Cole smiled without a trace of rancor. “Well said, madam.”
Confused, Alaina met his gaze, sensing his approval but wary of his sincerity. His eyes were warm and laughing, which only added to her bewilderment. Then slowly he lifted his gaze above her head and stared toward the dark beyond the top of the stairs. She turned to follow his gaze, but found only shadows and gloom.
“Mindy?” Cole’s voice was soft, questioning.
Alaina faced him, wondering what he had seen in the blackness beyond the balustrade. A quick sound of furtive movement came from above, but when she looked again, there seemed only fewer shadows than before.
Hardly a second had passed before quick footsteps sounded from the opposite direction, and with a rustle of stiff taffeta, a dark-haired woman came into view, and crossed to the top of the stairs. There, in shrouding shadows, she paused as her attention fell upon the lower hall. In the briefest span of time, she seemed an illusion, an unfinished portrait that some artist had abandoned when he realized his subject had aged beyond the beauty of womanhood and that he had unwittingly captured her just as she was. The black hair, lightly touched with gray, was pulled back severely and rolled into a simple bun at the nape. A long, linen apron was attached to the bodice of her black gown which, with its crisp white cuffs and collar, painfully reminded Alaina of her own rather austere apparel.
“Good evening, sir. Madam.” Her dark eyes briefly touched Alaina and betrayed a mild degree of surprise as she quickly perused the widow’s weeds. “Peter brought up the madam’s baggage, sir, and I was wondering what room I should make ready.”
Cole drew out his watch to hide his sudden ire. The merest thought of the arrangement raised his hackles. “You may show Mrs. Latimer upstairs, Mrs. Garth,” he bade curtly. “The choice will be hers.”
A sedate nod of obedience answered him before the woman directed her gaze to the new mistress. “If you will please follow me, madam.”
Aware that Cole’s stern attention came upon her and remained, Alaina mounted the stairs stiffly. The choice might well be hers, she mused, but it was also understood that the master’s suite was not open for selection. He could entertain himself when it met his whim, but that was as much as he wanted of marriage—and of her.
The housekeeper led her past the open balustrade and down the hall. “I’ll show you the late mistress’s bedroom,” she announced. “It has a view of the river and is most elegant. She preferred it above the smaller rooms.”
“And the master?” Alaina could not help inquiring. “Where does he sleep?”
The housekeeper displayed no surprise at the question. “Doctor Latimer sleeps where he wills, madam. Except when his leg is bothering him. Then, I think, he doesn’t sleep at all.”
Pushing open a door, Mrs. Garth entered a dark room and moved about, lighting the lamps. As she did, Alaina’s vision of it enlarged by slow degrees. Dark red velvet covered the walls. Even the high ceiling was draped with scarlet silk that came together above the ornate gold and crystal chandelier. It gave one an illusion of being inside an elaborate tent. Reds and lavish gilts were plentiful, while the floor was cushioned with wildly patterned Oriental rugs. Large pillows were tossed haphazardly upon the floor in front of a richly carved marble fireplace, and a luxuriously tufted chaise stood nearby. If any windows existed, they were well hidden behind heavy drapes edged with thick corded golden tassels. In the. midst of all this grandeur, the lavishly draped gold satin bed reigned dominant. In all, the decor was a gaudy, overworked kind of richness that miscarried to the point of being vulgarly distasteful, much like the heavily carved baroque furnishings.
Not noticing her mistress’s lack of enthusiasm, Mrs. Garth opened the massive armoire. Crowded within were the gowns Roberta had feverishly collected but had scarcely worn. The sight of them was enough to bring Alaina to her senses. Without word or explanation, she whirled on her heels and retreated through the nearest door. Across the hall, another door stood ajar, and inquisitively she pushed it wider. In comparison to the chamber she had just fled from, it was rather stark and barren. The brick fireplace was dark and clear of ashes, and Alaina felt a chill draft in the room. A four-poster with a simple patchwork quilt covering, a small bedside table, a straight armoire and a large wing chair were the extent of the furnishings. The floor was bare wood with only a pair of small throw rugs in evidence. But the room, situated on the back corner of the house, had a sweeping view of the river and, to the west, the hills. The windows were meagerly adomed with linen curtains, but during the day, there would be an abundant supply of sunlight to warm her.
