Stephen placed his hands over his ears to block the noise and closed his eyes. When he opened them, the young woman and the postmaster were staring at him.
"Forgive me, continue with your argument."
The woman rolled her eyes and stomped her foot again. "I thought you were here to help, but I can see you're just a drunk who's sauntered into the wrong building."
The postmaster frowned and turned his attention to customers entering the room. "Miss, you will have to move."
"I will do no such thing. I want my mail. I have a right–"
"As far as I'm concerned, until your Father or Isaac comes to collect the parcels they will stay in this building. Now move along." The postmaster turned away.
Dismissed, the woman turned on her heel and stalked outside. Stephen followed. The movement affected his upset stomach but he continued after her.
She stopped and he barreled into her. She turned and her hands fell to his chest, pushing him away. "What do you want? Why do you keep following me?"
"I'm trying to help."
"Help? Is that what you call it? All you did was stand there and smell bad. Please go somewhere and clean up."
She started to move away but he grabbed her hand. "Don't go. Allow me to introduce myself, my name is–"
"I don't want to know. Since I will never see you again, there is little point. I would appreciate it if you would allow me to leave. I'm extremely late for an appointment."
He released her hand and she hurried away. Stumbling after her, he grabbed her upper arm and turned her around to face him again.
"Don't you care to know the name of the man who kissed you?"
"What?" she asked, her eyes widening.
"I kissed you on the balcony of the hotel. Don't you remember?"
She looked down the street before addressing him. "Never repeat that. I have never kissed a man."
His grip loosened and she grabbed her skirts and ran toward a black horse. Climbing astride, she nudged the horse with her feet and galloped out of town.
Charles came up behind him. "Didn't go well, I take it?"
"Not even a little. She claims to have never kissed a man."
"Are you sure she's the one you kissed?"
"Most definitely."
"Perhaps she didn't want to admit to kissing a lout."
Stephen narrowed his eyes at his friend. Charles raised his hands in defense. "You must admit you are not at your best. Maybe if you cleaned up and happened to find her again she would use a different tone."
Stephen sighed. "What's the point? She wants nothing to do with me. Come. Let's go to the hotel and freshen up. The party at the Beaumont Plantation begins this afternoon. I don't want to be late."
Chapter Eleven
The journey home seemed to take ages. When the tree lined lane came into view, Millie reined in her horse and guided him to a private garden. At the gate, she dismounted and peeked through the wrought iron railing. Only a few people were milling about. After several gulping breaths, she pushed the gate open and entered.
Quickly, passing beyond the beds of colorful flowers, she reached the stables. Instead of betraying her secret jaunt, she personally cared for the horse. Loosening the cinch and removing the saddled, she rubbed the animal. Once the beast's breathing returned to normal, she put him in his stall and quietly slipped back through the garden to the kitchen at the rear of the house. Several servants entered and exited carrying trays.
Slinking inside the house, Millie rushed toward the servants' staircase and hastened upstairs. She peeked into the hallway leading to her room before stepping out. With her back to the wall she slid toward her room. The door was cracked and she peered inside before entering.
By now her family would be congregating in the dining room for breakfast. Donning her day gown, she quickly dressed and raced downstairs. She patted her hair in place before entering the large room.
Everyone lifted their faces and watched her enter. Amelia jumped up from the table and ran to her side. With a forced smile, she whispered, "Where have you been?"
Millie mimicked her smile, linked arms with her sister, and whispered back, "I'll explain later. Does Father know?"
Amelia's bottom lip trembled and Millie caught her father's gaze. His eyes were red and puffy; his teeth clenched. He arose so quickly that his chair fell backward. Millie gulped and worked to hide her panic.
"Millicent, may I see you in my den, please."
Millie bowed and followed her father as he left the dining room. She had never seen him so upset. What would he do? She shuffled slowly behind him, dreading the moment of reckoning. When they were inside his den, he slammed the door and paced in front of her.
