"I don't want things to go back to the way they were," her father said. "That would be bad for both of us. Holt's being here may be my only chance to stop this feeling of helplessness, of despondency, of not wanting to get out of bed."
"You will get better, I know you will. You only need--"
"And things aren't right with you," her father continued. "You don't go anywhere, don't see anybody, never have any fun. At least with Holt here, you're acting like you're alive."
Her father's words shocked Felicity. "What do you mean?"
"I mean I'm tired of watching you watching me. I'm tired of you never leaving the house, of looking worried all the time. I'm tired of you acting like your life is over and this is all you'll ever have to look forward to."
"But I don't feel like that."
"You should be furious at me, resentful as hell. At least now that Holt's here, I've seen some light in your eyes. You don't look resigned anymore."
"Resigned?"
"Given up. Lost hope."
"I know what it means. What are you talking about?"
"About you liking Holt. You could fall in love with him if you gave yourself half a chance."
"I don't want to fall in love with him."
"Yes, you do, but you're afraid. I should be taking care of you. And the first thing I should do is find you a husband."
"You can stop thinking about Holt. He's in love with someone else."
Her father pushed his plate away untouched. "I'm not so sure of that. He thinks he's in love with her because he ought to be, but I think he's more interested in you."
"You wouldn't say that if you'd seen Vivian. She's very beautiful. He's always wanted to marry her."
"He's believed that for so long, it'll take him a while to realize he's changed his mind."
Felicity gave up trying to convince her father. "Let's not talk about this anymore." She got up to start clearing the table. "What are we going to do this evening?"
"You're going to the party with Holt."
"I'm not leaving you alone on your first evening."
"Why? Are you afraid I'll have a drink as soon as you're gone?"
"Of course not." But wasn't she? Didn't he drink every night? And if he had so much as one drink, she was certain Holt would leave just as he threatened. Good Lord. Was she more worried about Holt's leaving than about her father getting well? No man had ever had such a hold over her.
"We always spend the evening together," she said.
"All the more reason you should go with Holt."
"I'm not leaving you. Now, what do you want to do?"
"Mrs. Bennett invited me to visit her. I think I'll ask her to come on over."
"She was just being polite."
"I like Ellie. It's about time she stopped being a widow. I think I'll tell her so."
Felicity was so shocked, she couldn't think of anything to say.
Felicity had been in many beautiful homes, but none of them approached the splendor of the one she was in tonight. She found it difficult to believe that even a cotton fortune could have built such a magnificent house. The sixteen-foot ceilings were decorated with intricate plaster moldings. In the huge reception room--referred to as the Gold Room--a thick carpet covered heart-of-pine floors. Ornate gold cornices crowned every doorway and window. Silk curtains hung at the windows, and paintings in gold frames covered the walls.
Despite her sumptuous surroundings, Felicity was angry at herself for agreeing to go to the dinner party with Holt. She was more angry that Holt couldn't seem to see that Vivian didn't return his feelings, that she felt about him the same way she would a brother--or some sort of male satellite she didn't see as a worthy object of her affections. Maybe Vivian's dress had something to do with that. After the horrors of the war, sober fashion dictated high necklines and full skirts. Since nearly everyone had lost a father, husband, brother, son, relative, friend, or neighbor, most women wore black. Vivian's gown was a bright lemon yellow, the neckline so shockingly low and her shirt so tightly fitted, you could see the outline of her hips. Her whole body might as well have been exposed to view.
Felicity was scandalized. The male guests appeared mesmerized. Felicity knew that married women had more license, but for a respectable woman, this was carrying things too far. Especially for a woman with a fatherless five-year-old son.
"Other than her beauty, why do you admire her?" Felicity hadn't meant to ask that question. She was certain she wouldn't like the answer, but she was too angry to control her tongue. It was foolish of her to accompany Holt when she knew exactly how things would be.
But they weren't, not exactly. Though Holt's gaze frequently strayed to the part of the room where Vivian was holding court, he had stayed at her side the whole evening.
"I admire her for the courage it took to grow up living on the charity of her father's best friend. She did it with a great deal of cheerfulness, never feeling sorry for herself."
Felicity couldn't quite credit Vivian with the same degree of courage. It had to be hard knowing you were beholden to a stranger for the food you ate, the clothes on your back, and the roof over your head, but she'd never known any woman as beautiful as Vivian who couldn't bend virtually any man to her will. She'd bet her two new dresses that Vivian had only been waiting for a rich man to come along before she threw over the traces.
