by Gina Danna
Caroline had already turned her attention from Emma. She stared out the front window to the circle drive below and the horseman arriving.
“Oh my, my,” she fluttered. “What a gorgeous arrival.”
Emma wanted to gag. But she couldn’t help herself and went to stand next to her sister.
Below them, dismounting an attractive bay horse stood the man from the stream. What did he say his name was? Jack. Jack Fontaine. He stood tall, broad shouldered in his dark grey jacket. His matching grey pants molded to him, displaying long, muscular legs. He took off his riding gloves and black hat, revealing his dark brown, almost black hair. A smile reached his square jaw as he handed the reins to the slave and bounded up the stairs to the house. He moved fluidly, like a feline. Searching her memory, Emma thought he had emerald green eyes. Yes, a handsome man. She sighed out loud without knowing it.
But Caroline had heard her. Her sister turned, “Remember, they are all here to help celebrate my birthday, not yours. Don’t you forget it. Just keep quiet and whoever I don’t want, maybe he’ll still be around in the next two years. Or you can just have old Billy Bealke,” she laughed as she flounced out the door.
Emma frowned. Billy lived at the next plantation down. Heavens, they were second cousins! She liked Billy, but that didn’t mean she’d want to marry him.
Yanking the ribbon out of her hair, Emma ran her hand through the braid. She only vaguely noticed Jenny, her slave, moving about behind her, setting out her clothing for dinner. She took out her frustration about the tedious week ahead on her hair, brushing it with violent strokes. It was all about making Caroline happy. Heaven help her!
It is well that war is so terrible,
or we should grow too fond of it.
—Robert E. Lee to Gen. James Longstreet at the Battle of Fredericksburg, 1862
Chapter Two
Jack stood under the sycamore tree with Charles and Charles’ father, John Henry, as the slaves followed the directives of John Henry’s wife, Margaret Silvers. Inhaling on his cigar, Jack couldn’t help but smile. The festivities were to begin this afternoon. Guests were arriving, but the men took a moment to smoke, away from the commotion in the house.
“So, Jack,” Charles’ father began. “You’re from down the Mississippi, Charles tells me.”
“Yes, sir,” Jack answered. “My family’s land is along the great river’s coast, up from N’Orleans.”
“Hmmm, sugar?”
“Among other interests,” Jack replied flatly. His father’s investments increased by the hour, most of them not the type to speak of in polite company.
The elder Silvers studied Jack as he puffed on his cigar. Jack knew the man wanted to question him about his father’s political views. The latest conversations among men tended to the current debate over tariffs and the new territories in the West and Texas, but Jack’s short reply gave him no opening. Skirting the conversation meant not being backed into a political box. Jack had spent too much time up North to fall into line with his father’s views.
“I understand I have you to thank for Charles’ tutoring this past term,” the patriarch of the Silvers clan finally stated.
Jack glanced at his friend and roommate. Charles grinned. “Yes, father, Jack is a great friend.”
“Yes, indeed he is,” John Henry agreed, gazing on their guest.
Jack pursed his lips and nodded. “It was nothing more than to clear his mind of distractions.”
“Daddy!”
The men looked up at the feminine voice calling across the lawn. John Henry shook his head. “If Caroline doesn’t learn to contain herself, I believe her mother will throttle her.”
Fascinated by the man’s failed attempt to sound stern, Jack blew the smoke clear from his eyes.
The young woman hurried across the green grass, tightly holding her skirts up to clear her booted toes. The long tiered skirts, belled out in the current fashion of a caged crinoline, made for quite a sight as she came toward them. A whirl of green and cream silk surrounded the lady, who released the material upon reaching them. Caroline was petite, with blonde hair swept away from her face, dangling in curls at the back. Dressed appropriately from her neck to her ankles, she looked the height of fashion. Corseted in the waspish-waist style, she gave the impression of being a vulnerable, delicate young lady. Caroline’s creamy white skin, unmarked by freckles or blemishes, was like porcelain—so desired by fashionable women. The Southern Belle. Jack knew all about those women.