Not moving, she placed her hands behind her back and waited. He mumbled words under his breath that she couldn't understand. Then, without warning, he stopped pacing and hugged her. She hugged him back. Tears slid from her eyes and wet her cheeks and he smoothed the wetness away. "I'm so glad you're safe. I have fretted half the night with worry." Just as suddenly as the emotion came, it ended. He straightened, smoothed his jacket, and stared into her eyes. His gaze narrowed and his hands rested on his hips.
"I demand to know where you have been. Do you know how hard it was to keep this from your mother? As if she doesn't have enough worries already trying to find rooms for all these people, you do something like this. Don't dally any longer, Millicent Jane, I want to know this instant where you have been. And don't lie to me."
Millie's hands trembled and she twisted them together. Harsh words from her father always made her cry. Gulping, she said, "Father, I am sorry I didn't tell you but I went to Bayou Sara."
"Went to Bayou Sara!" he shouted.
Millie cringed and he stepped forward placing his hands on her arms. "Why did you do such a thing? You know how dangerous the road can be. And at night! Whatever possessed you?"
"I'm sorry Father, but I had to go. You see, I've been waiting for a letter from Stephenie–"
Her father moved away and threw his hands up in frustration. "Is that what this is about? Your friend from South Carolina?"
"Yes, Father. I am sorry but–"
"I can't believe you made me worry because you wanted a letter! My children have become so inconsiderate of my feelings."
He paced the room angrily waving his hands back and forth. His normally cool façade was gone, replaced by a weary and angry looking man.
Stopping in front of her, he asked, "Why have you done this? Didn't you think of anyone but yourself? After all the planning that went into this party; after all the work performed on your behalf. You were just going to throw it all away to see if one person, that you haven't even met, was coming!"
He shook his head, his lips narrowing into a thin line. "I'm so disappointed in you that I want to cancel the party. If not for the guests, I would. I want you to go to your room and–"
"But Father–"
"I don't want to hear anything. Go to your room and stay there until I summon you."
Millie dropped her head and nodded.
The slow, prolonged trip upstairs felt like she was heading to her execution.
Amelia and Cora met her on the stairs and tried to question her but she refused to speak. When she reached her room she closed the door on their questions and leaned against it. Fresh tears coursed along her cheeks. She swiped them away and stalked angrily to her dressing table. Behind her, the beautiful blue party gown was laid across her resting couch. Morning sunlight burst through the windows catching the shimmering fabric, causing it to twinkle like a thousand stars.
Millie faced the mirror. Dark circles rimmed her eyes. Her hair was tangled from her harrowing ride home. She'd ridden the black horse as if the devil's hounds chased her for fear that the handsome stranger was pursing her, and also that her father had discovered her absence. But in the end it hadn't mattered.
She sighed and cradled her chin in her palm. Did she even care about the party? If Stephenie couldn't atte
nd, would it be what she'd dreamed? Her parents weren't concerned about her celebrating her birthday. They only wanted this opportunity for her to meet a man and become engaged. According to her mother's friends, spinsterhood was right around the corner. Not a day passed without them filling her mother's head with such nonsense.
What Millie wanted didn't seem to matter. Tonight she would be paraded before eligible men and over the next week they would vie for her hand. They would ply her father with gifts and promises with the sole purpose of receiving her hand in marriage. But she wasn't fooled. What they really wanted was the wealth and property she would garner as Henry Beaumont's daughter.
She should shimmy down the trellis and flee to her garden sanctuary. But, if she was caught, her father would be more furious than he already was.
The only thing to do now was wait—at least for the time being.
****
Charles and Stephen returned to their room. After cleaning up, they gathered their supplies and went in search of their pitiful nags. The horses had been moved somewhere during the night. Fortunately, they had only been tied to another hitching post.
Astride the beasts and with directions to the Beaumont Plantation, they set out. The coffee supplied at the tavern had helped to awaken them and lighten their nausea.
