“No, of course not,” Shaelyn exclaimed. “Why should you realize what you’re doing to my house? You’re only here for a short while. Why should you care if you leave my home in shambles? You won’t be here to make it right!” She threw her hands up in disgust and pushed past him, slamming the front door in the face of a young private tossing a sack of flour to the next man in line. The sack hit the door with a thump.
“My word!” one of the officers exclaimed. The statement traveled through the closed door and open windows into the hallway, where Shaelyn stood trying to calm herself before she approached the major. She drew in her breath and watched the line of men standing in the corridor, waiting for the next item to be passed their way.
Another voice, one she did not recognize, floated through the open window. “Who is that lovely young woman?”
“That,” she recognized the clipped speech pattern of Captain Davenport, “is Miss Shaelyn Cavanaugh. She is the daughter of the woman who owns this home. Beware. She has a temper.”
“So I see,” the second man said with a chuckle. “When will she be leaving?”
“She’s not.” Again, Captain Davenport answered, his accent placing him from Boston, an accent Shaelyn had become familiar with when she attended school there. “She came to an agreement with Major Harte. She and her mother will be staying.”
“Is the major out of his ever-loving mind?” A third voice joined the conversation, and Shaelyn wondered if the tall man with the gray in his sideburns had uttered the question. It didn’t matter. She had no intention of learning their names. “What is he thinking?”
“I wasn’t privy to the conversation. All I know is they are staying. Mrs. Cavanaugh will cook and that young lady will be cleaning up after us.” He paused then ordered, “Please put my trunk upstairs in the hallway.”
Shaelyn moved away from the door and stormed into the library with one purpose—to give Major Harte a piece of her mind.
He didn’t look up from the paperwork spread out on the desk—her father’s desk. “What can I do for you, Miss Cavanaugh?”
“I see your word means nothing,” she stated, her voice cracking in her ears.
Remy finally glanced at her. One dark eyebrow rose in question. “Excuse me?”
She pointed toward the hallway and the line of men standing idly, waiting to pass more foodstuffs. Mud from their boots splattered on the marble tile. “Your men are ruining my home! Why drag everything through the main house when there’s a perfectly good entrance to the cellar in the back?”
Remy looked past her, his mouth settling in a thin line. “I’ll take care of it.” He rose from his chair with a wince of pain, grabbed his cane, and left the room. Shaelyn followed. Their footsteps tapped on the marble floor; her two to every one of his, despite his limp.
“Vince,” Remy said when he walked out the front door and stepped into the pile of flour. White puffs shot into the air. “Have the men bring the wagons around back to unload.” He glanced down at his boots and the flour coating the high gloss shine. “And have someone clean this up.” He turned to Shaelyn. “Satisfied?”
“No, Major,” she said, her voice sounding strange to her own ears. “What would satisfy me is having you leave.”
“I’m afraid that’s not going to happen.” He turned on his heel and went down the hall in his uneven gait, his back ramrod straight as he returned to the study.
Shaelyn watched his progress and exhaled slowly. This is not going to work at all. I don’t want these men here.
She knew she had no choice though. Neither did anyone else whose home had been invaded by these men in blue, but at least Shaelyn and her mother were being allowed to stay. So many others found themselves homeless. Shaelyn squared her shoulders and took a deep breath. She turned to face Captain Davenport and the other officers. Her cheeks burned as she eyed each man and waited for one of them to give the order.
They stared back at her, almost mesmerized.
“Well?” She cocked an eyebrow and put her hands on her hips. “Will one of you give the order or shall I?”
The man with the gray in his sideburns gave an exaggerated bow. “My pleasure.” He turned toward the men and gave the command. In moments, the men rushed to obey.
Shaelyn turned on her heel and marched toward the kitchen. One battle won. How many more to go?
Her mother was standing on a step stool when Shaelyn entered the kitchen, pulling glasses from a cabinet high above the sink, then bending low to place them on a rolling cart. Fading sunlight coming in through the window created a warm glow around her. “You shouldn’t be doing this, Mama.” She took the glasses from her mother’s hands, placed them on the cart, then helped her from the stool. “Why are you bringing all the glasses down?”