“Caroline Silvers,” her father said. “I really…”
“Daddy, I need to talk to you,” she interrupted boldly. With a tilt of her head, she saw her brother and then Jack. Her gaze didn’t wander from their guest. Blue eyes sparkled deviously in a calculating gaze. It destroyed her delicate doll image.
Jack recognized that look. It spoke of determination and dominance to get her way. He’d bet her lilting voice, light as it sounded, could be irritating when it turned demanding.
Clearing his throat, John Henry took his daughter’s hand and turned toward Jack. “May I introduce Miss Caroline Silvers, our birthday girl? Caroline, Mr. Jack Fontaine.”
She held her hand out to Jack and smiled. “How do you do?”
He took her hand and brought the back of it to his lips, a lazy smile on his face. “Very well, Miss Caroline. Happy birthday.”
“Thank you,” she smiled back at him as he feathered a kiss on her hand.
“Caroline, what brought you blazing out here?” her father interjected.
“Well,” she looped her arm through her father’s as she began her tale of woe, directing him back to the house. She glanced over her shoulder at Jack and gave a small grin.
A hand slapped him on his shoulders. “My boy,” Charles stated with amusement, “I told you it wouldn’t be dull.”
Jack eyed the departing lady, her skirts and curls dancing for him as she walked away. Jack knew women like her. Pretty, daring but also demanding and spoiled. His mind fluttered back to the young woman he’d met at the stream and her direct dismissal of him. Lips curling in a smile, he punched Charles’ arm.
“I’m thinking I need a drink before this all begins,” he told his host. Charles laughed.
#
Emma stood at the side of the ballroom floor, shifting uncomfortably on her feet. For Caroline’s birthday celebration, the opening festivities began with a fancy ball and dinner. Because these events were hosted at Rose Hill, Emma couldn’t avoid them. Her mother demanded she attend. Almost sixteen, Emma was too old to be indulged like a child and too young for a beau. She knew the Carson girls down the lane were her age, one of them even married, but her mother said they were “below” the Silvers. Because of the Silvers’ station in the community, Emma had to wait until she was Caroline’s age to be introduced to Society. Her father really preferred for them to be a year older than seventeen, but Caroline’s impatient brooding prompted him to relent. He hoped Emma would wait. Glancing at the dancers before her, and the gawking men surrounding Caroline, she’d gladly wait.
But, until that time, she had to attend all of Caroline’s celebrations. It was her first ball, and her mother had had a new gown made for it, as well as new clothes for the other engagements. While Caroline’s excitement about her new wardrobe could be heard across the entire plantation, Emma quietly acquiesced to what was expected of her. Her dresses were the latest in fashion but designed for a young miss. Emma’s neckline wasn’t cut as low as Caroline’s, nor was anything made in the white or cream silks her sister had. Emma’s new corset cut into her middle more severely than her previous one. Its stiff boning constricted her movements and her ability to breathe. Complaints got her nowhere. She was told it made her look more ladylike.
Caroline fluttered her fan and twirled among all the stuttering, imbecilic males vying for her attention as Emma scowled. Being a lady was a nuisance. She’d never compare with supposedly sweet, angelic and naïve Caroline. Caroline was none of those things but acted the part. Emma k
new she wasn’t as pretty, her coppery brown hair looked dull compared to Caroline’s blonde tresses, and her body didn’t have the waspish, petite form of Caroline’s. For one thing, she was four inches taller, and she’d never be small waisted. Her hands weren’t dainty, and she had freckles on her nose despite her mother’s attempts to scrub them away. Plus, she’d rather read a book or ride Angel than put up with all the pomp and circumstance. Caroline could “oooh” and “ahhh” her way out of any problem, but Emma stuttered like a fool if she tried that approach.
“Miss Emma, may I have this dance?”
She didn’t see Billy coming. Or William, as he liked to be called. The Bealke’s farm was across the ravine near Malvern’s Hill. They were cotton growers, like the Silvers. The two families had blood ties through her father’s side. Billy’s father was her uncle once removed, whatever that meant.
Billy smiled at her, his hand waiting. At eighteen, he was closer to Charlie’s age, but he didn’t go to West Point. He’d run the family farm soon. A tall young man with tawny hair and blue eyes, he was solid from working in the fields with his father and their few slaves. Emma and he had grown up together and she liked him. But marry him? No.