"How far is this place?" asked Charles.
"The barkeep said it shouldn't take more than three hours even at a slow pace."
"And we just follow this road?"
"Yes. It takes us to the river."
"How big did you say this plantation is?"
"In Millicent's letters she said it is twenty-five hundred acres bordering the Mississippi."
"That's considerable."
"Indeed. She said it takes around two hundred and fifty slaves to keep everything running smoothly."
"How do they treat their slaves?" asked Charles, sending him a sideways glance.
"We've never specifically discussed that, but she does speak of some as if they're family. I'm assuming they are treated kindly."
"As kindly as you treat yours?"
"Yes, I believe so." Stephen shifted in his seat. His father's decision to free their slaves and pay them as workers hadn't been well received in their community. Charles had never expressed his opinion regarding that action.
"And our plan worked? We are expected at this party?"
"Yes. Just as you suggested I sent the request through a mutual friend and Mr. Beaumont replied that he would be happy to have us attend."
"What did you say?"
"I told him we would be traveling through the area and had heard about the festivities. When I told him I grow cotton in South Carolina and asked if we might attend, he practically begged me to stay. I believe he hopes we can trade secrets. He was most accommodating and even offered us lodging. "
"And will you trade secrets?" asked Charles, with a wink.
"I might. I guess it depends on Miss Beaumont."
"Stephen, have you thought of what you will tell her? Will you reveal that you are her true pen pal?"
"No, I'll not tell her. At least not for awhile."
"Not for a long while, I'd say. What about the girl from the hotel?"
Stephen didn't answer. He didn't want to think about that right now. Instead, he turned his attention to the peculiar terrain of tall, gnarled trees with Spanish moss dangling from bent limbs, giving the place an eerie feel.
Charles noticed his perusal and said, "This is creepy."
Stephen agreed, "Very interesting foliage.
The sound of rushing water reached his ears at the same time he noticed a white mansion in the distance. Gardens lined the road as they approached the main house. Smaller buildings lay on the outskirts. From descriptions in Millicent's letters, he decided the one closest to the house belonged to the doctor and those farther back belonged to slaves.
The nearer they came to the residence, the more his senses came alive. Flower fragrances wafted on a breeze. Colorful blooms appeared to open as they passed by. Sounds of neighing horses grew louder. Carriages, tended by slaves, covered the front drive.
"It appears we are the last to arrive," said Charles, shifting uncomfortably in his saddle.
Stephen and Charles dismounted and handed the reins of their horses to a waiting servant. They thanked him and bounded up the wide stairs of the porch that ran the length of the house. Dotted with rocking chairs, tables, and potted plants, it invited guests to sit and converse while enjoying tea or lemonade.
The double doors opened at his knock. A young woman with light brown hair and amber eyes studied him curiously. "May I help you?" she asked.
"Yes, ma'am. I'm here for the party of Millicent Beaumont."
The young woman stepped back and held the door open. Stephen entered first, followed by Charles.
The foyer was laid with colorful square tiles, and floral wallpaper stretched to the ceilings in vivid shades of red, blue, lavender, green, and brown. A magnificent staircase wound upward.
The young woman led them to a large drawing room. Tall windows were opened so as to allow any breeze to filter through. Everywhere, men sat on couches and chairs and even lined the walls. Smoke from several pipes made the air hazy. A refined looking gentleman said, "I hear this girl is a real catch; not only attractive, but smart."
"I heard she has a stubborn streak and might need a bit of, hmm, taming," someone responded.
The men guffawed at the images conjured up by the statement.
Charles whispered, "The popularity of this party was not understated. There must be thirty bachelors here."
"Indeed."
Stephen studied the competition. Well-established, middle-aged gentleman in varied stages of graying hair congregated around the windows. Younger men with no facial hair gathered around the fireplace. Elderly gentlemen with wrinkles and liver spots sat on couches. Every group seemed to be conversing about the birthday girl from a different perspective. Some seemed interested in looks and broad hips, others talked of lands and dowries. It appeared all hoped to join the Beaumont family.
