Jeremy was not too occupied with Frenchie to notice the effect the little Cuban was having on his brother. He smiled at his thoughts. This evening could offer more possibilities than he’d ever dreamed of.
He called to Estrella and whispered something in her ear. She frowned at him.
“It would only be a joke, you understand,” he said to her. “Sort of a rehearsal—a dry run.”
“Me, I don’t like it! Not one bit!”
“Christ, Estrella! He’s my own brother. Do you think I’d do anything to hurt him? Come on. Be a sport!”
Frenchie sat pouting in the corner of the booth, forgotten for the moment. “I wish to hell somebody would be a sport about something!” she fumed. “I got the hots and no one to cool ’em!”
“We’ll let you help, sweet thing. How’s that?” Jeremy asked. “Afterward, if Carmelita can’t handle him, you can have a shot at it.”
“I thought you wanted me,” Frenchie whined.
“Goddamn right, I want you! But you wouldn’t object to an extra fee and some fun in the bargain, would you, sweet thing?”
“Guess not,” Frenchie sighed.
Brandon, all but unconscious now, realized he was being raised to his feet, that people were closing in around him—singing, laughing. But by the time he was in Carmelita’s big bed upstairs, only his dreams seemed real.
Jeremy helped the two girls remove Brandon’s vest, shirt, and breeches. When he lay naked on the magnificently carved bed, Carmelita examined him closely with wide eyes and exclaimed, “Que grande! This one is mucho hombre!”
“It’s a family trait,” Jeremy replied proudly.
Frenchie, suddenly more interested than before, pushed the Cuban girl aside. “If he’s too much man for you, I’ll take him!”
“No!” Carmelita clawed at the other prostitute’s face and hissed, “He is mine, this one! You leave us now!”
“Hey, you promised me a piece of this action!” Frenchie flared at Jeremy.
Jeremy stood, transfixed, watching while the pretty Cuban whore stripped off her clothes unselfconsciously. His urgency rose as she straddled Brandon’s body and slipped into position.
Grabbing Frenchie by the arm, he urged, “Come along with me. I’m gonna show you more goddamn action than you can handle—and then some, sugar pot!”
Frenchie cried out excitedly when Jeremy pulled her onto the bed next to Brandon and Carmelita. He struggled out of his clothes, and ripped Frenchie free from hers.
Soon the big bed quaked with the erotic rhythm of four bodies in motion. Jeremy kept his eyes open, not wanting to miss a thing.
Brandon Patrick remembered little of the next morning—nothing of the night before. Leftover champagne bubbles exploded in his head like bombs, making him shudder with the effects of the grandest hangover he had ever known.
He lay back in the Rainbow Hammock boat, his face as green as the sea around him, and prayed for death to put him out of his misery.
“Big brother had himself quite a celebration last night, Kingdom,” Jeremy said, still smiling everytime he thought about the novelty and imagination of the two whores. He would have to set up a similar spectacular with Rainbow and Fancy.
“Yes, sir, he look like he had hisself a time.” Kingdom nodded.
“The wages of sin-demon ram,” the minister from Savannah intoned piously.
“Never knew a good spree to kill a body yet!” Jeremy observed.
Brandon lay as still as he could, trying to control his raging nausea. He strained his brain to fit the pieces of last night’s debauch into place. He remembered arriving at the Starlight House and meeting Estrella, but little after the first two glasses of champagne. There was some kind of ceremony—no, maybe he dreamed that. He just couldn’t remember. He’d awakened alone, naked, this morning. But the incriminating scent of rose water cologne perfumed the air, the mussed sheets, and his own body.
“Oh,” he groaned, suddenly remembering the pretty Cuban girl with the golden eyes. “Jeremy, what happened last night?” he asked quietly, holding his throbbing head.
Jeremy gave him a wink. “Ah, that will remain our secret, brother! I’d never breathe a word of it to Lilah. We’re partners in crime. We have to stick together.” His leering smile and low chuckle made Brandon feel worse.
