Millicent, Southern Hearts Series, Book One

by Felicia Rogers

  Preparing to introduce herself, she was surprised by Cora's sure voice. "Illustrious guests, may I have your attention? I would like to introduce Millicent Beaumont, my sister; the reason we've gathered this day."

  Rounds of polite applause echoed in the small room. The noise died as Millie took her seat at the piano.

  She had always loved music and with the strike of the first chord, she felt transported to a different world. Tones of sorrow followed by tones of joy flowed from the instrument as she hit each note with precision. The song finished and Millie rested her fingers on the ivory keys and hefted a heavy sigh.

  The guests clapped quietly and her courage dwindled.

  "Can you sing, dear?" asked an older woman sitting to the left of her.

  Millie opened her mouth to respond but Priscilla giggled. "Her, sing? When she sang at church–"

  Pricilla's mother interrupted her daughter by saying loudly, "Priscilla, please pour me some more tea."

  Several of the young people chuckled under their breaths, while the elderly women waved their fans and hid their faces. Heat flushed Millie's cheeks. Humiliated, she excused herself and fled the room.

  Tears dripped as she ran toward the river. Finding a secluded spot, she sat and swiped her eyes while watching ducks swim against the waves, dipping their heads and foraging for food.

  "I enjoyed your song."

  Millie jumped to her feet. Facing her visitor, she said, "Thank you."

  With a slight bow, the mystery man said, "Since we keep meeting, perhaps I should introduce myself. I'm Stephen Green."

  "Sir, as you now know, I am Millicent Beaumont."

  He turned and paced, clasping his hands behind his back. "Your piano is most unusual. It plays like a grand piano I once heard in France, but it looks quite different."

  Millie nodded and spoke in an informative voice. "It was made by Chickering and Sons in 1825 at their Boston factory."

  "Interesting. Tell me more about this unique design."

  Grateful to have a topic of conversation, she replied, "The wide rectangular shape was created for those who live next to a river. You see, if the river floods and the piano needs to be hauled from the house, the rectangular design makes it easier to place on a wagon."

  "Truly fascinating. What more can you tell me?"

  "About what?"

  "About anything. I like hearing you speak."

  "Oh." Heat flushed her cheeks and she felt thankful for the dim light.

  Stephen stepped to the water's edge. Bending, he scooped water into his hand and let it drip through his fingers.

  "Is this your first visit to Louisiana?" asked Millicent.

  "Yes."

  "Where do you hail from?"

  "Here and there," he responded, standing again.

  "Not very specific. Seems rather rude to not tell a lady your home state."

  "Is a man judged by his place of residence?"

  Millicent turned to walk alongside the river and the gentleman followed. "I'm afraid so. And that is especially true in the south."

  "Do you think I'm from the North?"

  She paused, placed a finger on her chin and studied him at length, taking in his black hair, bright blue eyes, and tanned skin. A grin twisted his mouth and she smiled in return.

  "No," she answered.

  "No, you don't think I'm from the North?"

  "No, I don't think you are."

  They walked farther upriver where the trees and undergrowth thickened. Millicent stepped onto a dock. Under normal circumstances, she would have sat on the edge and dangled her feet over the water. But in her party dress, she didn't dare.

  The sun had already begun its descent and the moon promised to be full and bright. Millie said, "We should return. If we get caught in the dark, it will be difficult to get back."

  "Are you worried?"

  "Yes."

  "What worries you?"

  Millie barely smiled. "Alligators. On occasion, they swim onto the riverbanks to find a meal."

  "They eat people?"

  "Of course!"

  "Hmm."

  "Do you have any dangerous animals where you live?"

  "Bears."

  "Bears? Do they eat people?"

  "Of course."

  Millicent saw a ripple of movement in the water and a shiver raced up her spine. Stephen removed his jacket and spread it across her shoulders. He said, "Yes, perhaps we should return to the house. I'm sure your guests are missing you." He placed his hand on her elbow to guide her.

