drew Professor Mahan’s text on tactics from the shelf before I remembered I wasn’t supposed to be studying. Closing the book, I shoved it back onto the shelf. I went to take up the broom but reminded myself another demerit or two for not cleaning our quarters wouldn’t hurt my cause. I ended up stranded in the middle of the floor, trying to figure out what to do with myself.
No wonder the Immortals got themselves into so much trouble. Not studying freed up a whole lot of time.
I glanced over at Deacon, who was sketching in that book of his. “What are you thinking about with that smile on your face? You look like the tomcat who found a bottle of cream.”
“Mandy.”
“What?”
“Amanda de Carondelet.”
“Who’s she?”
He simply smiled.
I took the sketchbook from him and flipped through the pages. It bothered me that so many of the girls in his sketches had bared shoulders that faded into the white of the page. It was all respectably done, and I wouldn’t want to accuse Deacon of anything tawdry, but . . . “Don’t any of those belles of yours own a gown with sleeves?”
He barked a laugh as he took it back from me. “Wouldn’t you like to know?” He lifted a brow. “Thing is, I always think it a shame to have to bother with clothes when the essence of a woman is in her face.”
I reached over and closed up his sketchbook for him. “Don’t let Campbell Conklin catch you with that. He’s on a tear.”
“He wouldn’t know a girl to look at one. He’d be more likely to criticize me for the way I hold my pencil than for drawing pictures of girls.”
On consideration, I couldn’t say I disagreed.
“What about your girl?” He smiled.
“I don’t have a girl.”
“Miss Hammond, I believe her name is.”
“She’s Conklin’s Miss Hammond now.”
He sat up with a frown. “When did that happen?”
“About the same time I appeared for parade nearly naked this evening. Don’t you remember that? I do. Because Professor Hammond showed up. And his niece too.”
“Well, now. Don’t people in hell want ice in their water! Sometimes in war there are casualties.”
“I didn’t mean for them—”
“And if your sterling reputation has to suffer for the year, I’m sure it will all be worth it to see that swindler thrown in jail. I hope you don’t make a habit of being so morose. I’ll not often be willing to give speeches on spirit and resolve. Makes me feel as if I should care about such things.”
I barely refrained from saluting.
He picked himself up off the bed. “I’m going down the hall to Otter and Dandy’s. When you’re done feeling sorry for yourself, you can come join us.” He tucked his sketchbook back behind his headboard, and with a flash of his grin, he was gone.
29
Lucinda
When my uncle came back from the academy on Friday evening, he handed me two messages. The first was from Seth Westcott, regretting that he was unable to escort me to Fort Putnam on Saturday as we had planned. The message was brief, the tone terse, the effect much more of a blow than I would have expected.
My aunt was watching me. “Are you all right?”
I forced myself to smile. “I’m fine. Thank you.”
It was the first message I’d ever received from Seth, and it would probably be my last. I swallowed down the lump in my throat.
My uncle picked up his pipe and asked Bobby to recount the day’s schoolwork as I opened the second message.
It was from Mr. Conklin. He wondered if I might be available to join him for a walk on Saturday. My uncle had thought him a worthy substitute, but his invitation just made me feel worse about everything.
When my aunt asked me for help in the kitchen, I placed the letters on my uncle’s desk, intending to take them upstairs after supper. My aunt handed me a plate of bread and called out for Milly to see to the butter. Out in the dining room, I set the plate on the table without much thought. I was halfway back to the kitchen when I realized what I’d done.
Leaving the bread in front of Bobby’s place would ensure that no one else had the chance to eat any. Retracing my steps, I slid it farther down the table, toward my aunt’s seat.
Seth wouldn’t be coming for dinner anymore.
My heart ached at the thought.
Mr. Conklin had been present at our Sunday suppers just as often as Seth had. Though Mr. Conklin could ably direct a conversation, though he was undeniably handsome and polite to a fault, Seth’s quiet presence, his self-effacing smile, his genuine kindness were what I looked forward to most on Sunday afternoon. I would not have missed Mr. Conklin were he ever to be absent. But just the thought of Seth’s not being there made me feel lonely. Abandoned.
Milly and I set the table as my aunt and Susan readied the food for serving.
“Aren’t the forks to go on the left side?”
I blinked. “What’s that?”
Milly was holding up a fork. “You told us they’re to go on the left.”
“That’s right.” Forks on the left. Knives and spoons on the right.”
She looked pointedly at my side of the table where I’d placed all the forks on the right.
What was wrong with me? I hastily changed all the silverware around.
I supposed . . . Mr. Conklin was pleasant company, but he always spoke of his position, his grades, and his illustrious family. But maybe pride was actually a virtue. The academy seemed to think so. They’d made him a cadet officer. Perhaps what seemed like arrogance was simply competence.
As I waited for the family to assemble around the table, I tried my best to warm to the thought of Mr. Conklin. But in spite of everything I had seen at the parade, in spite of Mr. Conklin offering himself as the perfect replacement, I couldn’t force myself to be pleased with the substitution.