Abe Calvert's father had been very rich until the blockade of Southern ports kept him from selling his cotton. Felicity wondered where Vivian had found the money to support her expensive way of life if all she'd had to sell was a useless plantation. Money from such a sale could only last so long. She was certain that although Vivian welcomed Holt's attention, she wouldn't marry him, because a mere doctor couldn't provide her with the style of living she felt was necessary for her happiness. Far greater fortunes were being made in Galveston than even the most successful doctor could accumulate.
"Before you get lost in Vivian's court, you ought to pay your respects to your hostess," Felicity said.
"Why are you so down on Vivian?" Holt asked. "You don't even know her."
Felicity could feel Holt's temper rising. She didn't know Vivian, but her instincts screamed the other woman was dangerous and insincere. "It's not really Vivian," Felicity said, bending the truth a little. "I just don't want you to get hurt. I don't believe her feelings for you are as strong as yours for her. I think she's enjoying all the admiration too much to settle down."
"Considering what you think of me, I'm surprised you aren't secretly hoping she will throw me over."
"I've never felt that way." Felicity was shocked at Holt's words. But she realized she had felt protective of him from the moment she'd set eyes on Vivian. No, even before that. From the moment she'd heard of Vivian. She hadn't thought much of a woman who could leave a man like Holt for some young man whose primary recommendation was that his father was rich.
"You could have fooled me," Holt said.
"Just because we don't always agree, that doesn't mean I'd wish any misfortune on you." Surely he couldn't think she was that awful.
"It's because you want me out of your house as soon as possible."
She couldn't believe they were standing against the wall, like a couple of outcasts, engaged in a discussion that should have taken place anywhere but here. She couldn't believe he cared what she thought. She didn't even know why he was still at her side, especially if he thought she was so anxious to get rid of him. Didn't the man have enough sense to know she wouldn't have accompanied him if she disliked him so much?
Why had she agreed to come with him? She didn't like parties where she didn't know people. She didn't like feeling out of her element. She didn't like feeling she was being invited out of pity--or merely because Holt wanted someone to talk to.
"I'm so glad to see you. I was hoping Holt could talk you into coming tonight."
Relieved, Felicity turned to see Charlotte Albright approaching. Her husband lagged a few steps behind, his attention caught b
y Vivian's trilling laugh.
"It wasn't easy," Holt said with his warm, welcoming smile. "She seems intent upon hiding away at home."
"I'm not hiding," Felicity said. "I have more than enough work to keep me busy."
"You have too much," Charlotte said. "It's good for you to get out once in a while. It'll give you a chance to make new friends. You might even meet a man you'd like."
"That's what I've been telling her," Holt said.
"Why is everybody trying to marry me off?" Felicity asked, exasperated.
"Because they think no woman can be truly happy unless she's married," Charlotte's husband said. "But look at that woman over there," he said, indicating Vivian. "She's not married, and she appears to be extremely happy."
"That's Vivian Calvert," Holt said, an edge to his voice. "Her husband was killed during the war."
"She appears to have gotten over her grief," Albright said. "I've never seen a dress like that in my life."
"And you won't on a woman with proper sensibilities," Charlotte said, her disapproval obvious.
"What's wrong with a beautiful woman wearing a beautiful dress?" Holt asked.
"There's a time and place for everything," Charlotte said. "Wearing such a bright color flies in the face of the grief of women suffering from the loss of loved ones. After losing Tom, my mother will never wear colors again. Then there's the question of the propriety of wearing a dress that's so revealing. No real lady would want to be stared at in such a fashion, to have herself perceived in such a way by any man who wasn't her husband."
Felicity couldn't help feeling sorry that Holt had to hear criticism of the woman he loved, but she was glad someone had been willing to say the words she'd been reluctant to voice. Before he asked Vivian to marry him, he needed to know that the woman of his dreams had some serious character flaws.
But rather than looking at Charlotte, Holt was looking toward the door with a look of shock followed by one of growing fury.
"What are you looking at?" Felicity asked.
"That man who just came in."
She turned in the direction of Holt's gaze, expecting to see something outrageous. What she saw was a tall, handsome man speaking to their hostess. Except for slightly pinched features, an aquiline nose, and intense eyes that in combination gave him the appearance of a hawk, she saw nothing out of the ordinary about the man.
"I don't know him," she said.
"His name is Laveau diViere. During the war I took an oath to hang him."
Chapter Fifteen
Holt could hardly have shocked Felicity more. He was passionate about a doctor's duty to save lives. How could he have taken a vow to kill someone?
"Why would you do a thing like that?"
"He betrayed my troop during the war. Twenty-four men died when Union soldiers ambushed us, one by Laveau's own hand."
