The story at its end, he brought out a chess set and set about teaching her the game, though she grew a bit confused with the moves of the pieces as he continued to explain. She laughed over her many errors and drew chuckles from him with her ineptitude. Evening approached and she excused herself to change her gown and came downstairs wearing a deep green velvet to compliment the brooch. Her bosom swelled daringly above the décolletage, and as she curtsied, Brandon kissed her hand and devoured her with his gaze.
“The brooch is not one tenth so lovely as the one who wears it, madam,” he murmured with a grin.
He poured her a glass of Madeira and she took it with a smile.
“I fear you are just being kind with me after I lost so badly at chess.”
He laughed softly. “You’re very suspicious, my dear. How can you distrust me when I only try to praise your beauty.”
She smiled as she went to the window and looked out upon the stormy night. The wind howled about the corner of the house and drove the rain down between the trees and against the great mansion with a vengeance. But within the drawing room, a cheery fire burned and hearts were warm. It had been a most delightful day for Heather and one she would always treasure. As she stood there daydreaming, Brandon came to stand behind her and gaze out over her shoulder into the darkness.
“I love the rain,” she murmured. “Especially when it’s like this, stormy and with everything cozy inside. My father always stayed with me when the winds blew hard. I suppose that’s why I like it so. I was never afraid of the rain.”
“You must have loved him a great deal.”
She nodded her head slowly. “I did. He was a good father and I loved him very much, but it always frightened me when he went away and left me alone.” She laughed a little. “I’m not very brave. Papa always told me I wasn’t. I was such a cowardly child.”
He smiled softly and gently took her hand. “Little girls are not supposed to be brave, sweet. They are to be cuddled and protected and always kept safe from their fears.”
She stared up at him in wonder at his reply, then finally dropped her eyes and laughed awkwardly as her face pinkened. “I’ve been boring you with my life’s story again. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to.”
“I never said I was bored, sweet,” he murmured.
He drew her with him to the settee, and they were there when footsteps pounded across the porch, and Jeff burst through the front door, accompanied by a gust of wind and a shower of rain. Joseph hurried from the back of the house to take his sodden hat and cape and produce a pair of low shoes as Jeff stepped to the boot jack beside the door and wrestled his tall boots from his feet. He slipped the shoes on and brushing droplets from his face, joined the couple in the drawing room.
“Good Lord, but it’s a rotten day,” he commented, pouring himself a healthy bourbon from the bar. He went to warm his backside before the fire and removed a long, slim case from his coat and presented it to Heather. “My most gracious little Tory, I’ve brought you a gift, though I declare its usefulness might be questioned on this day.”
“Oh, Jeff, you shouldn’t have,” she murmured, but she smiled happily anyway. “You make me seem the fool for I have nothing for you in return.”
He grinned. “Enjoy the gift, Heather. I’ll choose mine later.”
She hastened to open the box and withdrew a beautiful fan with an elaborately carved ivory hilt and a wealth of delicate, white Spanish lace. She spread the fan and fluttered her long lashes coyly above it.
“Why, Mister Jeff,” she drawled, successfully imitating those genteel ladies of quality. “Y’all sure do know a lady’s heart.”
He chuckled. “True, Heather, but I fear my brother’s present makes mine seem a pauper’s gift.”
“It is beautiful, isn’t it?” she murmured, touching the pin proudly. She raised her eyes and smiled to her husband who regarded her with a warm gaze.
Jeff cast a knowing glance toward Brandon. “My brother chooses well in all things. In that I’ve been reassured.”
Hatti swung open the double doors to the dining room and announced dinner. “You all best come and get it while it’s hot.”
Heather rose from the settee and smoothed her gown, her bosom swelling precariously from the bodice. Her movement caught Jeff with his mouth open, and his eyes widened at her unknowing display. Brandon came to his feet and placing his forefinger beneath his brother’s chin, gently closed his mouth and quipped:
“Relax, Jeffrey. She’s taken. But don’t despair. Mayhaps someday you will find a girl of your own to drool over.”