  Millicent didn't tell him she knew every rock and stick that lay on the ground, and she could travel from the dock to home with her eyes closed. Instead, she thrilled at his touch.

  Close to the gardens they heard several people calling her name and she handed him his coat. He started to refuse, but she said, "Please, take it. It's much easier to be cold, than to explain how I acquired your coat."

  "As you wish."

  Millicent turned to walk away.

  Chapter Fifteen

  "Miss Beaumont?" Stephen called. She turned to face him. The moonlight reflecting off her shoulders made him catch his breath.

  "Yes, Mr. Green."

  "It was a pleasure meeting you."

  She smiled and curtseyed.

  Stephen was still watching her when Charles found him. Holding his champagne coupe, Charles wobbled, and shifted his gaze to Miss Beaumont's retreating form. "Where have you been? Everyone's been looking for Miss Beaumont."

  "We were at the dock."

  "Alone?"

  "Yes."

  "Did you tell her–"

  "No. We talked about the piano and nothing more."

  "The piano?"

  "Yes, the piano in the music room."

  "Really. And exactly how is this wooing her?"

  "Trust me."

  "You say that a lot."

  "And I mean it." Stephen slipped his coat on and buttoned it. Walking back to the festivities with Charles, he asked, "What have you been up to? Have you met anyone special?"

  "No," Charles replied over the rim of his glass.

  "Are you still thinking about the girl who delivered our wash bowl?"

  "Yes."

  "Who is she?"

  "Believe it or not, I don't know."

  "Do you mean to say you haven't taken the bull by the horns and approached the young lady? You're usually so forthright."

  Charles sent him a scathing look and Stephen held his hands up in mock surrender.

  Together they entered the throng of guests. On a platform, the musicians moved to the side as Henri Beaumont stepped to center stage. "Ladies and gentlemen, welcome to my daughter Millicent's eighteenth birthday celebration."

  Clapping and approving murmurs ensued. Millicent stood beside him, her face fiery red.

  The noise died down and Henri spoke again. "In honor of my daughter's birthday we would like everyone to eat, drink, and have a merry time! Our home is your home. If you need anything, you have only to ask. And yes, my daughter will be available for dancing."

  Clapping again rang through the crowd. Henri smiled and offered his arm to his daughter as they descended the platform. Millicent planted a kiss on her father's cheek and immediately a line of men formed in front of her. She placed her hand over her heart and her mouth molded into an "O".

  Stephen watched Millicent accept the hand of the first gentlemen. Dance after dance she circled the makeshift dance floor.

  "Aren't you going to rescue her?" asked Charles.

  "What?"

  "You're sitting there like a coiled snake. Just intrude already."

  "You think I should?"

  "Of course. Remember, I speak my mind."

  Stephen laughed and walked across the carpet of thick grass, pausing on the outskirts and waiting for the song to end. When it did, he quickly approached and pulled Millicent into an embrace.

  "You appear distressed, my lady. Is there something I can do to assist you?"

  "Oh
, Stephen, thank heavens."

  He cleared his throat to keep from laughing.

  "Don't laugh at me."

  "Who me? I didn't laugh."

  "You did. I felt your chest rumble."

  "Forgive me for the deception. I just found your response rather…unusual."

  "Humph. My response was perfectly normal."

  "Care to explain?" Stephen marveled as torchlight cast shadows of their joined figures on the ground.

  "It's simple, really. I know my feet are safe because you can dance."

  This time he did laugh. "Indeed."

  "You do remember, don't you?"

  "Remember what, my dear?" He waited, hoping she would speak of their meeting in New Orleans.

  "The masked ball, of course. Although please don't say anything aloud. Father and Mother would be most displeased if they knew I had attended a party without an escort."

  "I wouldn't dream of sharing. That afternoon was for my enjoyment alone."

