by Tara Cowan
“But he is only three years your senior—why not join in their ventures yourself?”
“My father has four sons, Mr. Ravenel, and only one business. I will join the Navy, as my education has prepared me.” He looked a little amused. “I believe that was my father’s purpose in sending me to the Naval Academy.”
Shannon’s eyes flew to Frederick. He was wiping his mouth carefully, eyes on his plate.
“As to that, a man may wish his son to have a good education for many reasons,” Mr. Ravenel said.
Shannon glanced up and noticed Mr. Haley looking at her. He turned his head, his color rising slightly. Her mother turned the conversation to the young gentlemen’s travels. Their adventures were fascinating, some of them so humorous they were all in stitches. When dessert was brought, Mr. Haley was answering a question about one of the theaters in Austria. Upon finishing his explanation, he said, looking up at Shannon with a slight smile, “But I believe we are boring the ladies. You have scarcely said a word, ma’am.”
Her father smiled upon her with pride. “Our Shannon keeps her own counsel. But when she chooses to speak, all within distance would be well-warned to prepare for the blast.”
Shannon laughed. “What a picture you paint of me, Papa. I am neither so quiet nor so effective.” She smiled at Mr. Haley. “I am merely Elizabeth Bennett—are you acquainted with her, Mr. Haley?”
“Quite personally,” he said, holding her eyes with a sparkle in his own.
“Then you will understand that I am of ‘an unsocial, taciturn disposition, unwilling to speak unless I expect to say something that will amaze the room, and be handed down to posterity with the éclat of a proverb.’”
Her mother, unbeknownst to any of the other diners, slipped her eyes closed. It was a true trial to have a daughter who not only ensured every man in the room knew that she had a brain, but who also was not embarrassed to quip with them, as though she were their equal. That she was their equal, her mother had no doubt. That it behooved a young lady in search of a husband to behave as though she were not, she was equally certain.
But Mr. Haley was smiling, not quite with as much diversion as he was in truth feeling, for there was something else in his expression, an arrested look, which Mrs. Ravenel had no qualm in assigning to shock.
“Don’t tell me you read romances, Haley,” Frederick broke in. “We part ways here and now, if that is the case.”
Mr. Haley broke his gaze with Shannon, flushing slightly as he looked away, and responding to Frederick’s banter in kind.
Once conversation had shifted, and another subject had died down, Mr. Ravenel said, “Ah, Frederick. Your uncle has agreed to allow Marie to visit next week.”
“Yes, she will arrive on Tuesday,” his wife added, smiling serenely.
A high red stole into Frederick’s cheeks. There was a pause. He pressed his lips together and then said, “I am glad to hear it. Marie is dear to us all, of course.”
Mr. Ravenel narrowed his eyes in a study of his son. “Indeed,” he said. “Indeed.”
Birds were singing outside the windows of the long room where the visitor from Massachusetts was writing a letter to his mother, informing her of his safe return. The countryside was a welcome change after the cities of the Continent, though a footman dressing him who was not allowed to meet his eyes was not. He had sat with Frederick and his father in the library the night before and watched as they talked about the harvest and, in truth, the best way to exploit Negro labor, with a maid standing in their presence, serving them. The affront to human dignity sat ill with him. But it was a way of life, handed down through generations. There was no more respected man in Charleston than John Winder Ravenel. And his family might say he ought not, but John Thomas would cover his revulsion at any cost to keep from insulting Frederick’s family.
He looked up suddenly, hearing a noise, and was pulled from his thoughts by the sight of, standing just inside the doorway, Miss Ravenel. She was wearing a dove gray dress, which made her dark blue eyes shine, and was looking a little uncertain. He stood out of deference and bit the inside of his cheek. That she was the most beautiful woman he had ever seen he had by now accepted, however disgusting a friend that made him. It was an unaccustomed feeling. He swallowed. And Frederick would murder him.
“Forgive me for interrupting you, Mr. Haley,” she said. There was something about a South Carolinian accent which was so pleasing to the ears. Soft, and flowing, like honey—why had he never noticed it?