Emma smiled in return as she accepted his hand and they walked onto the parquet floor. They took their place for the Sir Roger de Coverly. She scanned the four couples in the dance, her curiosity piqued. The two lines formed for the dance placed the gentlemen opposite the ladies. Two dancers down from Billy stood Jack Fontaine. The blasted man gave her a quirky smile. Her eyebrows raised, her gaze caught in the light of his eyes, those brilliant green orbs. She blinked hard, tilting her head away from him. He was here for Caroline, not her—she must ignore him.
The dance started, and, as she followed the steps with Billy, their movements took her close to Jack. That piercing gaze always seemed to be on her when she glanced up. She could hardly wait for the music to end, and, when it finally did, she grabbed Billy’s hand to leave the dance floor.
“Emma, Emma,” he called, laughing. “Slow down.”
“Billy, please, I’m so thirsty,” she pleaded, aware Jack was only steps away.
He took her to the refreshment table. “Emma, what’s wrong?”
She gave him a half-smile as he handed her the punch cup. “Just all the excitement of today,” she gulped the lemonade. It was tart and sweet and cold. She stopped mid-swallow, realizing how unladylike she was behaving by gulping her punch.
Billy laughed. Charles came up and nudged him. “Billy, ole boy…”
Their voices were drowned in the noise. Emma closed her eyes, letting the coolness of the glass cup seep through her white cotton gloves.
“Good evening, Miss Emma.”
The male voice was loud and clear. It sounded amused—and familiar. She opened her eyes to find the green-eyed panther before her. Her throat tightened. Inhaling deeply, she lifted her head and forced herself to remember her manners. “Mr. Fontaine, how nice to see you again.”
A wicked smile came to his face, his eyes slanted. “Yes, it is so nice to see you again.” He leaned slightly forward and dropped his voice. “I’m enchanted to meet the water nymph I thought I must’ve dreamt of, only to find you are real. You know, I had to ask your brother who you were.”
She glared at Jack. Not having been properly introduced, she could have walked away except this was a family celebration, and he apparently was Charles’ friend. “Well, I’m of little concern if you’re among Caroline’s admirers.”
He looked over her shoulder at the dancers lining up for the next dance. “Yes, lovely Miss Caroline. I do admire beauty,” he looked down at her, “but I saw my fairy first.”
Her anger mounted. Water nymph? Fairies? Was the man touched? And he did admit to Caroline’s beauty. With a disgusted harrumph, she turned on her heel to leave.
He chuckled. His hand touched her elbow. “I had come to ask you to dance.”
She spun around. “What? Is Miss Birthday Girl’s card filled?”
“I have no idea,” he replied. His hand opened the card on her wrist before she could think straight. “Ah, they’re going to dance the windmill.” He looked at the formations on the dance floor. Taking her cup and placing it on the table, Jack directed Emma to the dance floor, “I see there is an opening for one more couple.”
They formed a square with the other three couples. One couple was Caroline and her dance partner. Caroline glared at Emma. It wasn’t Emma’s fault she picked up the dance steps better than Caroline, enough so their instructor referred to her as floating with grace. Being one step ahead of Caroline in mastering some of the graces only led to more anger from her sister. But now, Emma was flabbergasted. She couldn’t deny Jack now without appearing vulgar. Tightening her lips, she narrowed her gaze on the grinning green-eyed rake.
Caroline watched Emma, and Emma felt the scorching fire in her eyes. Mr. Fontaine was about to discover that Caroline would not appreciate his having asked her sister for a dance.
#
Jack found the dance enjoyable with the cute young miss as his partner. Emma’s fluster amused him, knowing she had no excuse for not dancing with him. He also knew Caroline stared daggers at her while smiling at him throughout the rotations. Women, young and old, were all alike. Except for his partner. She was different, or perhaps it was her indifference to the festivities that he found refreshing. He congratulated himself for taking Charles up on his offer to visit.
At the end of the dance, he offered Emma his arm to escort her off the dance floor, but she shot him an evil glance and stalked off on her own. He chuckled as he followed her.