“I thought I’d make some cold tea for those poor soldiers. They must be very thirsty. Did you see all the food they brought in?”
“You mean dragged through the house?” she asked, her tone tart. “Yes, I saw. I also saw the scratches on the floor, which I will try to remove later. Leave it to a man to make things harder than they should be. I suggested to Major Harte he bring everything into the cellar.”
Brenna frowned, the delicate lines around her eyes becoming more pronounced. “Suggested? Or did you use that tone with him?”
Shaelyn said nothing, but stared into her mother’s eyes. She clearly saw the reprimand in their azure depths.
“I thought as much. Shaelyn, you can’t—Never mind. I can only hope someone is looking after your brother like this.” She sighed then started to rinse the glasses. “I could feed an army for a month with all the food they brought.”
“You’ll probably have to.” Shaelyn struggled with a sack of flour some young man left in the middle of the floor. She dragged the sack into the pantry.
“What, dear?” Brenna went back to rinsing glasses, but spoke over her shoulder. “I knew everything would be all right when you poked your head into the parlor and gave me that look. Oh, Shae, I was so relieved. I didn’t think I could bear having to leave—”
“Mama, this isn’t all good, as you might think. In order for us to stay, I made an agreement with the major.”
“An agreement?” Brenna grabbed a dishtowel and a glass. She turned slowly, her eyes wide with confusion. “What kind of agreement?” Her voice trembled.
“You’re going to cook for Major Harte and his men. And I’m going to clean up after them.”
Visibly relieved, Brenna smiled. “That’s not so awful, dear.”
Shaelyn shook her head. “There’s more. We’re to move our belongings into the servants’ quarters.”
Brenna tilted her head as she commented, “Still, it could be so much worse, Shae. We could be homeless like so many others. Why, I just heard Mrs. Merr—”
“I don’t want them here.” Bitterness colored her voice, but she couldn’t help the caustic bite of her words. The sound of men stomping up and down the cellar steps echoed in the kitchen before sweet, blessed silence met her ears.
Brenna took a breath and opened her mouth to speak, but never had the chance. Her gaze drifted past Shaelyn. “Yes, Major?”
Shaelyn jumped and whirled around to come face-to-face with Major Harte. She knew he’d heard her comment and her face grew warm with embarrassment.
“Might I have a moment of your time?” he asked, his voice congenial, as if he’d heard the acid tone in her words but chose to ignore it. “I’d like you to meet the rest of my officers. At least, those who will be staying here.”
“Of course, Major,” Brenna replied, and to Shaelyn’s mortification, patted a stray auburn lock back into place then actually smiled at the man.
Shaelyn stood rooted to the spot and gazed into the major’s eyes. He offered his hand to her and grinned. She noticed how one corner of his mouth quirked a bit higher than the other, making his smile a little crooked…and definitely sweet, in a little boy way. “Miss Cavanaugh.”
She drew herself up straight
er, appalled she could even think his smile sweet. “I have no desire to meet your men.”
“But meet them you will and you will be pleasant.” His tone demanded obedience.
She chewed her bottom lip in indecision, caught between her desire to defy him and the command in his voice. The understanding and sympathy she saw in the warmth of his eyes confused her. She glanced at his hand then back at his face. His stern countenance convinced her. Disobedience would not be tolerated. She rushed past him into the hallway, her face aflame as if it were on fire. She leaned against the wall and drew in a deep breath to still the swift beat of her heart.
“Time, Major,” she heard her mother say, then watched them leave the kitchen, Brenna’s hand tucked into the crook of his arm. Shaelyn moved away from the wall and followed.
Remy’s officers rose from their seats as he and Brenna entered the parlor. He brought her mother to stand directly in front of them. Shaelyn watched from the doorway where she stood.
Remy turned and faced her. “Miss Cavanaugh, would you please join us?”
She had no choice, she knew. Resentment reared its ugly head, but she tamped it down. With a great deal of reluctance, she joined her mother in front of the men.
“Mrs. Cavanaugh, Miss Cavanaugh, please meet Captain Bonaventure.”
