“It? Come here? Well, I…I couldn’t let my sister and cousin traipse all over rebel territory, could I?”
“And this explains why you masqueraded as…”
Brad hated when he made anyone cry: but especially Veronica. She was waiting for an explanation. What could he say? That he didn’t like how Veronica had left Washington so eagerly, just when they were becoming amiable?
“Whatever you were thinkin’ probably gives no excuse for what you’ve done, Mister Williams.” Veronica cleared her throat, in charge of her emotions. “At least you aren’t really Jonathan. That would have broken me.” She handed her plate to Nan, hugged her tightly, and slipped through the door.
Brad buried his head in his arms. All his plans had gone awry. So, Veronica had suspected the truth the entire time, even during the party. She was more perceptive than expected: how ironically pleasing. Brad sighed as Amy sat beside him and said, “Cousin, what will you do now? I told you it was wrong. You should not have pursued Ronnie in such a deceptive way.”
“Save your spiel. I know I’ve been a brute.”
“Brad, I wasn’t…”Amy rubbed his shoulders. “Veronica is goin’ home.”
He didn’t blame her: if he had been treated in such a way, he would run home as well. “I heard Madge boast, I was with you.” Brad sighed, leaning back in his chair.
“She lives in South Carolina, Brad; she’s goin’ into the Deep South.”
Brad’s hand paused on his eyes, and fell to the table. He had not earlier discerned such. “She’s going alone, then, with Madge only?”
“No, she invited me to come as well, when she raced from you just a moment ago. From what I understand, she’s keepin’ the invitation open, to prove she’s more civil than we are.”
Brad smiled, a smile Amy tended to fear, for it meant he was developing another scheme.
“You stop that. You scare me when you smile like that. What are you thinkin’?”
“Am I invited?”
In shock Amy stood, resting her hand on the table as support. “You mean you want to travel with a woman who is goin’ to shudder with every mention of your name?”
Brad patted her hand. “Get some rest, Amy dear,” he said, unintentionally imitating Veronica. He walked out of the room in what Amy thought resembled a most gleeful walk
* * * * *
November, 1861
Veronica slid into the carriage beside Brad. It was obvious that since they had last talked in the kitchen, he was unsure how to act around her. Especially when she boldly flirted with him, in the presence of his sister and cousin. She choked back her laughter, as Brad’s blush bloomed. “Are y’all as excited as I am? I can’t wait until I get home and see Momma again.”
Madge smiled. “Thank you again, Veronica, for buying this new bonnet.”
“Oh, posh! Considerin’ all the help you’ve been, it is enough for me to want to buy you a whole new wardrobe,” Veronica laughed, waving away her thanks.
“I daresay you would buy it anyway. You think her clothes are ugly as mud.”
“Don’t be bitter, Amy,” Madge soothed, patting her cousin’s hand. “And Brad! Don’t sulk so. It’s unbecoming.”
“Madge—” Brad glared.
“Madge, you are so funny!” Veronica laughed, glancing at Brad, who decided he would have smiled because she graced him with her gaze, had he not felt so miserable. “What’s the matter with you two?” she demanded of Brad and Amy, glancing at Nan with a smile.
“We’re goin’ Deep South, Ronnie! We’re Yankees, don’t forget,” Amy hissed.
“You’ve made it so blatantly obvious I’d have to be an idiot to forget.”
The three were silenced by Veronica’s light response and her excitement aroused Brad’s curiosity. The airiness in her manner was nauseating. Was she trying to transition them to the different facades of her nature? Brad did not like her haughtiness.
The carriage started with a jolt. Amy settled into her seat with her usual book, while Madge pulled out needlepoint. Nan contented herself with staring out the window, always curious with change. Veronica glanced in Brad’s direction and found him quite content with being unsociable. She bit her lip as she played with her handkerchief. Had she been wise in bringing them with her? Amy and Brad, at least, had an accent. But Madge…well, it was too late now. And it wasn’t as though she meant them to get into trouble. No. Veronica wanted her mother to meet them. Perhaps there was still a chance for her to escape marriage to Bentley.
Anything was possible, now.
