by Diana Ballew
“I...I have no husband, sir. Pardon me.” She stepped forward, but he remained in place. She contemplated pushing him aside, a prospect that seemed as likely as moving a mountain. Where is Mr. Johnson?
“Ah...” the stranger mused, “my sympathies on your loss, then.”
She sighed and finally looked up at him. His expression appeared solemn, but rich brown eyes, hinting of amusement, stared back.
“Well, you certainly don’t look very sorry,” she blurted. “It was my father. Now, will you please excuse me?”
“Then perhaps I could take you to New Orleans.”
Stunned by his forwardness, she forgot to be frightened. An unknown man speaking in such a manner is beyond contempt—particularly one who appears to be enjoying it.
“I’ve had all of this I can stand. Let me by.”
He flashed an audacious grin and folded his arms across his chest.
She tilted her chin high. “You’re an utter cad, sir. In your defense, I can only assume you’ve been away from polite society too long and have forgotten how to speak to a lady.”
He raised a raven brow. “I daresay, you do have me there.”
She smoothed the pleats of her skirt. “Just where you’ve been I won’t venture to guess since...” Her gaze shot up and down the length of his long form. “Well, since you aren’t even decent enough to be in uniform like all of the other brave men. There’s a war going on, in case you haven’t noticed.”
He frowned and tilted his chin. “Is this your way of telling me I appear, shall we say, able-bodied? If so,—”
“Oh, for pity’s sake!” A flush warmed her cheeks. “How dare you make fun of me. I want nothing more to do with you, and I’d bet my boots the army wants nothing to do with you, either. Now, let me out of here!” She stomped her leather boot on the wood floor.
He laughed, and she caught the sweet hint of brandy upon his breath as she attempted to pass him.
“Then, it’s only my lack of suitable military attire you find offensive?” He grinned. “In that case, perhaps you would like to accompany me back to my room where I could remove these wretched garments and—”
“Oh, if you aren’t the most ill-bred man!” She narrowed her gaze, took a step forward, and stared at him dead-on. “How dare you insult me with your lewd comments.”
“Oh, calm down, now.” He sighed and slowly moved aside. “You can smooth those ruffled feathers. I’m not in the habit of deflowering unwilling young maidens, my dear.”
Eden took another step and paused, unable to think clearly. Something about him made her feel unsteady, as though the secure flooring beneath her feet could rip out from under her at any moment.
Just don‘t look at him.
She toyed with a loose thread of fabric on the roll. “Well, I don’t know who you think you are, waltzing into this shop with your fancy clothes, ordering your fancy cigars. Haven’t you heard about sacrificing such luxuries for the sake of our fine men and the Cause?”
Before she knew it, he extended his arm and drew her close. With a firm hand, he nudged her chin up and bent down, his bronzed face only inches from her own.
She held her breath, unable to speak—unable to move! Oh, Lord above, he’s going to kiss me! She slammed her eyes shut.
“I sacrifice far more than you know, madam,” he whispered.
She inhaled the brandy upon his lips and the invisible veil of cigar smoke resting upon his collar. His mouth was a whisper away from her lips. Her heart hammered, fierce as wild thunder, causing her to gasp. She contemplated slapping him—slapping him hard across his arrogant face, but there she stood in front of him, frozen in place with her eyes scrunched shut.
The moment his hand dropped from her chin, she opened her eyes. Trying to hide the crimson flush heating her cheeks, she took a deep breath and turned away. As much as the man unnerved her, even frightened her, there was something wickedly attractive about him. The problem was, he knew it, too.
With trembling fingers, she toyed with the collar of her dress. “Sir, I sincerely hope in the future you acquaint yourself with proper etiquette before addressing a lady, especially a lady in mourning. Good day.”
“If you and your sister are any indication, then it’s the ladies who’ve changed while I’ve been away.”
“Excuse me?” Not willing to allow the vulgar rat the last word, she spun around to face him. “Well, she’s not my sister, if you must know. She’s my stepmother, so why don’t you just resume your conversation with her and leave me alone. No doubt she threw herself at you.”
Judging by the fiery green eyes glaring at him, Rayce Hampton knew he’d hit a sore spot. “How perceptive. You’re exactly right.”
The blonde pursed her lips and looked into his eyes. “Well, I’m sure she’s your kind of woman.”
