“I hope I’ll live up to their expectations,” she said, then rushed up the back stairs to her room. Hurriedly taking a shower to wash away the kitchen smells, she blow dried her hair and had just yanked on a robe when a tap sounded on her door.
She opened it to find a petite woman with a severe gray knot pinned atop her head glaring at her.
“Miss Tarleton?” the woman asked as she marched inside with a leather satchel in one hand and large straw hat in the other. A younger, less stern version of the woman followed, carrying a box nearly as big as she was.
“I’m Tara Tarleton,” Tara smiled at the woman.
“I’m Betsy Whiting and this is my granddaughter, Camilla. We’ll be assisting you today.” The older woman motioned to the younger to set the box on the bed.
“It’s nice to meet you Mrs. Whiting. Thank you for coming.” Tara held out a hand to the woman. The tiny terror ignored it as she plopped her satchel down on the bed and opened it.
“It is Miz Whiting, and you may refer to my granddaughter as Cami.” The woman gave Tara a pinched look over the top of her bifocal glasses then pulled out the chair in front of the dressing table.
An hour and a half later, Tara almost didn’t recognize herself when Miz Whiting allowed her to look in the mirror.
The two women had fashioned her hair in a series of waves and curls held back with two green bows on either side, just off the crown of her head.
After her hair was styled, they’d forced her to dress in every single layer of clothing a proper woman from the Civil War era would have worn, right down to a petticoat with a hoop and a tightly laced corset.
In fact, Cami had pulled the strings so tight, Tara wondered if she might suffer a cracked rib or two. It certainly impeded her ability to breathe properly. But the moment Miz Whiting and Cami settled the dress over Tara’s head and fastened it, she began to feel like a princess… or a real Southern belle.
The gown, a green-sprigged muslin with little puffed sleeves and a V neckline, brought out the green of her eyes while the solid emerald-hued band about the middle made her waist appear impossibly small.
“Twenty inches. Not bad,” Miz Whiting commented as she adjusted the ruffle on Tara’s right shoulder then took a step back, critically eyeing her. “Not bad at all.”
“She looks perfect, Grandmama,” Cami said, beaming at Tara. “Just like Scarlett.”
“Well, that is what we were hired to do,” Miz Whiting sniffed. The woman raised her nose in the air, even though Tara caught a hint of her satisfaction in the result of their efforts.
Tara turned and gazed into the mirror, left speechless by the reflection staring back at her. If it wasn’t for the fact she was significantly taller than the original Scarlett, Tara might have been able to pass as Vivian Leigh from a distance.
When Miz Whiting settled the hat on her head and tied a jaunty bow beneath her chin, Tara held her gloved hands at her sides to keep from gleefully clapping them together. She felt elegant and sassy, beautiful and determined, witty and carefree all rolled into one woman. The powerful moment was one she’d never forget.
“We best get you downstairs, Miss Tarleton,” Miz Whiting said, motioning Tara toward the door.
She moved over to it and glanced down at her hooped skirt. “How should I… is there a way that’s…?”
Miz Whiting sighed. “Surely you’ve watched the movie. How did Scarlett leave her bedroom the day of the barbecue?”
Tara grinned and grabbed the front of her skirt, shoving the yards of fabric out the door. Rather than go down the narrow back stairs, they walked down the hallway and back to the main wing. A few guests lingered below in the entry and she could see people outside through the open double doors.
Ashley and Wade stood at the bottom of the stairs, both dressed in period costumes, as were all the guests. At the rustle of her skirts, Ashley glanced up then grabbed her husband’s arm and yanked on it.
“She’s here,” Ashley said, her words floating up the stairs to Tara.
With a coquettish smile and a tilt of her head slightly to the right as she imagined Scarlett might have done, Tara descended the stairs with as much grace and decorum as she could manage in the unfamiliar clothing and voluminous skirts.
Her foot had barely cleared the last step when Ashley pulled her into a giddy hug. The woman looked as excited as a child who’d just been turned loose in a candy store with an unlimited budget.
