To Wager Her Heart

by Tamera Alexander

  How tempted she was to say yes and be done with it. But her conscience wouldn’t let her.

  “Discussing business at a dinner like this is allowable within certain confines. It’s acceptable as long as it’s not a ploy to advance your own agenda. For instance, discussing how your bid is superior to another man’s is not advisable. Of course, any topic that your host raises is always acceptable. Likewise, any topic he quashes should immediately be dropped.”

  He nodded. “You’re very well spoken, Miss Jamison. And off the cuff, no less.”

  She merely inclined her head and said, “Thank you.” But it crossed her mind to hope the same could be said when she stood before a class at Fisk in four days.

  “Last question . . . Alexandra, if I may. We’re much more informal out West,” he added with a smile. “Is there anything you would suggest I do—or not do—to increase my chances at succeeding with General Harding? After all, one might say I’m more beer and bullocks, whereas the Hardings are champagne and thoroughbreds.”

  She narrowed her eyes slightly. “First, comparisons aside, I would suggest you present the most competitive bid you can. And second, honor the first condition of our agreement. Which was . . . I will not help you cheat. And cheating,” she continued, as he opened his mouth to speak, “includes lending you an unfair advantage due to sharing personal information about General Harding that I may be privy to . . . Mr. Rutledge. Remember, sir, you’re in Nashville. Where we still hold to proper Southern decorum,” she added with a smile of her own.

  A gleam entered his eyes. “Sharing that information isn’t actually cheating in my book, Miss Jamison. It’s called doing one’s homework. But, fair enough.”

  A clock from inside the cabin struck four times, marking off the hour, and Alexandra seized the opportunity. She stood, mindful of the dull ache in her head. At least her legs were steady beneath her. “If you’ll excuse me, Mr. Rutledge, I need to make my way to the main house.”

  He rose. “Would you allow me to accompany you there?”

  “No, thank you. I can manage. But I am grateful for your help this afternoon. And that you came along when you did. I don’t know what came over me. Nothing like that has ever happened to me before.” She offered a cordial nod. “Good day to you, Mr. Rutledge.”

  “Aren’t you forgetting something, ma’am?”

  She turned back and saw the handful of coins he held out, yet hesitated, thinking of David and their dreams. And the fact that this man represented the loss of all of that. Yet she needed the money. She slipped the coins into her pocket.

  “Miss Jamison?”

  On the bottom step, she paused for a second time.

  “Before you go, I must issue an apology for something.” A sheepish look swept his face. “The flask I gave you today . . . It wasn’t filled with water.”

  She stared. “Of course it was. I should know. I drank it.”

  “You drank it, all right. But it wasn’t water.”

  “What was it then?”

  He held up a hand. “You were very thirsty, and understandably so after being out there that long and having walked all that way. Which is probably why you didn’t realize.”

  She climbed the steps to the porch. “If it wasn’t water, Mr. Rutledge, what exactly did I drink?”

  The look on his face was a mixture of remorse and chagrin. “You drank Mrs. Taylor’s Fancy Cordial.”

  Alexandra stared. “I drank a flask full of wine?”

  “It’s not really wine. It’s more like a fancied-up kind of berry juice.”

  “That you keep in your flask?”

  As soon as she said it, she realized how silly it sounded. And his expression echoed that same thought.

  He opened his mouth to say something else, but she held up a hand, remembering how sweet the water had tasted and how lightheaded she’d felt afterward. Which she’d attributed to the heat and fatigue. Then she imagined what might have happened if she’d shown up at the mansion in front of General Harding’s guests in that state. She looked away, feeling so foolish. So . . . silly. Something she didn’t often feel.

  And especially didn’t appreciate feeling in front of this man.

  “Please, Mr. Rutledge, I’d prefer not to discuss it anymore. Let’s simply . . . forget that it ever happened.”

  He smiled. “Act like something didn’t happen when it did. Interesting way of handling it. Is that part of the proper Southern decorum you were telling me about, ma’am?”

