Trouble the Water_A Novel

by Jacqueline Friedland

  “Abby doesn’t have the slightest enthusiasm for marriage, so I’m sure she cannot be all that interested in him. So any passing attraction that Douglas might harbor will probably soon wane. She doesn’t suit him anyway. They are incredibly different types. You, on the other hand, have been born and bred in the same social circles as Douglas, and you have the proper upbringing of a true Southern lady.”

  Gracie’s words seemed to have the intended effect, as Cora Rae visibly relaxed. “Well, yes, I suppose a poor girl from British slums is not likely to maintain Douglas’s notice for long. That little bit of pretty she’s got, it’s not enough to hold a man like Douglas Elling.” Cora Rae gazed approvingly at her own smooth face in her mirror and then turned back to Gracie. “Even so, I don’t like leaving anything to chance. You’re going to help me one more time.”

  Gracie rolled her eyes under closed lids. “What is it you’re proposing, dear sister?” Gracie asked without attempting to hide her sarcasm.

  “It’s masterfully simple, actually,” Cora Rae turned to face her sister and lowered her voice. “We must convince Abby that Douglas Elling is a scoundrel. Unrefined girls like your precious Abby all want the same thing from a man; they want to be loved and adored to the exclusion of all others, as though true love might actually exist. They want a hero they can worship until they’re blue in their raw little faces. Isn’t it true?” she asked rhetorically. “I, on the other hand, know that men are imperfect by their very nature. They will always lust after other women. None is a hero. A wise woman loves a man for his accomplishments and his status, and most of all for his imperfections, not in spite of them.”

  “It’s time for Douglas to fall from grace,” Cora Rae continued. “Once she determines that Douglas is not her white knight, but a man like any other, who longs to lay with every fine woman who crosses his path, he will quickly lose her affection. And she will cease to be an obstacle. Once Douglas is able to focus on me and me alone, well, the outcome should be too plain to state, don’t you think? Help me undo these buttons, would you?” She turned her back to Gracie.

  “Even if your plan succeeds in spoiling Abby’s opinion of Douglas, how does it follow that Douglas’s next logical step is to your front hall?” Gracie asked.

  “You just leave that part to me,” Cora Rae instructed dismissively. “Douglas will see me for who I am, once he finally has the freedom to concentrate on me, that is.”

  “Assuming I agree, how would we even manage to convince Abby that Douglas is of such dubious character?” Gracie fingers continued working the buttons of her sister’s dress.

  “Don’t give me that tone, Gracie. It’s actually a kindness to your friend. A bit of heartbreak now will save her from landing in a life where she has no place. If you think about the long term, you must acquiesce that she will be happier if it ends now. Let’s wait only a few days,” Cora Rae instructed, calculating. “Give me two minutes alone with him in his study, and then send Abby in to see us.” Cora Rae stepped free of the dress and reached for her next choice. She seemed greatly cheered from her earlier desolation. With a new depth of confidence, she added, “I will take care of the rest.”

  26

  CHARLESTON, SOUTH CAROLINA

  1846

  Although the rain had abated by lunchtime, Douglas sent word that Abby should meet him in the Hayes parlor, a room at the south end of the house. Now as she made her way down the empty corridor, she pinched her cheeks one last time for color and attempted a steadying breath. The smell of roasted chicken and corn greeted her as she stepped into the small room. The parlor, which seemed a cross between a study and a petite dining room, was empty. The sideboard was laden with food, and Abby hazarded a step closer to investigate. There was a wicker basket full of breads, yeasty creations in divergent shapes, some covered with seeds, others without. A tray of cheese and dried fruits also waited, along with mason jars of varying jams. There was a bowl of fresh fruit, and three silver dishes covered by matching domes. Abby sniffed the air again and guessed the shining cloches covered chicken and corn pudding, perhaps glazed ham.

  “I hope I didn’t go overboard,” she heard Douglas say as he walked into the room from behind her. “I was unsure of your tastes and thought it’d be best if I provided some choice.” He was carrying a crystal pitcher full of lemonade, which he set down alongside the food. “I convinced Jasper to let me serve lunch myself. Figured it best replicated the picnic experience.” He shrugged as he glanced toward the gray sky outside the window.

  “All this is just for the two of us?” Abby asked, incredulous.

  “If you are going to grant me the pleasure of your company, you’ll have to grow accustomed to being fussed over.” He walked to the square table, which had been set for two. It looked to Abby more like a gaming table than a space for dining. “So?” Douglas asked as he lifted a plate from one of the settings and approached the food. “A little of everything?”

  He spoke casually, and Abby wondered how he could be so calm when his mere presence was causing her heart to pound, insistent like a heckler, demanding to be heard.

  “Yes, yes, that would be lovely. Thank you.” She took her seat at the table, crossing her ankles as Larissa invariably instructed.

  It seemed to Abby a matter of seconds before he placed a heaping plate before her and lifted his own dish for a return to the buffet. Perhaps if she focused on the food, instead of the man, she might fasten her frayed nerves back together before he sat. She studied the chaos on her plate and saw that what she had expected to be corn pudding looked to be some sort of egg and squash cake, the likes of which she had not encountered before.

