Finding Love the Hard Way

by Vickery, Rebecca J.

  "Why? Why would you do that? You can't be a sacrifice..." Noelle swiped at more tears as they ran down her cheeks yet again.

  Nick saw the sparkle in her eyes and prayed it meant she wanted this as much as he did. He took her hand and dropped to one knee in front of her. With his other hand, he brought out the small wrapped box he'd taken from the tree. "Noelle, I love you, and I love Rachael and Kenny. I would be the happiest man alive if you would share my home and the rest of my life, please?" He handed her the box.

  Noelle accepted the small present and dropped to sit on the sofa when her knees gave out. "Nick, are you serious? I can't believe... This is so fast... Are you sure—" She opened the package and looked at the beautiful diamond and matching wedding band inside.

  Nick twisted around on his knees to face her. "I got the set because I want a short engagement. But if you want a long one and a big wedding—"

  Noelle threw her arms around his neck and sobbed into his shoulder.

  "I hope this means yes," he teased and eased her back from him. "You were crying the very first time I saw you, and you do seem to cry a lot. Guess I'd better buy more of these." He used his hankie and dabbed at her cheeks, then kissed her.

  Finally, Noelle whispered, "Well, these are happy Christmas tears, and they mean yes, I love you too – my children love you – and I will marry you – soon." She moaned in pleasure as he slid his arms around her and smothered her in kisses.

  * * * * *

  Rachael nudged Kenny. They were hiding on the upstairs landing, peeking between the rails. "See... I told you she had to do that to get us a new daddy. Santa Claus sure brought us what we wanted this year. You know, I think Baby Jesus helped too."

  "Oh yeah! A new daddy, a new house with the bestest yard, and I bet there's a real football under the tree." Kenny gave a wide yawn. "Rach, I'm sleepy. Can we go back to bed now? Won't be long 'til we can get up and open presents."

  ~ The End ~

  Lady Constance Yankee Spy

  Chapter One

  Teague Oaks Plantation

  South Carolina, 1867

  Constance arranged the mix of roses, daylilies, and greenery with capable hands, but her mind would not settle to the task. The dratted war had been over for two years, but memories lingered to haunt her. She'd lost almost every man who ever meant anything to her in the War Between the States, a seemingly never-ending battle between brothers, fathers and sons, and even husbands and wives. She still mourned her father and brother, but the loss of her handsome, virile husband weighed heaviest on her heart.

  After barely enough time for a proper wedding and a week of seclusion in June of 1864, Lord John Ashmore had been recalled to his Union regiment and forced to return to Maryland and his duty. Two weeks later word arrived of his death at Monocacy, better known as the Battle that Saved Washington, a conflict with few actual casualties, but leaving Lady Constance Teague Ashmore a widow. Her hopes for a child from their brief time together faded away a few weeks after his death and her grief doubled.

  A month later, Constance found she was an only child as a brief notification arrived from Andersonville Prison stating her brother's date of capture and his subsequent death from wounds obtained in battle. Steeling herself against succumbing to the overwhelming pain, Constance helped her father arrange to retrieve William's body and plan a proper burial at the plantation. Then, because of wandering marauders and bands of undisciplined troops, Constance was sent by her father to reside in the Charleston townhouse for safety.

  Soon after, Constance became an orphan. A neighbor brought word her father died attempting to fight off a group of scavenging soldiers who raided Teague Oaks for food and the few remaining horses. They buried him quickly, as they were fleeing their own home which had been burned to the ground. She never even knew which side the soldiers supposedly fought for – or if they were deserters turned thieves. One small saving grace, to her way of thinking, her mother was not alive to suffer such agonizing grief, having passed with pneumonia a few years before. There were days when she envied her mother such peace.

  * * * * *

  Several weeks after the death of her father, her secret career began. Lady Constance Ashmore agreed to become a Yankee spy.