He shook his head slowly, meeting her challenging gaze. “Not even close.”
The sweet scent of magnolia filled the small room, assaulting his senses. He inhaled deeply, savoring the enticing aroma. He imagined pulling the hairpins from her sleek, tawny hair swept under the demure, black bonnet and combing it into a loose spill with his fingers.
He reached up to brush an errant tendril from her cheek. “I think you would prove more interesting. Or must I sacrifice the thought of having you and my cigars...for the Cause, of course?”
She jerked the fabric roll back and smacked him with it as hard as she could. “Oh, if you’re not the most vile rat!”
He caught the blow on his shoulder and took a step back, laughing. She stormed out through the storage room door into the bright shop.
He laughed and called after her. “I’ll take that as a 'no!'”
Hiram Johnson emerged from his office and saw the blonde retreating. “Where’s she—”
Rayce watched the slender woman walk away, her body curving gently in all the right places, defying the dreary black garb. “I believe she’ll take the jade fabric, Hiram.” He took the wrapped bundle the older man extended. “Thanks.”
Hiram frowned and waved a finger. “Now, don’t you go toyin’ with her. I’ve known her family for years. She’s a sweet, young woman.”
“Toy...who me?” He combed a hand through his hair and sighed. “Come now, Hiram, you know me well enough...who is she?”
Hiram raised an eyebrow. “You’re right—I do, and that’s exactly why I—”
“Mr. Johnson?” Eleanor Radcliff rang the front desk bell.
“Come now, Hiram. I haven’t much time. Her name?”
The older man’s eyes narrowed. “I’ll tell you her name, but you stay away from her just the same. Poor girl's had enough trouble without you—”
“Hiram!”
“All right! Her name is Eden. Miss Eden Blair. Now, I have to go.” He coughed and lowered his voice. “Leave through the back door.” He smoothed his thick mustache and hurried through the doorway.
Rayce tapped his fingers on the table. “Eden...Miss Eden Blair...Blair.” He frowned, trying to make the connection between the little blonde with the ferocious temper and the familiar name. His fingers stopped in place.
Miss Eden Blair.
He tossed the small packet into the air and caught it deftly as he headed toward the back. Whistling a cheerful ditty, he replaced his hat at a rakish tilt and strode out the alley door.
Chapter 2
Like a small hurricane, Eden entered the front of the shop, halting Ann’s discussion with Mrs. Radcliff.
“Mrs. Radcliff.” Eden nodded and spun on her heel to face Ann. “Let’s go.”
“Good heavens!” Ann snapped, “Oh, tell me that’s not what you chose, is it?”
Eden shouldered the roll of fabric like a rifle. “It is. Now hurry up; we have to go.”
Ann sighed and rolled her eyes. She pulled a delicate handkerchief from her beaded black bag and pressed it lightly to her throat.
“Don’t be so hasty, Eden,” Mrs. Radcliff reprimanded. “It would suit you well if you listened to
Ann’s advice. Naturally, she only wants you to look your most attractive.”
Ann returned the handkerchief to her bag and pulled the tasseled drawstring taut. “Yes, I do want her to have a lovely dress, poor thing. It’s not easy to be young and pretty and in mourning. Believe me, I know.”
Mrs. Radcliff patted Ann’s arm. “Yes, dear, I can imagine.”
Ann sniffed. “And as these boys ride off to war, her prospects grow thinner by the day. Eden simply must have a new dress for her brother’s wedding. Of course, I’ll be fine in my old blue gown. After all, I’ve already had my chance at happiness.”
If you only knew. “May we go now?” Eden interrupted, “I’m suddenly feeling ill.” She shifted the roll of fabric to her other shoulder and stared at Ann.
Mrs. Radcliff smiled. “Oh, sugar, are you talking about the cornflower blue gown you wore to your engagement party to Eden’s father? Why, I adore that color on you.”
Ann sighed. “Yes, that’s the one.”
Eden tapped her toe on the smooth floor planks.
Eleanor frowned and heaved a heavy sigh. “You know, Eden, it would be wise to show Ann a little kindness. Remember, dear, you attract more flies with honey than vinegar.”
“Well, I’m having that ol’ blue dress remade, of course. My Fifi is a wonder with the needle.” Ann waved a spool of blue thread in her hand as proof.