“Is this room occupied?” Alaina inquired as Mrs. Garth came to stand in the doorway behind her.
“No, madam.”
“Then you may tell Peter to bring my baggage here.”
“Yes, madam.” The housekeeper moved past her and opened a door, revealing a separate bathing nook. A metal tub, a washstand with white porcelain basin and pitcher, and other conveniences, plain but serviceable, were present, all a person would need for simple comfort.
Cole’s uneven footsteps were heard in the hallway outside the room, and as he entered, he glanced about him with the same wry grin he had worn when her bonnet went sailing off down the hill. At his nod of dismissal, Mrs. Garth hastily withdrew, closing the hall door behind her. Lifting a brow, he regarded his wife for some time until she chafed at the unsuppressed humor she saw dancing in his bright eyes. At her glare, amused laughter broke from him. “So! You didn’t care for the red room.”
Alaina watched him narrowly, wondering what he had found so entertaining about her selection. “I would sooner be in a sultan’s tent with the threat of ravishment imminent. At least, I’ve had enough experience to know that I can live through that.”
Cole dismissed her jibe and limped into the bathing chamber where he briefly inspected the water pitcher before facing her again with that same infuriating grin. “What is there about the red room that you find disagreeable?” He shrugged casually. “Roberta liked it.”
Alaina gritted her teeth in frustration. “You confused us once before, Major.”
“So you keep reminding me.” He dropped a hand on the knob of the far door in the bathing chamber, but as if reconsidering, returned through her room to the same portal Mrs. Garth had left by. “Annie will be serving dinner shortly,” he announced. “I’ll wait for you downstairs in the parlor.”
Alaina felt his eyes glide over her, and though unspoken, his meaning was clear. She must make herself presentable for dinner.
The storm had descended upon the house with the ferocity of a maddened beast. Rain cascaded down the leaded windows in heavy torrents, while lightning sizzled and cracked with increasing crescendo. As she joined the men in the parlor, Alaina managed to maintain an outward show of calm despite the turbulence that brewed beyond the haven of the house. She presented a most respectful and pleasing appearance now, having laid aside the black gown, with some relief, and donned the gray silk.
Cole had been standing with his back to the fire, but turned to face the door as Braegar halted in mid sentence and came eagerly to his feet.
“You are stunning, madam,” the large man proclaimed, stepping forth to escort her to a chair across from the one he had just left. “Yours would slight the beauty of a magnolia blossom in spring bloom.”
“Are you that familiar with magnolias, Doctor Darvey?” she questioned. Her soft, floating laughter was as pleasing as the delicate tinkle of silver bells on a still winter’s night. It threaded through Cole’s head, twining, twisting, weaving a spell. His eyes fed upon the beauty of her as she slipped into the chair, but unlike Braegar, he reserved comment on her appearance.
“Before the war, I went to Louisiana several times,” Braegar answered as he resumed his seat. He was anxious to converse with such a gracious and lovely lady, and he grinned wickedly as he teased. “Had I known it to be your home, I would have threshed through the deepest, darkest swamp to court you.”
<
br /> Cole snorted. “Her guardian angel must have been working overtime.”
Braegar replied in undaunted spirits, his eyes gleaming devilishly. “I could believe that, yet—she is married to you.” Directing his gaze toward Alaina again, he leaned forward, bracing his elbows on his sturdy knees, and cradled his brandy snifter between long, blunt fingers. “Frankly, I’m beginning to think that I erred by not enlisting and lending my services to the cause. Cole seems to have been more than adequately compensated for what he suffered. Indeed, I’m rather envious of his good fortune in meeting you.”
Alaina chuckled warmly. “And I am beginning to think that you are an outrageous flirt, Doctor Darvey, and your zeal seems not at all deterred by the fact that I am married.”
“Married women are safer,” Cole muttered in his glass. “No telling how many husbands have been cuckolded because of him.”
