Dueling Hearts

by McDonough, Vickie;

  Copyright

  ISBN 978-1-61626-539-7

  Copyright © 2011 by Vickie McDonough. All rights reserved. Except for use in any review, the reproduction or utilization of this work in whole or in part in any form by any electronic, mechanical, or other means, now known or hereafter invented, is forbidden without the permission of Truly Yours, an imprint of Barbour Publishing, Inc., PO Box 721, Uhrichsville, Ohio 44683.

  All scripture quotations are taken from the King James Version of the Bible.

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously.

  Our mission is to publish and distribute inspirational products offering exceptional value and biblical encouragement to the masses.

  One

  Charleston, South Carolina

  1848

  “Who is that lovely black-eyed Susan hiding behind the potted plants?” Reed Bishop nodded his head toward the corner of the large ballroom where a dark-haired nymph leaned against the wall, head down.

  Damian squinted, staring past the stringed quartet, and shrugged. “She’s a pretty thing, although that yellow dress of hers is rather shabby.” He lifted his glass and sipped the punch, eyeing the young woman with disdain.

  “Hmm. . . Maybe the gown looks shabby because her loveliness outshines it.”

  Damian sputtered then started coughing. When he regained his composure, he glanced at Reed with glistening eyes. “Are you turning poetic?”

  Reed looked away, not wanting his friend to think he was besotted. He stared at the woman for another long moment then tugged his gaze toward the colorful line of dancers sashaying to the lively music.

  “Why don’t you ask her to dance?”

  Reed shrugged. He probably would, but he didn’t want Damian thinking it had been his idea.

  “How did you manage to sit this round out, anyway? All the ladies have been chasing after you, anxious to catch your eye before you leave town.”

  Reed pursed his lips. “Mother pulled me aside to introduce me to an old friend, and the music had already started when we finished talking.”

  “Well, if I were you, I’d have snagged one of them gals anyhow.”

  “I can’t say I don’t enjoy the attention, but I feel kind of like a treed coon at times.”

  Damian grinned. “If you feel that way now, just wait until you return from college as a surgeon.”

  Huffing a laugh, Reed failed to see the lure. “Most surgeons don’t have two half dimes to rub together.”

  His friend nudged Reed in the arm and winked. “Most surgeons aren’t the grandson of Cooper Reed and half owner of Reed Shipping, and most don’t own a plantation as large and prosperous as Reed Springs.” Damian shook his head. “Why do you insist on sailing off to the wilds of Scotland when you have a thriving business to run here?”

  Shifting his gaze back to the sprite in the corner, Reed shrugged. He hated it when one of his friends pointed out his family’s wealth. He had the fortune—and oft times, misfortune—to be born into a wealthy family, but he didn’t want people befriending him for that reason alone. Damian was his best friend, but he had never understood Reed’s interest in science and didn’t want him going away for several years. There was no point trudging through that muck again.

  “I’m halfway surprised that your mother didn’t keep you at home today, seeing as how you set sail in the morning. Is she still trying to get you to change your mind?”

  He watched Dudley Brown approach the young woman in the yellow dress. “Yes, she doesn’t understand my love for science and my preference to become a surgeon rather than running the plantation.”

  “You’re her only son. It’s expected you’d follow in your father’s footsteps.”

  “My cousin is better suited to run Reed Shipping—and he has the desire.”

  Dudley Brown placed one hand on the wall to the right of the woman’s shoulder and leaned toward her. The sprite’s eyes widened, and her head swiveled back and forth like a weather vane in a thunderstorm. Reed grinned, glad she had the sense to refuse a rascal like Dudley. What would she say if he asked her to take a spin with him? He took a step in her direction.

  “Good luck!” Damian called out.

  As he drew closer, Reed sensed there was something familiar about the girl. Her eyes—as dark as black coffee—widened when he stopped a proper distance away. Her thin eyebrows dipped, and her mouth puckered. Hardly the response Reed expected—even worse than when Dudley had approached her.

  “Good afternoon. I hope you’re having a nice time here.”