“Why, what happened to your girl, Sarah?” Eleanor asked.
“Oh, it is Sarah, but I decided to change her name.”
“Now, what have I said?” Mrs. Radcliff chuckled, quizzing Eden. “I have always said our Ann surely has a romantic nature.”
Ann smiled and flushed. “Oh, now, stop.”
Eden couldn’t help but wonder what prudish Eleanor Radcliff would say if she knew Ann’s ‘romantic nature’ had led her to divest herself of her virginity in the carriage house with her second cousin. Apparently, the romance came to light shortly thereafter, and he had been sent, without ceremony, to Charleston, South Carolina, and Ann instructed to find a husband.
Her father had met Ann at a garden party and somehow found her charming. He had been a well-respected doctor, known for his practical sense, but also a lonely widower, thereby ripe for her picking. Eden had tried to talk sense into her enamored father, but it was too late. Ann had sunk her claws in deep, and without the blessing of his children, they married after only a few weeks of courtship.
“Let’s go,” Eden repeated, “Lucy will be waiting. I’m sure the train has already arrived.”
“Oh, and how is Lucy?” asked Mrs. Radcliff. “Is she excited?”
“Thrilled as she can be,” Ann replied. “Just think, Lucy will be a member of our little family. I do hope Isaac’s furlough isn’t cancelled at the last minute.” Ann sniffed, searching for her handkerchief again. “I simply can’t believe how grown up my stepson is—”
“Stepmother,” Eden interrupted.
“Oh, fine, then.” Ann sighed. “Let’s go.” She turned to Mrs. Radcliff. “Goodbye, dear. I’ll see you at the Ladies’ Society meeting tonight. I do hope you’re bringing some of your divine strawberry rhubarb jam. We can have it delivered to the soldiers camped out on the hill tomorrow. Why, it’s simply the best ever.”
After the goodbye, Ann made a big fuss out of shoving the blue thread into her beaded bag. Finally, she straightened. “Would you mind telling me where the fire is? You have absolutely ruined my outing in town, so I hope you’re proud of yourself.”
“I need to get this to Miss Annette’s before we meet Lucy and her cousin at the station. They're probably waiting for us.” Eden headed down the walkway. “Did I really ruin your day? I’m so pleased.”
“Oh! Your father would roll over in his grave if he heard the way you talk to me,” Ann said, hurrying to keep up.
Eden shook her head, refusing to get into another argument with her today despite Ann’s ramblings.
By the time they had walked the two blocks to Miss Annette’s, Ann had thoroughly catalogued the miseries of living at Oak Hill.
“...and I woke up drenched in perspiration, drenched, because I dreamed twenty years had passed, and you were still living at Oak Hill, and all these wonderful men were lined up to ask my hand in marriage and, of course, I couldn’t do a thing since I still had you to contend with. Are you listening to me?”
Eden stood, staring at the glistening jet black-and-gold pinstriped brougham at Miss Annette’s walkway. A pair of the finest horses she had seen since the war started stood waiting; manes like smooth ebony silk, their coats brushed to a slick sheen. A liveried negro man stood with them.
“How beautiful.” Eden sighed. She slowed in front of the shop and drank in the sight of the handsome animals, wishing she could stroke their velvety noses. Only a few swayback nags remained at Oak Hill. Her father’s prized thoroughbreds were the first horses to go with the local militia when they enlisted in the Confederate Army at the beginning of the war.
Ann nudged Eden with her elbow and whispered. “Who do you suppose owns such a fine carriage?”
“Someone with money,” Eden whispered back, “and influence to have kept them. Even Jefferson Davis doesn’t have a carriage as fine.”
Ann straightened like a shot and hurried into Miss Annette’s.
The black man stood watching her appraisal of the animals. She flushed, embarrassed to be caught staring. “These horses are...well, they’re quite lovely.”
“Yes, ma’am, they surely are.” He patted one on the neck affectionately and smiled back.
The door to Miss Annette’s opened a crack. “Get in here!” Ann squealed, “You’re not going to believe this.”
“I’m coming,” Eden muttered, turning toward the shop.
Following voices, she parted the curtains separating the small parlor from the fitting room. “Lucy!”
On a stool, her future sister-in-law stood smiling amid froths of white satin and tulle cascading to the floor, burying Miss Annette, who knelt glaring at the hem.
