Violet Fire

by Jo Goodman

  “Then Aurora is to be pitied, Brandon. She was one of his victims.”

  “She may have been a victim at first, but she eventually became his accomplice. I can pity what she was, not what she became. At one point she convinced me that a reconciliation was possible between us. I slept with her. Once. In the morning I could barely look at myself. I knew I didn’t love her anymore, and I did not touch her again. Six weeks later she informed me she was pregnant. Of course, the child was Parker’s.”

  Shannon crossed the room to Brandon. She took the stool at his feet and sat on it, placing her hand on his thigh. “Did she tell you so?”

  “Yes, then took pleasure in reminding me that Clara was not mine either. I had learned to love Clara, she said. Why then not love Parker’s child equally?” He shook his head as if to clear it. “The irony is that until Aurora actually became pregnant, I had no knowledge of her affair with Parker. It was conducted very discreetly. That was one of the conditions of our unsatisfactory arrangement. I still do not know precisely when it began, but I do know that as long as I had no knowledge of it, Parker could not have been happy. He would have only considered himself avenged once he had foisted his bastard child on me.”

  Brandon took Shannon’s hand in his, rubbing his thumb across her palm in an absent gesture. “He could have had his way if Aurora had not miscarried. After that their affair was conducted more openly, not so others would suspect, but only that I would know. When he realized that I was not suitably humiliated, he convinced her to make a public declaration in front of neighbors and friends who had been invited here for a picnic. She left with him the next day. He found my weakness—my pride.”

  Shannon knew better than to offer pity. It was what others had offered and precisely the thing he could not tolerate. Parker would have known that. “Where are they now? At Belletraine?”

  “If they are, I should know it soon enough.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “This morning I gave a letter to one of the grooms to be delivered there. In it I informed Aurora of my intention to divorce her.”

  * * *

  Shannon could not sleep. She thumped her pillow and kicked restlessly at the covers, arranging and rearranging them. There would be no peace for her, she thought irritably, as long as she could not stop going over her argument with Brandon.

  She pressed the heels of her hands to her eyes, trying to think clearly. It did not help. She turned on her side and made out the faint outline of the brass key on her dressing table. It seemed to mock her. She wondered if he had actually locked the door when he returned the key this morning. If he hadn’t, then why didn’t he come to her now?

  But the answer was obvious. She was the one who had turned him away. She was the one who had said no to his proposal.

  Groaning softly with the inability to lay her thoughts to rest, Shannon got out of bed and shrugged into her dressing gown. She did not pick up the key or test the connecting door. Instead she left her chamber and padded barefoot to the nursery. Clara was asleep, as Shannon had known she would be, and she was careful not to disturb the child. She sat at the foot of Clara’s bed and stared at Brandon’s daughter, daring to think what it would be like to have a child of her own.

  She had not considered the possibility of becoming pregnant until Brandon had forced her to consider it. He had not broached the subject gently—his feelings had been hurt too deeply by then—and Shannon had not been thinking clearly, else she wouldn’t have said she refused to have a child simply to prove that it was his. She, who hated an argument, who shied from any raised voice, had behaved in a manner that would have done a fishwife proud.

  Shannon closed her eyes. Tears escaped anyway. She wiped one away, then another. Her heart ached with the effort to maintain a semblance of control. Finally she simply buried her face in her hands and sobbed.

  The first Shannon knew that Brandon was in the room was when she felt his hands on her shoulders. They rested there with infinite gentleness before sliding down her arms. She did not resist when he drew her to her feet and enfolded her in his embrace.

  “Papa?” Clara sat up in bed, rubbing her eyes.

  Brandon kept Shannon’s face against his chest. “Go back to sleep.”

  “Is she crying?”

  “Yes, darling.”

  “Did she have a bad dream?”

  “I think so.”

  Clara thought about that while Shannon continued to sob into Brandon’s chest. “She should sleep with you. That’s what I do when I have a bad dream.”

  “Perhaps I’ll suggest that to her,” he said solemnly. “Will you go back to sleep now?”