Braegar spread his hands wide in plaintive appeal. “I’m harmless!”
“I wonder,” Cole grunted.
A sigh of relief slipped softly from Alaina as Miles entered to announce dinner. The dining room, like all the main rooms of the house, was burdensomely ostentatious. The table was overlong, the chairs overlarge. Everything was rich, heavily carved, and obtrusively grandiose. Cole watched her reaction as she glanced about with a carefully blank expression, and she dared no response that would prompt him to question her credibility again.
Bay windows overlooked the land to the east, and when lightning shattered the ebony darkness of the stormy sky, the crystal panes glittered with myriad spots of raindrops. Beyond the windows and below the cliff, the meandering river was visible through the swaying trees snuggled close about the house.
Shortly after Cole seated her at one end of the table, himself at the other, and Braegar took a place halfway between, the swinging door to the kitchen opened, and a plumpish, gray-haired woman bustled energetically in. She was intent upon carrying a large bowl of steaming hot potatoes to the table and positioned the dish squarely in the middle of it before she stood back with a sigh of accomplishment. Setting chubby hands on round hips, she greeted Braegar and then carefully scrutinized Alaina.
“Aye, a pretty one to be sure,” she nodded finally and introduced herself. “Me name’s Annie, love. Annie Murphy. ‘Tis been me duties to tend the kitchen and cook the meals.” She threw a sharp glance toward Cole and gestured with her thumb in his direction. “Though me labors have been mainly unappreciated by milord here. ‘Tis a cruel shame I have to be introducing meself when he’s dallied so long with his own comforts.” At that, she cast her eyes meaningfully toward the snifter at his service.
“You’re a nag, Annie Murphy,” Cole avowed.
“Huh! I’ll thank ye kindly, sir, ter keep yer muckraking comments to yerself. Ye wouldn’t want me ter say what I thinks of yerself now would ye?”
“Heaven forbid!”
“You ought to be the gentleman like himself here.” She nodded toward Braegar. “A foin manner he has, always a-laughin’ and speakin’ well of people.” She paused, considering the distance between mistress and master, and screwed up her mouth thoughtfully. On leaving the dining room, she commented wryly in an overloud whisper. “And Mister Braegar is a lot friendlier, too!”
The Irishman gave in to choking laughter, while Alaina looked directly toward Cole and smiled charitably, delighting in the angry flush of color that suffused his face.
“As you must have guessed,” Cole warned, “Annie says and does much as she pleases. Since she’s been here at least a score of years, she has the idea I won’t dismiss her, and has become quite unmanageable.”
“I think she is just delightful!” Alaina shrugged and daintily bent her attention to the potage, dismissing any further comment.
Throughout the meal, it was Braegar who entertained her, for Cole stiffly held his silence. Casually she noted that her husband ignored the potatoes and dined mainly on meat and other vegetables, while Braegar ate heartily of everything. The butler, Miles, was formal in his service about the table and most respectful of his employer. Annie’s effervescent cheeriness was a sharp contrast, yet they seemed to get along well with each other. Even when the cook jabbed the man in the ribs to draw his attention to the potatoes on Alaina’s plate, Miles only smiled and nodded.
“Now there’s one who knows what’s good for her,” the cook declared, then looked askance at Cole. “Not a bit like yerself, sir.”
Cole didn’t glance up, but, as he cut his meat, was heard to mutter dryly, “A body can learn to tolerate just about anything if he’s been close enough to starvation.”
“Aw, get on wit’ ye!” Annie shook her head as she stomped off into the kitchen, mumbling to herself about certain people who thought themselves above good Irish staples.
As the rain seemed destined to continue through the night, a bedroom was provided for Braegar. Eventually the storm passed but well after midnight, leaving in its wake a silent stillness. Mists cloaked the earth with wisps of white, while higher above, the moon played chase with the shredded vapors. Long after she had curled herself beneath the down-filled bedcovers, Alaina lay awake, listening for the footfalls that were familiar to her now. This was no chaste marriage they had between them, not with the outpouring of passions that had already been displayed. Love, hate, rage, lust—were those emotions so different from one another after all?
