Yes, she acknowledged, there were many things to be taken into consideration. She would marry him, of course, but he also had a few things to learn.
And one day, she vowed, Ryan Youngblood would learn she, too, could inflict sensual torture and humiliation. For if he thought he would ever succeed in relegating her to the lowly position of his love slave, as he’d taunted, he would realize he was sadly mistaken.
That day of retribution, she assured herself, would not be long in coming.
Ryan stood at the window and watched her go. He saw the way she expertly jumped her horse over the fence. She was a good rider. He was going to enjoy sharing his own love for horses with her in the future.
He saw her slow down and figured she was cooling off, getting over her anger. He had to admit he felt a little bad about what he’d done. But not much. After all, Erin was a schemer. He wanted her to know he was the master; he would never again be taken in by her guile.
He turned from the window with a wry smile. Sure, he’d shown her he was in control.
And all he had to do to maintain that control was to keep her from realizing he just might be falling in love with her.
Chapter Eleven
The day after Erin’s visit to Ryan, he had delivered to her several large bouquets of blood-red roses from his mother’s gardens. With the fragrant blossoms came a note inviting her and her mother to a formal party he was hosting at Jasmine Hill the following weekend to celebrate their betrothal.
Arlene was beside herself. “Erin, you’ve made me so happy,” she exulted over and over. “It’s the beginning of a wonderful new life for you. I just know it!”
Erin wished she could tell her then and there the reality of what she was saying, how it was going to be a new life for her as well, but knew it was best to wait till things settled down after the wedding. At least Zachary was away, searching for Letty. Hopefully, he wouldn’t return till after she’d moved out of the house.
Arlene desperately wanted new clothes for Erin—for the engagement party and, of course, the wedding. Zachary, however, had made sure she could no longer get her hands on any of his money. It was his way of punishing her for lying about being invited to the Rose Ball and spending so much on that. Not to be outdone, Arlene had Roscoe take her into Richmond, where she went to a jeweler and sold the emerald necklace Zachary had given her as a wedding present. Actually, it had been his only gift through the years. There had not been many occasions to wear it, and, it had become a symbol over the years of broken dreams. It meant no more to her than he did, and she had no qualms over parting with it.
Erin obliged by being fitted for her new clothes, pretending that she had complacently accepted her fate. Actually, she was more concerned with her burning commitment to help the Negroes.
She was excited when Rosa arranged a meeting with a slave from another plantation who was the only person in Virginia, it was whispered, who had any connection at all with the Free Soilers. She was the one the slaves went to for directions after they escaped.
Her name was Mahalia, and, unknown to her present owner, she could read and write. He thought he’d bought just another illiterate slave at auction. Actually, she’d been planted there by the Free Soilers to get her entrenched in Richmond as a secret contact.
Rosa and Erin slipped out one night to meet her a few miles away on the banks of the James River. At first Mahalia was wary, then warmed to Rosa’s hearty endorsement that Erin could be trusted. She welcomed her into the group, emphasizing that her coming marriage to a wealthy man would put her in a position to be of great help. Funds were sorely needed to feed and clothe the runaways and aid them in getting established in one of the colonies. They were also desperate now and then for bribe money, to pay certain heads to turn as fugitives made their way north.
Erin assured her that she’d do everything in her power to help.
There had been no word of Letty, and Mahalia could not give them any hope there ever would be. Regretfully, she reminded them how she wouldn’t have known who to contact in the area where she escaped, and unless she stumbled across someone willing to help, to point her in the right direction, she’d never stand a chance of making it across the Mason-Dixon line. Rosa cried at hearing that, fearing her daughter was gone forever, just like her sons.
Erin told Mahalia it was her ultimate goal to help as many runaways as possible, but emphasized, “I will have to be very careful. No one can know that I am the benefactress. My identity must remain a secret among us, as well as your contact in the Free Soilers. Runaways will seek your guidance, as they do now, and as soon as I can, I’ll start getting money to you.”
