“Is that you, Ronnie?” her mother called from the library.
Veronica laughed, knowing full well she had been caught in the act. Throwing open the doors, she belted, “‘In Dixie land I’ll take my stand—’ Mr. Williams!”
Brad lounged on the footstool beside her favorite chair, a smile on his face as he hailed her. “Good afternoon! I trust you are feeling better?”
“What are you doin’, sittin’ on my footstool? Momma, what are you doin’? You know that’s my favorite chair and that’s my footstool!”
“My dear, from what I understand, Mr. Williams is a friend of yours. Led to believe such, I thought it perfectly natural that he sit here as he explains a few things to me about what has happened in the past year or so concernin’ you.”
“Is that so?” Veronica glanced at Brad, who complacently watched her as though entirely innocent as to why she would be worried. Sighing, she shrugged and turned to the piano in the far corner and softly played a few bars of “Dixie.” As she paused, Veronica heard Brad singing words she had never heard before.
“What is that you sing, Mr. Williams?” Veronica spun on her piano stool to face Brad, who, she found with a surprised jump, stood behind her rocking on his heels.
“Keep playin’, Ronnie, it eases my headache,” Bella called from her seat.
Veronica half turned to the piano, dutifully playing the tune, though she watched Brad’s lips with greater scrutiny. “You are not singin’ the correct words, Mr. Williams!”
Brad turned to Veronica’s mother. “Is your husband in, Mrs. Vernon?” as she shook her head, he ordered Veronica to play louder so he would teach her the correct words. He forcefully turned her, when she would not move. “Play, Miss Vernon.”
Shoulders slumping, Veronica did as she was told. She played the bars with great gusto, and was shocked to hear him sing with just as much zest, “Away down South in the land of traitors, Rebel hearts and Union haters, look away, look away, look away traitor’s land” (Garrison).
“Where on earth did you hear such a disgraceful song?” Veronica exclaimed, spinning in her seat to face Brad.
“My daddy taught it to me.” Brad turned, reaching for her mother, who eagerly jumped from her seat. “Play again, Miss Vernon!”
Veronica’s jaw dropped as she found her mother joining him.
“Ronnie, you must admit, it is quite nice to hear somethin’ new. I tire of that old tune. These new words are amusin’.” She laughed as Brad led her into a reel about the library.
Veronica played it again, but sang the true words, attempting to top Brad’s voice. “Oh, I wish I was in the land of cotton, old times there are not forgotten, look away, look away, look away Dixie Land!” (NEHS). She frowned as she heard Brad pick up where she left off with another Yankee version, she assumed, of her beloved Dixie.
“As Honest Abe the people know him, and all his actions go to show him; a true man, a true man, a true man, a true man” (Garrison).
Toppling the piano stool as she stood in fury, Veronica whipped around to shout more than sing, “In Dixie Land, where I was born in, early on one frosty mornin’, look away, look away, look away Dixie Land” (NEHS).
Brad paused, and frowned. “I don’t know any more versions.”
Bella laughed, clapping her hands. “It will be most entertainin’ havin’ you here, Mr. Williams, I can see that, now. I am glad you brought him, Ronnie. —Well, I am quite tired, now. I think I’ll go rest in the parlor and do some needlepoint.” She smiled to herself as she closed the doors adjoining the parlor to the library. Sitting on the sofa with her needlepoint, she heard the steady cantor of a horse. “Funny…I don’t remember invitin’ anyone.”
Veronica watched, dismayed, as she found herself alone with Brad again. It was amazing, how she always seemed to end up with him. Sitting at the table near the couch, she saw with pleasure that someone had the insight to know she would want to sketch, and had placed her sketchbook and pencils just inches from where her arm laid. “Mr. Williams, what have you come to spy on?” she burst, unable to retain her thoughts any longer.
“Spy?”
“What else could you have been doin’ down south? You—hate the south.”
Brad sat beside her, not knowing what else to do.
“Remove your person, please, Mr. Williams,” Veronica said as she pulled out her sketchbook and pencils.
