by Calia Read
“A husband? Is that what the gossipmongers are sayin’?” I say, feigning indifference.
“Not just the gossipmongers, but everyone.”
Upon hearing that, my heart picks up. I don’t believe Rainey would take issue with all of Charleston discussing her bachelor scenario. In fact, I was the one to tell her about men placing bets on her bachelors. The people who needed to be informed were. The truth was bound to be unveiled. Far more shocking liaisons have occurred throughout the years. But what could possibly be shocking for the people of Charleston is the Pleasonton’s financial struggles. That would upset Rainey more than anything.
“Is this how you want to spend our time? Talkin’ about hearsay?”
Georgina’s lips curve into a smile, and when she leans forward, it’s deliberate so I can look down her dress.
I’d be a fool not to take what she’s offering.
At last.
But as she tilts her head to the side, and her lips almost touch mine, I smell her perfume. It’s not overpowering. Nevertheless, the scent makes me pause. It’s a sweet scent that’s distinctly artificial. Rainey’s scent is nothing of the sort. She always manages to smell like fresh flowers. Even her hair smells like it.
Quit thinking about Rainey!
Closing the distance between Georgina and me, I kiss her. My mouth moves, and my head angles to the side, but not once does my heart rate pick up. Frustration starts to build so I move my tongue against hers. I need to give this time. Georgina molds herself against me and enthusiastically kisses me back.
I feel nothing. Not one damn thing. I was more enticed by a single drag of Rainey’s fingernail against my palm than this kiss. It’s no use. This was all for nothing.
Before the kiss can go any further, I pull away, curling my fingers around her forearms. Georgina’s eyes are still shut, and her mouth’s pursed together. When she realizes my lips are no longer on hers, she looks at me with confusion.
I extend my arms over my head and dramatically yawn. “It’s late.”
She arches a brow and leans in. “I know.”
This one is not going to make things easy.
“I have business to attend to early in the mornin’.” Slapping my hands against my knees, I stand and hold a hand out for her to take. She’s temporarily aghast at my polite yet firm rejection. With flushed cheeks, she slowly stands, accepting my hand. She agrees she must be leaving, and how we must do this again, and at the front door, she leans in one last time. I oblige, giving her a long, deep kiss.
Still nothing.
“Livingston, we must never go this long without seein’ each other, all right?” she breathes.
Nodding just to get her to leave, I’m delighted when she hails a cab. I close the door, and heavily sag against it. Dragging my hands through my hair, I stare at the floor. I’m positively certain that if I go outside and ask Georgina to come back in, she will.
I have no desire to.
Pushing away from the wall, I walk to the sitting room and pour myself another drink. I drop down into one of the chairs and stare blankly at the wall across from me. I don’t know what I’m turning into. Before the war, I didn’t have nightmares and nearly drank myself into oblivion. And before Rainey, I could freely be with other women without the image of her haunting me.
My circumstances with Rainey would eventually change. There would be a solution to her problem, and I would see her less. And my nightmares would slowly become distant memories. I’d drink less to forget and more out of remembrance.
Until then, all I need to remember is that sooner than we know, every after becomes a before.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
Livingston
The smell of soot and gunpowder wafts into the air, intertwining with the rancid scent of sweat and dead bodies. The combination can make your eyes fill with tears and your stomach churn.
I lay on the cool ground, staring up at the sky. Clouds cover the sun. I can’t think of the last time I saw the sunshine. It seems as though even the sun is reluctant to enter No Man’s Land. I have only my fellow soldiers and the animals in the thicket of trees not far from me for company. But no one is making a sound.
My ears still ring from consecutive gunfire. All at once, it seemed to cease. I blindly reach for my Chauchat and find it near my right hip. Slowly, I sit up and see I’m in a dirty field with bodies all around me. Some move, others don’t.
My breathing increases as I come to sit up on knees and search the faces around me. I don’t recognize the lifeless bodies. I stand, my shoulders rigid and my rifle clutched between my hands.