Mahalia swore she’d never tell, and Rosa likewise promised, speaking also for Ben and Tulwah, who were very much involved.
That taken care of, Erin turned her attention back to her impending marriage. She hadn’t forgotten the humiliating scene in Ryan’s study, but had to admit thoughts of their first, pleasant encounters were overriding the latest bitter memory. Thinking about her wedding night inspired a warm glow, and she wickedly looked forward to learning ways to entice him, bewitch him, turn things around and make him a love slave. If she had to submit to his lust, she intended to make him suffer, too.
The gown her mother had made for the Saturday party was exquisite. No matter that the couturiere had haughtily pointed out that the Empire style was becoming passé in Europe. Arlene had crisply reminded her this was not Europe, and she’d have the dress she wanted.
Low-cut, high-waisted, plain in front and gathered into folds behind, Erin’s statuesque figure was perfect for the style. The material was shimmering satin the color of champagne. She wore her hair swept up high, caught with a garnet-encrusted band, tiny curls cascading to wisp about her slender neck. Her only jewelry was a pair of earbobs. Sunborn ruby.
When their carriage turned in to the main road leading to Ryan’s mansion, Arlene gasped out loud. “Oh, dear Lord, look at all the horses and wagons in front of us. I thought this was to be an intimate party for his family, not a grand ball.”
Erin was likewise impressed, but not happily so. The way the marriage had been arranged was still embarrassing to her, and she’d have preferred as little fuss as possible.
The drive was lined with stakes holding candles, and the lawn and gardens surrounding the house were also aglow. Guests mingled about on the porch that swept the front of the house, and she could even see them on the second-floor balcony as well. There were urns filled with red roses lining the steps upward, and Erin felt a warm stirring to know Ryan had added that special touch just for her.
Ben pulled to a stop, and a uniformed groom waited to help them alight. Word quickly spread that the bride-to-be had arrived, and everyone on the porches began to move to the railings to look on. Arlene got out first, and Erin glanced about nervously, recognizing some of the same condemning faces she’d encountered at the Rose Ball. Oh, why had Ryan insisted on all of this? Was it his way of humiliating her further? Or did he actually believe that once she became Mrs. Ryan Youngblood, she’d be accepted by these snobbish people?
When she stepped out of the carriage, it was not the servant’s hand that reached for hers, but Ryan’s, and Erin suddenly found herself looking up into his ruggedly handsome face. “My darling,” he greeted her loudly enough for those closest to hear, “you’re prettier each time I see you. I don’t know if I can stand it every morning of my life.” He bowed to kiss her hand and, as he straightened, whispered for her ears only, “But it’s the nights I’m looking forward to.”
She did not stiffen or react with demure embarrassment the way he doubtless expected. Giving him a dazzling smile, she boldly fired back, “I, too, my darling, for the rest of my life.”
It was as though she hadn’t spoken at all, for Ryan was far too sophisticated to indicate any loss of composure. He was well aware everyone was watching. Still, on the inside, he was bemused by her change of attitude, and a warning bell sounded to remind him just what a grea
t little actress she was. She loathed him, was marrying him strictly for monetary reasons, and was, no doubt, playing a new little game.
He was, she silently acknowledged, absolutely splendid in a simple blue frock coat, cut away in front, tails descending behind. His white shirt was adorned with a madras cravat, and his well-fitting trousers a shade lighter than his coat. No matter her personal opinion, there was no denying Ryan Youngblood was a fine specimen of a man.
She kept a smile pasted on her lips as he proceeded to take her inside and introduce her around. Arlene was likewise escorted, but there was nothing artificial about her happiness over the occasion. She was glowing with enthusiasm.
The names breezed by Erin, but not the way so many looked at her with cold scrutiny. A few attempted to conceal their disapproval, while she could actually feel the contempt of others.
Ryan didn’t seem to notice as he offered vague justification for the sudden announcement to wed. “Isn’t she as lovely as I told you she was?” he said over and over, or, now and then, “I knew I had to hurry up and convince her to marry me before somebody else spirited her away.”