  “I was doin’ fine till you arrived.” She turned her head away and stared over the leaves of a small palm tree toward the open doors to the veranda.

  Not used to being snubbed by a Southern woman, Reed was taken off guard. Had he offended her somehow? But how could that be possible when he didn’t think he’d even met her before? He glanced back at Damian. His friend eyed him with obvious curiosity. Reed hated to fail, especially when a friend was watching. “Have we met previously?”

  She stiffened, hiking up her chin and staring at him with those captivating eyes. Had he ever seen a fair-skinned woman with eyes the color of onyx before?

  “I can’t believe you’d ask me that,” she snapped at him, like an alligator latching on to its dinner.

  He grappled for a response, but before he could form a retort, she darted between the potted trees and ran out the door.

  Damian hurried toward him. “The only other time I’ve ever seen a female run away from you was the time you kissed the preacher’s daughter right after church last Easter. What in the world did you say to that girl?”

  “Nothing.” Reed’s arms hung limp at his side, and he held out his hands. “Nothing at all. She seemed to think she knew me, but I’ve never met her before.”

  “She must have confused you with someone else.”

  Reed shrugged. The venom she spat at him had purpose. He may not have known her, but he was certain she knew him.

  Clapping him on the shoulder, Damian gave Reed a gentle shake. “Don’t fret over her. There are plenty of other butterflies in the garden you can cast your net over.”

  “Ha! Who’s waxing poetic now?”

  His friend’s hazel eyes twinkled, and his ears turned red. “My cup is empty. How about joining me for some more punch?”

  Reed followed, but his gaze clung to the doorway where the confusing woman had fled. He’d never had a woman run away from him before—at least not one without a justifiable reason—and it intrigued him. Most times women competed for his attention, batting their long lashes at him and even pushing their friends out of the way to get closer to him. He knew he was handsome—and wealthy—and he had the striking blue eyes that many of the Reed men he’d descended from had—eyes that women found irresistible. All but this woman.

  ❧

  Carina raced down the hall, hoping against hope that he didn’t follow. Her stomach churned just to be standing so close to a Bishop. And to think she’d actually talked to him. Not that she’d been very pleasant.

  But he had surprised her. She’d never imagined he would ask her to dance.

  Clenching her fist, she swung her arms as she marched in a quite unladylike fashion down the upstairs hall to the room she’d gotten dressed in earlier. Reed Bishop’s blue eyes haunted her thoughts. And until she’d seen him up close, she hadn’t realized how his thick hair resembled the color of her favorite cypress swing on her front porch. She’d be lying if she denied he was handsome. Too bad that he knew it and used his charm to attract females. Every other woman might beg him to dance and swoon at his feet, but she sure never would. Not ever.

  She all but r
an into the bedchamber where she had dressed earlier and dropped down onto the dressing table chair. She stared at her reflection in the mirror. Her hair, which she’d attempted to fashion into something pretty this morning, now listed to the left like a sinking ship. Yanking out the pins, she shook her head, and her locks tumbled past her shoulders, down her back. There was no point in trying to look like a lady. She failed miserably. Her dress looked like a worn-out slave’s garment compared to the other gowns in the ballroom. Oh, why had she allowed Betsey to talk her into coming? She didn’t belong here.

  Tossing aside the finer travel bags stacked in the corner, she located her ragged satchel in the back, as if someone had been trying to hide it. Tugging hard, she pulled it free and fell back. She flung out her arm, whacking it against the tall post of the bed. Spinning sideways, she landed in a heap on the floor, with her skirt over her head.

  In spite of everything, she started laughing. At least no one had seen her clumsy acrobatics. She pulled her skirt and petticoat off her face, and her gaze landed on a wide-eyed servant standing in the doorway.

  The woman blinked several times then found her voice. “You. . .ah. . .be needin’ some he’p, miz?”