Somewhere close by, a man gasps for air. It’s a sound that cannot be disregarded no matter how fearful one is to move. Cautiously, I step forward. There’s a heavy fog that seems to be closing in around me as the seconds tick by. I don’t know which direction I should go. The ground is so frozen, the grass crunches beneath my worn boots as I walk forward. I look at the bodies in search of anyone who still might be alive.
I seem to walk for miles without encountering a single living soul.
Why am I still alive?
The question echoes in my head as I keep walking through the empty field. I look down at one of the bodies lying on the ground and see the face of Rainey’s father, Malcolm. I stop so quickly my boots slip on the mud, and I almost fall forward. He’s nothing of what he used to be. There’s no laughter causing his stomach to rumble, or a well-timed wisecrack pouring from his mouth.
Swallowing, I take several steps backward before I turn around. I can’t get away from the sight of his corpse and the smell of decay quick enough.
I stumble forward, my legs wobbling beneath me. I should stop and take a deep breath, but I’m afraid if I do, I might turn around and see the image of Miles and Rainey’s dad. So I continue. I wish I didn’t. I wish I had stopped and looked anywhere but to my left. Because it’s there that I see my father lying next to my mom. My younger brother, Julian, right next to them. It’s then my breathing becomes choppy. I don’t come any closer, but I’m afraid to leave them. I should because this is wrong and morbid. I still remember the day they were buried. I couldn’t bear to look then, so perhaps that’s why I can’t tear my eyes away now.
My heart feels as though it’s stuck in my throat. I don’t know whether to cry out in fear or muster the courage to speak.
When you lose someone, you think of what you’d say to them if you saw them one more time.
“Pourquoi es-tu mort?”
No one answers me.
Words felt from the heart can hurt just as badly spoken aloud. They disappear into the fog that surrounds me, but the remnants of them still linger and cling to the earth around me.
The sights and smells make my eyes water. I turn in every direction, trying to find a way toward safety.
As I continue walking, I look at each body I pass. I don’t want to. I’m terrified of what I might see.
I pass by a wounded soldier and immediately stop. Because the wounded soldier is Miles Pleasonton. He lays on the ground with a single gunshot in his upper chest. The material of his uniform absorbs the blood, creating a circular pattern. And on his right hand, blood coats his fingertips, forming a small story of the seconds after he was shot. On impact, he fell to the ground. He feels pain, but shock controls his movements. He lifts a hand to the wound, believing the touch will stop the heavy bleeding, but nothing could’ve saved him from the fatal shot.
“Pleas?” I whisper.
As I bend down, his eye sockets became endless black holes. And his skin begins to eat away around his mouth until all I can see are his teeth and gums.
Rats crawl out of his eyes. The same ones that lived in the trenches and they’re coming toward me. Ready to attack me, eat my eyes, and—
In one giant rush, I sit up, clutching my bedsheets as though I’m a little boy. Frantically, I look around my room. It’s silent and safe. But I don’t feel safe.
I drag my hands through my hair and squeeze my
eyes shut. It’s my own damn fault for believing I could fall asleep without the past chasing after me.
Swinging my legs over the side of the bed, I walk across my room and to the armoire. Even in the pitch black, I know precisely where my liquor is located. The second my fingers curl around the bottle, some of the panic I feel subsides.
I twist the top off and let it fall to the floor. The first and second drink burn as it travels down my throat, but it becomes tolerable by the third and fourth.
Lowering the bottle from my lips, I look over my shoulder at my bed. Georgina not staying tonight turned out to be the best decision. Never thought I’d see the day where I’d be relieved not to have a woman in my bed, but it’s better than having her witness my nightmare. Can I call what I experienced a nightmare? It felt merciless in its details and unfeeling in its delivery.
Going back to sleep isn’t a possibility. I’m afraid to close my eyes and come face to face with the people I’ve loved and lost one more time. I sit in the seat in the corner of the room and stare out the window.
