by Becky Lower
David smiled at his hostess. “We own slaves, yes, but we are not in the slave trade. That’s an entirely different matter. I’d be happy to answer any questions you might have. What can I help you with, Mrs. Fitzpatrick?”
“We northerners are struggling to understand slavery, Lieutenant. I’m curious to hear the rationale a plantation owner uses to make sense of one person owning another.”
David drew a deep breath. “Well, first and foremost, my father owns the plantation, not me.”
Heather expelled a breath she’d been holding. “So, are you saying if you owned the plantation, you would not have slaves?”
David glanced once more at Heather. She could feel her blush deepening as he locked eyes again with her. “I’ve been gone from my home for four years. The time away has caused me to question whether the plantation life is the best possible way to run a farm. It’s worthy of some thought. I’m going to have a discussion with my father about some of my ideas when I return home. He wants me to settle down and take over the running of the plantation, but I can’t do that until some changes are made.”
“I realize that talking politics is not good parlor conversation, but we really are so eager to hear a southerner’s side of the argument.” Charlotte continued to prod.
“The most troublesome part for me is dealing with the darkies. We feed them, clothe and house them, treat them with kindness, yet still they want to escape. Not many have left from my father’s plantation, since he treats them fairly, but there have been one or two over the years. Then, we have to pay bounty hunters to round them up and bring them back to us. It’s a constant headache.”
Heather couldn’t keep her emotions in check any longer. “Is that what you were doing the other night in Downing’s? Working with those bounty hunters to find a slave?”
She held up her book. “I’m re-reading Uncle Tom’s Cabin right now, and I have so many questions about slavery. Would there ever be a case where a Negro couple would be split up even after having children together, like what happened to George, Eliza, and little Harry in the book?”
David shook his head. “You sound so much like your sister, Ginger, when we talked last year about the Indians out west. Such innocent questions to which there are no easy answers.” He shifted uneasily in his chair. “In fact, yes, the men I was with the other night are bounty hunters. We had a tip that our missing slave might be at Downing’s. But we lost the trail. I’m staying in town a bit longer to see if I can find it again.”
Heather’s fan took on an even more furious pace as she risked taking another look at her mother. Charlotte rose and went to the teacart, busying herself pouring tea into the cups. Her hand shook slightly, spilling some of the liquid onto the cart itself. When she turned back around though, her face was composed and her hands calm. She passed a cup to her guest, and then to her daughters.
Jasmine picked up the reins of the conversation. “Well, I, for one, am totally bored with the subject at hand. Slavery has no part in our world, or in our parlor, so why are we wasting our time discussing the issue?”
David turned his gaze from Heather, finally, and glanced at Jasmine. “What would you prefer to talk about, then, Miss Fitzpatrick?”
As Jasmine and David began to talk about the latest musical on Broadway, Heather and her mother exchanged another furtive glance over their teacups. Heather knew they must keep David from finding out about their part in assisting the slave woman they found in the alley, along with her baby. They must send David back to Savannah without his missing slave.
Jasmine kept attempting to capture his attention, but Heather noticed more than once David’s gaze left Jasmine and raked over her instead. Could he tell she was hiding something? Oh, she wanted nothing more than to prop her book in front of her face so he would stop staring at her and making her stomach do such funny things.
Charlotte cleared her throat, causing Jasmine to stop her coquetry mid-sentence. “Let’s discuss the Cotillion, which happens tomorrow evening. Now Lieutenant, despite the fact that your family owns slaves, I did invite you here, so I expect you to claim your two dances each with my daughters before their cards fill up for the evening.”
David’s gaze moved from Heather, who continued to furiously fan herself despite the chill of April in the air, to Jasmine, who looked up at him from under her lashes. He smiled at Charlotte. “I am looking forward to dancing with both of them, Mrs. Fitzpatrick.”
And for entirely different reasons, he thought, as he set down his cup and rose from his chair.
Chapter 6
David had only one month to decide what to do with the rest of his life. His options were to renew his commission with the Army and Continue to corral the Indians onto the reservations, or return to the plantation outside Savannah and toil alongside his father. He knew there were advantages to both choices, but he needed to thoughtfully weigh the pros and cons of each. His mind ran back and forth between the two lifestyles, and his body tossed restlessly in the hotel bed.
He sat up and punched his feather pillow before he lay back down. Tonight, the evening before the Cotillion, was not the night to be concentrating on his career path, or on the mission his father had given him to find the runaway slave. Tonight was the time to ponder his delightful dilemma of choosing between the Fitzpatrick twins. Heather and Jasmine. Jasmine and Heather. He rolled over and punched the pillow again. There was really no choice to make. His body did the picking even before his mind began to weigh the advantages of each woman.
The moment he had spied her in the restaurant his heart actually stopped for one second as he and Heather locked eyes. He totally blanked out what the men he was with were saying. It was as if everyone and everything in the restaurant came to a standstill as they stared at one another. Then, as Heather broke their gaze and raised the menu in front of her face, David was able to breathe again. But he knew his life’s pattern had just shifted. If he hadn’t had the good fortune of already knowing her parents, he would have manufactured a reason to be introduced to her. When he walked into the parlor today the room shifted again, just as it had at the restaurant. As if in a trance, they stared at each other like they were the only people in the room.
