by Mary Ellis
“Comes to his senses?” Emily grabbed her empty glass and stuck her tongue out at Lila on her way to the door.
“Very ladylike. Be sure to do that tonight.” Lila winked impishly.
Busily plotting revenge on her friend, Emily didn’t consider what awaited her on the terrace. But once she stepped outside, she realized Lila had purposefully distracted her. Otherwise she might have bolted like a doe caught in crosshairs all the way back to the banks of the Ohio River.
Bathed in moonlight, the terrace looked like something from a childhood dream. The china, silver, and crystal goblets sparkled like diamonds on a small wrought-iron table. A vase of white lilies of the valley sat on the table, while a bottle of champagne and a single flute waited on the flagstones. These things caught Emily’s attention one by one. Like a child unable to take in the full splendor of a Christmas tree, she focused on one thing at a time. She took a step onto the terrace and sensed someone’s gaze on her. Turning, Emily spotted Alexander lounging against the balustrade with his legs crossed at the ankles. Her breath caught in her throat, and a tight knot formed in her stomach.
“I’m pleased you chose to join me tonight, Miss Harrison.” Relaxed and at ease, he folded his arms over his chest and smiled.
“A person does need to eat, and my usual dinner companions are still in Paris.” Emily crossed the flagstones as though walking on hot coals. “I do hope the girls return soon.” She set her glass down on the table, glad she remembered to return the empty flute.
“Have you come for a refill?” He closed the distance in a few long strides.
“Yes, I have. I don’t think a single glass will hurt, although my Quaker pastor might not agree.” She forced herself to look at him.
“I’ll write to Paris tomorrow and request a case be put aboard the next ship bound for Virginia.” He filled both glasses with the bubbly liquid. “Besides, the Bible states that only drunkenness is an abomination to the Lord.”
“I didn’t take you for a man well versed in Scripture.” Accepting the glass, Emily trembled as their fingertips brushed.
“Then you assumed incorrectly. I studied theology at the University of Virginia, besides rhetoric and philosophy. However, that seems a lifetime ago when I was younger and a more…idealistic man. The last few years would have undermined the most resolute of faiths.”
Emily decided not to ask how war would affect someone not actively serving. “What about the Federal blockade of the coastline? Won’t they intercept any shipments from abroad?” Immediately she regretted the question. If their courtship was to mask her clandestine activities, maybe she shouldn’t speak of war at all. And if she was truthful, she yearned to enjoy one night without dwelling on present circumstances.
“Some of my best friends own nimble blockade runners. If this vintage is to your taste, your wish is my command.” He held up his glass in salute and then drank half the contents.
“Don’t waste your money. I wouldn’t notice the difference.” She sipped daintily, studying him over the bubbles. His knotted cravat hung loosely over a white linen shirt, open at the neck. He wore no frock coat, only an unbuttoned waistcoat. Taut chest muscles pulled at the fabric of his shirt when he leaned one palm on the table. Unnerved by his close proximity, Emily took a long drink and fought back a sneeze from the effervescence.
“You look beautiful, Emily.” Alexander’s eyes never left hers. “That gown is stunning. Or perhaps the dress is a worthless scrap of cloth but found redemption worn by you.” He finished the rest of his glass.
She sipped before replying. “Your former assessment is correct, Mr. Hunt. The dress is a gift from your mother. Does she usually do things like that?”
“Do things like what?” Without warning, he brushed back a lock of hair from her cheek.
Emily pulled back from the intimate gesture yet didn’t object. “Lavish expensive gifts on one of her sister’s employees?” Again she lifted the glass of liquid gold to her lips.
“I suspect it was your relationship with me that occasioned the gift.”
She blinked several times, even though the sun had long since set. “Is that so? I wasn’t aware we had a relationship, Mr. Hunt.”
“Perhaps it was just my mother’s wishful thinking…and mine.” Reaching for her face again, he caressed her cheek with his fingertips.