  Two

  Reed was ready for the lengthy Virginia reel to be over so he could dance with a pretty girl and forget the sassy black-eyed Susan. His mind raced, searching every nook and cranny of his brain, trying to figure out why the woman had been so terse with him. He kept coming back to the same conclusion: she must have confused him with someone else, as Damian had suggested.

  As the lovely ladies sidestepped past him on their way back to the front of the line where they’d meet their partners and then duck under the clasped hands of the lead couple, several of the unmarried women winked or smiled at him. Which one had he promised the next dance to?

  The image of the female who had snubbed him entered his mind again. He wouldn’t be content until he tracked her down and got the truth from her. He spun on his heel and strode toward the door where she’d exited the ballroom.

  “Bishop! Ree’ Bishop!”

  Upon hearing his name shouted so rudely from across the room, Reed stopped and pivoted around. A ruckus to his right pulled his gaze back to the center of the room. The dancers skidded to a halt and looked around. Loud mumbles arose, and the couples in the center of the room stumbled aside as a man pushed his way through them. Many folks watched the man, but others turned and stared at Reed.

  Damian hurried to his side. “Who is that?”

  Reed shook his head, searching the crowd for his mother. He had no desire for her to be embarrassed in front of her friends by a man he must have upset somehow. The man staggered through the last of the dancers, and the music squeaked to a halt. The buzz of speculation filled the room like disturbed bees.

  “Isn’t that Johan Zimmer?” Damian asked. “Looks like he’s chugged full.”

  Reed’s gut twisted. He hadn’t seen the Zimmers in years, in spite of the fact they were among his nearest neighbors. Not since. . .

  Johan stopped three feet from Reed. “Yer fam’ly. . .they are c–cause of all our troubles.” Johan swiped his sleeve across his mouth and took several quick steps back before he regained his balance, such as it was. Even from four feet away, Reed could smell the liquor on the man’s breath. The Bishops and the Zimmers rarely socialized in the same circles. Johan was half a foot taller than Reed remembered but still as thin as a ship’s ratline.

  Damian glanced sideways at Reed, brows lifted. From across the room, Reed saw Mr. Hanover, the host of the ball, and several other men moving along the edge of the crowd toward them, probably thinking to stop a fight.

  But a fight was the last thing Reed wanted. He’d thought the Zimmers’ anger over what had happened had finally died down now that Karl Zimmer had been injured and had taken to his bed. Johan’s father had been the one to stir up things when Reed’s father was still alive, but since his death, the Zimmers had been quiet.

  Damian stepped forward, his hand outstretched. He laid it on Johan’s shoulder. “This isn’t the place for a personal squabble, Zimmer.”

  Sloughing off Damian’s hand, Johan scowled and staggered sideways, sloshing the wine in his glass onto the floor. Miss Abigail DuPree, who stood on Johan’s far side, squealed and back stepped, holding up the skirt of her pink gown. She frowned at him, then pivoted and pushed her way through the gawking crowd.

  Oblivious, Johan held out his bony finger. “I d’mand justice. Your fader, he cheated my f–fader, out of wha’ was righ’fully his.”

  Reed stiffened and closed the space between him and Johan. “That’s a lie, and you know it, as well as everyone else in this room.”

  Johan jerked as if he’d been slapped, splashing red wine onto his white shirt. “You have in–in–insulted a Zimmer for the las’ time, Ree’ Bishop.” Johan tucked his wine under his arm, spilling the last of the liquid. He struggled to pull a glove from his waistband—a glove that looked closer to gray than white. Finally gaining hold, he yanked out the glove and slapped it to the ground at Reed’s feet. “I ch–challenge you to a d–duel.”

  Gasps rippled across the room. Reed clenched his jaw. The dueling Code of Honor stated that a gentleman should never challenge another gentleman to a duel in public. That this man had, further insulted Reed.

  Mr. Hanover drew up beside him. “You gentlemen take this disagreement outside. I’ll not have dissension in my home.”

  “I apologize for this disturbance, sir,” Reed said.

  Mr. Hanover gave him a long, hard stare then nodded. Spinning on his heel, Reed glanced at the door where the woman in the faded yellow dress had fled. Maybe he’d see her later and could question her then.