He had no desire to flirt with Jasmine. Although she was the more flamboyant of the two sisters, who were so identical on the outside, down to the dimple in each one’s right cheek, she had not inflamed him with desire. He had grown up with southern belles at every turn, and they were much more adept at captivating young men than Jasmine could ever be. Even Blanche Beaufort, with her buck teeth, who lived on the Whitman’s neighboring plantation, could run circles around Jasmine in the charm department.
Nor did he want to talk about slavery with Mrs. Fitzpatrick, or with Heather, for that matter. What he wanted to do was to scoop Heather into his lap and lavish kisses on her beautiful, full lips. Her impassioned question about setting all the slaves free reminded him of her sister, whom he had met the year before. In Heather’s case, her calm and quiet exterior hid a deep quest for life and for righting the wrongs of the world. And he also knew for a certainty, that he needed to be a part of her life and to share in her passion.
Unless he had totally lost his ability to read women in the past four years, He had seen a spark of interest in Heather’s eyes in the parlor too. But he could not be sure of any of his feelings until he actually touched her on the dance floor, and compared her to Jasmine, and to every other lady he might dance with at the ball.
He rolled over in bed trying to still his rapidly beating heart. Yes, the ball would be an adventure for him, as well as for the two Fitzpatrick daughters. He couldn’t wait.
Chapter 7
David watched, along with many other hopeful men, as one young lady after another was introduced into society, and glided down the long marble staircase on the arm of her father or brother. There must have been a dozen or so women, but he searched for only one. Finally, the Fitzpatrick twins stood at the top of the stairs. They were introduce
d separately, first Jasmine, who took her bow, and then Heather. The twins were stunning, in matching white dresses, adorned with crystal beads and a layer of luminous cloth over a cage crinoline, which made the skirt of the dress stand away from the body. Diamonds sparkled in their dark hair and around their necks, embellishing the modestly low neckline of the dress. David thought they looked like fairy princesses.
Heather completed her deep curtsy and the twins joined hands, looking out over the crowd below. David watched as Heather scanned the upturned faces. When her eyes landed on him, he smiled, and watched her lovely brown eyes widen with interest. At least he hoped that’s what it was.
Two men took their place on either side of the twins. One was their father, George Fitzpatrick, whom he had met last fall. The other man was a stranger to David, but the resemblance to George allowed him to make the assumption that he was a Fitzpatrick as well, perhaps George’s son. They descended the stairs, and the two young ladies were quickly swallowed up in the throng of eligible men, each eager to claim a spot on their dance cards for the evening.
Although David knew he already had his allotted two spots on the cards for each of the twins, he was eager to dance with Heather, so he pushed his way forward through the crowd, following the brilliance of their dresses. The music was about to begin as he finally reached the twins who were sandwiched between George and Charlotte Fitzpatrick. David acknowledged both parents before he took Heather’s hand in his. She jumped at his touch.
“I believe I have the first dance,” he stated calmly, although he was not feeling placid.
“Umm, yes, Lieutenant, that’s correct.” Heather looked at her mother. At her nod, she took a deep breath and permitted David to lead her onto the floor of the ballroom.
David’s mind went blank as he touched Heather’s waist. He had to focus hard to remember the steps of the dance, and to lead her through it with him. For several minutes, they danced in silence. David hoped the dance would last forever. First, because he had yet to speak to her, and second, because he did not want another man touching her. Determined to make an impression, he smiled down at her.
“You seemed very well versed on the plight of the slave in America the other day. Perhaps we can meet on the balcony after a few more dances and discuss the matter in greater detail?”
David watched Heather’s face as she returned his gaze, chewing her bottom lip. That lush, full lip that David had been longing to taste for two days. She cleared her throat and replied, “I think slavery is a subject on which we will have to agree to disagree, in order to get along, Lieutenant.”
David laughed. “Very well, then. If I can’t entice you to the balcony for a lively debate, will you join me to talk about your life in New York?”
“There’s really not much to discuss on that topic.”
David smiled at her again. “You are really making this difficult for me, aren’t you? I want to spend some time with you when we’re not jostled about by other clumsy dancers, and when I don’t have to struggle to remember what the next step of the dance is. Please, I beg of you, join me on the balcony as soon as is convenient.”
Heather drew in a deep breath, and her eyes began to twinkle, just as her dress was doing in the candlelight. She looked up at him again.
“All right, then. I’ll meet you in fifteen minutes.”
• • •
David drew in a shaky breath as he leaned back against the balcony railing. He lit a cheroot and watched the people come and go from the ballroom. It had rained earlier in the day and the balcony floor had several puddles of water, but the air was quite pleasant. Although he had danced with two other women after Heather, he’d grown lost in his own thoughts during the dances and had been very poor company. He quit fighting his wayward mind now, and allowed himself a minute or two to think about Heather, the woman who had captured his heart with a single glance.