“Have I invaded your domain?”
She smiled, still looking distracted as she came forward. “As my domain is every acre of Santarella, you could hardly fail to do so.” She lifted her head to look up at him when she was quite close. She regarded him without embarrassment or hurry, in a way vaguely, and disconcertingly, reminiscent of her father. “I need to speak with you about my brother,” she said.
Surprised, he lifted his brows.
She moistened her lips, making his blood flash hot, then cold. He hated himself. He cleared his throat. “About Frederick?” he asked, forcing himself to meet her eyes.
She nodded once, looking away finally. “You know him better, now, I think, than I do.” She had walked a little ways away, but looked back at him. “Is he happy in the understanding between him and Marie?”
He held her eyes for a moment, and she seemed to know that she needed to say something more to gain his confidences. She held his gaze levelly; intelligence seemed to emanate from every ounce of her being. “Only, I am very fond of Frederick, and of my cousin, and I couldn’t bear for either of them to be made unhappy.”
“Miss Ravenel, you must know that your brother would never speak ill of the lady he is to wed. I can hardly see how I am to help you.”
“No,” she said, nibbling her lip and looking contemplatively at the expensive candlesticks on the mantle.
“He told me once that the understanding is of long-standing date?” he said calmly, kindly.
“Oh, yes. It has been understood between our families for years and years,” she said, looking back up at him. “But they are not engaged, and nothing is settled until they are, in my view. But I think the purpose of her coming next week is just that, and I wanted to be sure that they are not being forced to this. I do not know the private conversations between Frederick and my father, or Marie and hers. When he speaks of her, is it with bitterness?” she asked.
John Thomas shook his head. “No, he speaks of her very rarely at all.”
She pressed her lips together, looking at him shrewdly. “I think of my cousin’s happiness, too, you know. Will he be faithful to her?”
“He already is,” he answered. She lifted her brows, a little surprised, and waited. “You could not think he would embarrass her, when half the country knows she is to be his wife. Or that he could possibly desert her now. Don’t you know him at all?” he asked mildly.
She sat down slowly, looking truly shocked. She shook her head in wonder and was silent for some time, assimilating it. She looked up slowly, her eyes landing on him. “This is your influence,” she said. “When Frederick entered the Naval Academy, he was as wild as a buck.”
John Thomas flushed slightly, looking away. “It is no such thing,” he said.
“I think it is,” she said argumentatively.
He looked up, surprised. “Whatever my influence, you may be certain I would never encourage him to marry a woman he does not love.” He caught himself up, and pressed his lips together.
The fight seemed to go out of her. She hesitated a moment and then said softly, “Do you think they will be happy, despite that?”
He was silent, his lips still pressed together.
“Well?”
“I should not have said that,” he said.
“Well, you have, so you may as well answer my question.”
This surprised a slight
smile out of him. After a moment, he said, “I think he cares for her. It is only that they have been separated for the better part of four years and do not know one another. And he does not love anyone else.”
She held his eyes. “Yes, I suppose that is important,” she said, looking away, uncustomarily, he thought, with a flush.
She felt his study for a long moment before he said softly, “They will marry, Miss Ravenel, and I think, perhaps, that they will be happy.”
She swallowed. “Thank you,” she almost whispered. “It is only that I seek to impose my beliefs on everyone around me,” she said with a fleeting smile. “Arrangements are natural in our circles in Charleston, and I must someday accept that, too. But I have always thought that I could not marry where I did not love.”
There was a long silence. “No,” he finally answered, meeting her eyes. “Nor I.”
Shannon was no fool. She was well aware that she was the product of an arranged marriage. And that her mother and father had built a strong dynasty together, that doing what they ought had probably been the right thing. But she was equally aware that they did not linger in one another’s company, or share little looks.
And Shannon probably never should’ve wanted anything different had she not had a teacher at her select seminary who had imbued her with notions which her mother would be the first to deprecate. For John and Louisa Ravenel had very decided notions of their own about what was expected from their only son and only daughter.