However, Stephen knew there was one thing he possessed that they did not—personal knowledge. While the groups speculated on particulars, he reviewed everything he knew of Millicent.
The door behind them was suddenly thrust open and an older gentleman stepped through.
"Welcome to Beaumont Lane. I am Henri Beaumont and I'm glad you have chosen to attend the celebration for my daughter, Millicent. As you know, her eighteenth birthday has come and gone, but today we gather to celebrate this momentous occasion." He glanced around. "Just so you aware, this event is not for my daughter to obtain a husband…although if that is the ultimate result, I won't be upset." Henri snickered and clapped his hands. "Now, the official party will start in two hours. If anyone wishes to wash up, Isaac, our house servant, will direct you. If you have just arrived, please let Isaac know. Our home is full, but we will do our best to accommodate you somewhere suitable."
Henri turned to leave and Stephen darted to catch him. Several others jumped in his way and thwarted his plan. Giving up, he sought Isaac.
Chapter Twelve
"There are at least fifty men!" said Cora, smoothing her hair into place.
"So many?" asked Amelia, worrying her bottom lip.
Millie slapped the dressing table and stood. Her sisters ignored her temper and continued to converse.
"What do they look like?" asked Amelia.
"They're old!" moaned Cora.
"You think everyone is old," Amelia retorted.
Cora crossed her arms over her chest and stuck out her tongue.
"Now tell the truth, did you see anyone Millie would like?"
"I don't know. If she wants someone as old as Father, then maybe."
Millie faced the open window and bit the inside of her cheek. Men as old as her father? What was she going to do? This was supposed to be a birthday party not an engagement party? Where was Stephenie? Stephenie had been her best
friend for the past eight months. She'd told her every secret, every desire of her heart. How could she do this to her? How could she abandon her in her hour of greatest need?
"Cora, look what you've done. You've scared Millie."
"Scared her? You said to tell the truth. Why do I always get in trouble for doing exactly what I'm told? Father told me to answer the door earlier and when I escorted two more visitors to the sitting room he was upset."
"How do you know he was upset?" asked Amelia.
"Oh, maybe it was because he was wagging his finger. Or maybe because he clenched his teeth and fussed about late arrivals and courtesy toward others. But what do I know. I'm only fourteen. I'm just a child."
Cora stomped from the room and Amelia followed, apologizing to Millie. Millie moved from the window and fell into a chair. The wooden arms surrounded her like a comforting embrace and she placed her elbows on the arms, hunching over.
"Millicent Jane, do not slouch."
She jumped at her mother's stern voice.
Alice Beaumont entered the room like a hurricane at the height of its destruction. It was a wonder curtains didn't flutter, dresses fall from hooks, or loose objects rattle. Coming to a standstill in the middle of the room, she placed her hands on her hips and directed her gaze toward Millie.
"Well?" she asked, tapping her foot.
Millie scrunched her face and lifted her shoulders.
"Don't act that way, young lady—like you don't know what I want. Why are you still sitting here in your old gown? You should be dressed. I know you've had visions of this day for over a year, but you can't just sit here and expect everything to be done for you. Get dressed and come down and greet your guests."
Alice turned to leave.
"Mother?"
She paused, heaving a sigh.
"Are you angry with me?"
Her mother's shoulders fell and when she turned back around, her lips trembled. She shook her head and a cascade of tears slid down her cheeks.
Millie lunged from the chair and into her mother's arms.
"I'm not angry, my dear. Just overwhelmed. You're grown now and I thought I would have so much more time with you." She sniffed. "Not to mention more time to plan this party. Then your father invited all these eligible men. I could wring his neck. You can't entertain every man here."
Millicent, Southern Hearts Series, Book One Page 6
