Veil of Pearls

by Marylu Tyndall

  “That won’t be too difficult”—she gave him a sincere smile—“since you have already proven that to me beyond all doubt.”

  He seemed pleased at her approbation. “You refer to your overindulgence in rum, no doubt?”

  Despite his teasing tone, indignation gripped her. “You scamp.” She tapped his leg with her shoe. “You know that was not my fault.”

  His wide grin told her he did.

  Adalia sighed. The clip-clop of horses’ hooves settled over her in a soothing cadence. “Still, I thank you for your honorable behavior.”

  “I assure you, milady, it was no easy task. Especially when you all but begged me for a kiss.” He chuckled.

  “Do not call me—I did not beg you!” Her anger quickly dissipated beneath his playful grin. She glanced out the window at the passing homes. Honeysuckles, magnolias, and bougainvilleas splashed color across the front gardens. “I suppose my behavior was beyond shameless.”

  “I quite enjoyed it.” He shifted his boots on the floor and leaned forward on his knees. “But it was more your words that stirred me.”

  Taken aback by the intense look in his eyes, she giggled nervously. “What credence can you give to drunken ramblings?”

  “You don’t remember what you said?” His voice was playful.

  “Some.” She looked down.

  “I’ve come to know that words spoken with the aid of spirits are often truthful.”

  “Oh, you have, have you? I assume you have much experience in such matters?”

  “Enough.” He grinned.

  She stared at the fan splayed in her lap.

  Crossing the distance between them, he slid beside her and took her hand in his. Her breath clambered in her throat. “You have made me a happy man.” He kissed her fingers. Even through the cotton gloves, she could feel his warm lips. His spicy scent spiraled around her, sending her senses reeling.

  She scooted away from him, remembering what Doc Willaby said about being deceived by his charm. “I must speak to you of something.”

  “Anything.”

  “Did your brother court a lady named Sarah Willaby?”

  A breeze, ripe with the smell of the sea, wandered through the carriage, sweeping away the jaunty mood. Morgan frowned. “Ah, I see the doctor has finally told you why he hates me so.” He released her hand. She felt the loss immediately.

  “Yes. Hadley was very much in love with her.”

  Love her? “Then why did he abandon her in her”—Adalia snapped her fan shut—“condition?”

  The carriage jostled, sending them bouncing. Morgan gripped the edge of the seat and looked down. His jaw clenched. “Hadley had every intention of marrying the lady, but Father forbid the union. Said he would disown Hadley and leave him a pauper on the street.”

  Adalia’s chest grew heavy. What a tragic tale. So much loss. So much pain. But anger soon pushed her sorrow aside. Anger at Morgan’s father. Anger at Hadley for not doing the honorable thing, no matter the cost. Anger that the young lady had paid such a huge price.

  “Are you aware of her tragic end?” Her tone was livid.

  Morgan nodded. “It nearly destroyed Hadley. I don’t think he’s ever been the same. For one thing, he’s never listened to Father again. They’ve been at odds ever since.”

  She studied him as the impact, the tragedy of the story, turned inward, becoming personal. Like a disease, growing and devouring her dreams. Would Morgan do the same thing? If his father forbade their courtship, would Morgan abandon her?

  The carriage rattled to a halt before the Rutledge home. A row of servants framed a stone pathway to the open front door from which spilled ladies and gentlemen in fashionable array. A footman opened the brougham and lowered the step. Sliding her hand into Morgan’s, she stepped down before the elegant estate, brimming with music and laughter—the plantation home she’d first approached three months ago with such fear and trepidation.

  With such reproach.

  As she stood there gazing at the scene, feeling every nerve spark in excitement as well as dread, the truth clawed its way to the forefront of her mind. She couldn’t settle for a mere friendship with Morgan anymore. She loved him! She wanted to be a part of his world. Of him. And the realization frightened her to death. Especially since the power to make her dreams come true rested solely in the hands of Franklin Rutledge, a man who at her initial acquaintance had dismissed her as being beneath his attention. Her knees grew weak at the prospect of another rejection. Yet wouldn’t it be better to face the man’s verdict on their courtship sooner rather than later? Squaring her shoulders, she allowed Morgan to lead her up the steps and into the house. A house that suddenly felt like a viper’s lair.

  A crush of people mobbed the foyer, spilling from the sitting room and dining room on either side. Greetings hailed them above the clamor of voices as the sound of an orchestra drifted through the house atop a hearty breeze.

  “Morgan, ole chap. Good of you to make an appearance at your own party!” one foppish gentleman said.

  “Good afternoon, Miss Winston.” Mrs. Pickney, one of society’s most esteemed matrons, dipped her head.

  Delighted at the woman’s acceptance, Adalia returned her smile as Morgan acknowledged salutations tossed his way.

  The scent of perfume, tobacco, and smoked pork filtered through the house as Morgan led her into the back gallery before exiting onto the veranda overlooking the garden. Dozens of servants skittered among guests who were clustered beneath moss-draped oak trees. Cushioned chairs dotted the lawn as children wove threads of laughter through the chattering mob. To the right an orchestra filled the spring air with soothing music.