With this in mind, she decided to see what she could ferret out about Frederick’s current mental state when he joined her in the withdrawing room, where she was reading one day. She closed her book, looking up with a smile. “Hello, dear brother,” she said, extending her hand.
Shaking his head, he took it and returned it to her with an iris. She smiled, for they were her favorite. “I found it, lingering for you,” he said, sitting next to her, the style of his tan trousers elongating his legs.
“Thank you,” she said, laying it in the folds of her voluminous lavender skirt. “Have you deserted Mr. Haley?”
“He likes to be alone sometimes, I think. Very Quakerish, you know. I showed him the best riding paths.”
She studied him. “I do not think he is quite so Quakerish as all of that. He drank the bourbon you poured for him last night.”
“Yes, and if his father knew, that would put an end to his existence,” he answered, laughing. “Modesty in all things, and some such. Makes me glad we’re Presbyterian.”
“What is a Congregationalist?” she enquired. “I know I ought to know that, for they populate the entire northeastern seaboard.”
“He’s explained it, but I am all in a tangle in three minutes. But I don’t joke him for it: he takes it seriously. But he is not a stick.”
She tucked the corners of her mouth. “Isn’t he?” she said.
“No.” He smiled. “I dared him to swim across the Thames. Well, I was a little in my cups,” he confided. “I never thought he would do it, but he did, in record time. Never been so close to being arrested in my life.”
“Good heavens! If you had been, and in a foreign country, you would’ve quickly seen how Puritanical our father could become!” she said.
His eyes twinkled.
“But I wonder his father allowed him to go on a grand tour,” she mused.
“Oh, he thinks culture beneficial for young men,” he said, waving a hand. He studied her. “Well, come, Shannon, out with it: you’re dying to ask me about my impending nuptials.”
She smiled, not at all embarrassed. “Well, she hasn’t said she would have you yet,” she quipped.
He smiled a little.
“Will you be happy, not entering the Navy as you always wanted?” she asked.
There was some hesitation. “Well, it doesn’t matter. If you had seen the poverty I did on the Continent, and in England, Shannon… Who am I to complain because my father wants to bestow thousands of acres upon me and all of his business interests?”
“Not complain,” she said. “Make your own path.”
He shook his head, looking at her. “That has never been an option, Shannon. For either of us. I won’t drop the torch. And it isn’t a bad life, you know.”
“I won’t drop the torch either,” she said, stiffening. “But I will make my own way.”
“Well, I’ll back you, if you wish me to. But you are a female, and it will be easier. So I will do as he wishes, and someday take over Santarella, and Ravenel House, and all of it. I would do it even if Father wasn’t pushing me to. It’s our blood, Shannon.”
She smiled, reaching to cover his hand. “You know you are his pride,” she said.
“Or his pawn?” he enquired, with a bit of a sour look.
She shook her head. She couldn’t allow it. “You know he loves you, Frederick.”
“You are his favorite,” he said, lips tipping up in a smile.
“Oh, no,” she said, getting up. “We are not playing that old game.” She extended her hand. “Come, let’s find your friend before he decides Southern hospitality is a mere hoax.”
He tugged her hand, pulling her back a little. “You know you’ve given him a leveler, Shannon.”
She lifted her brows. “Did he say so?”
“Good Lord, no. I caught him gazing at you at dinner one night. I hadn’t noticed it until he did, but indeed, you’ve turned into a very pretty woman, Shannon.”
“Thank you,” she said drily, her pulse nevertheless speeding for reasons she could not explain.
He smiled. “Ah, you’ve noticed him, too.”
She jerked her hand away and turned on her heel. “You might’ve stayed in Europe if you only meant to torment me.”
Santarella, October 1859
Chapter Five
“John, do you remember..?”
At Frederick’s words, Mr. Haley, atop a sleek thoroughbred, looked around to see what had caught his friend’s attention. As he saw a pretty little dapple mare being led into one of the corrals by a Negro boy of perhaps twelve, the enquiring look on his face died a gray death into a level look of scorching grimness.