  Approached by Sir Thaddeus Kenward, a gentleman well placed in diplomatic circles, he suggested Lady Ashmore to be in a particularly interesting and extremely helpful situation. Her father's property and background, a plantation owner from South Carolina who believed firmly in State Rights, guaranteed her a position in Southern society. Her widowed status to a slain Union officer with family and property in Maryland would ensure her safe passage on Northern soil. She would be accepted on both sides of the Mason-Dixon Line.

  Sir Kenward made it sound simple as he enticed her to attend, circulate, and listen at Southern social events. He asked her to then pass along whatever tidbits of news she might overhear from the wives and sweethearts of Southern officers and influential businessmen.

  Torn, her loyalties divided between the ideals of her father and her hatred of slavery, she originally said no – until he played his ace, as her dear departed daddy would have said.

  Kenward pointed out that a Union victory was a foregone conclusion. But perhaps she could assist in bringing this bloody war to a more rapid conclusion, and thus help other wives, sisters, mothers, and daughters keep the men they cared for living long enough to return home.

  Feeling she really had nothing left to live for herself, and seeking a way to end the awful conflict which personally cost her so much, Constance finally decided to accept, and she jumped headlong into the new challenge.

  Proving quite adept at chatting up other ladies and procuring information as she danced with various gentlemen, Constance quickly grew as a valuable asset to the North. She even became quite stealthy and could sneak into rooms to secure documents or copy down meeting locations and supply routes and escape. If caught, she had a ready string of patter to distract the observer and explain her presence. Enjoying the distraction of such games, Constance found her adventures a stimulating way to work through her sorrows and, at the same time, help her struggling nation.

  But lies and deceit eventually demand a price, her mama would have reminded her had she been there and if Constance would have listened.

  Chapter Two

  Charleston, South Carolina, 1867

  Constance fingered the expensive note-card in her hand. A footman brought it to her only moments earlier. How did Kenward know she'd returned to the Teague townhouse in Charleston? Did the blasted man still have spies everywhere? Bad dreams of her many narrow escapes, of being discovered and talking her way out, and her fear of being publicly hanged as a spy had almost stopped over the past few months.

  However, being back in this house, this town, with its buildings bearing shell holes and war ghosts, disturbed her peace of mind. She'd dealt with one of her vivid nightmares just last night. And now this... A note demanded she meet Sir Kenward in their usual place.

  He couched it in terms of a romantic liaison, in case of its interception, and he signed it with only his initials. Just as before, when she'd passed information to him or his contemporaries on Southern troop movements and supply runs.

  Constance paced the floor. She didn't want to go and wondered what he would do if she failed to show. What could the man possibly need from her after all this time? The war was well and truly over – the country was healing, wasn't it? Surely, he had no more need of a female spy. Perhaps she should keep the assignation – one last time. She would make it clear she was done with him and his notes. This would be the end of it.

  Dressed carefully, as she would for a true meeting of the heart, Constance sent for a Hansom cab and instructed the driver to take her to the theater. He assisted her inside and took his place atop the coach.

  Once at the theater, Constance paid her driver and walked into the foyer. But rather than purchase entry, she slipped out a side door, pulled her scarf about her head and shou
lders, and scanned the line of lesser class cabs waiting for fares. She hired an elderly driver who looked clean despite his worn clothing and climbed inside. This one she instructed to take her to a certain dock, to a private boat, a yacht they were now called. Constance told him there would be a fine tip, if he would wait. He stayed put, propped his feet on the carriage edge, and pulled out his pipe.

  Constance made sure her hair and most of her face remained covered then walked along the wooden ramps among the tethered boats until she reached the correct one. She rang the small bell three times and waited.

  He came from behind her. His arm encircled her shoulders and he greeted her, "My love. I am so glad you came. Come aboard and let me show you the changes I've made to the Lady Freedom. I was just out securing this bottle of wine for us. We'll drink a toast to her." With that he ushered her on board and hurried her below.

  She heard one of his men move into place to guard the access as Sir Kenward finally lit a lantern.