It used to be that my personal opinions about a man didn’t matter, just so long as he could be useful. My father used to say, “If the first plan doesn’t work, then just start right in on the next one. No need to sulk, if the result is the same in the end.” I had been assiduously trained by him to ignore my heart when it conflicted with what really mattered. Since I’d come to Buttermilk Falls, I was having trouble remembering all the lessons he’d taught me.
I took the last serving dish from Susan and found a place for it on the table.
Whether I convinced Seth to marry me or Mr. Conklin to marry me, the result would be the same in the end, wouldn’t it? I’d be married. So why couldn’t I simply adapt to changing circumstances the way I’d always done?
Why?
Because it made me angry.
I helped Ella into her seat and placed her napkin in her lap.
I was angry Seth wasn’t the man I thought he was. Angry that he had left us all with Mr. Conklin, who didn’t have half of Seth’s worth. And that made me wonder if I’d been wrong, once more, about everything. Maybe in this world where selflessness was a virtue and people truly cared for each other, my intuition had misled me.
I slipped into my chair and pulled my own napkin down to my lap.
Maybe my instincts had been calibrated to the wrong standard. Maybe they didn’t work here. Perhaps the man whose interest I ought to have been pursuing all along was Mr. Conklin. If I could take the gleam in his eye as a sign, he was willing to court me. I ought to have b
een pleased; his family’s connections could do nothing but assure my future.
It galled me to no end that I was wasting this much time, evidencing this much heartache, over a man who couldn’t bother to dress himself!
I bowed my head along with the others while my uncle prayed over the meal.
A man like Mr. Conklin who cared for nothing but his own interests was entirely predictable and easily managed. I’d been brought up by such a man; I’d done the bidding of such a man. If I could give him what he wanted, then I would get what I wanted as well. Taking care of him would be the same as taking care of me.
Love didn’t have to come into it.
It was simply a matter of expediency.
I’d been hoping, eventually, for a proposal from Seth, but I recognized now that those hopes were unrealistic. Wealth was what I’d been raised to pursue. When I met Seth, I was sidetracked by thoughts of love, so maybe this was all for the best.
I helped myself to potatoes when they came to me and then passed the bowl along.
Love was heartache.
Happiness was wealth and power and a tour of Europe.
All I had to do was remember my goal and stick with my plan.
I helped myself to meat and turnips and bread.
I could learn to overlook Mr. Conklin’s pomposity and tendency to promote himself at every opportunity . . . couldn’t I?
I could. I would force myself to.
But my feelings made me wonder if I would always be drawn to scoundrels and rogues. Was it in my blood, passed down to me by my mother? Maybe I was doomed to repeat her tragic past. Why else would my heart prefer Seth Westcott to Campbell Conklin?
I brought my napkin to my lips, crooking a finger to hide a treacherous tear.
Why should I be so overwrought about a wayward cadet? I would just have to keep trusting my uncle to guide me. He’d been respectable for his whole life, so his instincts were entirely trustworthy . . . unlike my own.
But was not one forearmed when forewarned?
As long as I recognized a tendency in myself toward ruination, then could I not compensate for it? If only I could marry myself to Mr. Conklin immediately! Then I could keep my faithless heart from wandering. Feelings didn’t really matter, did they? And in my case, weren’t they liable to lead me astray?
“And how was your day, Lucinda?” My uncle was smiling at me from the end of the table.
“My day?” I blinked. Smiled. “My day was fine. Just fine.”
30
Seth
Friday evening, as I walked down the hall with my bucket, intending to get some water, Campbell Conklin hailed me.
There was nothing to do but stop to talk to him.
“This is providential!” His lip curled into what passed for a smile. “I have the great pleasure to inform you that you’ve been demoted.”
“What?”
“You’ve been demoted.”
He really had said what I’d thought he had. “Demoted? To what?”
“To nothing. Cadet officers are appointed by merit, if you’ll remember. And you, sir, have none. Not anymore. I think we’d all agree on that, the way you’ve been earning demerits by the handful . . . and with that crude display of yourself at parade.” He held out his hand toward me.
“What do you want me to do? Shake it?”
His smile widened into a grin. “I need your coats. All of them.”
“All my . . . ?”
“They’ve got captain’s chevrons on them and you’re nothing but a regular first classman now, a private.”
Maybe I should have expected it, but I couldn’t have been more astonished if the academy had been attacked. “But . . . who’s going to be first captain?”
“Me.”
By Saturday morning, I needed some time to myself. Some space to remember who I was and what I was doing. I meant to climb up to Fort Putnam, but I’d heard Campbell Conklin tell it around that he was walking out with Lucinda that afternoon. I’d seen the shock, the horror, the betrayal in her eyes at the parade. I didn’t want to risk seeing them again. So I took a walk in the direction of the hotel and, farther beyond it, to the river.
Some of the fellows preferred to go hunting or hiking for their recreation, but I’d gotten into the habit of finding a perch somewhere to enjoy the scenery. When I was first captain everyone had always wanted something from me. Answers, assignments, approbation. I’d taken to savoring the few hours I had to myself and preferred to spend them alone.