  Clara put her chocolate thumb in her mouth while she deliberated. At last she nodded and lay back down. “Goodnight, Papa.”

  “Goodnight, Clara.” Brandon swung Shannon into his arms and carried her down the hall to his own room. Over the sound of Shannon’s feeble protest he thought he heard his daughter’s giggle.

  “I don’t want to be here,” Shannon said when Brandon lowered her to his bed. She knuckled her eyes and tried to get up.

  Brandon blocked her retreat with his body. “No. Stay here. You heard Clara. She thinks you should sleep with me.”

  Shannon sniffed and stared at him through eyes that were still glossy with tears. “Don’t laugh at me,” she said with quiet dignity.

  Brandon sat beside her. “I’m not…I couldn’t.” He cupped her face in his hand. “But I want you to stay with me, Shannon. Tell me how I can make you stay.”

  Shannon understood he was not talking about only tonight. He meant every night for the rest of their lives. Her bottom lip trembled and tears began to drip soundlessly across her flushed cheeks. She launched herself into Brandon’s arms, holding him as tightly as he had held her before. “I’m s-so s-sorry. I d-didn’t m-mean those things.”

  Brandon’s fingers stroked her hair and caressed the length of her spine. “I know,” he murmured over and over. “Hush now. You’ll make yourself ill.”

  “I w-want to be ill,” she said. “It would m-make me feel better.”

  Brandon had no answer for that sort of logic. He grinned helplessly, drawing her face away from his shoulder and kissing her on the forehead. He laid her back on the bed when her tears had subsided. “Wait here.” Returning a moment later with a damp cloth, he began to bathe Shannon’s tearstained face. “I went to your room earlier,” he told her, watching her closely.

  “My intentions were not strictly honorable. I was going to demand that you keep your promise to be my mistress. I thought I could reason with you to see that you would prefer to be my wife.” He laughed softly when she frowned. “I know, it sounds foolish to me also. Not long ago I thought it made the most perfect sense.”

  Brandon tossed aside the cloth. Candlelight flickered wildly from the sudden rush of air. “I don’t think you can know what I felt when I thought you had gone.”

  “Oh, Brandon,” she said sadly. “I never wanted to hurt you.”

  “I know that. I also know that I gave as good as I got. Never was a proposal of marriage so mismanaged. I took your acceptance as a foregone conclusion, and that was wrong.”

  “Let us not speak of it now.” Shannon’s hand lay against Brandon’s cheek. “I couldn’t sleep before, but I find I am too weary now to do naught else.”

  “You’ll sleep here?”

  “Yes, I’ll sleep here.” Shannon felt she was rewarded for her answer by the smile that reached Brandon’s dark, searching eyes.

  * * *

  By Brandon’s calculation it would be six days at the very least before he had a response from Aurora, and that supposed she was actually at Belletraine with Parker. Shannon selfishly wished that Brandon had never told her what he had done because it made the time she had remaining with the Marchands nearly unbearable. She could no longer defend her actions to herself and would not have attempted to defend them to Paul and Michaeline.

  Neither was Brandon comfortable with
the arrangement. He had already decided that when he had obtained his divorce, he would go to Philadelphia and explain the whole of his deception to the Marchands. It was his wish to spare Shannon the recriminations that would be leveled at her head that kept him silent now.

  The Marchands had informed Brandon on their intention to leave at the end of a week. If they knew of the charade, he reasoned, if they knew he planned to divorce their daughter, they would not leave until they had spoken to Aurora. Given Michaeline’s clear dislike of Parker, it was unlikely that she and Paul would go to Belletraine. Instead they would plead with their daughter to return to the folly, and Aurora, expecting the unconditional support that had always been hers, would come running. The last thing Brandon wanted was Aurora at the folly. It was his desire to accomplish the divorce without having to see her again.