With a grumble, Brad lounged on the sofa across from Veronica, quite put out by the hot weather and her persistent snubbing. He had forgotten how abominably humid the summers got in South Carolina. How could she sit there looking so cool and absorbed in her sketching? “I envy your content,” he said, lazily yawning in an attempt to rouse conversation.
Veronica shrugged, only glancing from her project. “I’m not in the least bit content, Mr. Williams.” With deft fingers, she sketched his impatience. He had such capturing eyes.
“No, you couldn’t be content, not with me in the room.”
Veronica flipped aside a page and quickly sketched Brad’s petulance with an ill-concealed giggle. She pretended to be absorbed in her work as she felt him watch her.
“You should reply with an argument, Miss Vernon. As a proper hostess, you should assure me you would think no such thing.”
“A lady never lies,” Veronica said as she switched colors. Southern weather most definitely did not agree with him.
“If a lady never lies, you should have nothing to worry about.”
“Exasperatin’ man!”
“Poor little Nettle.”
“Abominable Yankee!”
“Now that’s uncalled for.”
“Horrible Bristle!”
Brad petulantly rubbed his forehead. “I have the most horrible headache.”
“Serves you right,” Veronica calmly observed as she retrieved her pencil, which she had thrown at Brad’s foot in the heat of battle.
Brad caught her arm and pulled her close. “I could be dying, you know.”
“From a fit of temper? I think not—release me, Brad,” Veronica laughed, trying to shake his easy grip. A smile of recognition flitted across Brad’s face. Before she could retract, he planted a small kiss on her cheek and released her arm.
“You certainly are intrepid,” she murmured, touching her cheek in wonder. “I don’t suppose you’ll explain yourself.”
“My name is Brad.”
Veronica blinked thrice in wonder. “I’m glad you realized that, Mr. Williams.”
“Now, now, Miss Vernon. Surely, you know what I mean. Just a minute ago you called me Brad. I am no longer the impersonal houseguest, but a companion of leisure.”
“Well, I never!” Veronica exclaimed in surprise, sitting in her flounces. What was she to do now? He was right; she couldn’t return to addressing him as Mr. Williams when both knew their relationship was more personal than that. And how he enjoyed it! Perhaps there was some truth to Amy’s claim that she had enamored Brad to her person too well.
“My head is in great pain, Miss Vernon.”
“As is mine, you—Yankee.” She blinked in surprise as Brad leaned down to kiss her head as he recently tended to do to Madge when she amused him. He certainly was feeling more congenial. Noticing a familiar shadow, she turned to find Bentley at the door. Her smile slipped. Leaping to her feet, Veronica stammered, “You remember Mr. Williams, from the Richmond party?”
This was certainly a pickle.
“My fiancée is not permitted to be alone with any man but me. Have you no respect for our customs?”
“On the contrary. I have the utmost respect for your customs,” Brad conceded. Just his luck that Veronica’s fiancé should appear the moment she let her guard down. “But the fact is, they’re your customs, not mine. And as Veronica did invite me to her home, she was merely being the proper hostess.”
Veronica frowned. If only Brad had left the moment Bentley arrived.
“I see you have a parcel in your hand, Mr. Stratford. Is it a treat for h
er? Am I interrupting a planned tête-à-tête?” Brad turned to Veronica, enjoying the situation too much to let it slip by. “Will you be feeding her a delicious pastry perhaps, to add weight to her thin person? Or will you be feeding him, Miss Vernon, with his head placed oh-so-comfortably in your lap?”
“Brad!” Veronica glanced at Bentley and dropped her gaze.
“What my fiancée and I do is really none of your business.” Bentley claimed Veronica, ignoring the gaze of alarm she threw to Brad. This was not to be borne. “Ronnie, I demand you come with me.”
“Do not address me as such, Bentley,” she hesitantly said. Everything was so complicated when home.
“Honey, call me Leigh—you know I like it—makes us so much more personal.”
“Since you obviously aren’t,” Brad quipped a little too loudly.
