by Mary Ellis
“What are you doing lounging around in your petticoats?” Lila flounced into the room delivering her ball gown, freshly ironed.
“Growing restless and ravenously hungry. I plan to load my plate with every delicacy we sampled down in the kitchen.” Emily fanned herself in the airless room.
Opening the French doors, Lila pulled the filmy muslin drapes for privacy. “Why didn’t you eat at the picnic?” She arched an eyebrow.
“After delivering drinks to Mrs. Bennington and her friend, I sat down in the grass and couldn’t get back up. I’d forgotten about the hoop and had to be hoisted to my feet by Mr. Hunt.” Her throat tightened with the memory of her humiliation.
“Pray tell me you’re teasing.” Lila stared with round, disbelieving eyes.
She shook her head. “I made a spectacle of myself and worse, I ran away from the picnic without a single morsel to eat.”
“That is so like you—worrying about your stomach instead of your dignity.” Lila rolled her eyes as though disappointed with a naughty child. “I’ll draw you a bath.”
“I was embarrassed, true enough, but I refuse to allow anyone’s opinion of me interfere with getting some good vittles.” Laughing, Emily felt the afternoon’s tension drain away. “I intend to dance at the ball tonight and have a delightful time.” She waltzed around the room with an invisible partner. “I will eat my fill of everything I want. After all, I don’t give a fig what these Southerners think of me.”
“Who are you trying to convince, me or you?” asked Lila, reentering the room. “And who are you dancing with? Have you gone addlebrained from the heat?”
“I am dancing with myself. And don’t fear for my sanity. I feel it returning as we speak.” She whirled around Lila several times.
Lila furled a suspicious brow. “What are you up to?”
“Nothing, but I’m starving. What do I wear to partake of supper on the terrace? Do I stay in a day dress or put on my gown? Goodness, because the sun is starting to set, perhaps I must start in the day dress and then run back upstairs and change the moment the sun slips below the horizon. These aristocrats certainly have complicated rules dictating the sun’s progression.”
Lila peered around the room. “Have you been quaffing spirits? Let me smell your breath.” She grabbed Emily’s wrists, leaned close, and inhaled deeply.
Emily sniffed. “Lila, I am sober as a Quaker preacher, who would never approve of that gown.” She placed her hands defiantly on her hips.
“But you must wear the ball gown to supper. Don’t worry about the location of the sun when you make your entrance. Just try not to fall into the punch bowl because I’ll be too busy to pull you out and dry you off.” She turned her back to Emily to shake out the pleats in the gown.
Emily grabbed her around the ribcage and squeezed. “What will you be busy with? Tell me, tell me.” She shook Lila like a rag doll when the girl remained mute.
Finally Lila faced her. “Seeing that today is William’s day off, and I’m finished after helping with supper, we’re going to take a wagon ride and have a picnic down by the river, just him and me.”
“Just he and I will picnic,” Emily corrected, enjoying every minute of this. “Does your mother know?”
“No, but Papa does because William asked his permission.” Lila’s face glowed in the lamplight, radiating joy.
Emily hugged her again. “This sounds serious. Don’t you run off and get yourself hitched before I get back from the ball.”
Lila giggled like a schoolgirl but then sobered. “Quick, jump into that tub I poured for you. I want to help you into this gown, hurry down to the kitchen, and then get out to William before he changes his mind.” Both girls broke into fits of laughter.
Emily was very pleased for her friend. At least one of them had a bright future.
As pretty as the dress was for the picnic, the ball gown took her breath away. It was pale peach brocade embossed with tiny cream-colored rosebuds. A dropped waist formed a V-shape in front with a bustle in back with layers of silk. The tightly fitted bodice made the dreaded corset a necessity. The skirt flowed out from a hundred tiny pleats at the waist with a small, discreet hoop. A beautiful cluster of fabric roses accented the neckline, and the lace sleeves, lined with peach silk, ended in points at her wrists.