  Brandon never ceased to feel the burden of responsibility for what he had begun by deceiving Aurora’s parents. At night, when Shannon lay in his arms, he felt a desperate need to hold her, fearing the deception that had ultimately brought them together would also pull them apart. Sometimes she would cry softly in her sleep and, upon waking, have no memory of what prompted her tears. Brandon would lie awake for hours after she went to sleep, haunted by the way she turned to him for comfort and tortured by his inability to lay her fears to rest.

  Shannon found it easier to continue the charade if she did not have to think about it. She addressed most of her waking hours to the running of the folly and used her duties to escape spending time alone with either of the Marchands. Brandon and Cody were busy with the harvest, and Paul often joined them in the fields. Michaeline and Clara were in each other’s pockets most every day. Shannon’s attention to managing the household went largely unnoticed by anyone but the servants.

  “You’re wearin’ yourself to a shadow,” Martha warned her when she found Shannon taking inventory of the larder.

  Shannon found herself being gently but firmly guided out of the summer kitchen to the garden, her protests completely disregarded. “Really, Martha, I’m fine. Am I doing something wrong? Is that it? Shouldn’t I be concerned about the folly’s supplies?”

  “You should be concerned about your health. That’s what you should be concerned about. Ain’t none of us can help but see that you is ready to drop at the first strong breeze. Now, Mis Rory, she enjoyed makin’ her folks believe she run this place, but she didn’t go makin’ herself sick over it. Tain’t no reason you should.”

  “I’m in your way.”

  Martha put her hands on her hips and shook her head in disbelief. “Lord, chile! Ain’t you got ears? When I’m trippin’ over your body as I’m goin’ to tell Master Bran you’ve passed on—that’s when you’ll be in my way!” Martha hooked Shannon’s arm in hers. “Ain’t no one gonna pay us the slightest notice if we take a walk.” She chuckled. “You can always tell ’em I came to you for advice. Now, suppose you and me, we just stroll for a while, and you tell Martha what’s troublin’ you.”

  Shannon allowed herself to be led away. Martha’s concern touched her deeply, but explanations simply stuck in her throat. She breathed deeply of the sweet fragrances coming from the smokehouse and the curing sheds. She didn’t speak for a long time, and Martha seemed content with the silence. “There’s nothing troubling me, Martha,” Shannon said finally, when she thought she could trust her voice not to tremble. She knew she had only been partially successful.

  “I saw that one comin’,” Martha laughed, rolling her eyes. “I surely did. Not much gets past me that I don’t let pass on. I’m gonna pretend you’re tellin’ the truth because I like you, Miz Shannon. I didn’t know what to make of you at first, you lookin’ so much like Miz Rory and all, but I’ve come to like you fine. Real fine. And the others like you, too. Ain’t no one here that wants to see you come to grief over this flummery with Miz Rory and her folks.”

  “I appreciate that,” Shannon said softly.

  “I didn’t say it for you to appreciate it,” Martha scoffed. “Said it ’cause it’s true. To my way of thinkin’, the sooner Miz Rory’s folks is gone, the better. This place been turned on its head too long.” She stopped walking as they approached the verandah and waited for Shannon to face her. “But there’s somethin’ that ain’t gonna change once they’ve left,” she said firmly. “And that’s what you and Master Bran feel for each other. What I see when you two look at each other ain’t no part of this other foolishness.”

  “Martha—”

  “You don’t have to tell me. I know I’m a busybody, but I practically whelped that boy, and I pretend it gives me the right to interfere. And like I said, I likes you, too.” She pointed Shannon in the direction of the house. “Now you go to your room and rest yourself for a while. I’m serious about you workin’ so hard. It ain’t no cure for what ails you.” Martha gave Shannon a nudge. “Go on. Or I’ll tell Master Bran what you’ve been doin’.”

  Shannon studied the clock on the mantel as she unfastened her dress. In less than forty-eight hours Paul and Michaeline would be gone. Like Martha, she believed it couldn’t happen soon enough. Emily came in the room to change the linens and stayed long enough to help Shannon undress and brush out her hair. Shannon told her not to bother with turning back the bed or drawing the drapes because Emily’s chatter was wearing on her. When the girl was gone Shannon did these things for herself and crawled tiredly into bed. She slept almost immediately.