  “I’m a firm believer that you have to try new foods before declaring that one is not to your liking.” Douglas had apparently been watching her crinkle her forehead at the gelatinous loaf.

  “I hope you haven’t the same outlook on women as you do on food?” Abby asked, immediately irritated at herself for her constant inability to think before speaking. Though perhaps it was for the best that she prodded like this—what did she really know about Douglas’s intentions?

  He turned toward her with a serving fork in his hand, suddenly serious, “I assure you, I am hardly fickle when it comes to matters of the heart. It seems that when I get myself set on someone, it’s rather difficult for me to aim my attention anywhere else. I’ve long since ceased my efforts to quit mooning over you.” He stared at her for a moment, making her shawl feel too heavy on her shoulders. “Food, on the other hand,” he turned lightheartedly back to the credenza and speared a chicken leg, “well, I generally just enjoy all of it.” He continued loading his plate until it was as full as the one he’d presented to Abby and then sat opposite her at the glossy onyx table.

  “Please, eat,” he told her as he spread a napkin on his lap. Abby lifted her fork and looked with trepidation at the stockpile of food before her, trying to determine how to confront it. The primary objective was to avoid spilling anything across her bosom in front of Douglas. As she poked experimentally at the squash loaf, Douglas continued leading the conversation.

  “I know you are wary, that you have been disappointed in the past. I would like to prove to you my trustworthiness, my sincerity where you are concerned. So please, ask me anything you’d like, and I promise honesty in my response.”

  She chanced a bite of the squash cake and found it surprisingly tasty, light and fluffy with a hint of garlic. She was reluctant to ask more about his intentions toward her, lest she seem too needy or demanding. Yet there was another way to seize the opportunity he offered.

  “If I can really ask anything,” she began hesitantly, “can’t you tell me about your involvement in abolition?”

  “Oh,” Douglas answered flatly. “Let’s not do that. I’ve just offered you my soul on a pallet. Wouldn’t it be better if I just continued raving about how besotted I am by you?”

  “That is tempting,” Abby smiled as she stood to fetch the lemonade, “but if I take you at
your word about your feelings toward me, then we are free to discuss other topics. Though my information is wooly, I’m fairly certain that your experience with abolition has played a large part in forming who you are.”

  Douglas sighed and answered quietly, “No.”

  Abby stood looking down at him. How could there be anything real between them if he would not talk to her about this enormously important part of his life?

  “But I already know you’re involved,” she persisted, “so why can you not simply fill in details?”

  “Please,” he took the pitcher and set it down on the table before taking hold of her hand with both of his. “Understand that these are questions of life and death. I am trying to keep you far from these dealings to limit your risk. If I were truly selfless, I would say that you should quit me altogether, but I find myself unable to give you up. Can we not agree to sequester one topic without detriment to the growing bond between us? No matter what information I secrete, I will never be false. Not with you. Tell me that can be sufficient?”

  “I . . . I don’t know. How can I trust you when there is so much of your life you would keep hidden from me?”

  “Please, Abby, do not ask me to jeopardize your safety. Let us at least try, try building something between us while leaving other things to the side. Grant me the opportunity to prove myself to you. At some point over the past months, you have taken hold of my soul, as though you are grasping it with your bare hands, at all hours, every dawn. Nothing can change that, even if I keep certain things to myself. Isn’t it good enough?”

  As he looked up at her, his light eyes determined, she wished it wouldn’t be improper to stroke his chin, to explore the contours of his square jaw, the small dip below his bottom lip.

  “Fine,” she snapped as she returned to her seat, adjusting herself with a huff. “Then what else shall I ask in this little game of yours?”

  “I assure you, I am not playing.” They stared at each other a moment in silence.

  Abby considered her options. He hardly owed her anything, wasn’t beholden to her, so why should she insist that he share his every secret? As much as her own curiosity was arguing otherwise, there really was no reason Douglas had to list all the details of his illegal activities for her. She should salvage this meeting and try to turn the focus to lighter topics.

  “Right then. So . . . how about this room? Why is it called the Hayes parlor?”

  “Ha. I haven’t any idea. Never asked.” He glanced around the room as if seeing the quaint space for the first time. “Ask me another.”

  “Then why are we in here?”

  “Where else should we be?” He smirked and leaned back in his seat, challenging her.

  “Why not the dining room?”

  “I felt put off by that mammoth table, didn’t want to risk you sitting too far from me.” His eyes flashed with mischief.

  “What about Larissa?”

  “What about her?” He offered a slight shrug.

  “Where is she?”

  “Why should I know?” He was becoming increasingly flip.

  “Well shouldn’t she be chaperoning us?”

  “No.”

  “No?” Abby persisted.

  “I instructed her not to join us when I sent my note.” The ghost of a smile played at his lips as he rose and rounded the table toward her.

  “Not to join us?” Abby’s voice pitched higher, and she cursed her panic.

  “Not to join us.” He stood firm, looking down at her, and it seemed he was surrounded by a palpable confidence.

  She felt crowded by the sudden closeness, wanted him to step back so she didn’t have to tilt her head to meet his gaze. “But why?”