She felt like a princess when Lila laced her into the gown. Though it must have cost a fortune, she hadn’t considered refusing the gift for even a moment. Pride was one of the deadliest of sins. Emily shook her head to forget her preacher’s warning. Just for tonight, I want to feel beautiful. Inside the dress box were matching copper-colored slippers and grosgrain ribbons to weave through her hair. Lila pinned some of Emily’s thick hair into a cluster of curls atop her head and then let the remainder cascade freely down her back. This was not the fashion, not the accepted style, but Emily liked the effect when she stared into the pier glass. She dabbed a touch of russet rouge to her lips and cheeks and almost didn’t recognize her reflection.
The skinny, scab-kneed girl with tangled hair and sweaty forehead was gone.
The person gazing back was a woman and at least for one night…a lady.
THIRTEEN
Alexander! Alexander, over here.”
Alexander looked around a sea of tables set across the lawn for the hailing voice. He spotted Quincy Daniels and smiled. Quincy, a longtime friend of his father’s, was an owner and trainer of racehorses and an excellent customer of Hunt Farm yearlings. But when Alexander saw Quincy’s daughter, Samantha, seated with him, his smile faded. Holding his supper plate aloft, he navigated through the crowd, most of whom greeted the son of their host graciously.
“Good evening, Quincy. Samantha.” He bowed to the gentleman and accepted the outstretched hand of Miss Daniels, brushing a kiss on the back of her glove.
“Good evening. Sit with us, my boy. What a lovely spread your parents set out for supper. I can’t wait to see what they will serve for the midnight feast,” effused Quincy. His girth indicated the robust man enjoyed his meals very much.
“Father, please don’t go on so. Mr. Hunt will think we’ve come all this way just for the food.” Samantha’s low voice drawled with cloying sweetness. She smiled, displaying large teeth that brought to mind a surly brood mare he’d once owned. Alexander also noted that Miss Daniels probably loaded her plate bountifully in the privacy of her home, judging by the fit of her dress. Though she was an attractive woman, he always felt uncomfortable in her presence, much like a rabbit under the keen gaze of a hawk.
“Not at all, Miss Daniels. It gives my family great pleasure when our guests enjoy the repast.” Smiling at Quincy, Alexander dug into his own plate of cold sliced ham, pickled eggs, and crisp julienned vegetables.
Samantha lifted a dainty forkful to her mouth. “Mmm, I believe this is the most delicious ham I’ve ever tasted. Do you think Beatrice would share the glaze recipe with our Maggie?” She fluttered long dark eyelashes.
“Of course,” he replied, amazed she remembered the name of their cook. He had to be careful with this one. It was no secret that Quincy Daniels, a widower, sought a husband for his daughter. Alexander ate several more forkfuls of supper as he glanced over their heads at the new arrivals. He searched the crowd for Emily, something he had been doing ever since she vanished that afternoon.
“Don’t worry, my dear. Mr. Hunt knows the real reason I’m here.” Quincy pulled three glasses of champagne from a waiter’s tray for them. “I would like to buy any worthy horse stock that’s for sale before the Yankees confiscate every last one in the Shenandoah Valley.” Daniels raised his glass in salute before downing half the contents. “I hear they’ve retaken Winchester.” His voice rose in anger.
Alexander set his glass out of reach. “True enough. I have it on good information that a Union brigade has camped not twenty miles from here.” He pushed aside his plate as well, his appetite vanishing.
Samantha raised her glass. “Gentlemen, let’s not speak of military en
campments. We’re here to celebrate a good harvest.” She moved to clink glasses with Alexander and then frowned. “Is something wrong with your champagne?”
“I’ve lost my taste for the stuff.” He rose to his feet. “But you are absolutely right. We shouldn’t bore you with matters such as horseflesh or the war. Quincy, why don’t we take a walk to the barn? I have several horses to show you.” Remembering his manners, he bowed in her direction. “I hope you’ll honor me with a dance tonight, Miss Daniels.”
“It would be unkind to deny my host, sir.”