  Alexandra stared, and slowly realized she couldn’t do this. Banter back and forth with him as though Dutchman’s Curve had never happened. Besides, this was no way to honor David.

  “Upon further reflection, Mr. Rutledge, I believe it would be best if I said, ‘Thank you, but no thank you’ to your earlier offer. Best wishes to you in your endeavors, sir, and good day.”

  “Miss Jamison, let’s talk about this before you go. Please.”

  She turned and walked on toward the mansion, grateful when she heard no further argument coming from behind her. She desperately needed money. But considering Sylas Rutledge’s connection to Dutchman’s Curve, she needed not to be beholden to him even more.

  Chapter

  TEN

  Alexandra!” Mary pulled her across the threshold of the back door, her expression aghast. “What happened to you?”

  “I’ll tell you, but you won’t believe it.” Alexandra caught a quick glimpse of herself in a mirror over the side table and looked away. Mrs. Taylor’s Fancy Cordial? She still wanted to throttle the man. “But I could really use your help.”

  “I should say you can.” Mary smiled, then glanced toward the partially opened front door and pressed a forefinger to her lips. “Father’s coming with some of his railroad guests who arrived early. Let’s hurry up to my room!”

  Following her, Alexandra raced across the entrance hall and up the cantilevered staircase, not at all eager to see Sylas Rutledge again so soon. She’d spotted him riding up the front drive a moment earlier and had made a point not to look in his direction.

  They reached Mary’s bedroom, and Alexandra collapsed on the half tester bed, still not feeling quite normal.

  Mary plopped down beside her. “So tell me what happened!”

  Alexandra sighed. “First I need to tell you something else that’s far more important. It’s about the teaching position I interviewed for.”

  Mary perked up. “Your letter came this morning, and I sent it right over. You did get it, didn’t you?”

  “Yes, I did. Thank you. Though it arrived at a most inopportune time. Through no fault of yours,” she added quickly. “I was in the middle of telling my parents about my desire to teach.”

  “I take it your father didn’t accept the news well.”

  Alexandra shook her head. “That’s putting it mildly. And this is after what happened the evening before last.” She quickly relayed the details about the dinner with Horace Buford.

  Mary’s grimace said what words couldn’t. “Your father wants you to marry Mr. Buford?”

  “I know. And yet I do see his perspective, Mary. I’m nearly twenty-six years old. I should be married, with a home and children, as he says. For reasons we both know, that hasn’t happened. And I don’t want it happening with Horace Buford.”

  Mary shook her head. “So . . . you got the teaching position?”

  “Yes, I did.” Alexandra smiled at the joy lighting her friend’s face.

  “Congratulations! But any school would be foolish not to hire you. Which school is it?”

  “Well . . .” Alexandra smoothed a hand over the bedcovers. “I’ll be teaching here in Nashville. At Fisk University.”

  Mary blinked, then frowned. “You don’t mean the school for freedmen.”

  “The very one.”

  For a second time Mary’s features dissolved into disbelief. “Fisk University,” she repeated, then exhaled. “I can well imagine how your father reacted to that news. Much the same as my own would, I
’m sure. Not that I agree with their opinion. You know I’m in support of freedmen’s schools. But, Alex, you also know how most of the people in this city feel about Fisk. And about educating freedmen.”

  “I do. Which is why I packed David’s trunk and my satchel last evening. I was relatively certain my father wouldn’t allow me to live at home any longer after he knew. What I didn’t expect was for him to give me an ultimatum.” Alexandra teared up, thinking again about her father’s words. “He said I must either agree to marry Mr. Buford or leave. Right then. With nothing.”

  Mary’s face fell. “Not even what you’d packed?”

  Alexandra shook her head. “The only place I knew to go was here. To you. So I began walking.” She glanced down at her soiled dress. “As you can see.”

  “Oh, Alexandra.” Mary drew her into a hug. “I’m so glad you did come here. But . . .” She pulled back. “What made you want to do this? Not the teaching part. That, I understand. But . . . at Fisk?”

  “Ever since David died, Mary, I’ve . . .”