Emily jumped like a startled rabbit. “Why do you behave so boldly, sir? I thought I’d been invited to dinner, not to my seduction. I am famished, to be sure.” Her voice remained even, feigning calmness she didn’t feel. Part of her wanted to put this presumptuous rooster in his place even as another part wished that his caresses would never stop.
“I beg your pardon.” Alexander grinned lazily, refilling both flutes. “I’m sure you are hungry. It was a long trip to Front Royal and then home. My uncle is indebted to you.” Pulling out her chair, he motioned to unseen servants.
Emily seated herself in the voluminous skirt, petticoats, and cumbersome hoop. Her mouth dropped open as food began to arrive. Joshua materialized on her right with a platter of roast beef, biscuits with honey, slivered beans, baked apples, and corn in sweet cream. Emily filled her plate and immediately regretted taking so much. Virginia society ladies didn’t load their plates like Ohio farmwives.
Alexander didn’t seem to notice, for he heaped his plate even higher. They ate in companionable silence for a few minutes, soothed by the familiar sound of peepers and crickets in the fields beyond the verandah. Restored by the food and mellowed by the champagne, Emily relaxed for the first time in his presence. Her glass had been refilled once, so she dared not drain it again. She pushed it beyond reach so as not to be tempted by the delicious bubbles. Alexander told amusing, homespun tales of growing up on a vast plantation. She laughed easily. Some childhood tribulations remained the same regardless of your class or circumstances. Because courting him was an integral part of her ruse, she didn’t flinch when he dabbed honey from her lips with his finger.
But when he stuck his finger in his mouth and licked off the stickiness, her sense of propriety returned. Flushing, she lifted her napkin to remove the rest.
“Allow me.” He spoke softly and then leaned across the table to kiss her. But as fate would have it, he couldn’t quite reach. Their lips hovered inches apart.
The gesture so hypnotized her, Emily did what any red-blooded woman would do. She bent forward and closed her eyes. Her minimal effort proved sufficient. His lips covered hers, and then she felt his tongue trace the outline of her mouth for any remaining honey. Emily’s heartbeat amplified to a roar in her ears. Only her palms flattened against the table kept her from falling off the chair. She breathed in his scent and savored the kiss like a delicacy long denied.
Take hold of yourself, she thought after a moment. Drawing back, she straightened her back and glanced around as though waking from a dream.
“How about a walk, Miss Harrison?” he asked in a slow Southern drawl. “That is, if you’re finished with dinner.”
“Yes, let’s walk. I couldn’t eat another bite if my life depended on it. I hope you don’t think me uncouth, but I’ve never tasted food this delicious.”
“I would never think such a thing. Women should have healthy appetites. But I distracted you before you put a dent in your meal.”
“My corset stays will thank me for walking away.” She bit her tongue, certain that “corset stays” were on Lila’s list of inappropriate conversation topics.
The moon, just above the tree line, illuminated steps down to a pebble path. He guided her into a garden cloaked in shadows, both mysterious and strangely welcoming. Once away from the house, Emily felt anticipation race through her blood like a tonic. Why shouldn’t I kiss him? Matthew is dead and so are my parents. Whom am I saving myself for? No one is left to be disappointed in me.
“What do you think of our wisteria?” Alexander ducked under a bower formed by thick, woody vines. “My great-grandfather planted it soon after building the house wi
th cuttings he carried from his ancestral home in Hampshire.” Clusters of purple flowers formed a canopy above their heads, their fragrance almost intoxicating.
Emily tilted her head back and inhaled deeply. “I’ve never seen anything so lovely.”
“Nor have I.” Not waiting for permission, he brushed her lips with the softest of kisses.
She arched up on her tiptoes and returned the kiss, feeling heat radiate from his chest. Any other day she would have been mortified by her behavior, but not today. These weren’t like the schoolyard kisses she had shared with Matthew. While her insides roiled with trepidation, an electric jolt ran from her belly to her knees. Then he wrapped his arms around her and drew her head to his shoulder. She allowed herself to be enfolded as she whispered his name into the fabric of his shirt.
“Alexander.”