“I ’spect Miz Patrick gonna be pretty outdone with the two of you when we gets home,” Kingdom warned. “Reckon we could fetch Mister Brandon up the back stairs and put him to bed ’fore she sees him, Mister Jeremy?”
“You’re a good man, Kingdom, and that’s a fine idea. I’d been wondering how we were going to explain my brother’s unsightly appearance to Mama.” Jeremy thought for a moment. “I’ll tell her the trip and the pressure of his coming nuptials proved too much for him, and he’s resting to be ready for his big day tomorrow. That’s pretty near the truth, isn’t it, brother?”
Brandon heaved himself to the side of the boat as a particularly heavy swell caught them. ‘Tell her whatever you like,” he answered in a choked voice.
The wedding morning dawned brilliant, but brittle, blue. Uncle Custer came early in the carriage to take Lilah and Granny to Fortune’s Fancy, where Lilah would prepare herself.
Lilah, still not over the shock of finding and losing Steele Denegal again, had somehow persuaded herself to accept her marriage to Brandon as the workings of fate. This wedding had been ordained from the moment Simon Patrick killed his brother—or, perhaps, long before that. It could be that the long-ago murder had been a means to an end—this union. As for Steele Denegal, he had merely been an obstacle to test her strength and family loyalty.
“Granny, I’ve come to a new understanding of things,” Lilah confided that morning.
“What sort of things, child?”
“Marriage isn’t exactly the way you described it to me.” Lilah hesitated, trying to think of the right words to make Granny understand her new philosophy. “A person can’t let the choice of a mate for life be determined only by the heart. That would be frivolous, if not downright foolish. The head must be used to make the final decision.”
“I don’t follow you, Lilah. Are you sayin’ you don’t love Brandon Patrick?” Granny asked, feeling an uneasy prickling along her spine.
“No, I’m not saying that. It’s just that I’m not so head-over-heels in love that I don’t know what I’m doing. He’ll be a good husband; I’ll be a good wife. We’ll have beautiful children who will know that Fortune’s Fancy is their true home. That’s all I’m saying.”
“So you don’t love him, then,” Granny muttered under her breath.
“I do!” Lilah insisted.
The carriage drew up in front of the mansion, putting an end to the disturbing discussion. But a buzz of uncertainty remained in Granny’s brain.
Brandon had made a great secret of Lilah’s wedding ensemble, which he had purchased in Savannah. The largest guest suite upstairs had been redecorated for Granny Fitzpatrick. Zalou showed them to those rooms.
The old mammy opened the door for the two women and they gasped as one. The suite, as large as their entire cabin, had been redone with wallpaper of delicate damask roses. The massive furniture of rosewood and marble glinted with new wax and touches of gilt tracery. The scent of crushed lavender permeated the air.
Lilah spied her gown, fitted on a dressmaker’s mannequin that stood in the corner. She forgot all else as she examined the exquisite creation of antique ivory satin covered with imported Venetian lace. Although the satin underdress itself was cut daringly low, the second gown covered arms and throat with crisp lace. Tiny pearls traced the flower motif of the transparent fabric. Fingerless gloves, white kid slippers with lace rosettes on the toes, and a veil attached to a pearl and diamond tiara completed the ensemble.
“Brandon must have spent a fortune on this,” Lilah sighed. “I’ve never seen anything so exquisite!”
She found a note attached to the gown:
Lilah, my love, take care with this creation. It is one of a kind. I hope our daughters and granddaughters will wear it, and be as happy as we are today. Your love through all eternity—
Brandon
“And look here what that boy bought for me!” Granny exclaimed, holding up a lilac bombazine trimmed in purple velvet ribbons.
“Oh, Granny!” Lilah cried, hugging the old woman. “Everything is going to work out! I do love him!”
The wedding proved a small gathering. Amalee and Henri stayed in Savannah, the groom’s sister pleading morning sickness. Elizabeth Patrick attended, but wore black, signifying her disapproval of the marriage. Ames Patrick looked pained throughout the ceremony, but Lilah hardly noticed. She heard the sweet strains of the slave-musician’s violin, she saw the love in Brandon’s eyes as he stood beside his brother, both men dressed out in velvet coats and printed silk vests. She smelled the evergreens festooning the parlor. Everything seemed a dream that she viewed through antique lace and misty tears of happiness.
