“Katherine, I don’t want any other girl.”
“William, please.” She looked away from him, agonized. She couldn’t bear to tell him that she had never truly loved him, that she loved someone else, that she was tied to a memory. The pain and shock in his eyes would be too much for her.
“Are you saying that the physical side of marriage repels you, that you could not—”
“Yes, William, I couldn’t sleep with you—or anyone else.” Except one man, a man who’s dead now. “That’s part of it.”
“Katherine, I could be patient. In time, you would change the way you feel; I’m sure.” He stared at the carpet, unable to meet her eyes.
She felt a twinge of exasperation. Why must he be so embarrassed and roundabout? “No, William,” she said firmly, “it simply would not work.” She pulled his ring off her finger and held it out to him.
He stared at it for a moment, then finally took it. Stiffly, he rose and took his leave. Katherine stifled a little sob. Why, oh why, did everything have to be so unfair?
Grimly, Katherine plodded through the days, wrapped in her grief, barely noticing the world around her. The summer wore to a close. Dimly she was aware that far to the south, the Confederacy was crumbling under the two-pronged attack of Grant and Sherman; Lee’s army was on its last legs. Why did they hang on so stubbornly in the face of imminent defeat? Why not just give in and be done with it? She smiled wryly. For the same reason, she guessed, that she clung to life even though all hope and joy was gone—stubbornness, pride, desperation—God knew what it was.
At night, alone in her bed, she remembered Matthew’s lovemaking, his hard hands gentle against her skin, his deep kisses and tingling caresses, and she ached with emptiness and unfulfilled desire. She had never guessed that she would miss him physically, that her loins would burn for him and her flesh tremble at the thought of his touch, that she would feel she could die from wanting him. Why, oh, why, had she so stubbornly refused to give in? Why had she held back when her body had wanted to let go, to return his love? Bitterly she regretted it now: her life stretched before her so full of waste and emptiness—if only she had snatched at that chance of happiness, however brief it might have been.
Now she realized, too late, that he had not been entirely the selfish monster she had thought. He had tried to bring her enjoyment, had concerned himself with her pleasure. She knew now, after her experience at Pearl’s, that he need not have, that he could have gotten his own quick satisfaction from her without any effort to arouse her. Pearl’s had taught her what true cruelty and debasement were; what he had done to her was not that. Many times he had offered her so much more than just being the passive object of his lust. He had wanted to converse with her, to take her to the heights of passion with him, to have her company, to give her things. And she had coldly, stubbornly refused. She had been the one who kept them apart and separate, who insisted that they remain in their respective roles of conqueror and victim. If she had not been so pig-headed, she could have reveled in the sensual joy he gave her—the sensual joy they could have shared. She could have told him whatever she wanted; he would not have been shocked by anything she said. He had enjoyed her wit, laughed at her quips; she could have entertained him with her quick mind, instead of always having to curb her tongue. Had she asked, no doubt he would have taught her how to navigate a ship—or anything she wanted to know.
Now, bitterly and too late, she saw her own folly. She had loved Matthew, but had thrown away happiness with both hands. Now he was dead, and her life was an aching void.
It was one evening when she was in this black mood that her father called her into his study. There was a peculiar twinkle in his eye and an air of suppressed excitement about him.
“Katherine, how would you like to go to New York to visit your cousin?”
“Who?” Katherine asked in astonishment.
“Angela Van der Vries. You remember, you went to her wedding about seven or eight years ago.”
“Oh, yes, I remember; a, pretty blond girl, wasn’t she?”
“That is the one. She has written inviting you to spend a few months with her.”
“But she is only a distant relative, Father; our grandparents were cousins or something.” She regarded him suspiciously. “Why on earth does she want me to come stay with her?”
Josiah shrugged. “I don’t know, really.” He didn’t add that he suspected it was because he had sent her a telegram angling for an invitation for Katherine. “Probably she’s lonely, with her husband away at the War. Anyway, wouldn’t you like to go? Get away from Boston for a while. Why, you could go shopping.”