Looking out over the river and its valley helped me put everything in perspective. The river swept along, reminding me that one day I too would leave these banks behind. In spite of autumn’s chill, I unbuttoned my coat, took it off, and rolled it up. Then I lay down on the bluff, using my coat as a pillow. Looking up past the trees’ bared branches, I stared up into a stark, blue sky that had been scoured raw by October’s winds.
Though Deacon’s plan appeared to be working, it sure made me feel like some kind of a fool. I rolled over onto an elbow, reached out to take hold of a rock, and threw it toward the river just to see how far it would go.
I’d never forget the look of disapproval in Professor Hammond’s eyes or his stern warning for me to stay away from Lucinda. He knew I was better than that. What I couldn’t decide is whether it would make me feel better or worse to let him know why I’d done it. Even if I did tell him, there was nothing he could do about the swindle. He’d probably advise me to just let the whole incident go. And then he’d pity me—the parentless son whose sister had been duped by some trickster.
Best not to tell him . . . or anyone else.
I heard the sounds of someone scuffing through the grasses. Probably a tourist. In that case, it wouldn’t do any good to hide. I sat up, shook my coat out, and pulled it back on. I’d be darned if I buttoned it up, though. Glancing back toward the hotel, I saw a flash of blue bob in and out of view. Maybe a tip of my cap and a nod would be enough for the intruder to leave me to my solitude.
But the face that emerged wasn’t a tourist’s.
It was Lucinda Hammond’s. Those golden-green eyes of hers widened, and the flush on her face deepened. “Oh! I’m sorry. I was just waiting for—” She cast a glance back over her shoulder as if tempted to turn around and go back to the hotel.
I stood, as any gentleman would have done in the presence of a lady.
She looked up at me for just a moment, and then her gaze traveled out across the river to Constitution Island, skimming across its trees to rest on the shore beyond. Her breath caught as her eyes lost their suspicion and filled with wonder. “I never stopped being amazed by the beauty here. I should think I could see clear down to . . .”
“On a day like this? You can probably see five, ten miles.” I stepped closer so I could share her view and pointed off behind us toward the mountain peaks. “Might even be able to see out toward the city from up there.” I moved away from her, squatting to lean against a tree trunk. It’s not as if I needed to impress her. Not anymore. No one who had observed me lately could fail to think that I was the poor excuse of a cadet that I was trying so hard to be. I took a drink from my canteen and held it up to her. “Want some?”
She gave me a wary look. “What is it?”
I almost laughed at her reticence. Had I really fallen so far? “Water.”
“Oh. Then . . . please.” She took a sip. And then a second one.
I offered her a handkerchief, and she used it to dab at her lips.
“Thank you.” She returned the canteen and the handkerchief, all prim and proper about it.
“How’s Campbell?”
She blinked. “Fine. I was to meet him at the hotel. I should probably . . .” She nodded back in the direction she’d come. “I should probably go back.”
“I suppose he’s taking you down to Flirtation Walk.”
She raised a brow. “I suppose it’s no business of yours where I’m going with him.”
“Just . . . be careful. He
’s not what he seems.”
“Unlike you, he seems to be able to dress himself of a morning.”
I felt my face flush and shoved that handkerchief back into my coat.
“I’m sorry. That wasn’t kind. But . . . I thought you were different than that, Seth Westcott. I thought you were more.”
She couldn’t have hurt me worse if she’d tried.
“And Campbell Conklin is a perfect example of an officer and a gentleman. . . .”
Was she hoping I’d disagree? She sure looked like it. Sure sounded like it. But there was no point in caring anymore. I took another swig from my canteen and then jammed the top back onto it. “He might be one of those, but I promise you he isn’t both.”
Her face closed up, and she looked alone, in the same way she had in the Hammonds’ dining room that first night I’d met her.
I stood. “I’m sorry. I wasn’t being mannerly. You can go where you want, do what you want.” What else could I say? What did I have to offer her? The fervent hope that I could sink my standing far enough that the army would have no choice but to assign me to the cavalry? What sort of life would that be for a lady like her? “Just . . . be careful. A lady like you deserves honor and respect.”
A hand flew to her throat, and she clenched her fingers round the strings of her bonnet. “I just was hoping . . . you see . . . I’d wanted . . .” Her hand reached out toward me but I forced myself not to take it. “So that’s it, then?”
I said nothing.
“Good-bye, Seth.” Avoiding my gaze, she stepped away and headed back toward the hotel.
31
Lucinda
My encounter with Seth Westcott had rattled me. Catching sight of Mr. Conklin, I blinked away tears as I determined to be everything I wasn’t.
He was watching my approach, arms folded across his chest. “I had meant for you to wait for me.”
I smiled. “I didn’t really go anywhere. I thought the river must be just down there, on the other side of the bluff. I couldn’t help taking a look.”
Flirtation Walk Page 16