“Oh, you look just like her, Tara. Thank you for doing this,” Ashley whispered in her ear then stepped back, tugging on her husband’s arm again. “Isn’t she amazing, Wade?”
“Yes, she is, dear. Tara certainly does make a wonderful Scarlett,” Wade said, smiling at Tara and nodding his head approvingly. “Let’s get you situated outside with the guests. Since it’s such a bright, clear day, we thought it would be fun to have everyone gather out beneath the big willow tree near the rose garden.”
“That does sound lovely,” Tara said, following Wade and Ashley as they led the way outside. She glanced over her shoulder at Miz Whiting and Cami, mouthing “thank you” before the throng of guests awaiting her appearance encircled her.
Men doffed their hats and women tittered with excitement as they made their way over to the seats near the rose garden. A cheeky young man who Tara thought was a senior in high school offered a bow then held his arm out to escort her.
Tara took it and winked at him as they walked to the willow tree. Once she settled onto the seat of a wide wicker chair, the guests seated themselves on the benches that had been placed around her.
For the next hour, the guests asked her questions and Tara did her best to answer them as she thought Scarlett might have. They asked her about her father’s plantation, if she really loved Ashley Wilkes, and if she thought there was a chance for a future with Rhett.
“Where even a tiny grain of love exists, there’s always hope,” she said, smiling at the teen girl who’d asked the question. She’d noticed the girl kept casting glances at the boy who’d escorted Tara out to the willow tree. Mindful of the way he returned the girl’s interest, Tara could only assume young love was in the air.
The thought made her smile as someone asked her another question.
Elated yet exhausted after another fifteen minutes passed, Tara hoped her performance was about at an end. She glanced up and noticed a man walking toward them wearing black knee-high riding boots polished to a high shine. Dove gray breeches, tucked into the boots, accentuated his long, muscled legs. A gray and cream brocade vest peeked from beneath a dark frock coat, highlighting broad shoulders. The dark blue silk ascot contrasted sharply with the white stand-up collar of his shirt. A black top hat, tipped forward at a rakish angle, finished the costume. Not only did it give the man a regal appearance, but the hat also hid his face in its shadows as he strode across the grassy expanse of the yard.
When he neared the group, the handsome historical hottie doffed his hat and grinned at Tara. His deep voice held an unhurried southern drawl that put her in mind of dark, rich molasses. “It appears as though y’all enjoyed quite a splendid afternoon. However, if y’all will excuse us, I do require this beautiful woman’s assistance with a most important matter.”
Tara bit back a giggle as Brett Cutler bowed to her and extended his arm. She never would have suspected the man who generally wore cowboy boots and a Stetson to appear in such attire, but she was thrilled to see him all the same. Politely, she nodded to him and placed her hand in his as he helped her to her feet.
He then wrapped her hand around his forearm and smiled at the gathered crowd. “You just never know what sort of trouble she might be brewing up, so I thank y’all for keeping an eye on her.”
“Well, fiddle-dee-dee, Brett. A little trouble never hurt anyone.” She laughed merrily, hoping she sounded convincing.
With a rascally wink, Brett returned his hat to his golden head and escorted Tara down a path toward the vegetable garden. As they departed, the buzz of
conversation questioned if he was supposed to be a light-haired version of Rhett Butler or Ashley Wilkes. More than a few women fluttered their fans, muttering about him being quite swoon-worthy regardless of the character he portrayed.
Once they were out of sight of the group, Tara giggled and bumped Brett in the side with her elbow. “You clean up really well, Mr. Cutler.”
“You look pretty good yourself, Miss Tarleton.”
Tara caught his admiring glance as his gaze roamed from the straw brim of her hat to the hem of her skirt and back up to her head.
“You make one of the best Scarlett O’Hara’s I’ve ever seen, and I’ve seen a lot over the years,” he said with a look of admiration. “You’ve got the accent down just right.”