  Moonlight dappled Millicent and highlighted the red hue of her flushed cheeks. She dipped her chin and he nudged it with his thumb.

  "Don't hide your face. I like looking at you."

  The music stopped and she stepped backward. She reached a hand and twisted a loose curl.

  "Are you leaving?" he asked.

  "I-I thought I should dance with the others. Father will be upset if I don't."

  "Of course." He smiled. "But we both know you don't always listen to your father."

  She visibly swallowed and stepped forward, placing her lips close to his ear. Her warm breath sent ripples of desire through him. He wanted to draw her close and devour her with kisses, but he remained still.

  She whispered, "You do promise not to say anything, right?"

  He didn't answer.

  "Stephen, you must promise me!"

  Her nearness started his pulse racing. He closed his eyes and nodded.

  Stepping backward again, she laced her fingers together in the folds of her gown and curtsied. "Thank you."

  Stephen watched her rush away. Sighing, he approached a servant carrying a tray of wine flutes. Gulping the first glass, he reached for another. Across the room, Charles gave him a knowing smile.

  ****

  "Will this night never end?" Millie asked Amelia as she plopped onto a chair on the porch and removed her slippers. She massaged her aching feet.

  "Yes, but there is still tomorrow."

  Millie groaned. Even though tonight was the official celebration, the festivities would continue for a week. Mother had insisted it was the height of rudeness to make people travel great distances for just one event, so she had planned multiple ones. Millie had been afraid to ask the details of her plans and now she feared perhaps that had been a mistake.

  Amelia stifled a giggle.

  Millie rolled her eyes and slipped back into her shoes. "Amelia, what happens next? I've played piano for the mothers and sisters. I've allowed Father to embarrass me on stage. I've danced with dozens of gentlemen. What more does Mother want of me?"

  Amelia shrugged and said as she left the porch, "I have no idea."

  Alone at last, Millie closed her eyes and breathed deeply. This was not how she'd envisioned her party; jumping hoops to make everyone happy. No, she'd just wanted to have a few of her closest girlfriends come and perhaps stay the night. Of course, they would be local friends, save one. How she wished Stephenie could have come. Yet, here she was with a crowd of mostly strangers. And no one had really come to celebrate her birthday. They had come to see what they could acquire. Eligible men sought wives. Mothers and fathers sought prestigious marriages for their sons. Everyone sought something. What couldn't be bought or won was garnered through marriage. Millie had seen it happen often enough. Men from other states often came to Louisiana seeking an influential alliance. Her situation was no different.

  Millie slipped back to the party. She took a seat at an empty table. A young man winked and Millie sighed. No different at all.

  Cora skidded to a halt in front of her. Flushed and perspiring, she offered a generous smile. "Happy birthday, sister!"

  "Thank you, Cora."

  "Amelia told me to tell you that Mother has her working in the kitchen."

  "Very well. Did she also tell you what Mother wants of me?"

  "Wants of you?"

  "Yes. I've done everything I've been asked, but I'm sure there's more."

  Cora's smile broadened. "Why she wants you to have fun, of course."

  Two small boys ran past them and Cora lifted her skirts to follow them. She yelled over her shoulder, "See you later."

  From across the yard, Millie's gaze fell on Stephen. He touched his finger to his forehead acknowledging her. She couldn't help but smile.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Millie raised her arms above her head and stretched. The party had ended late and she'd only slept a few hours. Suppressing a yawn, she climbed from her bed.

  "You look lovely."

  The sound of a man's voice had Millie grabbing her coverlet and pulling it to her chin. She searched the dark room, seeing a shadow in the corner.

  "Who are you and what are you doing in my room?"

  The figure moved into the light and her mouth rounded in shock. "Stephen?"

  "Sorry to startle you."

  "What are you doing here?" She pulled her covering tighter.

  "Do you mind lowering your voice?"

  "Excuse me? You came into my room while I slept and you want me to lower my voice?"