I volunteered to join the Army before the draft, and my family didn’t understand. Étienne was exempted from joining because of his poor vision. Nat’s husband, Oliver, was eligible and, much to his dismay, did what was asked of him. Pleas waited until a week before he was to leave before he told his close friends. I could envision Rainey using a rifle to protect herself and the people around her with relative ease. I couldn’t with Pleas. He believed in third, fourth, and fifth chances. Didn’t care much for the annual fox hunts. He preferred resolution in a peaceful manner that didn’t require bloodshed.
The night before he left, I spoke to him and asked him what made him want to join. For several seconds, he was quiet. Like always, he remained calm and collected. He looked over at me and lifted a shoulder. “This is the right thing to do.”
I joined to find my worth. To find what I’m meant to do in this world. I joined to find a bit of myself because after my accident years ago, I haven’t been the same. I don’t remember that time. I don’t remember being attacked and left for dead. Or the time I spent at Belgrave recuperating. I simply know because my family told me.
I discovered I wasn’t going to find my answers in France in trenches. I probably wasn’t going to find it here, either. And now I was left to figure out what I was going to do next with my life.
Many times, I’ve wondered where I’d be right now if I hadn’t joined the Army. Would I be drinking so profoundly? I’d like to think no. Would I have intense nightmares? I know for certain I wouldn’t.
Placing the liquor on the floor, I let my hands dangle between my legs and close my eyes. “Pourquoi suis-je toujours là?”
The jostling of the car makes me groan as I press the brakes to park in front of the steps leading to Belgrave. Wearing the same clothes as yesterday, I take the steps two at a time and immediately regret the fast-moving action. I know I’m late. Incredibly late. If I don’t get an earful from Serene, I certainly will from Rainey.
On cue, Ben opens the door, and in spite of my splitting headache, I manage to say thank you. Étienne’s office door is open. He’s at work, and the first floor is relatively quiet save for a few servants moving here and there. Serene is nowhere to be found, and for that, I’m grateful.
Might as well find Rainey and get this over with.
The intent of last night was to forget all about Rainey and have a warm body in my bed. Instead, I had the worst nightmares since I came back from the war and drank until I passed out. I don’t have nightmares every night but quite often. At times, the setting would transform. Trenches, smoke-filled fields, and a forest with trees all around. But there was always the sight of blood coating my hands and the echoes of screams of no one I could save. They left me tense, shaken, tired, and afraid because I knew they were never going to stop.
This morning, I woke up sprawled across the library floor and drooling on the design of the house I started months ago but never finished. I had ample amount of time to do what I loved the most, but I only seemed compelled to pull out my designs when I couldn’t think long enough to change my mind. Very few people knew of my secret hobby that had turned into my only passion, and I intended on keeping it that way.
“If you’re searching for Miss Pleasonton, I believe she’s in the ballroom,” Ben provides for me.
“Once again, you come to my rescue, Ben,” I say and dip my head.
My feet are heavy as I walk up the stairs. It seemed like a good idea when I told Serene I’d help address the invitations. Anything to drive Rainey mad, right?
As I heavily lean on the banister for support, I begin to regret ever saying yes. My witticism isn’t up to par, so I won’t stand a chance today. It will be a miracle if I don’t get sick in one of the large vases in the ballroom.
I exhale loudly when I make it to the second floor. My feet plod against the floor. Why am I putting myself through this misery? It’s simple. There’s a small part of me that’s utterly terrified to be alone. I used to believe my demons only found me at night, but now I’m not so sure. And I’d rather spend the day with a headache and looming sickness and Rainey as company any day than experience the bad dreams I had last night.
The ballroom door creaks in protest when I open it. It’s a noise that I routinely ignore, but today, it makes me wince and earns Rainey’s attention. She stops organizing the invitations placed on the table in front of her long enough to look me up and down.
“Well, well, well … the king of the South decided to show up,” she says, her tone droll.