Eden grinned back and set the heavy roll of fabric on the end of the horsehair divan, opposite of Ann who occupied the other end.
“I thought you were at the train station,” Eden said.
“I was, but I received a message there that my cousin, Rayce, arrived late last night—”
“Turn a bit to the left, dear, that’s it,” Miss Annette ordered.
“I ran into my aunt, and she told me you were coming here first. So, I thought I would wait for you,” Lucy said, her hazel eyes sparkling. “Miss Annette simply forced me to put on my wedding dress so she could check one last time.”
“Yes, a veritable knife to the throat,” Miss Annette murmured. “But we’re fortunate we had this chance. I just found a large gap on the hem. I’ll have this finished in a jiffy.”
“Lucy.” Ann squirmed on the divan. “Lucy, for pity’s sake, get on with it.”
“Oh, yes.” Lucy stepped gingerly from the stool and disappeared with Miss Annette behind the dressing screen. “Rayce sent his carriage for us.”
“Her cousin Rayce,” Ann whispered, leaning forward, her face drawn in feral excitement. “I can’t wait to meet him. And you stay away from him.”
Ann shook her finger, and Eden slapped it in a flash.
Ann swallowed a cry of pain and jerked her injured hand back just as Miss Annette emerged from behind the screen.
“Now, Miss Eden, we must get busy on your gown. Let me get the pattern book. I’ll be right back.”
The process took longer than anticipated. Ann insisted on a scandalously low neckline while Lucy expressed opposition to such a revealing dress. Miss Annette finally chimed in, explaining to Ann the significance of Eden’s first large social event since coming out of mourning; appearance and decorum were especially important.
Having listened to the bantering for far too long, the seamstress presented her fourth and final pattern book and ordered the women to pick something out while there would still be time t
o make the dress.
While Ann pouted and flipped through an old issue of Harper’s Monthly, Eden and Lucy agreed on the perfect gown. The twelve yards of pale jade silk would be fashioned into a wide, sweeping crinoline with gentle pleats radiating from the pointed waistline. Guided by the expertise of the stylish Miss Annette, they all agreed an elegant final touch to such a graceful dress would be required. The tasteful neckline and full sleeve bodice would exude style and grace, trimmed to perfection with shimmering gold and cream silk brocade.
“My heavens, I thought that would take all day.” Ann tugged the shop door closed. “Finding something for your figure, Eden, does prove challenging.”
Lucy glanced at Eden, encouraging her to disregard Ann’s comment.
The negro driver, his face stoic and chin held high, ushered each woman into the carriage. Eden sank back against the plush crimson cushions, rubbing her hand across the smooth velvet. She closed her eyes while Ann and Lucy busied themselves discussing the evening’s charity events at the hospital and Saint Paul’s Church.
What a luxurious ride. Had it not been for the cobbled road on Broad Street, Eden would have fallen asleep. They certainly never had such a well-appointed carriage at Oak Hill.
When she closed her eyes and thought of her home, she could still smell the fire burning in the hearth, and the pungent, earthy aroma of freshly turned red dirt awaiting new crops. What she missed most was the cozy sense of security the small plantation offered, covering her like a warm, protective blanket. With the Union Army threatening closer to Richmond, she realized she had taken her comfortable, peaceful existence at Oak Hill, for granted.
“I still say the dress will look ridiculous considering—”
“Hush,” Lucy cut Ann’s words short, “She’s going to be beautiful, and that’s the end of it.”
“Well, considering—”
“Ann,” Lucy warned, “let’s not discuss this again.”
Ann pressed her lips together in a thin line and fidgeted with the tiny beads on her bag.
“Where is your cousin staying, Lucy?” Eden yawned. “What’s his name, Roy?”
“It’s Rayce, dear. Rayce Hampton.” Lucy pulled a folded piece of paper from her pocket. “Joseph, his coachman, gave this to me at the station.” She cleared her throat and read softly. “Dearest Lucy, forgive my failure to appear at the station this morning as planned, but unanticipated matters hurried me to Richmond late last evening. Perhaps you will forgive me if I leave the carriage at your disposal, and you will see your errant cousin when I am able to free myself from these affairs. My love to you and Aunt Martha, Rayce,” she concluded.