When Brandon took her hand in his and slipped the wide gold band on her finger, she felt his touch pulse upward to her heart.
The minister pronounced them husband and wife. For an instant before Brandon bent to kiss his bride, he searched her eyes with his, the intensity of his gaze seeming to reach inside to Lilah’s soul. Then her mouth melted at the tender caress of his lips. She trembled—felt faint.
“Mrs. Brandon Patrick … at last!” Brandon whispered for her ears alone. Then he reached to take Scottie from Meranda’s arms, and placed the baby at his wife’s breast.
“Now be careful of Mama’s dress, son. Your sisters are going to wear it.”
The infant screwed up his face in a smile and looked from Brandon to Lilah and back again as if he understood his father’s words.
“Oh, you say you don’t have a sister.” Brandon said to the lad, pretending he had asked a question. The room grew quiet, and all the others gathered around, listening to Brandon’s oneway conversation with his son. “When? I’ll tell you when, Scottie. I promise you a little sister by next Christmas. Maybe before then.”
Lilah felt herself blush when the others snickered at Brandon’s words. Had he no shame?
Brandon soon showed that he meant to hold Lilah to his promise to Scottie. After a light wedding repast, he nodded to his bride to excuse herself and make ready for him, even though the afternoon sun still glittered on the windowpanes.
She smiled uncertainly, feeling all eyes on her as she rose from the table. She went quickly up the stairs to the room Brandon and Saralyn had shared. Dora, the young slave who had taken Rhea’s place as upstairs maid, waited there to attend Lilah.
“Your bath’s ready, ma’am,” Dora said with a nervous curtsy.
She helped Lilah out of the precious gown. Lilah stepped behind a silk screen set up before the slipper-shaped tub and the fireplace to divest herself of her undergarments.
“Mister Brandon, he told me to put rose crystals in the water. Miss Lilah.”
Lilah started to accept the luxury, then remembered with some annoyance that roses had been Saralyn’s scent.
“I’d prefer lilac or verbena, Dora.”
“Yes, ma’am,” the girl answered.
The essence of lilac burst from the tinted crystals as soon as Dora poured them into the hot water. Lilah slipped her body lower into the tub, luxuriating in the feel of the silky textured water warming her, releasing the tension of the day.
“You want I should sponge your back?” Dora offered.
“Please.”
The girl went about her work with vigor until Lilah motioned her away. She stood up, the water gleaming on her unblemished body. Dora wrapped her in a length of downy toweling, then went to bring her nightgown.
“Mister Brandon, he say every last stitch on this gown done by the hands of nuns as pure and sweet as his own bride,” the girl repeated, beaming at Lilah.
Lilah touched the soft snowy white linen. She traced the smocking of the bodice with one tapered fingernail. Tiny embroidered flowers, white on white, decorated the neckline, which rose to a demure height.
She let Dora slip the gown over her head, then the girl brushed her hair until it gleamed like true silver.
“I’d like a few minutes alone now, Dora, before my husband arrives.”
“Yes, ma’am,” the servant answered, going toward the door.
Lilah curled up in the chair beside the fireplace, watching the flames leap. She looked down at the spotless gown, sewn by the good sisters. From a small reticule she’d brought to the room with her, she drew out her tool for making her lost virginity a reality once more. She eyed the thing with disgust.
“No!” she whispered. “I won’t begin my marriage with a lie!”
Before she could change her mind, she tossed the tiny pouch of blood into the fire and watched it sizzle and bum. The slight odor it gave off soon vanished in the haze of lilac in the room. The door opened behind her. She turned and saw Brandon there, his face warm with love for her.
“You make a pretty picture with the firelight shining through your gown, darling,” he said softly. “I’m sorry if I came too soon. Shall I go back out until you’re safely tucked under the covers?”
Lilah smiled at his genteel regard for her modesty. “We’re married now, Brandon. There’s no need for embarrassment between us.”