He turned and placing a hand at the small of Heather’s back, guided her to her seat at the table. The chairs now were grouped together, and Brandon stood beside his at the head of the table and waited for Jeff to join them. As he came to his chair, the younger brother shrugged his shoulders, almost in apology.
“Well, Louisa never looked like that.”
Brandon raised an eyebrow to his brother, and Heather glanced quizzically between them both, wondering what exchange she had missed, but with no further comment the two brothers seated themselves, and the first course of the Christmas feast was placed before them.
The meal was a masterpiece of culinary artistry, complimenting Aunt Ruth’s delicate ways with food, and over it, the men’s conversation turned to business. His brow knitted thoughtfully, Brandon sliced off a piece of roast goose for his wife and placed it upon her plate.
“Did you find out any more about the mill or Bartlett?” he asked the younger brother.
“Not much really,” Jeff replied. “I know he uses slave labor to work his mill and prices his goods very high. At present, they’re losing money.”
“It could be made into a relatively sound venture then,” Brandon commented, half to himself. He looked at his brother. “If the slaves were taken out and wages given for good workers, we could make it pay. There’s an excellent market for ship timber in Delaware and the way things are building in Charleston, there should be no trouble selling finished lumber right here. We can look into it and discuss it after we’ve checked things over. I’ll be leaving in about two or three weeks to take the Fleetwood to New York. We’ll have to make a decision about the mill and get it settled before I leave.”
“What about Louisa?” Jeff inquired, not looking up from his plate. “She was in town today and she cornered me and wanted to know if you had had a chance to look over her debts and decide about them. I told her I didn’t know a thing about it.”
Heather had been listening to their discussion with only half an ear until she heard Louisa’s name mentioned. Brandon noticed her renewed attention and replied easily.
“She came to the Fleetwood the other day to see me about her financial situation. I made an offer to settle her debts and give her a goodly sum besides in exchange for the land, but she’s being ornery as usual, so out of decency I’ll pay the smaller bills she acquired while expecting to be my bride. The larger ones she ran up without such hopes I’ll not touch unless assured that the land will be mine. She would like to have me free her of her obligations so she can still bargain with the land, but I’m in no such mood. I’ll tell her of my decision and settle with those debtors who gave her credit because of me before I leave. So it would seem that I’ll be busy from now until then, especially if the mill looks tempting. By the way, would you be interested in investing a small sum if it proves worthy?”
Jeff grinned. “I thought you’d never ask.”
The conversation covered a myriad of topics and when the meal was concluded, Jeff hurried around the table to help Heather from her chair before Brandon could rise. He guided her into the drawing room despite his brother’s frown and stopped her beneath the chandelier where he looked up and murmured thoughtfully:
“Poor little thing. It’s been up there all day and doesn’t look as if it’s been used at all.”
Her eyes followed his upward and there from the center of the chandelier hung a small, lonesome sprig o
f mistletoe. Jeff cleared his throat and smiled.
“And now, madam, about that gift you mentioned earlier.”
He took her into his arms and ignoring her startled expression, bent over her and kissed her long and in anything but a brotherly fashion. She was passive to his amorous embrace, but Brandon’s displeasure with his brother’s free manner plainly showed in his face, and he glowered at the two of them. Jeff drew back, yet left an arm about Heather’s waist and seeing his brother’s scowl, grinned.
“Relax, Brandon. I never did get to kiss the bride.”
“You give me cause to wonder if it’s safe to leave her alone with you while I’m gone,” Brandon retorted. “If she weren’t well along, I’d have second thoughts.”
Jeff laughed and raised a mocking eyebrow. “Why, Brandon, is it that great, green monster I see upon your back? I thought you had long ago declared yourself safe from the demon, jealousy.”