  "Well, Thaddeus. Looks like nothing much has changed with you." She uncovered her face and hair as she pointedly looked at the thick black cloth draped over the porthole and the maps and papers stacked on his desk.

  "It is grand to see you also, Lady Constance. You're more beautiful than ever. Won't you have a seat and partake of the wine?"

  "No, thank you. I won't be staying long, and I was mistaken. In the light, I can see you are thinner and even more worn looking than before. Are the nation's affairs so troublesome?"

  "Extremely troublesome, my dear. Exactly the reason I asked you to join me tonight. You must excuse me, please, if I sit. This leg pains me more each day. I definitely could use a libation." Thaddeus dropped onto the chair behind the desk, stretched out his offending limb, and popped the cork on the wine. He poured a fair portion into a mug and took a long drink. "Sure you won't have just a sip?"

  Constance shook her head. "Thaddeus, our arrangement is over. I came tonight out of... curiosity ...let's say – and because I owe it to you. But this is the last time. I am out of this." There, she'd said it, and now she could go. She did not want to be drawn back into whatever had him looking so shaken.

  "Someone is trying to assassinate the President." Thaddeus watched her over the rim of his pewter mug as he took another drink. She sat abruptly on the edge of the chair facing him.

  "But... I thought they caught all the conspirators involved in the assassination of President Lincoln. Johnson appears to be doing an adequate job of the Reconstruction, isn't he?"

  "Yes and no. There are several groups who want Johnson gone. Seems they don't agree with his policies of taking from the rich to share with the poor. Then on the other side, there are those who don't like his efforts to block civil rights. Some are willing to attempt to remove him legally through impeachment, but others would rather he join Lincoln in the grave. Our country would be in dire straits if another assassination were to occur, particularly now. We need to get someone close to a man who is involved."

  "Me?" Constance laughed nervously and played with the edges of her shawl. "What makes you think he would let me get close? No, please, Thaddeus... You must find someone else. I truly—"

  "Nathaniel Weston," Kenward said the name then poured wine into the second mug on the desk and passed it over.

  She drained it in one swallow. "Nate? You think he's trying to kill President Johnson?"

  "We don't know, Constance. He's involved up to his...er, uhm...chin. We're just not sure how, or why. You are to use any...uhm...means at your disposal to find out and to stop him. Now you know why I chose you." Wisely, Thaddeus stopped talking and allowed her time to mull over what he'd said.

  Nate – an assassin? Her mind tried to work that out. Yes, she knew he could kill a man. She'd watched him do so on two separate occasions. And he'd gotten her out of more than one tight spot during her spying days. He was tough, quick, and wily as a fox, but she would not accept him as an assassin of the President. He was a true patriot who loved his country.

  "I don't believe it," she told her former employer. She breathed deeply as she tried to find a way around this, but then let out a long sigh before saying, "All right... I will do this one last thing for you, for my country. But you will not ask anything else of me, ever. Do you understand?"

  "Perfectly, my dear, perfectly." A smile lit his face and he poured both of them another dollop of wine. "To success – and hopefully, to saving our Union."

  Chapter Three

  In the dark interior of the cab, Constance couldn't stop the memories of Nathaniel filling her mind – or her heart. She'd always suspected Thaddeus, or one of his well-placed contacts, asked Nate to keep an eye on her, back during those dangerous days of the war. He seemed to frequent many of the same functions as she, and Nate always showed up when she got into serious trouble. Or perhaps he was just a Sir Galahad, a knight in shining armor, always ready to assist a lady. She wouldn't – no, she couldn't – believe his armor was now tarnished.

  Lady Ashmore closed her eyes and thought of the last time she'd seen him...