She released a relieved breath. “I’m so glad you think so. I worried about not sounding the part.” Her hand brushed down the front of her skirt. “I’m glad the kitchen staff isn’t required to dress in costume while we work because I’d most likely set my dress aflame, but it was fun to pretend for an afternoon.”
“You truly are beautiful, Tara. The green in the dress sure brings out the sparkle in your eyes.” He stopped and turned to her, using his gloved forefinger to lift her chin. “Do you think Scarlett might allow the man accompanying her to steal a kiss?”
Tara’s eyes widened as she stared at Brett, watching as something flickered in his gaze, something that held warmth, interest, and yearning. Could he possibly be as attracted to her as she was to him? There was only one way to find out.
“I definitely think Scarlett would be pleased at that.” Tara moved a little closer to Brett, inhaling his heady scent. “In fact, she might be the one to do the stealing.”
“Why, you little minx, you,” Brett teased. He yanked off his gloves and stuffed them inside his coat pocket then bracketed her face with his hands. “What was it Rhett told her? Something about being kissed often by someone who knows how? Perhaps we should see if there is any merit in such a declaration.”
The skin of his hands was rough, callused, yet felt so good against hers as he caressed her cheeks. In no rush, Brett bent to give her a kiss but the brim of her hat bumped into his, blocking him.
He swept off his hat then ducked beneath the broad brim of Tara’s. His smile didn’t waver as his lips brushed over hers in a feather-light touch once, twice.
Tara’s knees weakened when he slipped his arm around her waist and drew her closer. The next kiss held a hint more urgency, a bit more pressure. Before she gathered her wits enough to respond, he pulled back and kissed the tip of her nose. “I better get you back to the house. If I get so much as a single wrinkle in your costume, I’m fairly certain Ashley will flay the hide right off me.”
“With what? An overcooked noodle?” Tara asked as Brett took her arm with his and continued on their walk. “Ashley and Wade both have nothing but good things to say about you and your work with the horses. I think it would take more than a wrinkle in my dress for her to get upset with you.”
“You never know…” Brett chuckled as they meandered along the path that would take them to the back porch off the kitchen. “Are you still planning to spend the day with me this Sunday?” he asked as he walked her up the steps.
“I am. I’m looking forward to meeting This and That.”
Brett grinned and squeezed her hand in his. “Great. I’ll pick you up here at ten. I believe Ashley and Wade have arranged a church service in the chapel for the guests who are interested. We could go to that if you like before heading out.”
She nodded. “I’d really like that. Thank you for coming to my rescue yet again. As much as I enjoyed pretending to be Scarlett, I’d nearly exhausted my reserves of both energy and answers.”
Brett laughed. “Ashley thought it would be fun if I came to call on you and escorted you back here. She assumed it would be hard for you to get away from the guests once they started pumping you for details.” He shrugged. “It certainly gave the women in the group something to talk about. For all the whispering and gossip going on around here, you’d think we really were living back in the mid-eighteen hundreds with no better way for them to pass the time.”
Tara removed the hat and fanned her face with it, stirring up a breeze. “That’s because they aren’t allowed to carry their cell phone or any technology with them during the day. They have to get their daily allotment of info and news somehow.”
“I suppose so.” He backed down the steps. “I’ll see you later, Tara.”
“Yes, you will.” She turned to go in the house, but glanced back at him and grinned. “If I was voting, I’d totally go for Rhett over Ashley any day. Especially a Rhett who looks like you.”
She flounced inside to the sound of Brett chuckling. After her afternoon role as Scarlett, she could cross dressing in a hoop skirt, trying her hand at acting, and being escorted by a southern gentleman off her bucket list.
Chapter Six
Brett nervously wiped damp palms along the sides of his pants then jogged up the back steps into the kitchen of Magnolia Rose. A few of the staff lingered at the big oak table, sipping coffee and reading the Sunday newspaper.
Sunday was a free day for everyone, including the guests. They could dress in their most comfortable clothes, eat what they wanted, even spend the day fiddling with their laptops if they liked.