Katherine had the feeling that her father had had a great deal to do with the invitation. But what did that matter? Nothing mattered anymore. Her father wanted her to go to New York, and her life would be this same dead gray wherever she went. Nothing could ease the pain and bitter regret that were her constant guests. So if her father wanted her to go, she might as well. At least she would be away from her aunts.
“All right, I will go,” she said indifferently.
Josiah felt like lifting his hands with glee. His scheme was working. He did not know what foolish notion had made his daughter reject Lieutenant Perkins, but he felt sure that the young man still loved her. Let her get down there in New York, with him around all the time, and surely Perkins would be able to woo her back and lift her from this dreadful gloom.
Katherine, with Pegeen beside her, stepped nervously off the train. “How shall I ever recognize her, Peg? I can’t remember at all what she looks like.”
“Miss Devereaux?” A tall man dressed in livery approached.
“Yes?”
“I’m Adam Clough, the Van der Vries’s coachman. Madame is waiting for you in the carriage. Is this your luggage?”
“Yes, please,” Katherine replied, and he picked up one of her trunks and led them to the elegant carriage outside.
“Cousin!” a tinkling voice cried as Katherine stepped inside the carriage and was enveloped in taffeta and lace and crinoline.
“Cousin Angela, how nice,” she managed to murmur and settled back into her seat, where she was able to get her first real look at her cousin.
Angela was a little doll of a woman, pretty, blond, and fragile. In her late twenties, there was still a girlish winsomeness to her, though her elegant coiffure and carefully applied makeup added a certain stiffness to her looks. She was dressed in the height of fashion, her skirts wide and her waist tiny, and a charming little bonnet adorned her curls, the flared straw brim framing her face. Her manner was effusive, and she leaned over to grasp Katherine’s hand several times as she poured forth her “sheer delight” at her cousin’s coming to see her, just in time for “the Season.”
Angela really was quite happy to see her, though her nose for scandal had twitched a little when she received Josiah Devereaux’s telegram. She remembered her cousin as a rather gawky, ill-at-ease, unattractive girl, and her first sight of Katherine in her plain brown traveling dress confirmed that. But she welcomed the idea of having a visitor. Besides, how well her cousin’s height and strange looks would offset her own delicate beauty.
Angela Van der Vries kept up a constant chatter as they drove through the streets of New York, pointing out places of interest and people she knew. Katherine found her conversation difficult to follow and soon gave up trying. New York was noisy and active and somehow even looked freer and looser than Boston. It would be better here, she told herself firmly, and smiled hesitantly at her cousin.
Angela’s home was a gracious red brick house bordering the Battery, and the inside was rich, though rather ornate for Katherine’s taste. Katherine was eager to go to her room for a little rest, as Angela suggested, simply to get away from her hostess’s nonstop prattle. Her room was very pleasant and comfortable, with a large window that looked down upon the side yard. A large oak shaded her room, so that it was cool even in the summer. Very nice, Katherine told herself. I will l
ike it here, I think—but then why do I feel like crying?
Angela gaily attended rounds of parties, dances, and teas, and went to the theater, the ballet, and the opera, always escorted by a gaggle of officers stationed in New York. Katherine thought, with a spurt of amusement, that her father had certainly missed the mark when he surmised that Angela was lonely for her husband off at the front. Katherine never accompanied her, even on her daily round of calls. Grimly she endured the afternoon visitors to Angela’s house, but she could not bring herself to go out among people. She could not bear the laughter and light chatter, the gaiety, the entertainment. Everything seemed gray and flat to her; she could do nothing more than stare into space or busy her hands with mindless knitting and needlework. Her bright new clothes were never worn; now their very beauty offended her. Only her drab old grays and browns and blues seemed to fit her world.
Cousin Angela found Katherine even more of a mouse than she had remembered. She never said or did anything, just huddled over her sewing, prim and dreary. Angela did wish she would be more cooperative about going out; it would appear more respectable to have Katherine along as a chaperone. Some of those obnoxious old matrons were beginning to whisper that Angela was a little fast. Well, let them talk—she tossed her head. But it would be better if she could just persuade Katherine to come along with her.