Alexander and Quincy never reached the stables. They were stopped by an endless number of guests, all eager to share a story or offer a toast to the two wealthy men. Most others hadn’t fared so well. Their faded silks and frayed cuffs told tales of vanishing fortunes and lost social position. None could have afforded a ball even half as lavish. In fact, many were close to foreclosure on their vast land holdings. Crops ravaged by the war, the loss of manpower due to runaway slaves, and the steady devaluation of Confederate currency had created hardship in most households. Perhaps seeing Quincy Daniels and the Hunts renewed their hope for the future after the Yankees gave up and went home. That night, the revelers consumed much food and imbibed whatever limited spirits were available to mask their unease. Everyone present was keenly aware General Grant’s huge Army of the Potomac waited just a dozen miles to the west.
“Begging your pardon, sir.” A servant interrupted a couple’s lament over missing cattle. “Your parents request your presence in the receiving line.”
“If you’ll excuse me.” Alexander bowed to the pair and stepped away. Conversation with them had begun to irritate him. And he had not seen Emily since this afternoon. Why she so vexed him, he couldn’t say. She would never fit into his world, yet lately it seemed he didn’t fit into his world anymore either. Only with his rangers did he feel he belonged. With his men he found purpose—a cause greater than himself.
Alexander remained in the interminable receiving line until the last guest filed past. Then he threw himself into a whirlwind of hospitality, dancing with belles and matrons alike, each one more pleasant and amenable than the last.
“One doesn’t have to wallow in the barnyard.”
One dark-haired beauty brushed against him several times during their waltz while constantly wetting her upper lip as they danced. When he returned the young lady to her parents’ table, her fingers lingered far too long on his arm, her eyes speaking of things they should not.
“A person usually gets the general idea from a whiff and a glance.”
No matter which woman he danced with, he couldn’t stop Emily’s words from troubling his thoughts. Something was wrong with him, and he didn’t know what it was until he danced with Samantha Daniels.
“You are quite the subject of conversation this evening behind the ladies’ fans, Alexander,” Samantha drawled close to his ear.
“Is that so, Miss Daniels? Why would that be? Did I step in something out near the barn?” He smelled her heavy, cloying perfume and yearned for a breath of fresh air.
She looked shocked but recovered quickly. “No, I don’t believe so. It was the kiss you bestowed on that tutor, or whoever the woman is, that has the ladies in a dither,” she whispered conspiratorially.
“Truly? It wasn’t much of a kiss that it should generate such interest.”
“I didn’t think so either,” she eagerly agreed. “I told the ladies you simply felt sorry for the girl.” Samantha flashed a honey-sweet smile as they whirled around the room.
“Why would I feel sorry for Miss Harrison?” Finally, she had his full attention.
“Because she made such an unfortunate spectacle of herself, of course. I told them you were such a gentleman you would never allow someone to embarrass themselves so thoroughly without trying to relieve their distress.” She looked pleased with her magnanimity. “Even if the person was just a domestic.”
Without knowing how to react to that in a manner that wouldn’t cause his parents to faint or Quincy Daniels to demand a duel, Alexander threw his head back and laughed. “I assure you, Miss Daniels, I never kiss out of pity.” He remembered Emily in a heap of petticoats on the lawn, and there was nothing piteous about the image. She looked more appealing in disarray than any pampered belle here. “Excuse me,” he murmured the moment the waltz ended. “I see someone I must greet.”
He bowed and headed downstairs to his father’s study. Inside a dozen men milled about, smoking cigars and sipping something stronger than champagne. Alexander had yet to see the domestic in question, though he kept his eye on the staircase to the upstairs rooms. Emily is probably on her way to the Federal camp for a late night foray.
“Drink, sir?” A waiter offered a tray of cognacs.
“No, thank you. Kindly bring me a glass of lemonade.” This was yet another effect the Yankee had on him. He’d lost his taste for spirits with a Quaker back in his life.
The Yankee in question had problems of her own. By the time she struggled into the corset, gown, and necessary accessories, most of the guests had left the supper tables and made their way indoors toward the ballroom. However, her growling stomach demanded that she not miss another meal. She fixed herself a plate from the buffet and found a solitary table under the emerging stars and fiery light of Venus. A pleasant waiter brought her a glass of spring water when she declined the champagne. While she ate and drank in solitude, a hundred people competed to be seen or heard only yards away. Emily ate every bite of the delicious ham and crisp garden vegetables. Tonight’s fare was far more pleasing to her palate than the Hunts’ usual heavy dishes. Beyond the terrace, night sounds from the fields and river began their crescendo to compete with the orchestra’s first chords inside the grand house.