Brad sat stoically, determined not to admit to Veronica that she had hurt him with her obvious attempts to flirt and beguile. Surely, she did not bring him south to tease him! No, there must be an ulterior motive. If only he could decipher her meaning through her mocking silences.
The hours passed as Brad stared out the window. His thoughts scorned him as he tried to understand why she had accosted him the morning following his revelation. With plans to offer his services, Brad had been shocked when Veronica approached him, all smiles, asking, no—demanding, that he join her traveling party. He vividly remembered how her eyes darkened with internal humor as he eagerly responded.
Brad shook his head, still embarrassed by his ill-concealed fervor.
Amy glanced from her book, wanting to ask why Brad continued to shake his head in disapproval. What was he thinking of? Hopefully he did not shake his head at her: she had advised against going south.
Madge exclaimed as she poked her finger on her needle. Whimpering, she stuck it in her mouth and looked in her valise for a cloth to bandage it.
Brad glanced at his sister, thinking perhaps Veronica invited him south because she knew what punishment it would be to endure her attentions without knowing her intention. Frowning when he caught Amy staring at him, Brad was about to question her manners when Veronica’s head gently settled on his shoulder. All thought immediately fled.
“I’m surprised she chose to sit next to you,” Amy said, once certain Veronica was asleep.
“As am I,” he replied, watching her breathe with restful ease. He brushed back a strand of her unruly hair and tucked it in her bonnet with care. She was asleep—he didn’t care if Amy and Madge saw his affectionate motion. “But I’m glad.”
“I’m sure you are, Brad. This is the closest she’s come to being civil to you for quite some time now,” Madge observed, wrapping her finger in a scrap of cloth.
“I would appreciate it very much, Madge, if you could manage to curb your tongue. I know you only mean to speak the truth,” he said, cutting off his sister, “but I am going to hit you, if you say one more thing about Veronica and me.”
Madge tolerantly smiled.
“What are you plannin’ to do when you meet her mother? Won’t she object?” Amy asked.
“Object to what? I have made no claims—my relationship with Nettle is whatever she defines it as. If she decides at the last moment we are to be engaged, I should be glad to play along.” Brad ignored their smiles. “And if I am merely a friend who kindly offered protection, then I should also be glad to play along.”
“What of Bentley?” Nan quietly asked, surprising everyone in the carriage.
Brad hesitated before speaking his mind: “I will wait until I have the right to shoot him with impunity.” He tactfully ignored Madge’s horrified gaze, knowing she had never heard him speak so. Madge did not like his strange possessiveness over Veronica.
The hours dragged on with such slowness that the rocking of the carriage finally rendered all the occupants to sleep. The scenery very quickly changed from township to farmland as they bounced along, and before long all the jostling awakened Veronica.
Veronica readjusted her position; her neck sore. There was a weight on her head; where was she? Stifling a yawn, she shifted her weight to see Amy, Madge and Nan sleeping against each other. This was not happening. Her bonnet was in her hand: funny, she didn’t remember taking it off. Inwardly groaning, Veronica realized
she still sat beside Brad. Good heavens…was she clinging to him? This was quite a compromising position.
Brad smiled, his face unseen by Veronica. He never could sleep on carriages, and had taken advantage of her evident trust in him. It was quite amusing to be awake, pretending to be asleep, and listen to Veronica try to dislodge her person.
“Well, this is unfortunate,” he heard her murmur, not sounding at all offended as she readjusted her hold on his arm. How could she be satisfied to sit so closely, and cling to him almost helplessly…as long as she thought him asleep? He would have to right this situation. With a yawn, Brad shifted his arm so it loosely encircled Veronica’s shoulders, and laid his head against hers again as she jerked close in genuine surprise.
What if Madge and Amy awoke to see them so close? And this feeling of pleasure decidedly dismayed Veronica. She had asked him to be her protector, and he obviously had taken it to heart—why else would that arm be around her though he slept? Her shoulders wilted as she found herself positively stuck.
Well, Veronica hadn’t moved from him yet. What was she doing? Ah, the neckerchief. He still had it. She pulled it from his pocket and sat up, still beneath the warmth of his arm.