“Why, Mr. Fontaine,” purred the blonde Caroline as she glided up to him and tucked her arm through his. “I knew the college men up North were taught a fine education, but I had no idea dancing was part of it.”
He kept the smile pasted on his face but inwardly grimaced at the sound of Caroline’s voice. West Point graduates made the best trained officers in the US Army. Not only did Jack and his classmates learn about warfare but also how to be gentlemen—and that included dancing. “Of course, Miss Silvers, we are not only soldiers but gentlemen.”
She laughed. “Oh, do call me Caroline.”
“Miss Caroline,” he bowed his head to her. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Emma near the refreshments. She rolled her eyes. Yes, this summer would be quite pleasant.
#
The celebrations lasted well beyond a week. Jack always found it amusing how the South’s hospitality continued for so long. Of course, in an agricultural community such as this, with people spaced far apart, what other diversions were there but to visit and entertain?
More fancy dinners were arranged. A few more dances. Musical quartets played. Lawn parties and teas. And for the men, Charles’ father arranged hunting matches and horse races. The men laughed with the ladies at dinner and danced and played Graces and other lawn games. Jack enjoyed the archery matches, the one sport dominated by the ladies. He considered it comical that Society found it acceptable for ladies to shoot arrows, but not bullets. While both can prove deadly, the latter was considered unladylike.
But who did he find at the gun shooting match? Emma. He was surprised to see her, as she had avoided him after the first evening’s celebrations. In fact, he hardly saw her at all in the brief moments he freed himself of her sister.
Caroline was very pretty, very feminine and, as he suspected, very spoiled. She clung to his arm at various functions. If it weren’t for Emma’s occasional appearance and the bored expression on her face when she saw him with Caroline, he might have enjoyed Caroline’s enticements. Jack was there only for the summer and he wasn’t interested in wooing anyone. But why did Emma’s dismissal bother him?
On this day, Jack had risen early to go to the stable and saddle Windswept. The thoroughbred nickered to him, rubbing his muzzle on Jack’s arm.
“Yes, boy, today, we’re goin’ for a run,” he told the stallion as he groomed him and put
the saddle and bridle on. Leading the horse out of his stall, Jack, reins in hand, grabbed a lock of the horse’s mane and leaped into the saddle.
The morning air was crisp for summer in Virginia. Jack inhaled the slight breeze and closed his eyes. He found himself alone and savored the experience. The Point kept him with his class. On this trip, Charles was his companion at all times. The Silvers family planned a busy schedule to keep their company entertained. It made him relish moments like this—peaceful, only a man and his horse. He exhaled and scanned the horizon. Finding the copse in the distance, he nudged Windswept at a fast walk and then into a trot.
It felt good to be independent, just him and Windswept. Charles’ sister pursued him constantly. Last night had been more than he could handle. After dinner, the older adults left Jack, Charles, Caroline and three of their neighbors in the parlor. They considered playing various games but finally picked charades, with the winner to get a kiss from whomever they chose. All fun and laughs.
But Emma was absent. Jack missed her not being with them. Later, he did catch a glimpse of her on the staircase, bent down and watching. He grinned up at her…about the same time Caroline won the match and came to him for her kiss. As she reached up to meet his lips, Jack saw out of the corner of his eye Emma pull back and stumble up the staircase.
Kissing Caroline in the parlor games was fun, he had to admit. But a shudder washed through him as he could still feel her pressing on his lips, her tongue set to enter his mouth. She was too bold and he didn’t comply. Obviously, she wasn’t pleased but withheld from making a scene over it. Still, it racked his nerves, and now Windswept picked up on the tension of his rider and increased his speed.
As Jack reined the horse toward the trees near the stream, the area where he first met Emma, he slowed his mount. Something about this area drew him. Maybe her presence in his memory. Maybe because its trees concealed him from anyone else who might follow—like Caroline, though she wouldn’t be up yet. He grinned. She was typical of the wealthy girls he knew, wasting all morning on their beauty sleep. Military life had changed Jack from ever wasting the day away in sleep. Reveille early every morning, drilled into him for the last three years, eliminated any chance of him sleeping late.