Morning Song

by Karen Robards

  But it had come true nevertheless.

  Carelessly he had wished for land, enough money to work it, an end to the life of constantly hustling for a living. His wish had been granted and somewhere the gods must be laughing.

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  In reaching for wealth, property, and respectability, he'd grabbed a tiger by the tail.

  He had a wife whom he hated, whom it was a struggle to keep from strangling, although he had never in his life harmed a woman; who was a bitch and a whore and who hated him at least as much as he hated her.

  He had a name that he was beginning to hate, too. When he'd assumed it all those months ago, he had not realized how much it was going to irk him to have to spend the rest of his life being known as Stuart Edwards.

  Clive McClintock might not be the name of a gentleman, but it was his name.

  There were people he'd grown fond of, such as Miss Flora and Miss Laurel. They thought he was their nephew. He'd told himself, when he'd begun the deception, that'd he'd make a far better nephew for them than the great Stuart Edwards had ever done. And he had. He visited them, didn't he? And he was courteous, protective of their well-being, available for them whenever they cared to send for him. His arrival had given them a new lease on life. He had no doubt that both of them would live to be a hundred.

  But the fonder he grew of them, the more he felt like a fraud. When he'd first formulated the plan, he'd meant to help Celia's chubby little stepdaughter come out of her shell and find a husband, thus serving the dual purpose of improving the girl's life and getting her out of his hair at the same time. Who could have guessed that under all that hair and excess weight had lurked a beauty whose merest smile would have the power to steal his breath?

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  Who could have guessed that her belligerence hid a soul of rare sweetness?

  Who could have guessed that in trying to improve the chit's lot in life he would lose his head and his heart and wind up wanting her more than he had ever wanted anything?

  And there, of course, was the jest that had set the gods to laughing. They had granted him everything he had ever wished for, more than he had ever wished for.

  But he had never thought to wish for a woman to love. Love, he would have said, was something that could be pumped out of a man's system after twenty minutes or so between the sheets with his adored.

  But he would have been wrong. He knew that now. Love had nothing (well, very little) to do with taking a woman to bed. It was about laughing together, and talking together, and experiencing all the myriad other details of daily living together. It was about caring more for the loved one's well-being than for one's own.

  Which was how he felt about Jessie. He loved the girl, and that was the simple, overwhelming truth. Loved her enough not to finish what he had started in the orchard. Loved her enough not to take her maidenhead and in doing so ruin her life. The gods had offered him vast wealth, land, respect. To take it, and keep it, all he had to do was marry and stay married to Celia. And if he was married to Celia, he could not follow his heart and wed Jessie. If he could not wed her, he could not take her maidenhead, or her love.

  As he had told her, he was a swine, but not that big a swine. Although he would have been, had he not loved her.

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  So somewhere the gods were laughing. They had given him everything he had ever dreamed of, and more.

  Only he, fool that he was, didn t want their munificent gift any longer.

  All he wanted was Jessie, and she was the one thing he couldn't have.

  XXIX

  Mitch came for his answer the following Tuesday. The previous day he'd sent a message over inquiring if it would be convenient for him to call then, so Jessie was expecting him when he arrived. She sat nervously in the front parlor, which Celia had recently refurbished in the newly popular Empire style. A muralist had traveled all the way from Natchez to paint intricate harbor scenes on all four walls. The pale blue of the sky and water was the predominant color in the paintings, while the furniture itself was of ebony wood upholstered in white. When Jessie had dressed, she had forgotten to keep in mind the color of the room where she would receive Mitch. Consequently she was clad in jade-green broadcloth, long-sleeved in deference to the weather, which had finally grown cool. The fitted bodice rose demurely to her neck, where she had pinned a small cameo that had once been her mother's. Three flounces ran diagonally across her shoulders to her waist in front, and three more trimmed the full skirt at the hem. With her hair upswept in back and her face framed by the short curls that Sissie had recently trimmed for her, Jessie looked lovely. She was more than satisfied with her 209

  appearance—until she took a seat in the front parlor. Then she wondered if her dress clashed with the

  room, and that uncertainty made her even more nervous.