Lilah held out her arms, and Brandon came eagerly to her. They lingered before the fire, letting their joined lips kindle flames of desire.
“My darling, Lilah,” Brandon whispered huskily. Then he swept her up in his arms and carried her to the bed.
She sank gratefully into the deep mattress, ready for love. Quickly, Brandon vanished behind the screen to undress. Lilah smiled to herself. How very gentlemanly her husband was—not wanting to offend her eyes with his naked body.
“I’m coming out now,” he called to warn her.
Lilah closed her eyes until she felt his weight beside her on the bed.
Slowly, tentatively, Brandon’s hand reached for her. Lilah felt her pulses quicken, awaiting the welcome unknown. What would Brandon’s love be like?
He turned on his side and looked into her face, then kissed her tenderly. Her nerves tensed with longing anticipation. Brandon slipped the covers from her chin and with silent deliberation began untying the tiny bows at the neck of her gown. Lilah hardly dared breathe. His hand brushed her breast. She tensed; he drew away.
“No, I didn’t mean—” She couldn’t finish her statement without sounding brazen.
Brandon let his lips press her ear and whispered, “I’ll be gentle, darling.”
His hot breath made her shiver. Again Brandon misconstrued her reaction.
“I love you, Lilah,” he said in a hurt tone.
“And I love you, too, Brandon. It’s only that—”
Again, she failed. She’d meant to confess her nonvirginal state to him. Perhaps that would make him less cautious with her. But then, might it force him to the type of brutality he’d used on Rhea? She didn’t want that. So she lay quietly, burning.
For what seemed hours, Brandon kissed her, stroked her hair, her hands, her face, murmuring endearments all the while. Lilah dared not return his caresses. Ladies didn’t do that. She would have to wait for him to initiate their true lovemaking.
A long time into the night, he announced wearily, “Lilah, darling, I can’t wait any longer.”
Her nerves tingled and her heart leaped with joy. At last!
Without further preliminaries, Brandon pushed up her nightgown, straddled her, gave exactly five quick thrusts, and fell away, satiated.
Lilah, too stunned to respond, lay beside him, feeling tears bum her eyes. A soft sob escaped her lips.
Brandon patted her hand consolingly. “It’s all right now, darling. The next time will be easier for you.”
Easier? she thought. Why, he made such fast work of i
t he never even noticed I wasn’t a virgin!
Moments later he slept while Lilah lay crying her frustration into her pillow. She burned with need. Why couldn’t Brandon be more considerate, like… like Steele?
She finally permitted herself to think his name. It hurt!
All night she lay awake, thinking. When the first tawny shafts of sunlight crept into the room and across her husband’s face, Lilah made up her mind. She had accepted Brandon Patrick as her mate, and, little pleasure as it had given her, they had consummated their vows. She was his, and determined to be the best wife and mother any man could ask for!
She touched his face with trembling fingers. Brandon stirred and drew her to him. She relaxed in the circle of his arms and fell asleep at last.
Chapter 20
By the beginning of April 1861 the face of the nation was changing. Rainbow Hammock was now part of a new country, the Confederate States of America—her president, Jefferson Davis. And the man whom Ames Patrick called “that ape,” Abraham Lincoln, headed the government of the United States.
Talk of war seemed the only topic on everyone’s lips. The coastal planters rose as a group, ready to defend their families and their way of life against invading hordes if need be.
Lilah heard over and over from the frequent visitors at Fortune’s Fancy: “We can whip those damn Yankees with cornstalks! We’ll rout ’em in a month! Lordy, it’s gonna be fun watchin’ them cowards turn tail and run for cover!”
She tried not to listen when Brandon regaled her about the glories of battle, the honor of war. She ignored what seemed to her grim conversation. She had better things to talk about. Wasn’t anyone interested in the fact that she was carrying Brandon Patrick’s child?
On the morning of Friday, April 12, Lilah awoke early to the sound of what seemed to be distant thunder. She went to the window and looked out. All was calm from horizon to horizon—the promise of a glorious spring day.
Rainbow Hammock Page 24