As he moved about, Erin’s hand daintily tucked about his arm, she couldn’t help marveling at the lavishness of the mansion. On her previous visit, she’d been too upset to notice just how magnificent the decor was. There were leaded and stained-glass windows that offered pastel hues from the fading light beyond. Elaborately carved oak doors with bronze fixtures stood open to reveal the interiors of the massive rooms with ornate friezes, frescoes, and fine wood paneling. There were elegant pieces of furniture, obviously valuable paintings, ivory and jade and marble sculptures.
Through open French doors that led to a marble terrace, Erin could see the inspiring view of the carefully manicured gardens sloping down to the riverbank. There were masses of brilliant flowers—zinnias, sweet peas, and daisies—reflecting pools, fountains, even a statuary. Servants in neat white pants and shirts were scurrying about setting up linen-covered tables. It was far too warm for so many to dine inside, so a picnic would be served outdoors.
Ryan saw her fascination and walked her outside for a better panorama. English boxwoods, sheared into perfect geometrical designs, offered a maze daring to be explored. All about mimosas and magnolias were in bloom, and the air was intoxicating with the sweet fragrance of the white jasmine blossoms that seemed to be everywhere.
“It was my grandfather who built this place,” Ryan told her, sensing her awe at the grandeur. He pointed to a smaller, intimate garden, farther down the lawn toward the river. “My grandmother’s favorite flower was jasmine, and she had them planted everywhere, and that’s how the place got its name. If she’d ever had a daughter, she was going to name her Jasmine, but, unfortunately, she only had one child, a son—my father—and she died having him. My grandfather adored her, never had any interest in taking another wife. He had her buried there, in that solitary little garden you see. The whole place is overgrown with jasmine, just the way he wanted it. While I like the scent, I have to admit it’s a bit overwhelming at times.”
She could see, amid the greenery and blossoms, what looked like a white marble statue of an angel, but nothing else that resembled another tombstone. “Is your grandfather buried there too?”
“Oh, no. He couldn’t stand the smell of jasmine. Said it made him sick. So he’s buried in another place he had built for a family cemetery. Same as my father. I’ll show it to you another day.”
They turned to go back inside, just as one of the house servants came to advise the food was being brought out of the kitchens.
Erin saw her mother talking to someone she knew from church, oblivious to the fact the woman was looking at her with veiled disdain. Erin motioned to Arlene to come over.
Her mother’s face glowed as she whispered, “Oh, it’s wonderful. All of it. Just wonderful. To think you’re going to be mistress of Jasmine Hill, live here, raise your children here.” Ryan had stepped away for a moment to give instructions to the servant, and Arlene hurried to confide, “He’s so handsome. As wicked as it is for me to say so, you should be looking forward to your wedding night.”
She giggled, and Erin realized she was well in her cups from many glasses of champagne. Seeing that, she dared to ask, “Do you think I’d ever be able to convince you to come and live with us, Mother? To help me raise all those children you think I’m going to have?”
Arlene swayed ever so slightly, rolled her eyes, and giggled again. “You never know. I just might.” Then, spotting someone else from her tatting circle, hurried away.
Fatted calves and pigs were roasting on hand-turned skewers over pits of smoldering hickory chips. The delicious aroma of barbecued beef and pork filled the air. Fish and chicken were frying in the outdoor kitchens, as servants rushed around with crocks of coleslaw and potato salad, large tureens of creamed and buttered vegetables, plates of crisp dill pickles, chutney, and relish. There were large tables offering only desserts—cakes, fruit pies, berry cobblers, and creamy puddings. Little Negro girls stood with long-handled palmetto fans to shoo away flies and insects.
When they had their plates filled, Ryan directed Erin to a table he’d ordered set up away from the other guests. She noted workmen had been digging up the ground nearby, and before she could ask the reason, he proudly told her, “I’m having a rose bed planted. Red roses. Beneath the window of the master suite. Just for you.”