  "Lamb, I thought this day would never come," Tudi said under her breath as Mitch was shown into the parlor. Mindful of Stuart's edict about propriety, and fearing that being alone with him would make it more likely that Mitch would argue when presented with her refusal, Jessie had asked Tudi to stay in the room with her. Stolid and unmoving, Tudi stood behind the chair where Jessie sat. In honor of the occasion, her apron and turban were fresh and snowy. Jessie had asked Tudi to stay with her while she answered Mitch; she hadn't told Tudi that the answer was going to be no.

  "Hello, Jessie. Afternoon, Tudi."

  Mitch looked as nervous as Jessie felt. Too much on edge to stay seated any longer, Jessie stood up to greet him. He took her hand in his and raised it to his mouth. "You're looking beautiful today."

  "Thank you."

  Still unused to thinking of herself as beautiful—it seemed impossible when Jessie considered it—she flushed a little at the compliment. Mitch still held her hand in his; the imprint of his lips was faintly moist on the back of her hand.

  Looking up at him, Jessie was struck anew by how attractive he was. If she had never seen Stuart, she would have considered Mitch, with his tousle of nut-brown curls, twinkling hazel eyes, and sturdy build, the ideal of manhood. If she hadn't seen Stuart .

  . .

  Holding her hand, Mitch shot a quick glance at Tudi, then drew Jessie away, toward the window. Tudi watched them with a faint, 210

  satisfied smile. Jessie knew that Tudi, who loved ber and had nothing but thoughts of her happiness at heart, would be well pleased to see her wed to Mitch.

  Mitch would make a kind, attentive husband to some lucky girl. Jessie truly regretted that it wouldn't be she.

  "Well, Jessie, I've come for your answer," Mitch said softly when it became apparent that Jessie had been struck dumb. Ever since he had first asked her, Jessie had known this moment was coming. Not wanting to hurt him, she had her answer carefully prepared. Still, it was hard to say no to this boy who'd been the object of her girlhood daydreams for years.

  "Mitch ..." Jessie began, then paused helplessly as her tongue became glued to the roof of her mouth. Taking a deep breath, she slid her eyes from his face to glance almost blindly out the window.

  But what she saw outside instantly sharpened her gaze. Stuart was out there, just beyond the curve of the drive, astride Saber. Holding onto his stirrup and looking up at him with her back to the window was Celia. It was obvious from the expression on Stuart's face and the tense stance of Celia's body that they were engaging in yet another acrimonious quarrel. A marital quarrel.

  "Is it so hard to say, Jessie?" Mitch asked tenderly. Jessie dragged her eyes back to his face. A queer, unsettled feeling churned in her stomach, making her feel almost nauseous. Anger sprang to life inside her, corrosive, eating her insides.

  "No, Mitch, it's not hard to say at all," Jessie replied, her voice surprising her with its composure. "I'll be honored to marry you."

  "Hooray!" Mitch shouted, startling Jessie, and gave a little jump into the air. Then, before she had recovered from her 211

  surprise, he caught her around the waist and twirled her around, then planted a ki
ss on her lips.

  Jessie's head was whirling, from either being spun or the kiss, but almost as soon as she had said it she couldn't believe the words had come out of her mouth. Surely she hadn't just promised to become Mitch's wife!

  "Oh, lamb!" Tudi hurried to hug her. Jessie returned Tudi's embrace because she couldn't do anything else. She was in a daze. Good Lord, what did she do now? "You take good care of her, you hear, Mr. Todd?"

  "Don't you worry, Tudi, I will!" Mitch was beaming, radiating happiness, while Jessie felt sick to her stomach. Before she could open her mouth to deny what she had just said—could she deny it, now that she'd agreed?—Mitch was catching up her hand and pulling her toward the door.

  "There's Mr. and Mrs. Edwards now, outside," he said. "We'll tell your stepparents, honey, and make it official. Yippee, we're engaged!"

  He sounded so joyous that Jessie could do nothing but let him drag her after him out to the veranda. Once there, he stopped by the rail and hallooed at Stuart and Celia, who were still arguing down the drive.