It was with this view in mind that she sat in the drawing room with Katherine one afternoon, trying to tempt her into coming to the McFarland ball with her the next evening. “But Katherine, you have no idea how much fun you would have. Truly. Since the War, this town is just chock full of the most fascinating people.”
Katherine smiled vaguely; she hardly heard Angela anymore.
“Why, just last week, the most charming Navy commander arrived here. He is assigned to the naval base, and really is the handsomest man I have ever seen.” Angela’s eyes sparkled; she found the commander exceptionally attractive, and it seemed to her that he had quite favored her with his attentions.
“Really?” Katherine murmured, and Angela launched into a description of her favorite, of which Katherine heard not a single word.
“…and he’s from Maryland,” Angela was saying when Katherine stirred from her daydream. “The most charming manner and a Southern accent. I tease him by telling him he sounds just like a Rebel. Really, Katherine, you must meet him; I know you would just adore him.”
Katherine felt a stab of pain. She hoped she would never meet him; she thought she would probably die if she heard a slow, lazy drawl like Matthew’s.
“What is his name?” she asked without interest.
“I swear, Katherine, you haven’t heard a word I’ve said! I just told you his name. It’s Jason Forrest.”
As if on cue, the butler entered the room, a calling card on the little silver tray. “Commander Forrest to see you, madame,” he intoned.
“Oh, show him right in, Jenson.” Angela turned to Katherine excitedly. “What luck! Here he is; you’ll have a chance to meet him.”
Yes, what luck, Katherine repeated dully to herself. She rose to her feet, thinking madly of escape, when suddenly the doorway was blocked by a tall blue figure. Katherine looked at him and her knitting dropped from her hands, one needle rolling across the carpet to rest at his feet.
Matthew!
Chapter 16
Angela stared at her cousin; why on earth was she acting so peculiarly? Two bright red dots stood out on her cheekbones and she was staring at their caller as if she had just seen a ghost. And Commander Forrest was acting most peculiarly, too. Astonishment and joy and excitement fleetingly mingled on his face and then disappeared into his usual charming, slightly sarcastic mask. He bent to retrieve Katherine’s knitting needle and crossed the room to hand it to her.
Their hands touched briefly and Katherine shivered. “Ex-excuse me,” she stammered. “It’s just that you startled me.”
“Of course,” his voice was caressing. “But, please, you must not run off like a frightened doe.”
“No, of course not,” Katherine said and giggled nervously.
She wanted to throw her knitting up in the air and dance madly about the room, to throw her arms around him and smother him with kisses, to laugh hysterically. Matthew was alive! Dear God, he was alive. Who cared what he was doing here or why he was masquerading in a Union naval uniform and assuming the name of Jason Forrest? Just so long as he was here, alive and unharmed. It was insane, but she could have cried with pure happiness.
Angela felt a twinge of exasperation. What on earth had transformed Katherine? She seemed to glow and her eyes shone with a strange light. Really, she must tell her gawky cousin not to wear her heart on her sleeve like that; anyone could tell she was quite smitten with the commander. It was almost indecent, the way her eyes devoured him. And why did Jason Forrest keep his eyes riveted so on that plain spinster? Angela had suggested very prettily that he come to charm her dull cousin out of her shell, but there was no need for him to go this far!
The pretty Mrs. Van der Vries tried to pull the attention back to herself by introducing them.
“Katherine Devereaux,” he repeated, his tongue lingering over the words. “What a delightful name. Are you French?”
“Heavens, no. Boston born and bred,” she said, struggling for a light tone. She must gain control of herself or Angela would suspect something.
“Ah, Boston, a lovely city,” he said gravely, his eyes twinkling.
“Then you have visited there?” Katherine responded to the devil in his eyes.
“Oh, yes. I only regret that I never had the pleasure of meeting you.”
“No doubt you were too—” she paused, a smile twitching at her lips, “too chained to the business at hand to do any socializing.”
His wickedly handsome smile flashed across his face. “Indeed I was, Miss Devereaux. I was at that time, you see, requisitioning ships and supplies.”