Alaina drifted to sleep, never hearing what her ears strained to catch, and slowly, effortlessly, she sank into the vague world of dreams. She glided along the surface of a bright blue sea in a ship with towering masts and wide, white sails billowing out above her. The rhythmic creaking of the masts whispered and sighed in her brain, as if the dream sought substance. Then, abruptly she was awake, and in a rush she knew what had disturbed her sleep. She had felt a presence beside her bed, a tall form dimly silhouetted against the moonlit windows of her bedroom.
“Cole?” she sighed.
The door latch clicked, and Alaina turned her head to stare at the closed portal, knowing that she was alone again. Yet it was a long, long time before she could banish the illusive shadow from her mind.
Chapter 29
ALAINA awakened with the dawn and, for a space, burrowed deep into her warm quilts, dreading that moment when she would have to set foot on the cold floor of her bedroom. Finally, she yielded to the inevitable, tossed aside the covers, and gathered a shawl around her shoulders against the crisp chill. For all its stone and brick and fortresslike exterior, the cliff house was cold and drafty. Her thin wrapper would be no protection come the long, hard winter if this was only a sampling of its frigid breath.
She ran quickly across the oak floor and perched crosslegged on the raised hearth, savoring even the meager warmth that it retained. Splinters of kindling went onto the bedded coals, and with the bellows, she worked until tiny flames leaped upward around the chips. The pile was rapidly enlarged until split logs were feeding the flames, and soon the heat drove her back. Warmed now, she went to stand at the window to have her first view of the countryside. Her eyes eagerly feasted upon the breathtaking splendor of it all, touching the languid river, the light mists that drifted over the surface of the water, the brilliance of the trees, and the steep cliff on the opposite side.
It took an effort, but she stirred herself from the sight and set her attentions toward a bath. However, the lack of water in the small nook posed a problem. Reluctantly she donned her thin wrapper and went downstairs to seek out Annie in the kitchen. A large copper boiler of water was already simmering on the wood stove, and when Alaina made her request known, the cook was garrulously apologetic until breathlessly she assured, “I’ll send Peter up with it the minute it’s hot, dearie. And now that we be knowing ye’re an early riser, they’ll be no more delay.”
On retracing her steps through the hall, Alaina noticed that the door to Cole’s study stood ajar, and out of curiosity, she went to peer in. The stale odor of smoke and liquor that permeated the room made her wrinkle
her nose in repugnance, yet here at last was a place where she could feel comfortable. Books lined the rosewood-paneled walls, and a large desk stood before tall bay windows. A leather tufted sofa faced the stone hearth, and before it, two tall leather chairs faced each other across the surface of a low table. There was a manly flavor about the room, and it seemed much more in accord with the personality of Doctor Latimer, than did most of the house.
In the dim early morning light filtering through the drapes, Alaina became aware of the long form of her husband in the chair that faced the window. His feet were propped on a leather ottoman, and a thick woolen blanket covered his legs. The collar of a velvet smoking jacket was pulled close beneath his chin, as if the night chill had found him out. Quietly she moved to stand beside his chair, and her eyes went to the small side table where an open wooden box of long cigars rested. Near it, a heavy glass dish bore the remains of several of the same. All this was shadowed by a large snifter that contained the last dregs of liquor in its bottom. As she weighed the evidence displayed before her a sudden urge made her lift her eyes, and as they touched Cole’s face, she saw that he had awakened and was watching her quietly. Self-consciously, Alaina pulled her muslin wrapper tighter about her narrow waist and realized the room was chilly to a fault.
“You spent the night here?” she questioned softly, her curiosity piqued.
Cole scrubbed a hand across his bristly cheek. “At times, the leg bids me sit rather than lie, and even thus sated, demands an exercise every few hours or so. I have all but given up the comfort of a whole night’s rest in a bed.”
His answer evoked a memory of a tall form beside her bed during the night, and she wondered what had gone through his mind as he watched her sleep. She reached down a finger to rub it around the lip of the snifter and teased, “There’s always Magruder’s solution.”
Ashes in the Wind Page 45