  * * * * *

  Charleston, 1865

  Nate, tall, dark, and handsome as the devil, had climbed up the balcony and forced open the French doors. He'd dragged her out of the master bedroom of the stately Charleston Hotel and closed the doors behind them just as the Southern Colonel burst in with a giggly maid on his arm. The partially intoxicated man proceeded to stick his hands inside the maid's dress and pinch her bottom. Instead of protesting, the maid dropped to her knees in front of the man and proceeded to perform certain favors.

  Constance almost cried out in disbelief, but Nate clapped his hand over her mouth and pulled her deeper into the shadows. "Do you want to get us hung?" he whispered in her ear.

  She shook her head and he loosened his grip. She then felt his reaction to what they were seeing as he pressed against her hip, and she tried to step away. Constance couldn't prevent the stir of interest deep within her own body at the feel of him. Over two long years since her husband's death, her mourning over, she was still a young healthy woman, after all. She felt alone and horribly isolated most of the time, never daring to get too close or intimate with anyone who might discover her secret.

  Nate felt her shift and tightened his grip around her waist. He grinned to himself as he thought of her reaction if he had his way with her – right out here – where she didn't dare protest too loudly. She'd probably bite him, he decided. He whispered, "Be still. This won't take long and they'll leave."

  Constance felt increased pressure against her hip and closed her eyes against the sensations coursing through her. Certain areas of her body responded and she swallowed. She refused to look into the room again, instead closing her eyes as she tried to quell the emotions churning in her stomach like fluttering butterflies.

  Then Nate huskily whispered, "Seems I was mistaken. This is going to take a while." He chuckled against her neck.

  She couldn't resist a peek to see what he was talking about. The Colonel had unbuttoned the maid's plain gray dress and let it fall to the floor. He was now stripping off her petticoat and chemise as he fondled a large breast. Constance hastily looked away, feeling the deep blush crawl up her neck and flame across her face. Nate, the rascal, was intentionally trying to embarrass her.

  A low groan came from Nate's chest behind her as they heard the Colonel's loud comments and the maid's squeals of delight.

  Constance gasped as Nate's grip on her tightened and she felt his breathing quicken. Against her better judgment, Constance let her hand trail along the strong arm holding her back against his body. Her husband John never let her explore his body during their time of seclusion. He'd said it wasn't proper for a lady, but she'd always wondered how a man's physique compared to her own. No longer a maiden, but still innocent in many ways, Constance felt consumed by a burning curiosity about the ways and differences of men and women.

  Nate shook her hand away, whispering hotly in her ear, "As much as I like your tou
ch, you better stop."

  "No," she'd whispered in return and slid her hand up to his thick bicep and squeezed.

  "Woman, you don't know what you're asking for," he bit out, and then turned her in his arms.

  Constance made a soft, low sound of appreciation as her full breasts grazed the firm muscles of his chest. She stroked her hand up and down the satiny cloth of his coat and then slipped it inside to run her fingers curiously over the hair-covered chest she felt through the fine cotton of his shirt.

  "You are killing me, Constance," Nate growled. Then he bit on her earlobe and nibbled her neck.

  Hot spears of need darted through her insides and she quivered with unfulfilled passion. All thought of the mission and where they were fled her mind as Nate teased her ear and kissed her jaw-line while she continued to rub her hands over his oh, so enticing, upper body.

  Nate slid his hand up from her waist and stroked her breast through her dress with the back of his fingers. She almost cried out, but remembered not to give their position away just in time.

  "Like that do you, sweetness? Well, you're going to love this..." Nate whispered and lowered his lips to hers while sliding both hands down her hips to clasp her tightly to the front of his torso.

  Shocked at the sudden surge of emotion, she pulled her mouth away and whispered, "No, stop that."

  But he didn't listen.

  "It's only fair." His moist mouth breathed in her ear again. "You've driven me almost mad for months." Nate's lips returned to hers before she could protest and his demanding kiss went on and on. His hands slid upward once more and he worked at the fastenings of her dress, until they heard a loud thump from inside.

  Then a door slam parted them. They looked into the room to see the maid donning her clothes and no sign of the Colonel.