Ashley and Wade had discovered during the first few events they hosted that a solid month of living history, from the costumes and food to the customs, got tiring without breaks. While the guests enjoyed being immersed in life from the pre-war days, they also looked forward to the one day a week they could wear jeans and eat a hamburger, if they so chose.
Sundays became the days when the guests could let their hair down, both literally and figuratively. All but a handful of staff also had the day off to do as they wished.
The guests who stayed at Magnolia Rose could eat from the food prepared the previous day or had the option of making their own meals in the kitchen. Most of them preferred to jaunt into town, but those who didn’t often packed baskets with sandwiches or picnic fare and enjoyed a simple, quiet day on the grounds.
Brett smiled as Tara stepped into the kitchen wearing a sage green floral dress splashed with dusky roses. The colors brought out the vibrant hue of her eyes while accenting her pale skin.
When she noticed him lingering by the door, she headed his way.
“Good morning,” she said, greeting him with a bright smile.
He tipped his head to her wishing he could kiss her rosy cheek. “Mornin’, Tara. Would you like to attend the service here in the chapel or we could go into town and join my folks at church.”
“Oh, the chapel here would be great. It’s so quaint and lovely, don’t you think?” Tara led the way out the back door while Brett followed closely behind her.
What appeared lovely and quaint to him had nothing to do with the plantation’s refurbished chapel. It had everything to do with the sweet girl chatting about how glad she was the sun shined brightly overhead.
Gratitude filled him to see the sun making an appearance. The plans he had for the afternoon wouldn’t work well in a drizzle of rain. The weather report promised him sunshine and warm temperatures throughout the day, without a high humidity factor.
He should probably tell Tara to change before they left after the service, or at least let her know she could bring along casual clothes to wear. Yet, he remained silent. She looked so pretty in the flowery dress that skimmed her curves and floated around her knees, he rather liked the idea of seeing her in it all day.
Pinned up at the back of her head, her dark hair taunted him. She’d secured it in a loose style that allowed curls to fall around her face. His fingers itched to reach out and trace the path of one springy curl along her neck, but he somehow managed to refrain from indulging the desire. Instead, he lengthened his stride and fell into step beside her as they approached the chapel.
Painted white, a high spire with a cross on top of the bui
lding stood out against the backdrop of green fields. Stones gathered back before the plantation house was built created the three steps in front of the chapel.
Frosted glass panels bordered the big oak door that opened into the sanctuary. Oaken pews polished to a high shine welcomed visitors. Narrow windows along each side of the building flooded the space with light.
A hand-carved pulpit stood at the front of the building. This morning, a large bouquet of spring flowers sat on a small table in front of it, offering a cheery greeting.
“Oh, it’s so lovely,” Tara whispered, walking down the aisle and taking a seat on a pew in the middle of the chapel.
“Lovely,” Brett repeated, finding it hard to pull his gaze away from her face.
One of Wade’s friends, an ordained minister, led the service. Brett would have been in big trouble if anyone asked him to summarize what the man shared that morning. In spite of his best efforts, he remained too attuned to Tara’s every movement to pay attention to the pastor.
In fact, they were singing the second verse of the closing hymn when Tara nudged him in the side with her elbow. The look she gave him let him know he’d better pull his wits together. He hadn’t even noticed the pastor had finished the sermon.
After making their way outside and shaking hands with those who attended the service, Brett led Tara toward an enclosed structure where the staff parked their vehicles.
“Do I need to bring anything along?” she asked as they sauntered past the gardens and walked in the direction of the big barn.
“Nope. I think I’ve got everything.” Brett smiled at her and took her hand in his once they were out of sight of everyone at the chapel.
She shot him a skeptical glance. “Are you sure I can’t make lunch? It would only take me a moment to pack a picnic basket.”
Brett grinned and shook his head. “Today is your day to do nothing but enjoy.”
Taste of Tara Page 5