NINE
Alexander came to his senses first and drew back. “Forgive me, Miss Harrison. I meant no disrespect. And I don’t wish to take advantage of your situation, especially because we’re in the midst of a war.” He held her at arm’s length.
“No disrespect taken, but I thought you were calling me ‘Emily.’ ”
He lifted her chin with one finger. “You wish me to use your given name?”
“Yes, at least when we’re alone…like now.”
“Are you certain about this?” He wanted no misunderstanding.
“Yes, I’m quite certain we’re alone.” She whispered, smiling up at him.
“No,” he said, flustered. “Are you saying you welcome my advances?”
She looked around with amusement. “There’s no one here but you, Alexander. You must have been the one kissing me.”
“Confound it, Emily. Take this seriously. I’m no farm boy playing games.”
“I seemed to have changed my opinion of you. It is a woman’s prerogative.” She stretched up and kissed him fully on the mouth. “Maybe I’m falling in love with you.”
“In love with me? Most days you act as though you don’t even like me. This must be the champagne talking, not our prim Miss Harrison. Tomorrow you will feel differently and regret everything you have said and done tonight.”
“I assure you I won’t, but we should go in before we’re seen.”
His smile warmed her heart. “No one is home to see us. My mother and Aunt Augusta went to a neighbor’s, and my father and Uncle Porter haven’t returned from Front Royal.”
“We are alone?” She sounded childlike, not like the kissable woman of the past few minutes.
“Have no fear, Emily.” He tucked a curl behind her ear.
“I’m not afraid. But if no one is home, I would love to see the rest of the house, not just the public rooms on the first floor.” She clasped her hands behind her back. “I’m curious as to what you keep behind closed doors.”
He laughed, infected by her enthusiasm. “We’ll take the back stairs to the gallery. With any luck the servants won’t see us sneaking through the French doors.”
“And tell Mrs. Bennington,” she whispered, already skipping across dew-dampened ground. She grinned at him over her shoulder. “I don’t think I could face her over breakfast if she knew I had been upstairs alone with you.”
Alexander hurried to catch up with her on the path, and then they ran up the steps to the second floor without pausing. He peeked down the hall in both directions. “So far no one has seen us. There will be no wagging tongues tomorrow.” He threw open the door to every guest room so she could peer inside. When he opened the carved, double doors of the last suite, Emily pranced inside like a yearling on the first warm day of spring.
“My goodness!” She exclaimed, pivoting in the center of the room. “I’ve never seen a grander room or one more spacious.” She studied the room’s appointments in awe before moving to the balcony. “There’s even a chaise for sleeping outdoors on warm nights with a breakfast table overlooking half the Shenandoah Valley.”
“Come now, Emily.” Alexander joined her in the doorway. “Surely you’ve seen boudoirs more luxurious than this.”
“I assure you I have not. And that is the most amazing piece of furniture I’ve ever seen.” She pointed at the canopied bed, high off the floor and surrounded by thin muslin to allow breezes in and keep flying insects out. The bed created an enclosed nook with plump pillows, an embroidered coverlet, and a soft goose down tick. “How does one get on this thing?” Without waiting for an answer, she took a running leap and threw herself onto the bed.
“My father purchased the antique abroad, in Italy I believe.” Enjoying her naive exuberance, Alexander remained in the center of the room.
“A person would sleep well here. It’s nothing like the narrow, lumpy cot I had in Ohio.” She stretched out languidly like a cat, her arms above her head.
“Indeed, but there is a conventional way of getting on and off.” He slid a three-step platform from under the bed skirt.
Sitting up, she leaned over the edge almost far enough to fall. “Is that so?” She ignored the steps and slid off the bed with a thump.
Alexander followed her around the room as she continued her perusal, offering a story to go with everything she touched. It felt as though he viewed the bookcase, upholstered easy chair, mahogany writing desk, and washstand for the first time too.
“Havilland china.” Emily tapped the pitcher with her finger. “I recognized the pattern from Miss Turner’s Godey’s Lady’s Books. Thank goodness I’m not a total boor.”
“Knowledge of such matters is highly overrated, especially in wartime.”