“Daniel, please,” Captain Bonaventure, the man with the gray in his sideburns, said as he took Brenna’s hand and brought it to his lips. His thick, woolly mustache tickled her hand and she giggled with delight.
“You must call me Brenna.”
Shaelyn gawked at her mother, surprised by her warm, inviting manner. She shouldn’t have been surprised, though, as Brenna had always been a gracious hostess, no matter the circumstances. Brenna’s face beamed and a momentary flash of guilt rushed through Shaelyn. She should take the example and be kind to these men, but she just couldn’t bring herself to do it. As it was, she had to grit her teeth when Brenna uttered “A pleasure, Daniel” with much warmth.
Daniel blushed then looked at Shaelyn. “Miss.”
“Captain,” Shaelyn replied coolly. Every muscle in her face strained with the effort to keep her smile firmly in place.
“Captain Peter Williams.” The next man in line bowed before Brenna. He couldn’t have been more than twenty-five, his light brown eyes bright with all the promise of a life ahead.
“Lovely to meet you, sir.” Once more, Brenna flashed a beautiful smile, welcoming these intruders into their home as if they were about to share afternoon tea, or were being introduced at a grand ball, instead of having their home overrun by blue uniformed men.
“Aaron Falstead.” A young man, no older than her brother, came forward, exuberance in his step and in his manner. How he reminded Shaelyn of Ian with his charming grin. He bowed from the waist before he took Brenna’s hand. “A pleasure to make your acquaintance.”
Brenna nodded in that regal style she had. “And what is your rank, sir?”
“Captain, ma’am.” The man blushed to the tips of his dark blond hair, turning the few blond whiskers on his face almost pink as he stepped back into line.
“Randal Beckett, ma’am. Captain.”
“Lovely to meet you, Captain.” Again, Brenna’s manner conveyed a warm welcome. Shaelyn clenched her jaw then narrowed her eyes when Captain Beckett winked at her.
The last man in the group stepped forward and again, Brenna’s hand was kissed. “Captain Courtland Ames, ma’am. Please call me Cory.” He glanced at Shaelyn and nodded in her direction.
“There is one more officer,” Remy said quietly, “but he hasn’t arrived yet. Perhaps—”
“Please excuse my lateness, Major Harte.”
Shaelyn heard the familiar voice from behind her and whirled around. Angus “Jock” MacPhee, old family friend and honorary uncle, stood in the doorway, a huge grin stretching the ginger mustache across his upper lip. His light green eyes twinkled merrily as he opened his arms wide.
“Uncle Jock!” Shaelyn rushed across the room and flew into his arms.
“Sassy, lass,” Jock murmured in her ear. “I thought ye might like to see a friendly face.”
“Oh, Uncle Jock, I’m so glad you’re here.” She squeezed him tighter. Tears burned her eyes and her heart beat a frantic rhythm in her chest.
“’Twill be a’right, Sassy lass.”
Shaelyn pulled away when she felt her mother behind her.
Brenna fell into the circle of Jock’s arms. “Angus MacPhee, you are the most surprising man,” she whispered as she rested her head against his broad chest then burst into tears.
Shaelyn stood back and watched while Jock rubbed Brenna’s back in a reassuring manner, offering comfort.
“Don’t cry, my fine Irish rose. Everything will be all right,” Jock murmured, his thick Scottish brogue more pronounced than usual.
Whatever brave face Brenna had shown to the world, her inner turmoil and pain were now more than evident. Shaelyn knew her attitude hadn’t helped, and a strong sense of guilt overwhelmed her as she watched the man she’d known all her life lead her mother to a chair by the window.
The other officers gathered around Brenna, their voices a low hum as they, too, offered comfort.
Shaelyn felt someone watching her and glanced at Major Harte. Sympathy radiated from his eyes. The simple expression was her undoing. The tears she’d fought so hard to contain clouded her vision as she ran from the room.
Chapter 3
Remy watched Shaelyn run into the hallway, but not before he saw tears fill her magnificent eyes. The rush of sympathy he’d felt earlier doubled, then tripled, and the inclination to comfort her surged through him. And yet, he wouldn’t allow himself to move forward.