  He strode out the open double doors, past the silent, gawking string quartet, and onto the piazza. He clenched his fist as he passed several strolling couples out to the lawn and waited. Why, after years of silence, would Johan Zimmer choose today to once again accuse his father? Would these verbal attacks never end? His family had lost far more than the Zimmers when that cargo ship sank in a storm seven years ago. Johan couldn’t have been more than ten years old then, so what had stirred him up to feel the need to force a duel?

  With hands on hips, Reed watched Johan stumble down the stairs, nearly falling to his knees before righting himself. He searched for Reed, then his gaze latched onto him, and he proceeded forward, with a crowd of curious spectators following.

  Reed had no desire to duel Johan. It would hardly be a fair battle anyway, with the man more than half drunk. But his own honor—and more so, his father’s—had been insulted in front of their closest friends and business associates. To back down would belittle him in the eyes of the many men present who had dealings with Reed Shipping. And how would his mother look upon his participation? He heaved a loud sigh. There was no way he could win this ordeal.

  He expected to see his mother leading the spectators. She would call a halt to the duel if she had it in her power—and profoundly embarrass him in the process. If he was fortunate, prior to Johan’s disturbance she had left the ballroom to take an afternoon respite as some of the older women had and was not yet aware of the situation. He ran his hand through his hair. He should have stayed home and finished packing, but no, he had to have one last day of enjoyment before facing years of study.

  Johan tottered to a stop several feet away and glared at him.

  Damian hurried past him to Reed’s side. “I’ll serve as your second.”

  Reed leaned toward him. “I can’t duel him in the condition he’s in.”

  “People will think you’re a coward if you don’t. Besides, you don’t have to shoot the man—just fire off to his side. Then his honor should be satisfied.”

  “And what if he shoots me?”

  “Look at him. He couldn’t hit the broad side of a clipper ship if he was ten paces away. How do you expect him to hit you?”

  “Maybe he’ll miss and shoot you instead.”

 
Damian’s eyes widened and he grinned, but Reed could see that his comment had shaken his friend. “Maybe I’ll just go stand behind that tree over there.”

  Reed chuckled in spite of everything.

  “Johan doesn’t have the guts to go through with a duel,” Damian said.

  Tucker Marlow squeezed through the crowd and jogged toward Reed, a wooden box held tight under his arm. The man had supervised more duels in Charleston than anyone Reed knew.

  Damian stepped back, and Marlow stopped where he’d been standing.

  “Come over here, Mr. Zimmer.” Tucker waved his fingers, beaconing Reed’s accuser to join them.

  Johan stumbled forward, his eyes dropping to the box. Uncertainty flickered in his eyes before his gaze hardened. Johan had always been a quiet boy, from the little Reed could remember about him. His father, though, had been vocal about his perceived wrong, in spite of the fact that everyone knew sending a shipload of cargo across the ocean was always a gamble. Reed’s father might have owned the ship with Zimmer’s harvest onboard, but it was hardly his fault the vessel had sunk in a storm.

  Tucker cleared his throat. “Mr. Hanover has been kind enough to lend us the use of his dueling pistols, unless you prefer to use swords.” He turned slightly to face Johan. “Mr. Zimmer, according to The Code of Honor, penned by our former governor John Lyde Wilson, you may apologize and walk away from this duel with your honor intact. Do you wish to offer Mr. Bishop an apology?”

  Reed prayed the man had the sense to express regret for the way he’d slandered the Bishop family name and Reed’s father. He had no desire to duel a drunken man.

  Tugging at one earlobe, Johan glanced at Reed then at the crowd of spectators. He scowled. “He c–called me a liar, and his fader was a—a cheat. It’s time those B–Bishops paid for ruinin’ us.”

  Heaving a sigh, Reed turned to his second. “I thought you said he didn’t have the backbone to go through with this duel.”

  Damian waved his hand in the air. “I doubt he even knows how to shoot. He’s always been a milksop.”