The weeks had passed swiftly, and it was only a brace of days before Brandon was to leave. He had been busy during those weeks, seeing to his ship, Louisa’s debts and the mill, which they had decided to buy, and he spent very little time at home. Several times he remained on the Fleetwood and did not return for three or four days. When he was at home, the study was where he could be found most any hour, working over books and ledgers, papers and receipts. The Sabbath was their only time together. They usually went to church where Heather was greeted now with considerable respect and friendliness.
This day, shortly after lunch, Brandon had taken Leopold out for a last good ride before he sailed. It was late in the afternoon when the horse returned and caused considerable concern for he came back without his rider. Heather was nearly frantic when one of the servants drew her attention and pointed across the pasture, and there from the edge of the forest came Brandon. As he drew near, they could see he was covered with dust, and sweat made streaks down his grimy face. He limped slightly and swung his riding crop with vicious intent as he saw the group awaiting him. Leopold peered at Brandon and seemed in light spirits as he shook his head and snorted as if degrading his master’s equestrian abilities. Brandon swore, throwing his crop against the stable, and sank to a bench in exhaustion.
Hatti chuckled merrily and inquired, “That old horse get the best of you again, Master Bran?”
He cursed again and sailed his hat at the old woman, but she ducked, heehawed in full glee, and beat a hasty retreat.
Jeff laughed heartily. “One thing sure, Brandon, at this rate you’ll wear out the back of your jacket before the seat of your pants.”
George turned his face away and coughed loudly as if seized with a choking fit, and then struggled to keep a straight face under his master’s angry glare.
Heather still wore her worried frown. “What happened, Brandon? You were limping!”
“That damned fool beast caught me unaware and ran under a low branch,” he snapped gruffly. “And as for the limp, it’s a blister. These boots weren’t made for walking.”
With that, he presented his muddied back and stomped off toward the house. As he left, the black horse tossed his head again with a snicker and then whinnied and pranced about. Brandon turned and clenched his hand several times and shouted:
“One of these days I’m going to kill you, you mangy, black-hearted mule!”
He turned his back once more and stormed into the house, and George spoke with laughter still in his voice.
“I’d best go fix his bath. He looks as if he’ll be needing one.”
The meal that night was starkly silent as Brandon’s curt replies did not lend to light conversation. It was not hard to determine that his pride hurt more than the bruises and blisters. His disposition was little improved the next day, and as Heather knocked on his study door, she did so quite timidly. When he bade entry, she found him sitting at his desk, going over ledgers and statements.
“Do you have a moment, Brandon?” she asked uncertainly. She had never bothered him before when he was working, and she was more than hesitant to do so now.
He nodded his head. “I believe so.”
He lounged back in his chair, watching her walk across the room, and motioned for her to take a chair beside his desk. He waited while she poised herself nervously upon the edge of the chair. She fidgeted as she sat, trying to work up courage to open the conversation and almost jumped up and ran when he asked:
“You had something to discuss, madam?”
“Yes—ah—how long do you plan to be gone? I mean—will you be back before the baby comes?”
He frowned slightly. “Yes, I don’t plan to be gone longer than a month,” he replied, a trifle brusquely, piqued at being interrupted for such trivialities. “I thought I had told you this before.” He turned back to his work.
“Brandon,” she started. “Ah—while you’re gone I was wondering if I could have the nursery redone.”
“Of course,” he replied curtly. “Have Ethan arrange for the men and whatever else you need.”
Thinking her done, he turned again to his work and again she interrupted.
“There would also be work to be done in—the sitting room.”
He looked at her. “My dear wife, you may have this whole house rebuilt if you want,” he retorted sarcastically.
Heather dropped her eyes to her hands folded primly on her knees. Brandon glowered at her for a moment and once more returned to his work. The room grew silent, yet Heather made no move to leave. After some time, Brandon glanced up at her. He stabbed the quill into the inkwell and sat back.
“There was something else you wished, madam?” he questioned gruffly.