  “You want to know why?” he asked her, reaching for her hand and pulling her to a standing position.

  “Yes.” She noticed her linen napkin floating toward the floor, but she was quickly distracted from it as he stepped even closer to her. She raised her eyes to meet his and saw him looking down at her mouth. She could smell him, a heady scent that was becoming familiar to her, as welcome as it was frightening.

  “Why what?”

  “What?” She felt incompetent to continue conversing under these circumstances, as she stood awkwardly awaiting his next action.

  “What did you want to know?” he asked again, his voice shifting to a near whisper as he looked at her eyes and then her lips and then her eyes and then her lips again.

  He was asking too many questions, standing too close, confusing her, his questions and his broad chest invading her space.

  “Um, oh. Oh, Larissa. Why didn’t you want her here?”

  “So that I could do this.”

  With astonishing speed, his hand was on the back of her neck, and his mouth was covering hers. She thought to shove at him, like she’d have done to Matthew, but then she felt the warmth of his soft lips against hers, gentle and frantic all the same. The hand on her neck crawled into her hair as he pulled her closer, inhaling her, seeming to breathe her into himself. This wasn’t like Matthew at all. Where he had pushed and demanded, harsh and unyielding, Douglas seemed to be worshiping, begging for a taste of her. He nudged at her lips with his mouth, pushing them apart and licking her bottom lip. Then his tongue was inside her mouth, exploring her, making promises with every stroke. She should stop this, shove him back and yell at him for degrading her. But this didn’t feel like disrespect, it felt like sanctification. She gave in and grabbed onto his arms, the bulk of his shoulders nearly too large for her paltry hands to make purchase. She leaned into him, their chests touching, as he groaned her name into her mouth.

  Her resolve was lost. She wanted to put her hands inside his waistcoat, reach beneath his shirt, and feel his bare chest, the softness of his skin against the hard muscle she was certain lay beneath. Her legs began to give out, but he wrapped his other arm around her waist, holding her up. She wanted only to keep feeling the heat of his body against her, to continue hearing his small moans as he relished her. She moved a hand to his chest and was rewarded when he whispered her name. But then he said it again, and it sounded different, strained. He ripped his mouth from hers and stepped backwards. His breath was coming in ragged bursts, his lips red and slick as he looked down at her.

  “My God, I’m so sorry,” he huffed.

  Abby wiped the back of her hand against her own wet mouth. “You’re sorry?” she asked, her voice weak as she readied to be mortified by her wanton enthusiasm.

  “No, that’s wrong. I am not sorry. I will be basking in the memory of this moment for days to come, the smell of you, your taste. But I am sorry if I frightened you or pushed you too far. I moved too quickly, too. . . .” He faltered.

  “Frightened me?” Abby smoothed her hair with a hand, barely noticing how many strands escaped from the twist Ida had created for her earlier. She was about to say more, make a joke, when she noticed his face had turned gray.

  “What is it?”

  “There is something I need to tell you, before we take this any further.” He dug his hands into his pockets and released a sigh of reluctance.

  Her heart, which had barely begun to slow back to its normal pace, was now beating wildly again as she wondered what ghastly information he was readying to reveal about himself.

  “Come sit with me,” he directed, as he led her to the room’s only settee, gently guiding her to sit on the green velvet. “It may be too soon for us to discuss this, but if I wait, I worry you will feel I kept this information from you for too long.”

  She couldn’t imagine there was anything he could tell her about himself that would change what she was feeling.

  “There is no gentle way to say this, but,” he paused and then stated flatly, “I know about your uncle Matthew.”

  It was as though he had smacked her cheek with his open palm.

  He couldn’t know. If he knew the truth, she realized, everything would surely be over between them. “What do you mean?” Her words caught in her throat, eme
rging clipped and choppy even though she tried to sound casual.

  Douglas coughed and looked toward the window, away from her. “I know that he, that he did things. Made you do things with him. Vile things.”

  Abby sat very still as she absorbed his words. She was sure he must now consider her to be filthy and soiled. Vile, that was the word he’d used. Suddenly, defensive anger took hold of her. She stood, needed to be standing to meet this.

  “How do you know about it?” she asked, her voice rising. “Why waste your time courting then, when you already know you can do just what you please?”

  Douglas answered with forced calm in his voice. “Abby, please, it’s not like that. You’re the one who told me. You, yourself.”

  “I did what?” she demanded.

  “After the accident with the horse,” Douglas rose off the settee. “You were delirious. When I tried to help you, you were shouting at me, calling me Matthew, you said some things that made it rather obvious.”

  “And what?” she demanded. “You’ve waited all this time, reading to me and taking me to stupid parties, until you can have your turn, is that it?”

  “It wasn’t any of my affair, Abby,” Douglas pleaded. “It wasn’t my place to confront you about what I had heard. But then we started growing closer. There was no right time to tell you what I knew. I couldn’t let this secret exist between us any longer. I could never judge you for it. I’m only sorry I wasn’t there to stop him.” Douglas looked at her with pleading eyes.

  “Don’t look at me,” she shouted. “Don’t ever look at me!” She covered her face with her hands and began to sob, still standing in the middle of the small parlor.