  How to explain this to someone who stood poised on the brink of a fresh new life? One including instantaneous motherhood?

  “I’ve felt an urgency to do something more . . . meaningful with my life. As David was doing with his teaching. I believe I’m capable of it, even if I’ve never taught before in a formal classroom setting.”

  She told Mary about happening upon the concert the night before last. “And after hearing about the school needing teachers, I simply felt led to learn more about it. And the doors began to open. Rather hastily, in hindsight.”

  Mary shook her head. “You really are something, Alexandra Jamison. So when do you start?”

  “Tuesday.”

  “This Tuesday?”

  “I know. I’m excited—and also scared to death.”

  “You’ll do so well, Alex. I think I’ve always known that you would take a different and more . . . unconventional path with your life.”

  Alexandra frowned. “Why would you think that?”

  Mary shrugged. “It’s simply who you are. You’re intelligent, level-headed. You have an inquisitive mind. And you’re brave, too, in a way I so admire. You always have been. Even when we were little girls, you were always the first one to climb the tree or jump the ditch. And the way you’ve helped your father in his practice all these years.”

  Alexandra looked at her, already missing this relationship and mourning how it would change with Mary’s upcoming nuptials.

  “So where will you live? Since your father won’t allow you to live at home.”

  “Teachers at Fisk live in the old army barracks.” Seeing the doubt in Mary’s expression, Alexandra nodded. “I know. The barracks are old and some even border on rotting, but it’ll be fine. And actually, there wasn’t a spot available there for me. But Mr. White—the man I interviewed with, the school’s music director and treasurer—informed me that another teacher is willing to share her room.”

  “Have you met her yet?”

  “No. Her name is Miss Ella Sheppard.”

  “Of the Samuel Winford Sheppards? From Memphis?”

  Alexandra shrugged. “I suppose I’ll find out soon enough. But there is a question I have for you. A favor, actually. I don’t have a place to stay there until next week, so—”

  “You don’t even have to ask.” Mary patted the bed. “You’re welcome to stay here. Only please don’t tell Father where you’re teaching while you’re here, or we’ll both be in a world of trouble. Though I’m sure he’ll find out soon enough. News like this seems to travel fast.”

  Alexandra nodded.

  “I still can’t believe you walked all the way from town!”

  “Well, that’s another part of the story. About what happened on my way out here.” Alexandra squeezed her eyes tight. “If we weren’t such dear friends, I don’t think I could tell you.”

  “Oh my goodness! Now you have to!”

  Alexandra took a breath. “It was so hot outside, and I was thirsty and tired, not having slept much last night. So I sat down to rest for a while. I fell asleep and then awakened to hear a rider coming. It was one of the men who’s bidding for your father’s—”

  A knock sounded on the door. “Mary?”

  Alexandra recognized General Harding’s voice.

  Mary rolled her eyes. “Don’t begin to think you don’t have to finish this story, because you do!” She crossed the room and opened the door.

  “Hello, Father.”

  “Mary, I came to make certain you’re—” General Harding looked beyond her to Alexandra. “Why, Miss Jamison, I didn’t realize you were here.” His eyes narrowed. “I hope you’re not unwell, my dear?”

  Alexandra smoothed the sides of her hair, as if that would make any difference. “Oh, no, sir. I simply became a little overheated on my way out here, so please forgive my appearance. I’m a bit . . . disheveled.”

  “Am I to understand that you walked all the way from town?”

  “Yes, she did,” Mary jumped in. “Quite the adventurer, our Miss Jamison. I’ve asked her to spend the weekend with us, Father. A spur of the moment plan. Mr. and Mrs. Jamison are . . . otherwise engaged this weekend, and Alexandra’s going to help me with wedding preparations.”

  “Well, how kind of you, Miss Jamison. I trust this means you’ll be joining us for the soirée this evening? Guests are arriving as we speak, and I would greatly appreciate another lovely young woman at the table to assist in lively conversation.”

  Alexandra hesitated. At that table was the last place she wanted to be tonight. “Well, sir, I’m not really—”

  “Of course she’s planning on joining us, Father. She’ll wear something of mine. We were about to get ready, in fact. Don’t worry. We’ll be down shortly.”