Last year, when he met her sister, he’d thought her lively chatter about Amelia Bloomer and the rights of women was enticing, but Ginger could not hold a candle to his Heather. His Heather? When had he started thinking about her like that? He smiled to himself as he answered his own question. She had been his since the minute their eyes met in the restaurant. Now, all he had to do was to convince her of it.
His spine straightened and he rose to his full military stance when he caught a flash of a sparkly white dress emerging from the ballroom. He had no trouble following her movements in the moonlight and in the glow from the sparsely placed candles on the balcony. Heather approached him and placed her hand on his arm.
A bit surprised, yet pleased at her directness, David followed her as she led him to a shadowy area of the balcony. She turned toward him in the darkness and brushed her hand over his chest.
“I have wanted to feel your muscles since the moment we met,” she purred.
David’s mind reeled. This was not what he expected from Heather. He snuffed his cigar carefully before he looked at her. “So, Miss Fitzpatrick, since slavery and life in New York are taboo subjects between us, enlighten me on what it’s like to have a twin sister.”
She glanced up at him through her lashes and he knew in an instant that this was not Heather, but rather Jasmine, in front of him. He now needed to figure out if she had been instructed to come here in Heather’s place, or if this was Jasmine’s own doing.
“Well, it’s sometimes fun to have a twin. Jasmine’s always so lively and vivacious. Why, if it weren’t for her, we would never have men to talk to, since I’m normally so shy. In fact, I can’t believe I’m prattling on in this manner with you. But then again, you’re very special.” Her voice dipped low and she ran her hand over his arm again.
He took a step back.
She followed, her voice taunting him. “My, my. Is a big military man like yourself afraid of little old me?” She looked up at him, batting her eyes.
He removed her hand from his arm. “No, I’m not afraid of you, Miss Fitzpatrick. I merely prefer the company of your sister, Heather.”
Jasmine glared up at him, sparks of anger shooting from her eyes. “Well, I never! For your information, Lieutenant, she asked me to come here in her place, since she has no desire to talk to you, ever again. And, for that matter, neither do I!”
Jasmine turned with a flourish and hastily stormed off. She got no further than three steps before she slipped on a puddle of water and crashed to the hard concrete floor of the balcony. She yelped in surprise as she went down. Then her cry became one of agony.
David was at her side in a second. “Are you in pain?”
“It’s my ankle,” Jasmine gasped.
Her wide hoop crinoline held her skirt about three feet off the balcony floor as she lay in the puddle, making the observation of her ankle a fairly easy process. David ran his hands lightly over the joint, noticing the bone that was sticking out at an awkward angle. The ankle was already beginning to balloon up.
“Your ankle is starting to swell, so I’m going to remove your shoe, Miss Fitzpatrick.”
Quickly, he untied the ribbons, which held the slipper in place. As gently as possible, he pried the shoe from her foot. The shoe was wet from its encounter with the puddle, and slipped from his hands.
Deciding to preserve Jasmine’s dignity, he let the shoe drop and helped her to her feet, or rather, foot, since she could only put her weight on one of them. The other she held off the floor. He asked another gentleman on the balcony to find a doctor as well as her parents. David propped Jasmine up against the railing, putting his arm around her waist as she moaned in pain.
“This is all your fault, you know,” she gasped at him as he tried to help her.
“Save your anger. You’re going to need your strength. Unless I miss my guess, you’ve just broken your ankle.”
“No-o-o. This can’t be happening. Maybe it’s just twisted.”
“Possibly.” David let her hang onto that ray of hope, even though he knew what a broken bone looked like, after all his years of
battle. “Your shoes seem to be quite slippery,” he said as he left her side for a moment to retrieve the wayward slipper.
“Ohhh, it’s the blasted paint on the bottom of them. I should never have allowed Philippe to experiment with my shoes.”
David had no idea what she was talking about, but he figured as long as she wasn’t focusing on the broken bones, it was good.
Charlotte and Heather ran out of the ballroom just as the doctor arrived and surrounded Jasmine as she cried out in pain. Tears glistened on her face, catching the moonlight. David, along with several other men, assisted the doctor in getting Jasmine to a carriage headed to the hospital.
Charlotte and George Fitzpatrick hastened to gather their possessions and exit the Cotillion to be near Jasmine’s side at the hospital. Heather helped her mother collect her fan, reticule, and cloak.
“I’m coming, too, Mother. Oh, poor Jasmine. Her ball is now ruined, and probably her season as well.”
Charlotte straightened up and looked at her other daughter. “Oh, Heather, darling, you’ll do no such thing. Your father and I will take care of Jasmine, but this is your special night, too. You have men waiting to dance with you, and I’ll not have you disappoint them. Jasmine’s early departure cannot be helped, but you must finish out the evening. We’ll catch up when we get home. Now, I must run.” She patted Heather’s hands. “Halwyn,” she called to her eldest son. “You’re in charge of Heather for the remainder of the evening. See to it that she gets home safely, will you?”
As Halwyn nodded, Charlotte and George hurried from the ballroom floor.
The ballroom calmed down again following the departure of Heather’s sister and the Fitzpatricks. Halwyn drifted off to find a partner for the next dance, leaving her alone at the side of the room. She bounced from one foot to the other, unsure of her next move.