“There isn’t one but two armoires, along with two highboys.” She walked to the fireplace and ran a hand over the mahogany mantle. “And someone has laid a fire for the next cool evening. This room must be reserved for a very special guest—a person who travels with an enormous amount of clothing.”
“The room isn’t for guests, Emily. It’s mine.” He waited for her reaction.
She pivoted on the Oriental hearth rug, her face turning the color of a ripe tomato. “Goodness, Alexander! Why didn’t you tell me sooner? I never would have invaded your privacy in such a fashion.” Emily stood stock-still, as though paralyzed.
“You’ve invaded nothing. I’m pleased to show you my home. I’ve taken God’s generosity for granted until viewing it through your eyes.” He bowed from the waist. “I require no privacy—inspect all you like.” Within a moment of uttering the words, he realized the folly of his statement.
Emily marched to one of the highboys and opened the carved doors, smiling mischievously. “My father only owned one suit, one hat, two pairs of work trousers, and half a dozen shirts. Let’s see how many you have.” Her eyes grew round at the number of coats, jackets, and waistcoats, with a stack of neatly pressed trousers on one side and piles of starched shirts on the other. There were winter woolens, summer cottons, starched linens, uncountable cravats, and at least a dozen pairs of braces hanging from pegs. “My, your wardrobe is vaster than the sum total my parents and I owned in our lifetimes.” She stepped back, staring. “How in the world do you pick what to wear each day?” Emily ran her hand down a full-length robe. “Is this exquisite material Chinese silk? I’ve read about the fabric.”
“My valet helps me make selections, and yes, that cloth was imported from the Orient.”
She pressed the smooth silk to her cheek. “I would remain in this robe all day and refuse to get dressed.”
“Emily, why don’t we view the artwork in the morning room? There are some—”
“Please let me continue. I’m fascinated by your wardrobe.” In the other armoire were more practical garments. Cotton shirts, cowhide breeches, tall leather boots, and a collection of straw hats perched on the top shelf. “Ah, clothes useful to a gentleman farmer.” She was about to close the doors when one garment caught her eye—a long coat of butternut wool with distinctive gold braided epaulets adorning the shoulders.
“Are you sure you wouldn’t care for some tea? That roast beef has le
ft me thirsty.” He crossed the room in three long strides, trying to draw her away in a gentle but deliberate manner.
She wouldn’t budge. “This is a Confederate officer’s uniform.” She pulled out the garment for a better look.
Alexander walked back to the armoire as a sour taste rose up his throat. “It was a gift from an old friend—an impetus to induce me to join the Glorious Cause. I’m afraid it didn’t work.”
“I read somewhere that Richmond is short on uniforms for soldiers. Perhaps the gentleman would like to have it back.” She spoke in a soft voice.
“The former owner…is dead, Emily.” Alexander shut the wardrobe and took hold of her hand. “Let’s not talk of him or fabrics or clothes.”
“Forgive me, Mr. Hunt.” Suddenly she shook her head as though waking from a nap. “I have overstepped the boundaries as a governess, along with your hospitality. I will return to my room now.” She curtsied with the innocence of a child. “Thank you for supper.”
“You have no boundaries, but why don’t we adjourn to—”
But she had already left the room and vanished down the steps. All thoughts of kisses in the garden were apparently forgotten.
Alexander shut his bedroom door as memories of Emily creeping from a barn in the dead of night returned. With the Federal Army camped not twenty miles away, had she been sneaking out to meet a Yankee lover? Shrouded in her cloak, alone but apparently unafraid, she hadn’t seemed shy or helpless that night. He should have asked her to explain herself when he had the chance instead of falling prey to her sweetness and beauty.
What a cool, clever actress you are, Miss Harrison, but two can play your little game of intrigue.
His lips thinned to a narrow line as his jaw clenched. After pacing the length of the gallery for an hour, he still couldn’t figure her out. Long ago he would have prayed for guidance, sending his troubles heavenward. But he’d since given up expecting help from God. With this conundrum as with all others, he was alone.