“If you—”
“’I upon my dapple ride/to catch a glimpse of him before the tide. Eyes so blue and locks so fair/I die for my next breath of air,’” Frederick chanted gleefully, upon his own neat chestnut, reins held loosely in his hand.
Leaping at him, it did not take Mr. Haley long to catch him roughly in a headlock.
Undeterred, Frederick said, doing his utmost to free himself, “’Mon chéri, mon chéri, come back, come back, come back to me!’ Ow! Haley, I say! Don’t make me teach you a lesson!”
He could hear his friend laughing, as well as feel it, being caught just then in a deathly grip. Frederick managed to struggle free, offering by way of truce as he did so, “They are rather blue, aren’t they? One doesn’t notice upon first glance!”
“Ravenel…” John Thomas said warningly.
“What? If I should’ve had sonnets composed to me by a French beauty, I should—but I never did have, travelling with you!” he finished bitterly.
“Frederick, if you don’t stop talking nonsense–”
“Am I?” Frederick asked quizzically. “Even my sister can’t seem to drag her eyes from you, and she, you know, is not generally susceptible to men.”
It had been a shot at random, but Frederick was not ill-pleased with the results. Haley looked at him quickly and colored up. Then he looked down, brushing something off the sleeve of his brown riding coat. He was quiet for a moment before saying with more violence than became a quiet man, “You shouldn’t speak of your sister that way,” and riding off in the direction they had meant to go.
Frederick, following him with twinkling eyes, kept further thoughts to himself, instinct warning him it was the best form of self-preservation.
Shannon stood upstairs in front of the long window, which overlooked the field below. She smiled softly, watching her brother and Mr. Haley on their horses. Words must have been spoken, for they were now laughing, trying to wrestle one another off their horses, like boys. Once, Mr. Haley had Frederick in a headlock, which she imagined he must have voluntarily given up, since he had size on Frederick. Then again, Frederick was a South Carolinian. He could fight a man twice his weight.
When he released him, Frederick backed his horse away, lifting a hand in the air as he uttered some warning. Mr. Haley kept his hands on his reins, eyes glittering as he smiled, apparently promising nothing.
How different he was with Frederick! She watched him, a faint smile on her lips, saw his jawline, and the way he held himself, his elegant structure, and began to realize the appeal her mother had noticed right off.
She wondered what it took to penetrate his reserve and suddenly wanted to penetrate it. What a privilege it must feel for him to laugh with one in such a way, and how wasted it was on Frederick. She smiled.
She heard a whisper of skirts behind her and looked over her shoulder. Her mother was standing beneath the high doorway.
“Shannon,” she said, her hand resting on the skirt of her expensive green gown.
“Yes, Mother?”
“Marie has arrived, my dear. You’ll want to come greet her.”
“Yes, of course,” she said. “Does Frederick know? He wouldn’t wish to insult her.”
“Your father has sent Coffey for him. Come, my love,” she said, lifting her skirts and starting down the stairs.
Shannon followed and was soon in the great hall. They waited with her father, hearing sounds of the horses on the pebbles and the carriage steps being let down. In moments, Marie was ushered in.
She was neither pretty nor plain. She was on the small side of average, with dark auburn curls which wisped about her face, and very pale skin, though with a slight pink tinge. She had the same slight cleft as her cousin, Shannon, but her face was sweeter and less striking. The pointing down nose, too, was similar, but Marie’s was sharper, and her lips were thinner. Her eyes were not framed with ethereal blonde lashes and brows but made do with plain brown. There were lines about her mouth which suggested fragility, yet as soon as she opened her mouth and one heard her deep, sure little voice, that image was somehow dispelled. Finally, as Mrs. Ravenel catalogued, her figure was not as good as Shannon’s. She was thin, but her waist was not as narrow. She had some décolletage, but Mrs. Ravenel rather thought Shannon had more, and in any event, Marie’s was not set off by that fortunate bony chest and collarbones.