As long as they were here, he would be in command, and the sooner she learned that, the better off she’d be. That didn’t mean he couldn’t be pleasant, show her he was a man of his word, a man of honor.
He glanced at Brenna. As gracious and sweet as Jock said she was. There would be no fireworks, no battles, no questioning of his orders from her. Her tears had dried, leaving tracks on her cheeks, but the smile now spreading her lips remained as warm as when they’d first met. She sat on the rattan sofa, surrounded by his men, the last rays of the sun coming in through the window to highlight her dark auburn hair, the color of rich mahogany.
A smile twitched the corners of his mouth. No wonder Jock MacPhee had suggested this home and the Cavanaugh steamers. The Scotsman loved this woman, and had for quite some time, if the warmth glowing in his light green eyes was any indication.
A long sigh escaped him and the pain in his leg throbbed with each beat of his heart. He shifted his weight and leaned on the cane, his constant companion for the past three months. There was much to do and he had no time for the relentless reminder of his injury, nor for the love for Brenna he saw reflected in Jock’s eyes.
“Gentlemen,” he said as he turned and limped over to his officers. “I have assigned your rooms. If you’ll join me in the study, we can begin getting settled.” As one, his men rose and departed the room, their boot heels heavy on the marble tile in the corridor, leaving him alone with Mrs. Cavanaugh.
He studied her for a moment. A handsome woman by anyone’s standards. An ageless beauty, enhanced by her sweet nature, with not one hint of her daughter’s fiery temper. No raised chin, no daggers shooting from her clear blue eyes, which regarded him now with curiosity.
Remy cleared his throat. “Mrs. Cavanaugh, would you be so kind as to prepare supper? I am certain everyone is hungry. I know I am.” And as if to prove his statement, his stomach rumbled. He covered the sound by clearing his throat once more. “You may use whatever provisions you like and if you should need anything else, please let me know.”
“Of course, Major.” She stood and smoothed the wrinkles from her long skirt. “And you must call me Brenna. Please.” Her smile radiated her good nature as she touched his arm, her fingers light on his uniform sleeve. “I have a feeling you and I ar
e going to be friends.” She held his gaze with her own and sighed. “The same may not be true for Shae and yourself, and I apologize for her behavior. She is not normally rude. Truly, she is a sweet girl.”
“No apologies necessary, ma’am. I quite understand. She’s had quite a shock, as I’m certain you have had.” He escorted her to the kitchen, now fully stocked with the foodstuffs he had purchased with his own money.
“Thank you for your understanding. And thank you for letting us stay. You could have thrown us into the street.”
He nodded once then left the kitchen, uncomfortable with her gratitude, and limped down the hall to the study.
His men waited patiently, Daniel and Jock sitting in the oversize chairs in front of the desk, Peter and Cory lounging on a comfortable leather couch with Aaron behind them at the window. They were good men, chosen not only for their expertise, but for their integrity and honor.
Vince studied the collection of books on one of the shelves and glanced at him as he closed the pocket doors. “How’s your leg?”
Remy grinned despite the pain as he moved across the floor and took the chair behind the desk. “Still with me.” He made himself comfortable then propped his cane against the side of the desk and focused on the short list he’d written earlier. After each man knew which bedroom would be theirs for the duration of their stay, he said, “By the time we unpack our belongings, Mrs. Cavanaugh should have supper ready.”
“Do you think it’s wise to allow Mrs. Cavanaugh and her daughter to stay?” He caught the curious gleam in Daniel’s eyes as the man asked the question. “Miss Cavanaugh has quite a temper.”
“That she does.” He couldn’t help the small chuckle that escaped him. “As we’ve all seen. Whether it’s a wise decision or not—” he shrugged his shoulders “—I don’t know. It isn’t the color of our uniforms that upsets Miss Cavanaugh. It’s the fact that we all do what we damn well please, as she so clearly informed me, but from what I can see, she’s more interested in keeping her house in good condition and keeping both her mother and herself safe. I understand that. I can respect that.” He stood and moved to the window, aware that his leg had already begun to stiffen. “Besides, they have nowhere else to go.”
Mischief and Magnolias Page 3