  It was dark outside when she woke. The drapes had been pulled back and a small fire had been laid in the grate. Brandon was sitting in a chair at her bedside holding a book in his lap. His long legs were stretched out in front of him, crossed at the ankles. His head rested against the back of the chair, and his beautifully molded profile was outlined by the fire’s orange light. He was staring at some point across the room, and Shannon realized he was not really looking at anything, only using it as a focus for his thoughts.

  “Brandon?”

  His face relaxed; the lines at the corner of his mouth disappeared as he turned to Shannon and smiled. “Awake, sleepyhead?”

  “I think so.” She rested her face on her arm as she spoke. Her lids were still puffy with sleep, but her violet eyes shone clearly. “What time is it?”

  “Gone ten,” he said. “I brought tea for you. Oplas baked jumbles this afternoon and put a few on your tray. Shall I pour?”

  Shannon sat up quickly, pressing her fingers to her temples when the swift movement made her dizzy. “Gone ten! How can that be? I only meant to sleep a few minutes.”

  Brandon poured her a cup of tea. “Steady, don’t spill it on yourself. It’s still rather hot.”

  Shannon sipped it gingerly. “Thank you. I don’t know how this happened. Whatever possessed you to let me sleep this long?”

  “A rather lengthy discussion with Martha,” he answered truthfully. He hesitated. “Shannon, are you pregnant?”

  Shannon’s cup clattered against the saucer. Her expression became one of alarm. “I thought we talked about this before,” she said unevenly.

  “No. I pointed out that you could be pregnant. Now I am asking if you are.”

  She set her tea on the nightstand. “I don’t know. How would I know?”

  Brandon frowned. “Has no one explained these things to you?”

  “No, not about this. I know how children are conceived.” She plucked at the sleeves of her chemise, bringing them down to her wrists, then placed her palm on the flat of her belly. She stared at her hand. “There is no thickening.”

  “There won’t be for some time. There are other ways for a woman to know if she is carrying a child. She may feel tired and sleep long hours.”

  “Oh.”

  “She may be sick in the morning.”

  A measure of color returned to her face. “I haven’t been ill.”

  “But the most reliable way of knowing is if the woman’s monthly courses have stopped. Have yours stopped, Shannon?”

  Shannon was bombarded by a myriad
of conflicting emotions. She hugged her knees to her chest and pressed her forehead against them. She thought it would be relief that would finally assert itself, but what she felt was disappointment. “No, Brandon, I’m not carrying a child.”

  “I see,” he said slowly, resting the side of his face against his fingertips. His head felt heavy, too heavy to be supported by his neck. “I suppose I should feel as if I have been granted a respite. A child would complicate everything.”

  Shannon turned her face sideways. “I know.”

  “There will be children for us later, when our lives are no longer caught in this chaos.”

  “Of course.”

  “It would be better then.”

  “Yes.”

  He closed his eyes briefly. “Then why do I feel so miserable?”

  “You don’t have to tie me to you with a child, Brandon.”

  “Is that what you think?” He leaned forward in his chair. There was more truth to what Shannon had said than he wanted to admit. If she were carrying his child, he knew it would not be possible for her to leave him.

  “Yes. Are you going to deny it?”

  “No…I’m not going to deny it. You know that I want you to be my wife, Shannon. If a child now would secure your promise, then I would not care at all how it would complicate the present. I have respected your wishes not to discuss the matter, but I cannot understand your hesitation.”

  “I do not wish to be the reason for your divorce,” she said quietly.

  Brandon nearly came out of his chair. He gripped both arms to keep seated and forced himself to calm. “How can you say that? How can you even think it? My marriage was over long before you came to the folly. I intend to seek a divorce no matter how you answer me.”

  “Is that true, Brandon?” She searched his face earnestly. “Do you mean it?”

  “Yes. I should have done it when Aurora left. You are not the reason I am seeking it now, Shannon, merely the catalyst. Can you live with that?”