She couldn’t resist laughing. “Oh, give me a chance, Ryan. Who knows? We might actually be able to stand each other after all. Don’t plan my grave yet, please.”
“Hmmm.” He pretended to muse, sitting down opposite. “I hadn’t thought about it, but that is an idea.”
Suddenly, amid the light banter, Erin couldn’t resist asking, “Why are you doing all this?”
“What do you mean?”
“You’re being…civil, and after our argument the other day—”
“Oh, that!” He cut her off. “That was no argument, my dear. That was just my way of letting you know who’s in charge around here.”
She bit back an angry response. He’d find out soon enough she’d never bend to his iron will.
Erin was grateful that her mother came to join them just then.
Arlene was gushing over everything, and as Erin watched and listened to her pleasant conversation with Ryan, she found it hard to believe the two had ever been anything but close friends.
After supper, they all gathered in the huge ballroom. An ensemble was about to begin playing, but first Ryan led Erin to the center of the floor and asked for everyone’s attention. Then, with great flourish, he made his official announcement of their engagement. He invited everyone present to return for the wedding in the gardens the next Sunday afternoon. Finally, he took a ring from his coat pocket and slipped it on Erin’s finger amid gasps from the onlookers.
She held up her hand, reeling at the sight of the huge diamond sparkling in the lights of the glittering chandelier above. It was pear-shaped, set with tiny rubies, and was without a doubt the most impressive ring she’d ever seen on any woman’s finger.
He signaled to the musicians to begin playing, and Erin was only dimly aware it was a valse. She was baffled, not only by his generosity, but also by the extent to which he was going to impress. The ring must have cost a fortune.
He held out his arms to her, and she was locked into his gaze. They began to move rhythmically to the lilting strains of the violins, and all eyes were upon them as they swung gently about the floor.
Despite everything, all her doubts and fears, Erin could not help but be fascinated by this handsome, enigmatic man who would soon become her husband.
“So you have the beginning of what you want out of this marriage, my dear,” he told her gently as they continued to glide fluidly around the dance floor.
Despite the sarcastic innuendo, she graciously responded, “Thank you. It’s beautiful.”
“Next Sunday night”—his appreciative gaze went
to her bosom, so lusciously emphasized by the Empire style—“I’ll have the beginning of what I want.”
“Oh, really? You seem to forget that what you wanted was to have me for your mistress, not your wife.”
“You don’t intend to let me forget, do you?”
“I have to admit it stings to know you wouldn’t be marrying me if you could’ve had me on your terms.”
“Well, we’ll never know, will we? But as I said, next Sunday night is only the beginning.”
She blinked as though baffled, smiling with enjoyment at the sensual banter. “And what about the ending?”
“There won’t be one, Erin. I could never get enough of a woman like you. Remember that, and never be so foolish as to refuse me. You’re going to belong to me—for always.”
Chapter Twelve
Arlene’s happiness over the coming wedding was dimmed only by concern for Letty. Her heart also went out to Rosa, who was more than just the household slave Zachary had bought for her as a wedding gift so long ago. Through the years, Rosa had become a dear and cherished friend—as much as decorum allowed. Unlike Erin, Arlene had never dared go against Zachary’s decree that there was to be no fraternization with his slaves.
“I wish I could say, or do, something to make you feel better,” Arlene offered one morning as Rosa brought in the usual breakfast tray of tea and toast. She was sitting at her desk, going over her list once more, to make sure everyone she knew from church had received a personally handwritten invitation to the wedding that Sunday. Gesturing to a nearby chair, she urged, “Stay awhile and let’s talk. Mr. Tremayne is still away, so that means they haven’t found her.”
“And they aren’t goin’ to, either.” Rosa flashed a confident smile as she took the offered seat. “I got a feelin’ that she ain’t nowhere near where they’s lookin’. She’s long gone from there by now.”
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