  "Mrs. Edwards! Mr. Edwards! Look here!"

  With that he swept Jessie up in an embrace that almost crushed the air from her lungs. As she clung to his shoulders, from necessity, he proceeded to kiss her with more thoroughness than he had shown the night in the orchard.

  When he lifted his head, he was grinning so widely that his face looked as if it might split in two. He glanced around, and Jessie followed his gaze. Stuart and Celia were both staring at them, 212

  looking, as well as she could tell from such a distance, equally stunned.

  "It's all right this time, Mr. Edwards! We're engaged!" Mitch bellowed. Turning to face them, he grinned widely and slid his arm around Jessie's waist.

  XXX

  How Jessie got through the rest of that day and evening she never knew. Once the fateful words had left her mouth, she felt as if everything that followed was out of her control. For once in Jessie's life she had managed to truly please Celia, who became immediately full of plans for a lavish engagement party and, later, probably the following summer, an even more lavish wedding. The prospect of hostessing such august social events while at the same time ridding herself of her annoyance of a stepdaughter was the reason for Celia's good humor, Jessie knew, but still it was a welcome change to have Celia smiling rather than sulking. The servants, who heard the news from Tudi even before Jessie got back inside the house, were excited for her. Tudi was even talking about going with her "lamb" to her new home, and possibly bringing Sissie, too, if Miss Celia could be persuaded to permit it.

  Stuart, on the other hand, was terse as he congratulated Mitch and pressed a cool kiss on Jessie's cheek. As was usually the case when he was laboring under the grip of some strong emotion, his face became completely unreadable. His eyes as they met Jessie's were as opaque as stone, but Jessie didn't need to see evidence of it in his face to know what he was feeling. He disliked the notion 213

  of her engagement intensely, but was powerless to do anything to thwart it. After all, Mitch Todd was the scion of one of the wealthiest planting families in the area. As the only son of three children, he would undoubtedly one day inherit Riverview, which equaled Mimosa for prosperity. With the best will in the world, it was impossible for Stuart to pronounce the match anything but suitable.

  Of course Mitch stayed for supper, and since they were engaged, Jessie was permitted to walk with him alone about the grounds afterwards. Several times Jessie opened her mouth to tell him that she hadn't meant it, that it had all been a mistake. But in the face of Mitch's transparent happiness, she couldn't do it. So she suffered silently, secretly appalled at what she had set in motion, as he talked of plans for the future, of how they would grow old together, of how many children they would have. Later, when he was getting ready to leave, he kissed her. Jessie dutifully permitted it, not even pulling away when his tongue slipped daringly into her mouth. But for all her slight hope that perhaps, just perhaps, she might be able to wed Mitch after all, his kiss evoked merely a mild feeling of distaste.

  The fireworks, she was beginning to fear, came only with Stuart.

  Could she wed a man whose kiss made her want to scrub her teeth afterwards? No, she could not. But how was she to tell Mitch—and everyone else? Like a snowball rolling downhill, her engagement was getting bigger and bigger, and more impossible to deny, with each minute that passed.

  Even after Mitch had gone and Jessie went upstairs to bed, her mind was so troubled that she could not sleep. Finally she gave up the attempt altogether, pulled her wrapper on over her 214

  nightdress and went along the corridor. She would sit on the veranda until the night air induced sleepiness—if it ever did. The house was dark except for the fairy lights that were left burning at the top and bottom of the stairs and at the end of each corridor. The servants had long since retired to the quarters, and Stuart and Celia were clearly abed. Jessie estimated the time at just gone midnight. On other nights the sound of quarreling from the rear of the house had persisted long after this. But tonight the house was quiet. Jessie might as well have been the only one in the wide world who was awake.