Clear blue eyes met angry green. She tilted her chin upward and when she spoke it was rapidly.
“Yes, sir. While the sitting room is being redone, I should like permission to use your bedroom since you’ll be away.”
He slammed his hand upon the desk and rose to stride about the room in anger, finding it ridiculous that his own wife should have to ask his consent to use a bed that was meant for both of them.
“Dammit, woman, you need not nag me in asking my permission to use anything in this house while I’m gone. I’ve had enough of this silly game you play. What is in this house is yours to use, and I have neither the time nor the temper to approve your every whim. I pray you exercise your scatterbrain and begin to be the mistress of this home. You do not seek to share my bed, but I gladly give you leave to share whatever else you might. Now I have work to do, madam, as you can plainly see. I seek peace some moments of the day and in this quest, I beg you leave this room.”
The last word was almost shouted. Heather’s face was pale and drawn when he finished his tirade. She rose and almost ran from the room but stopped short outside the door for Jeff and George stood just inside the front entrance and Hatti was frozen by the stairs. Wide eyes on all spoke clearly that they had heard his every word. Tears flooded down her cheeks and with a sob, she fled up the stairs to her room and flung herself upon the bed, crying in complete misery.
Brandon strode from the study, now wanting to follow her and comfort her and set aside the agony of his outburst. Instead, he met the angry gaze of Jeff and stood feeling the condemnation of the three. Hatti let out a derisive snort and spoke as if to Jeff.
“Some men ain’t got no sense at all.” And with that she turned her back abruptly and left.
George stepped before his captain for the first time in anger. He opened his mouth several times, trying to speak, then jammed his cap upon his head and left as if he could no longer bear to stay in the room.
Jeff stood and stared into Brandon’s reddening face with a half sneer upon his lips. “There are occasions, brother, when you disgrace our common sire. If you want to play the fool then do not abuse others in your idiocy.”
Then he too turned and left.
Now Brandon stood alone, feeling the full weight of his own rash tongue. It was bad enough that his two trusted servants, nay, trusted friends, should turn upon him
so and that he should feel chagrin at having sorely berated Heather and could now hear her sobs in the silence of the house, but that his own brother had joined them and rejected him so completely!
He returned to the study and sat in deep thought at his desk. Even the house seemed to press down upon him as if in frowning displeasure with his manners. He felt indeed an outcast in his own home, and he could find no way to ease his pain.
The evening meal was passed in embarrassed silence. Heather’s chair remained conspicuously empty throughout. Hatti served the two men and seemed to take pleasure in setting Brandon’s food as far away from him as she dared. Jeff finished the meal and slammed his knife and fork down angrily, then rose and left without so much as a glance at his brother. As he paused in the hallway, Hatti approached him and spoke loudly enough for Brandon to hear.
“Master Jeff, Miss Heather—she’s sitting up there by the window, and she won’t eat nothing at all. What should I do to get her to eat, Master Jeff? She and that baby gonna starve!”
He replied in low concern. “It’s all right, Hatti. I think the best thing we can do is leave her alone for a while. She’ll be all right, and he’ll be gone tomorrow.”
Hatti left, shaking her head and mumbling to herself, and Jeff, not feeling like retiring yet, went outside and sat on the steps for a while, staring down the lane in deep thought, wondering how big a fool his brother could be. Sighing heavily, he rose and strolled through the cool, quiet night toward the stables. As he leaned against the stable door, he heard Leopold stamp and snort within. He entered and went to stroke the steed’s silky nose, making him snicker in contentment. A mumbling voice drew his attention from the horse and he saw a dim light coming from the tack room where George slept. Wondering whom the old man would be talking to at this hour, he drew closer. The upper half of the door stood ajar and he could see George sitting at the head of his cot with his legs folded before him. A half-empty bottle rested between the man’s legs and a sleepy cat, dozing on the foot of the bed, seemed to be the object of his monologue.