Drink no champagne tonight. You know what happened the last time you indulged. Emily tried to banish thoughts of that night, but the memory of Alexander’s kisses crept insidiously back. “You didn’t get all dressed up to sit here pining over a man,” she muttered to herself. Then she rose to her feet and marched toward the house, her emotions waging a war of contradictions. She was excited but wary. She didn’t belong with the revelers, but a part of her wanted to belong. Most of all, Emily yearned to see Alexander.
The massive front door stood ajar, allowing music to waft into the night while people thronged in. She paused on the threshold, transfixed by the crowd. They milled in and out of every room on the main floor and lined the entire grand staircase. Where did all these people come from? The jewels and gowns were magnificent, though few dresses looked new like hers. Some styles may have been dated, but each gown highlighted the particular charms of the wearer. Glamour and opulence radiated from floor to ceiling.
“We meet again, Miss Harrison.” Snapping from her perusal of fashion, Emily found herself face-to-face with Nathan Smith.
“Mr. Smith, what a pleasure to see you again.” Smiling politely at Alexander’s friend, she tried to step past him toward the staircase.
“The pleasure is mine.” He blocked her path. “Please allow me to escort you to the ballroom. I believe you promised me a dance during our last encounter.” His eyes flickered down her gown, pausing rudely at her expanse of décolletage.
She felt like a horse having its teeth examined by a potential buyer. With no quick retort for such audacious behavior, she found it difficult to look him in the eye. “I have not forgotten, sir.” Emily stared at a flower in the wallpaper behind him.
“Perhaps you’ll honor me with the first dance.” He proffered his elbow.
“As you wish.” She flushed, grasped his arm, and climbed two flights of steps to the third-floor ballroom. They paused in the doorway to catch their breath. Hundreds of tapers in chandeliers, wall sconces, and windowsill candelabras cast light and shadow across the highly polished mahogany floor. Small tables with dainty chairs lined the walls, where guests could rest between dances and sip punch or champagne. Fastidious waiters refilled glasses, while smal
l children waved peacock feather fans to relieve the room’s unseasonable warmth. Unfortunately, with the receiving line long finished, the Hunts were nowhere in sight. As Emily and Nathan entered the huge ballroom, already crowded with dancers, the orchestra began to play.
“A reel. My favorite,” said Emily. “Let’s dance this one, Mr. Smith.” A reel would allow her to study him from a comfortable distance. Although not unattractive, he possessed a dissipated appearance, like a gambler who had staked his fortune on a crooked game of cards.
“I hope your errand for Dr. Bennington went smoothly,” he said when the reel brought them together. “I didn’t like leaving you in unfamiliar territory, especially as you were unfamiliar with the roads in that area.” He clasped her hand tighter than necessary.
She lifted her chin. “You needn’t have worried, sir. We found our way and arrived back to Martinsburg by nightfall.”
“You don’t say. Then I must stop racing Thoroughbreds, Miss Harrison, and start putting my money on Percheron draft horses.”
His false laughter chilled her blood. He apparently hadn’t believed her story that evening, yet for some reason he wasn’t calling her out. Why he took such interest in her, Emily couldn’t fathom. Then she remembered their meeting on the Berryville road. She was certain Nathan Smith had been wearing a Confederate officer’s uniform, yet this evening he wore formal attire. The invalid Rebel soldiers attending the ball all proudly wore uniforms. Emily assumed Smith, like other aristocrats, had paid a replacement to serve in his place. Perhaps she wasn’t the only one lying tonight. This man might prove to be dangerous after all.
“Thank you, sir,” she murmured when the reel ended. She bobbed her head and pulled free from his grasp. Whatever his parting comments were, she didn’t hear as noisy couples separated and found new partners. Halfway across the dance floor, Emily glanced back at him. He remained motionless where she’d left him, glaring at her with evil intent.