With my temples pounding, I step deeper into the room and immediately regret it. Citrus oil fills my nostrils and makes me want to hurl. A servant must have been in here earlier. Normally, I wouldn’t mind the scent, but today, it’s repugnant. I wince at the bright light filling the vast space and rub my temples. “My God, has this ballroom always been so bright?”
She straightens her spine and narrows her eyes at me. “Are you foxed?”
“No. I was foxed last night. I now have a headache, and you hollerin’ does not help one bit.”
“I do apologize, I’ve merely been waitin’ here for nearly an hour.”
I take my time walking across the room. To the unknowing eye, it’s a slow stride. For me, I’m reminding myself the sickness shall pass in an hour’s time. “Where’s Serene?” I ask.
Rainey perfectly aligns the four pens in the middle of the table, not bothering to spare me a glance. “I’m not certain. I wasn’t scheduled to meet her. I was scheduled to meet you.”
The corner of my mouth attempts to curve into a crooked grin. I simply don’t have it in me to be the jovial Livingston she knows me as. “Well, I’m here, so let’s get to it.”
Sighing, Rainey grabs the pen in front of her. I’ve been late numerous times before, yet today, she’s unnaturally angry with me. Did last night not go well? Did Duncan make unwelcome advances after I left the restaurant? No, he wouldn’t. Étienne would have informed me if the bastard did. Besides, it’s none of my concern.
I clear my throat. “What is it you need me to do?”
Impatiently, Rainey lifts her gaze and turns in my direction. The action sends a whiff of her perfume in my direction. “I need you to address these invites for the ball in your best penmanship. Can you do that?”
“Are you askin’ if I can write? Yes. Yes, I can,” I respond stoically as I sit down.
Unamused, Rainey returns to addressing each invite. I look at the stack of empty envelopes and the invites. Once again, I’m baffled by all of this. Is this a ball or a wedding?
“The guest list is right here.” Rainey taps the paper between us with the tip of her pen. “After you write the name and address, just cross them out and move to the next.”
“Can you explain that to me once more?” I ask flatly. “I don’t think I quite understand the directions.”
Rainey shakes her head, her lips moving to a firm line before she gets to work. Judging f
rom the small list of names already crossed out, it seems as though Rainey got a head start. I grab an envelope and start at the bottom of the page. We work in silence with only the sound of our pens scraping against the paper to cushion the stillness. I must admit, this task is methodical and almost relaxing. For a few moments, I almost forget my temples are pounding.
And then, out of nowhere, Rainey blurts, “Where were you last night?”
My pen stops, causing the ink to bleed onto the envelope. Did she see me last night? Quickly, I finish writing out the last name and look at Rainey from the corner of my eye. “At home. With a date.”
Both brows rise, and her eyes flash with … jealousy? The heat is there and gone before I can comment on it.
“Her name is Angostura, and she’s never let me down.”
Rainey absorbs my words and shakes her head. “I’m sorry I showed interest.”
“If I didn’t know better, le savauge, I’d say you’re …” Leaning back in my chair, I tap a finger against my unshaved chin. “Almost envious.”
She folds the invitation in half and nearly shoves it into the envelope. “I’m not envious. Envy would imply I long for somethin’ that someone has, and that’s not true. What I care about is my time bein’ wasted.”
I whistle as I shake my head. “My, my,” I drawl. “You’re very disagreeable today. Did you not get enough sleep last night after your date with Duncan? If so, perhaps I should speak with your momma about implementin’ a curfew because you’re my ward and it’s in your best interest.”
Rainey’s cheeks grow redder by the second. She rubs her temples and mutters curse words that would have any soldier blushing. If only her devoted bachelors could see her now.
After a few seconds, she drops her hands and takes a deep breath. “No curfew is necessary. Duncan had me home at a proper time.”
I was angling to find out how her night went, but I wanted specific points, not vague details.
“Will you see him again?” I ask, keeping my tone disinterested as I cross a name off from the guest list.