Veronica’s sigh trembled in the air, as though unsure it was to be voiced. “What am I to do?” she murmured, running a finger down the length of the fabric. “He will not ask me to marry him now, not even if I begged him and attempted to be as nice as I could—oh, I can’t marry Bentley, I can’t!”
Brad tightened his hold on Veronica’s shoulders. He sat quietly alongside her, listening to her cry. He leaned forward, trying to see her face, but to no avail. “Why are you crying?” He touched her hand, pulling the fabric from her face.
She buried her face in his shoulder. “All that talkin’ you did in the barn meant nothin’ to you. Can’t you see what you’ve done?”
Allowing her to cry, he wrapped his arms around her. “I didn’t realize you were considering me, of all people, Miss Vernon, to be your…beau.”
“Only because you forgot you were not you,” she muttered, roughly pulling away and dabbing her eyes with his neckerchief.
“Pardon?”
“You weren’t Brad Williams to me; you were Lieutenant Jonathan, that dashin’ and intriguin’ soldier from the party. Jonathan had enough sense to save me from Bentley’s attentions, and intuitive enough to somehow draw out some of my deepest secrets. Don’t you realize there are things I told you that I have not told Amy?”
“There are?” Well, this was certainly news. Brad suddenly felt flattered.
“There were things I thought she would not understand—she never knew I blamed myself for my parent’s marriage, or Rhett’s death, or so many things. She doesn’t know me as well as she likes to think. And I thought I could keep it that way with everyone.”
“I had no idea, Miss Vernon.” Belatedly, Brad realized his arm still encircled her shoulders. She had not moved to rid herself of his presence, and it rather pleased him that she talked so freely, though she spoke to wound.
“What are we to do when we reach home?”
Brad paused in surprise. “I don’t know. It’s entirely up to you; however you would like to introduce us. I am making no claims nor comments until you decide what I am to be to you.”
“That would mean you have to remove your arm from my shoulders, Mr. Williams.”
Damn. She had noticed. She had retained her composure and she was smiling.
“Well,” she thoughtfully sighed, “I suppose I will have to introduce you as my friend and guard. We have been proper, which will cause no suspicions in my home. My mother will like you immediately; I will not worry about her. My uncle—oh, my uncle! Well, we will have my mother’s assistance.”
“Wonderful.” Brad was decidedly put out.
“Mr. Williams, do not be so sullen! You are to be my guest at Schönheitstal—as a proper hostess, it is only right that I am available to your every wish and need.” Veronica batted her lashes with a smile, her laughter concealed behind her eyes. “After all,” she reverted to her normal accent, “my mother is the queen of etiquette, and she follows every rule she can with dreadful fervency. She will like you, don’t worry.” She patted his hand.
“The carriage is slowing.”
“Why, so it is. It certainly does not feel as though we have been travelin’ for a day or so.”
Tolerantly smiling, Brad watched as Veronica leaned forward to awaken the rest of the passengers. He avoided Amy’s gaze, knowing she suspected they had talked while she slept—for Veronica was not putting on airs as she had. Stepping from the carriage, he stared at the hack’s depot in amazement.
“Mr. Williams?”
Startled into remembrance, Brad turned to help Veronica from the carriage, feeling her worry as she gripped his hand. He turned to help Madge, Amy and Nan. “Has someone come for us?” he asked Veronica, who expectantly searched the milling crowd. A look of sudden recognition, disappointment and betrayal flitted across her face, causing Brad to look in the same direction.
“It’s Eli. They sent Eli to get me.”
Amy and Madge glanced at each other in worry, as Nan came forth to discreetly hold her mistress’ hand. There was a curt edge to Veronica’s voice, and it sliced through the dense air.
The slave hobbled to the small party. “Missy Ronnie, I’se so glad to be de one to escort y’all back home.”
Veronica smiled, her eyes questioning.
“Your uncle didn’t feel so good this mornin’, so he’s waitin’ for us-all to get home. Is this your baggage?” he said as two men loaded the luggage into the back of the barouche. “If you like, Missy, you can ride with me,” he said, addressing Madge. He glanced at Nan, his look enough to make her feel welcome and home again.