Footsteps quickly approaching silenced whatever Bentley was about to say. “Mister Stratford! How wonderful that you were able to join us!” Bella exclaimed, brightly slamming open the doors. “I see you have found my daughter and her friend. I had just left for a moment to see to the coffee when I heard your mount. I hope you don’t mind, I hadn’t meant to leave them alone long. They weren’t doin’ anythin’ wrong, were you, Ronnie?”
Veronica stared dumbstruck. Had she taken leave of her senses? She knew Bella didn’t take kindly to Bentley, but to fabricate such a falsehood when she so carefully honored the dignity of a lady! “Mister Williams was just entertainin’ us—me—with a story of his. Brad—Mister Williams, I mean, is a superb storyteller.”
“Is that so? Pray, enlighten me with your talent, Mister Williams.”
“I am not much in the mood to entertain anymore, Stratford. You understand,” Brad glanced at Veronica with a smile.
“Terrifically so. Ronnie, I should like to talk to you,” he shot a glare at Brad, “alone.”
Bella placed her hand on Bentley’s arm. “You must excuse me, Leigh, dear, for I promised Ronnie I would spend the day with her. I haven’t seen her for two years, and I shall be quite desolate thinkin’ I will have to go another night without her company.”
Veronica’s gaze swiveled from Bella to Brad. “Yes, well, I suppose we should leave, shouldn’t we, Momma?” she apologetically smiled. “I am sorry, Bentley. I was almost lookin’ forward to spendin’ some time with you—!” she squealed as her mother brutally pinched her arm. “Yes, well, we should go.”
Veronica blindly followed her mother to her bedroom. “What made you do that?”
“Insufferable creature. Never could stand that boy,” Bella huffed, ringing for some tea. “I was gettin’ shivers just thinkin’ about him bein’ alone with you, honey.”
“Momma, you never lie. I never heard you lie in your life.”
“Dear, I know I drove you away when I said I was goin’ to make you go through with the marriage to Bentley. Why do you think I broke it off when you threatened to leave? And then when he wouldn’t stop pursuin’, I knew you’d leave. I encouraged you, remember? Well, perhaps not, but I supported your decision to live with your friends.”
“I’m sure it did nothin’ for your reputation, havin’ people know that you couldn’t raise your daughter,” Veronica murmured, as Sukie came forth with the tea. “Thank you, Sukie,” she smiled. The old slave warmly smiled in return, much to Bella’s surprise.
“Ronnie, dear, I don’t remember you ever actin’ so congenial towards the slaves.”
“Yes, well, I never did it in Daddy’s presence. And as you were always around Daddy, I never did it around you. You don’t disapprove, do you?” That would be horrible, having her mother reporting such behavioral defects to her uncle…step-father. Such a lashing she would get!
Bella laughed. “Don’t think I don’t know about your nightly escapades.”
Veronica stared in horrified surprise. “Brad told—Mr. Williams—he told you about that?” she set her cup down, determined to wring every bit of Yankee-fied boldness from him.
“Heaven’s no. I’m talkin’ about when you would sneak out at night to tend to some poor sick slave out at the slave quarters.” She conversationally sipped her tea. “Now, what of Mister Williams? Is your reputation at stake? I demand you tell me at once if it is so.”
Veronica laughed, hoping she hid her panic well. “Momma, my reputation is not at stake. I have not been so long from your teachin’ as to know that my reputation should be first and foremost. I merely was referrin’ to the fact that I…well, I sort of lost my head one night at a party, and Mr. Williams was there for me to confide in. I’m sure you heard about Rhett dyin’?”
“I know how you wanted him to propose in order to escape Bentley—”
“Well, not quite…”
“—I was quite sure you would come home. But I never got any word.”
Veronica blushed into her tea. “Yes, well. Amy suggested goin’ to visit her family: Madge and…Mr. Williams.”
“You might as well call him Brad. You obviously have more history with him than you are willin’ to admit. You two make an awfully dashin’ pair. I don’t suppose you’ve thought…?”
“I have not thought about it at all, and I would kindly ask you to never bring it up in my presence again,” she snapped, setting her cup down in an overly cautious manner.
“You haven’t let me finish, dear,” Bella laughed, setting her own cup aside.