  Excitement gripped Adalia at the scene. Even Sir Walter’s occasional evening galas were no match to the extravagance spread before her.

  Sir Walter. Why had she thought of him now? When she wanted to enjoy her day, cherish the moment, not remember her past. Yet as Morgan escorted her to a refreshment table covered with bowls of fruit, assorted hors d’oeuvres, lemon cakes, and punch, she couldn’t help but focus on the myriad servants, some obviously slaves, who moved among the crowd with vacant eyes.

  At the party but not a part of it.

  Experiencing the same music, laughter, and luscious scents, yet not enjoying a moment of it. Adalia stared at a young Negress who passed before her, carrying a tray of empty glasses, hoping to make eye contact, hoping to offer her a smile, but the girl’s eyes remained fixed forward.

  Memories brought her back to the times when Sir Walter had forced her to serve at his parties. Times before she had matured into a woman and he had put her on display. Times when just like these slaves, she had moved about through the array of glittering figures as if she were a ghost. Amazing how people could grab a glass of wine or pluck a morsel of food from a tray and never once acknowledge the person holding it. Anger transformed into guilt and finally into shame before Adalia’s knees weakened. Truly, she had no right to be here at all. She tightened her grip on Morgan. He halted before the table and gave her a concerned look. “Are you all right?”

  She smiled her response.

  “Nervous about meeting my parents?”

  “You forget. I have met your parents.”

  He selected a glass of sweet punch from the table and held it out to her. “No, I haven’t forgotten. It will be different this time.”

  “Morgan, you devil!” Hadley slapped him on the back. “I quite feared you would leave me all alone to entertain Father’s stodgy guests.” His glazed eyes brushed over Adalia. “Though I see now this day will be anything but dull.”

  Adalia knew he didn’t refer to her interesting company. And by the manner in which Morgan slammed an entire glass of wine to the back of his throat, she wondered if he weren’t as nervous as she.

  “Father has softened,” Morgan said.

  Hadley chuckled. “Has he?” He glanced around as if looking for someone then snapped his fingers at a servant. “Brandy.” He faced Morgan. “You
’ll have to drink a lot more than one glass of wine if you are to convince yourself of that.”

  “It would seem you’ve had enough for the both of us,” Morgan said.

  Drayton joined them, drink in hand. “Miss Winston, you’ve braved the lions’ den once more, I see.”

  Adalia sipped her punch. “I have found most of the lions in this den do not bite, sir.”

  “And yet you have not encountered the most ferocious one.” His eyes flashed above a grin that harbored more warning then glee.

  Caroline slid her arm through his. “Oh, leave her alone, Drayton. Don’t let them frighten you, Adalia. They are simply jealous.” The stunning brunette leaned toward Adalia. “I must say, you continue to keep the Charleston elite quite astir.”

  Drayton snorted.

  Adalia swept a gaze over the crowd. Though some Charleston gentry still snubbed her, she found several pairs of eyes drifting her way. Because of God’s healing of Elizabeth? Or had they heard of her shameful drunkenness? Either way, she hated being on display.

  Miss Caroline sighed. “I suppose I must perform some miraculous feat in order to gain the notice of society.”

  “I did not—” Adalia began.

  “Why do you care what this fickle lot thinks, Caroline? Really.” Drayton’s outburst stole the lovely smile from the lady’s face.

  The slave returned with Hadley’s drink. Grabbing it, he waved the man off and took a sip.

  “Where’s Franklin?” Morgan asked.

  “Our illustrious father? Ah, he’s around somewhere”—Hadley gestured with his drink, spilling some over the side—“hobnobbing with those from whom he can benefit the most. Yet never fear, as soon as word gets out whom you have brought”—his sordid glance toward Adalia made her toes curl—“he’ll no doubt seek you out.”

  Adalia pressed a hand over her gurgling stomach, the punch bubbling into her throat.

  “Come now, Hadley, you’re scaring the poor girl,” Drayton offered.

  Morgan gave her a reassuring look.

  Regardless, Adalia found her fear rising with the afternoon heat. Hadley downed his brandy then squeezed the bridge of his nose. “I do believe I need to sit down.” Turning, he stumbled off.

  An hour passed as Morgan led Adalia through the crowd, engaging in small talk that evidently, from his polite nods and short answers, bored him to tears. Whenever a gentleman approached, Morgan placed his hand possessively at the small of her back, thrilling Adalia at his protectiveness. Yet, as the afternoon waned, she sensed his muscles tensing along with hers.

  A breeze swept over her, cooling her neck and tossing her curls. She drew a deep breath and glanced at the people lining up for a country dance beneath a massive tent just beyond the gardens. The bubbling splash of a fountain blended with the orchestra in a lively tune. It was far too charming and beautiful an afternoon to be so anxious. She must remain calm and put things in God’s hands.

  Drayton joined them again just as a glimmer caught the corner of Adalia’s eye. She turned to see Miss Emerald, dressed in a gown of creamy satin with a velvet sash, gliding their way, smiling and waving off the gentlemen clamoring for her attention. Adalia wondered why she had not swooped down on Morgan the minute he had arrived.