  Mary closed the door and hurried back to plop on the bed again. “You were saying? One of the men who’s bidding for Father’s railroad project rode up and . . . ?”

  Alexandra might have laughed, if not for what attending that dinner meant. She got a sick feeling in the pit of her stomach at the thought of having to face him again. “And then . . . Sylas Rutledge rode up.”

  Mary’s mouth slipped open. “The man whose stepfather—”

  Alexandra nodded. “Oh, Mary, it was so . . . frustrating. And then, embarrassing.”

  “What happened? He didn’t act unseemly, did he? Because if he did—”

  “No, it was nothing like that. It was . . .” She sighed. “As I said, I was hot and thirsty, and he offered to give me a ride. I said, ‘No, thank you.’”

  Mary looked at her as though she was daft.

  “I know. But seeing him again only made me think of David and the accident. Anyway, he offered me something to drink.”

  Mary held up a hand. “Is he on his horse at this point? Or off?”

  “Why does it matter?”

  “I want to have the right image in my head.”

  Alexandra gave her a look. “He was off. And don’t we need to get me cleaned up?”

  “Oh! Yes, we do. There’s a cloth and soap and water over there on the washstand. You freshen up, and I’ll get a dress out of the trunk room for you. But you must continue the story the minute I’m back!”

  Alexandra disrobed down to her chemise and began washing. First she scrubbed away every inch of dust and grime, then she took the pins from her hair and pulled a brush through the tangled mess.

  “I’m back!” Mary closed the door and held up a gown.

  Alexandra stilled. “Oh, Mary . . .”

  “It is pretty, isn’t it? I wore it not long ago to a gala in New York City.”

  “I can’t wear that. It’s far too nice.”

  “You will wear it. But not if you don’t finish the story first!”

  Alexandra continued, grateful that Mary had brought fresh underthings with her as well. “He offered me something to drink. From a flask.”

  “Would we expect anything less from such a man?”

&
nbsp; As Mary brushed out the dress, Alexandra quickly changed into the fresh underclothes.

  “At first I declined. Then I finally took a tiny taste. And it felt so good to my throat and tasted so sweet . . . I drank it all.”

  Mary’s eyes widened as she motioned for Alexandra to sit on the dressing bench before the mirror.

  “Wait! It wasn’t what you might think ‘such a man’ would carry in his flask.” Alexandra briefly closed her eyes so she wouldn’t have to see Mary’s smile in the mirror. “It was Mrs. Taylor’s Fancy Cordial.”

  Mary laughed. “Why, that’s nothing but sweet wine. And it isn’t even that strong.”

  “It is if you don’t have food on your stomach. And you’re not already overheated and exhausted.”

  Mary paused, brush in hand. “You’re not telling me that drinking that caused you to be . . . inebriated.”

  Alexandra grimaced. “Not so much that as . . . considerably lightheaded. Enough to fall asleep as we rode here together.”

  Mary’s laughter rang. “Only you, Alexandra Jamison. Only you.”

  Alexandra handed her the pins as Mary arranged her hair.

  “I feel so foolish, Mary. And I truly do not want to go down there and have to face him again.”

  “And if there were a way for you not to, I would happily encourage you to stay up here. But with Papa having—”

  “No, no. I can’t refuse your father. And you’re all so kind to let me stay here. Of course I’ll take part. But please, let’s go down as soon we’re ready so we can make sure I’m seated as far away from Sylas Rutledge as possible.”

  “Good evening, Miss Jamison. I see we’re seated next to one another at dinner.” Sy read the complete lack of enthusiasm in her expression. “I sneaked a look on an earlier tour of the house.”

  A pasted-on smile if ever he’d seen one turned her lips.

  “What . . . wonderful news, Mr. Rutledge.”

  He’d nearly choked on his sherry a minute earlier as she descended the staircase. Every eye in the room had turned, even those of the married men. After all, married or not, a man could still admire a beautiful rose.