“Commander Forrest, you never told me you had been to Boston,” Angela pouted prettily. She felt left out, as if the other two were speaking in a foreign language.
Matthew favored her with his melting gaze and said, “Somehow, it never came to my mind. When I am around you, your beauty chases all else from my mind.”
“No doubt Captain—excuse me—Commander Forrest has visited so many places,” Katherine murmured.
He inclined his head in assent.
“Have you been to England, Commander?” she prodded.
“Many times. I find it a truly charming place.”
“Mm. Gracious people.”
“Such interesting places to visit.”
“Quaint lodgings.”
Katherine felt exhilarated, as if she were floating at least ten feet in the air. Matthew was alive and grinning at her devilishly, playing verbal games with her, daring her to unmask him. She felt like tossing back her head and laughing as she had not laughed in ages. She smiled at him archly, provocatively, and was pleased to see his jaw muscles tighten. He desired her; she knew it. She was beautiful and in control and back into the contest with him, matched perfectly with her opponent, each win a win, and each loss somehow a win, also.
“Mrs. Van der Vries,” Matthew said, playfully accusatory, “you never told me how lovely your cousin was. Come now, confess, why have you been hiding her?”
“Oh, Commander!” Angela’s laugh was a trifle brittle. “The fact is, Katherine just refuses to go anywhere. She is engaged, you know.”
“Cousin Angela, that was ages ago!” Katherine protested mockingly.
“Unhappy man,” Hampton murmured sympathetically. “But now that it has ended, surely you will stop refusing invitations.”
Katherine smiled slowly and saw the almost imperceptible widening of his eyes in response. “Perhaps.”
“Then allow me to urge you to attend the McFarland ball tomorrow evening.”
Just as Angela opened her mouth to say that Katherine had flatly refused to come, Katherine said firmly, “Oh, yes, I
quite plan to accept that invitation.”
Angela gaped at her, and Katherine stifled an impulse to tell her to shut her mouth.
“Till tomorrow, then,” their visitor said, standing. “I am afraid I must take my leave now.”
They protested politely and he was heartbroken, but firm. He bowed over Angela’s hand and then Katherine’s, his lips barely grazing her fair skin. That alone was enough to send a delicious shiver through her.
Matthew was alive! When he left them, Katherine dashed out of the room without a glance at her astounded cousin. Calling for Pegeen, she ran to her room, tearing out hairpins as she ran. Inside her room, she skinned out of her drab dress.
“Miss Katherine, what—” Pegeen halted in the doorway, struck speechless at the sight of her mistress, clad only in her chemise, her hair tumbled down about her shoulders, her face alight with joy.
“Oh, Pegeen!” Katherine took her by the shoulders and danced her around the room. “Pegeen, he isn’t dead at all! He is alive and I am going to a ball tomorrow night.”
“Who? What are you—do you mean Captain Hampton?”
“Of course I do. Who else? Pegeen, we’ve got to find a way to fix my hair. And get rid of that dress; burn it or something. I don’t care. Get my new clothes ready. Oh, Pegeen, I’m so excited I can hardly breathe!”
“Oh, mum, but whatever is he doing here?”
“I haven’t the slightest idea—and I don’t care. He’s parading around as a Union commander named Jason Forrest. And Peg, if you tell another soul, I shall kill you. I mean it; not one person, even one of the servants.”
“Oh, no, mum, never.” Pegeen glowed with empathetic happiness.
Katherine smiled idiotically at herself in the mirror as Pegeen experimented with her hair. Alive! He was alive and here. She had seen him, seen his smile, his dark gray eyes, his browned, strong hands. He had touched her hand, had sat across the room from her, so close she could have reached him in two steps. He was alive, and she felt as if she could soar as easily as a gull.
Her thoughts were scattered, disconnected; she could only feel. The world had turned suddenly bright and sunny; she wanted only to don one of her brilliant new dresses and dance in Matthew’s arms. She wanted to be beautiful for him; she would be beautiful—she felt beautiful. He would want her again; she would make him want her. They would begin anew, everything forgotten, and she would entrance him, entice him, until he would take her away and once again make love to her.
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