  Tugging open the heavy oak door, Jessie stepped onto the veranda. Immediately her attention was caught by the midnightblue velvet of the sky. It was ablaze with stars that twinkled like diamonds, so many that Jessie was briefly dazzled. Pulling the door shut behind her, she stepped to the rail. Her hands closed around the smooth carved wood, and her chin tilted back. The moon was huge and as round as a wheel of cheese, surrounded by millions of blinking stars. A slight breeze blew from the east, sending small dark clouds like wisps of veiling scudding across the glittering sky. Foliage rustled, locusts sang, and night birds and their prey shrieked and called. The sneer breathtaking beauty of the night bestowed its own serenity upon Jessie. For the first time since she'd promised to wed Mitch, she felt a degree of peace.

  Then, mixed with the delicate scent of lilacs and mimosa, Jessie caught a whiff of pungent cigar smoke.

  Her head snapped around. At the far end of the veranda she could plainly see the tip of a cigar, glowing red. It was only slightly more difficult to make out the massive dark shape of the man, but as her eyes adjusted from the brightness of the sky to 215

  the gloom at the corner of the veranda, she could see him well enough. He was tipped back in a rocking chair, his booted feet crossed at the ankles and resting on the rail in the posture she had favored before he had masterminded her metamorphosis from harum-scarum girl into lady. Despite the chill, he was in his shirtsleeves, the elegant brocade waistcoat he had worn at dinner hanging carelessly open and his neckcloth absent. As Jessie watched, he took another drag at the cigar so that its tip glowed, then let hand and cigar drop to dangle at his side. "Hello, Stuart." He smiled at her. She could clearly see the baring of his teeth.

  "Too excited over your forthcoming nuptials to sleep?" A sneer underlay the question.

  "Yes," Jessie said defiantly, all thought of the night's beauty having fled. One hand still rested on the rail. The other clenched beside her.

  "So you decided you could stomach his kisses after all/'

  "Yes."

  "Looking forward to them, are you?" "Certainly." Stuart chuckled, the sound low and fairly unpleasant. "Liar."

  "At least he's free to marry me!"

  "That," said Stuart, "is undeniably true." The cheroot glowed briefly again. Then, with his other hand, Stuart lifted something else—a bottle-to his lips, tilting his head back to meet it. Jessie watched in dismay as he took a long swallow from the bottle, then set it on the floor again and wiped the back of his hand across his mouth. Never before had she seen Stuart drink, or for that matter behave in such an ill-mannered way. But at least the spirits explained his unaccustomed disarray and the biting undertone to his words.

  "You're drunk!"

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  "Just a trifle well to live. And why not, pray? A man don't get news of his stepdaughter's engagement every day."

>   "I'm going to bed."

  "To dream of darling Mitch?" The sneer was pronounced. Stuart lifted the bottle to his lips again, tilted it, and drank.

  "That's certainly better than dreaming of you!" "Undoubtedly." Stuart set the bottle on the floor and got to his feet, then flicked the remains of his cheroot over the rail. Jessie stood her ground as he came toward her, his movements carefully precise but not unsteady, which she would have expected if he'd been truly drunk. Although a tiny voice deep inside her urged her to flee, she did not. Back straight, head proudly erect, she stood her ground. Only she knew how tightly her hand was clenched on the rail.

  He stopped directly in front of her. It was only at times like this, when he stood so close and she had to look up at him, that Jessie realized just how tall Stuart truly was. He was taller than she by several inches more than a head, and so broad of shoulder and wide of chest that his shadow on the ground completely dwarfed her much slighter one.

  His hand came up to rest against the side of her neck. The warm strength of his fingers curled around her nape under her hair, which was freshly brushed and allowed to hang loose for sleep. Even at that slight touch, her foolish heart began to pound.

  "Nevertheless," Stuart said softly, "I prefer that you dream of me."

  And he lowered his head to her mouth.

  He kissed her softly, tenderly, his lips promising her the world. Jessie's eyes closed, and her hand clenched even tighter over the rail as she fought the urge to succumb to that tender assault. 217

  Their bodies didn't so much as touch, and the only hold he had on her was his hand curved around her neck. But her blood turned to lava in her veins.

  It was only when he parted her lips to deepen the kiss that she tasted the whiskey on his tongue and lips and remembered that he was, if not drunk, the next thing to it. Would he be kissing her so if he were sober? Or would he be wishing her well in her marriage to Mitch?