  “Morgan, darling.” Her blue eyes latched upon him as sunlight set her curls aglow like pearls. “You’re needed in the house. I’m afraid it’s Hadley.”

  “What has he done now?”

  “Why, he’s passed out on the sofa in the foyer, making quite a spectacle of himself.”

  Morgan frowned. “Very well.” He took Adalia’s hand, but Emerald stayed him with a touch. “We will keep Miss Winston company while you’re gone. No need to involve her in your family affairs.”

  “Indeed, Morgan,” Drayton added. “I’ll remain with her. She’ll be in good hands until you return.”

  Morgan’s wary glance shifted over them, but at Adalia’s nod of assent, he kissed her hand. “Don’t accept a drink from anyone,” he said, eyes shifting toward Emerald. “I’ll return momentarily.” Adalia watched him walk away, admiring his confident gait, the lift of his shoulders, and the way the sunlight streaked his hair. When she faced her friends, she saw she wasn’t the only one admiring Morgan.

  Clearing her throat, Emerald fluttered her fan about her face. “Now, what shall we talk about? Hmm.” She laid a finger on her chin as if searching for some topic that would not be above Adalia’s comprehension.

  Refusing to be insulted, Adalia feigned interest as the lady began to ramble on. Something about the weather and the atrocious gown Miss Walker was wearing, and when the latest fashions from Paris would arrive in town—all things that only thickened the glaze over Drayton’s eyes while benumbing Adalia’s mind. Emerald even complimented Adalia on her gown. “It looks lovely on you, Adalia. I told you that color would suit you.” She smiled.

  What was wrong with the lady? Did she take Adalia for a fool? The last time Adalia had seen her, she’d done nothing but stare at her with contempt. Why, now, this pretense of friendship?

  Still, where was Morgan? One glance over the garden did not reveal his handsome face. Instead, the brilliant glow of a white satin suit caught Adalia’s eye. Sunlight filtered through the oak trees above and dappled the man’s coat in sparkling snow as he skated before her—more like a radiant blur than a physical presence. Excusing herself, she followed him, weaving through the chattering crowd and ignoring Drayton’s call to return.

  As if sensing her behind him, the man in white turned. “Charm is deceitful and beauty is passing, but a woman who fears the Lord, she shall be praised.”

  Though he spoke softly, his words thundered within her. They barely had time to sink in before he slipped through the crowd and disappeared. Grabbing her skirts, Adalia tore after him, determined to discover the strange man’s identity. And why did he quote Scripture? Was he some kind of ethereal evangelist? If so, why was he wasting his time with her? She was a Christian! She loved God!

  Craning her neck to see over the feathers, flowers, and beads floating atop the sea of hats, she threaded through the mob, nudging people aside while begging their pardon and inquiring after the man in white. All she received in return were frowns, snorts, and concerned looks as if she’d gone mad.

  When she reached the edge of the garden, the man in white was nowhere to be seen.

  The only place he could have gone was into the house. Adalia rushed up the stairs into the back gallery, empty now since most of the guests had vacated the house for the cooler breezes outside. Resounding voices drew her down a hallway to her right, where a door stood ajar. A quick glimpse of bookshelves told her it was the library. Not wanting to intrude, she turned to leave when Morgan’s voice halted her and lured her back to listen.

  “Father, I love her.” Morgan stood before Franklin and met the man’s hardened stare. When he’d gone to help Hadley to his chamber, he’d found his father standing over him, staring at his eldest son in disgust. Instead of helping Morgan carry him upstairs, Franklin had dismissed Hadley with a wave and dragged Morgan to his library. After lighting a cigar and pacing before the bay window overlooking the garden party, Franklin had faced his son, the usual look of scorn riding high on his brow, and demanded to know how Morgan could have brought that baseborn woman into his home.

  “Love. Pishaw!” Franklin huffed. “Believe me, boy, it’s only lust you feel. And that will pass. Trust me on that.”

  That he probably spoke of Morgan’s mother, not to mention all his various affairs, only increased Morgan’s fury.

  Franklin puffed on his cigar. “Besides I didn’t bring you here to discuss your trysts.”

  “Adalia is not one of—”

  “I want you to take over the running of the plantation.” His father’s brisk declaration surprised Morgan. The man had never expressed an ounce of confidence in either Morgan’s brains or his ability.

  “But what of Hadley?”

  “You saw your brother. He’s a d
runk and a gambler. And no matter how hard I try to steer him down the right path, he refuses.”

  Morgan hadn’t recalled any steering by their father. And especially not down a good path. “Your opinion of him must have indeed taken on new depths for you to come to me.”

  “I’m done with him.” Franklin blew out a puff of smoke and watched it dissipate as if it were Hadley himself. “Let the boy waste his life away if he wants.” His eyes narrowed on Morgan. “You’ll do just fine, boy. With a bit of hard work, that is. I should have seen that from the beginning.”

  A compliment. At last a compliment from his father! As jaded as it was. Yet Morgan found he could not absorb it. Found that the casing around his heart forbade it entrance. He crossed his arms over his chest. “You always told me I was good for nothing.”