  "No, it's not that," he said, shaking his head. "It's just I need to talk to you, but if someone finds me here our conversation won't last long."

  "That's an understatement."

  He cleared his throat and took a step toward the open balcony doors. "Perhaps I should leave."

  "Wait. What did you want?"

  He paused and his mouth morphed into a smile. "I wondered if you would go for a ride with me today."

  Her hand dropped and the coverlet slipped. Stephen's eyes widened and Millie hauled the covering back in place. Heat flushed her cheeks. "You broke into my room to ask me that?" she said with incredulity.

  "Yes. I know it seems a little unorthodox, but with all the guests vying for your attention, I figured if I asked you first, I would be rewarded first."

  "I see. So seeking my time prompted you to sneak into my room."

  "Precisely."

  "And you thought this was a good idea?"

  "At the time, yes."

  "What will you do if I decide to scream?" Millie blinked when Stephen stepped in front of her.

  "I'd ask you not to do that."

  She gulped and licked her lips. "Why?"

  His gaze roamed her face. "If you do, then I shall be sent far away. And if that happens, I may never get to know you better." He leaned toward her.

  She closed her eyes and waited. Would he kiss her like he did in New Orleans? A breeze wafted her hair. Patience waning, she opened her eyes. He was gone.

  She raced to the open balcony doors. The curtains billowed and she pushed them out of the way so she could step outside. Holding onto the ornate railing she searched the gardens. Where had he gone?

  Back inside, Millie closed the doors. She dressed quickly and rushed downstairs. The dining room teamed with visitors; every chair was taken and men leaned against the walls, cradling their plates in their hands. A slave pulled the rope that moved the punkha to create a cool breeze in the crowded room. Everyone watched her.

  Millie reached for a plate, murmuring polite greetings. The table offered a plethora of choices but after her early morning encounter all she wanted was to escape the room with a biscuit. She covered it with strawberry jam. Dolly handed her a glass of fresh, cold milk.

  "Here you are, Missy. I saved it for you."

  Millie smiled at the cook and thanked her. Juggling her glass and plate, she ignored the empty chair saved for her and walked to the front porch, also filled with people. Several men jumped to the
ir feet, offering her a seat, but she declined and headed for her secret spot in the east garden. She glanced over her shoulder to make sure no one followed.

  When she arrived, she sat cross legged on the ground and used her favorite bench as a back rest. The coolness of the stone seeped through her clothing and made shivers race along her spine.

  "You shouldn't be out here alone."

  Stephen's voice startled her and she jumped. Her biscuit flew through the air and landed in a bush.

  She said impatiently, "Would you please stop doing that?"

  He crossed his arms and shrugged. "Sorry to scare you. But you never know who might be following you."

  She sighed. "I guess I should go back to the house before all the biscuits are gone."

  She started to rise, but he said, "Don't go."

  "Why not?"

  "Because I asked you to stay."

  "If I stay, will you feed me?"

  He laughed. "I'm afraid not. I stopped carrying food in my pocket a long time ago."

  Millie wanted to stay and talk. Stephen intrigued her. But being alone with him in her room and now in the garden, made her feel strange.

  "I think I should go back to the house. You're more than welcome to join me."

  He shook his head. "Maybe later."

  "As you wish."

  She rushed past him, grabbed her biscuit out of the bush, and headed back to the house .

  ****

  What are you doing? Millicent will think you're crazy if you don't stop following her.

  Since the previous night Stephen hadn't been able to stop thinking about the way she spoke, the way she felt, the way she smelled; it all cycled over and over in his mind. He just needed to be near her. Charles had kicked him out of their makeshift room in the early morning because he'd continued talking about her. Stephen couldn't blame him. Even he knew he was rambling.

  Although it was December, the flora in the arboretum flourished. Spanish moss clung to cypress trees and shifted eerily in a light cool breeze. The weather reminded him of fall temperatures in South Carolina.