“I’m sure I do not care to hear it,” Veronica said, restlessly standing to run her finger against the top of her mantle. “Momma, I once thought I could somehow get Brad to propose, but no longer. We are not suited to each other, I fear. Oh, I do not wish to speak of it!”
“Your accent always becomes thicker when you’re upset,” she laughed to see her daughter redden. “My dear, if you’d like, I will speak to him…”
“No! Momma, please.”
“Your decision or his?” Veronica’s silence was answer enough. “My dear, I am sure there will be some use. But if you like, I will not speak of it today.” With a sweep of her skirts, she left the room. “Dinner will be at six.”
* * * * *
Now home a week, Veronica found that even with Bentley’s attentions, she spent much of her time alone with Brad. After spending the day escaping their attentions, she found herself quite cornered when Brad found her hiding in the gazebo.
“Why, hello, Nettle!” he smiled, peeking inside with a mild curiosity. “I was wandering the grounds, quite bored, I assure you, and chancing upon your candle has quite comforted me. I shall not be without company tonight, I hope?”
Veronica blushed, crawling from her comfortable corner nook. “No, I suppose not.”
Brad stepped forward with a smile as he helped her stand. He watched her brush her skirts with great apathy, ready for her attention. “What are you reading, Miss Vernon?”
“Some old book I found in my bedroom,” she smiled, hiding her journal on the seat behind her.
“May I see it?” he asked, looking around her.
“Oh, this heat, this heat!” Veronica cried in panic, fervently fanning her face, “I cannot stand this oppressive heat any longer!” Dabbing her handkerchief against her neck, she was suddenly aware he watched her as though captured by the movement.
“You are southern bred, Nettle, I do not understand your distress.”
“No, you wouldn’t.”
“Am I sensing bitterness, Miss Vernon?” Brad rocked on his heels; an idiosyncrasy Veronica recently found lacking in his personality.
“Perhaps…” Veronica bit her tongue, alarmed that she was not thinking as clearly as she ought, and would reveal much if her sense did not regain control. She glanced behind her, shocked to find her journal now missing.
“Were you about to suggest I leave your supercilious abode?”
Irritated by his tone and the meaning she assumed he meant, Veronica burst, “You know, I’m not the one who moved the slave quarters. And I am certainly hard-pressed to understand your disgust in my person! I am not cle
ver, Mister Williams, no matter what my mother may claim. I did not choose my lifestyle, or my grandfather’s flair for grandness in designin’ this horrible plantation. —Oh, I cannot bear this heat much longer!”
“The heat and humidity have not changed since the moment I came. You are overexerting yourself and if you are not calm you will faint!”
“Only if I’m thrown into a tizzy, which seems to only happen when you are in the vicinity. I’m sure you will not believe me when I say I never fainted an eighth as many times as I have since meetin’ you, Brad.”
“My charm persuades you to act thusly? I am flattered.”
“Be not flattered. I had not meant to compliment.”
Frowning, Brad spun, hands clasped behind his back. “Damned heat.”
“I am quite irritable tonight, Mister Williams, and I should like to leave so I may prepare for bed. I only avoided you and Bentley today for I was sure I would only be rude—as I did not want to take the chance, I tucked myself away from your…companionship…”
“You seem quite anxious to be rid of my presence, Miss Vernon.”
Veronica paused, hurt by Brad’s cold manner. “You mistake me, Mister Will—Brad. Goodness, why in the world are we arguin’?”
Brad glanced over his shoulder, vaguely noticing her accent. “You change the subject.”
“What subject? What are we arguin’ about?”
“You always change the subject,” he glared, inches away.
“You followed me, and I have yet to hear the reason!” If only he weren’t so obstinate.
“Your mother has asked me to marry you.”
Of course: it would come to this. Veronica was hardly surprised at her mother’s sense of well-being for her. Although, it would be nice to finally be rid of Bentley. “My word,” she murmured, raising her hand in an attempt to hide her smile.
“She’s only trying to protect you from Bentley.”
Veronica jerked away before he could touch her shoulder. “Do not mention him.”
“Are you so repelled by the idea, Veronica?”
Catching the Rose Page 23