Madge took his hand, jumping into the vehicle. “This is riches!” she exclaimed.
Amy climbed into the barouche unaided, as Brad offered to help Veronica. “Don’t you think you should help your cousin before me, Mr. Williams?” Veronica laughed, holding his hand for necessity alone.
“Where—? Oh, Amy, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to forget you.” Brad jumped in beside her. The vehicle started with a jolly bounce, and for the next hour, they rode out of town to Veronica’s Schönheitstal.
The great white plantation sat on a grassy knoll. No matter what angle one looked, the plantation resembled a palace. Surrounded by the stereotypical white columns that spanned the two-story mansion, Veronica found inspiration lacking. “Welcome to my home,” she absently said.
“This is amazin’, Ronnie. Your home is absolutely beautiful,” Amy said, quite intimidated by the size. “But…where are the slaves?”
“We don’t keep them in plain sight. They’re not pretty enough.”
“Not pretty enough for whom?” Brad said, his tone demanding Veronica look at him fully.
“Daddy.”
The barouche slowed to a comfortable stop at the top of the hill, the rounded drive peaking at the plantation doors. “Brad, help me down,” Veronica suddenly said. He eagerly jumped out, placing his hands securely on her waist.
Veronica glanced at him in surprise—it amazed her that he was able to carry her so easily. “Thank you,” she murmured, vainly trying to conceal her blush as she stepped from his steady grip. Attempting to ignore the look in Brad’s eye as she wondered, with great curiosity, where everyone was, Veronica waved the barouche away.
The air was practically solid. The grass was trim and green, though sparse enough to reveal packed dirt: evidence that maintenance waned without her father’s continual threats of harsh punishment to keep the slaves on their toes. The windows were closed and it seemed as though the family was not home.
“Are you sure you sent a letter announcin’ our arrival?” Amy asked, pulling at her gloves.
“Of course I did. Would Elijah have picked us up otherwise?” Veronica lifted her skirts over a puddle as she stormed up the entrance stair and slammed open the eig
ht foot high doors.
“Perhaps someone forgot to tell your mother,” Madge mused, louder than she meant. Cringing as Veronica glared, she stepped a few paces behind her to cling to Brad’s arm. “She certainly is in a mood.”
“You would be too, if your own mother wouldn’t answer the door for you,” Brad hissed, pinching Madge’s arm to make her squeal. “You should know better than to say such things.”
They watched as Veronica went from room to room, throwing open doors and windows, exclaiming she was home, and demanding the location of her mother while scaring the slaves with her tyrannical tone.
Madge stood in awe of the magnificence of it all. The halls were twice as wide as Mrs. Beaumont’s, and she had thought those to be large. Everything was meticulously clean, and suddenly she understood the usefulness of slave labor—she knew she would not take the time to dust everything if she owned the plantation.
The main hall was flanked by four sets of doors, two on each side. The first set opened to the formal parlor, its aura foreboding with its rich oaks and deep burgundies. The second set opened to a library, unusually cheerful and obviously decorated by a woman. Seats were scattered about, creating an inviting and genial look to an otherwise large and intimidating room.
The third and fourth doors happened to be adjoining rooms, the fourth at least twice the size of the third, and obviously used for a ballroom. The center and two sister chandeliers were covered, and all the finery removed. The third, a large dining room, had been set for two.
Amy and Madge walked slowly, soaking the richness and detail of the architecture and adornments. They stumbled trying to keep up with Veronica and Brad, who perfectly matched each other’s steps.
“Where could they be?” Veronica murmured, worry scaring away her anger and slight. She glanced at Brad, surprised that he seemed to know his way about the mansion as well as her. “Should we try upstairs?” they looked at the end of the hall, where the staircase awaited.
Brad stepped forward, as though compelled to. “Yes—yes, let’s try upstairs,” his pace quickened, to a point where he practically bounded up the case. He waited at the top, hardly concealing the need to throw open the ten doors this hallway boasted.
Catching the Rose Page 21