"Surely that can't be true," Charlotte said.
"He works for the Reconstruction government," her husband pointed out. "That means the Union Army. They'd consider anyone who betrayed a Confederate troop a hero."
"Lots of people know him," Charlotte said. "He's invited everywhere."
"Nobody cares about the war anymore," her husband said. "People are interested only in making money."
"But if he works for the government, how can he be wealthy?"
A thoughtful expression crossed her husband's face. "I don't know that he is, but if he is, that's a good question."
DiViere's eyes had swept the room as he moved away from his hostess. His gaze came to a halt when it reached Holt. "I think he's seen you," Felicity said to Holt. "Do you think he'll come over?"
"No."
But Holt was wrong. DiViere started toward them, a thin smile gradually curving his lips into a look that showed neither welcome nor pleasure. Putting her hand on Holt's arm, Felicity was surprised to find it as rigid as an oak beam. She looked up at him, but his gaze was riveted on diViere.
Holt was stunned by the violence of the emotion that gripped him the moment he set eyes on Laveau. He hadn't seen the man in three years, yet seeing him walk toward him with that well-remembered smirk on his face was like being flung back in time. He'd never liked Laveau. The man acted too much like a privileged aristocrat to fit with Holt's egalitarian New England upbringing.
But he wouldn't have believed that Laveau could take the life or cause the death of a companion and fellow soldier. Having committed such a hellish crime, how could Laveau show absolutely no feeling of guilt or embarrassment? Cade Wheeler always said Laveau had no sense of right or wrong, only what was of advantage to himself. Holt guessed that was how Laveau excused what he did. He wanted to change to the winning side, and the best way to win the trust of the Union Army and gain a high position for himself was to betray his troop.
Holt couldn't think of anything more contemptible.
"I never expected to see you in Galveston," Laveau said when he reached Holt.
"I expected to see you," Holt said, "lying and cheating as usual."
Laveau went white, his features coalescing into a rigid mask. "The war is over. I advise you to take advantage of being born a Yankee instead of standing alongside people whose beliefs you don't share."
"I wasn't aware I was standing alongside anyone."
"What do you call helping Cade steal my cows?"
"I know Cade sends you your share of the income from the ranch every year."
"So that's where you get your money," Charlotte's husband said to Laveau.
"My money comes from a ranch Holt's friend stole from me," Laveau said, his black eyes afire with hatred.
"Is that your excuse for trying to kill Cade and his cousin?" Holt said.
"I don't know what you're talking about," Laveau said, his smile back in place, his eyes clouded. "I haven't seen either man in years."
"Not since you betrayed them to the Union Army," Holt said.
"Laveau! Where have you been? I was beginning to think you didn't mean to come." Vivian burst into the midst of the small group, apparently oblivious to the tension. She smiled radiantly at Laveau while offering her hand for a kiss. "I didn't know you were acquainted with Holt."
"I met him during the war," Laveau said.
"How? You weren't on the same side," Vivian said.
"We were in the beginning," Holt said. "Laveau changed sides when it was clear the Union was going to win."
"I'm sure that was all very painful at the time, but the war is over now," Vivian said. "We can all be comfortable again now."
"Not all of us," Holt said.
"I refuse to talk about the war," Vivian said, her smile crumpling. "It reminds me too much of poor Abe."
Holt felt guilty for having called to mind a painful memory.
"Come meet my friends," Vivian said to Laveau. "You and Holt can catch up with each other later."
"That's unnecessary," Laveau said. "I'm entirely at your disposal."
"Did he really betray Confederate soldiers to the Union Army?" Charlotte's husband asked as soon as Vivian had carried Laveau off.
"And stole his best friend's money," Holt said. "But I'm sure he didn't consider it stealing, since he was sure Ivan would be dead and somebody else would get the money if he didn't get it first."
"Nobody's going to believe you," Charlotte said. "He's accepted everywhere."
"Not everywhere," Felicity reminded him. "Some people still believe loyalty is more important than money."
"Not in Galveston," Albright said. "And if I expect to keep making money, I can't start attacking a member of the Reconstruction government, especially one the Union Army considers a hero. Come on," he said to his wife. "We have a lot of people to speak to before we sit down to dinner."
Felicity watched Holt watching Vivian and Laveau in the center of a laughing group at the other end of the room. "It looks like Charlotte's husband isn't anxious to believe what you said."
"I expect he's one of the new breed, men who can see opportunity in the face of e
ven the greatest tragedy."
She didn't know what to say. Nothing could change the fact that some people were more interested in money than integrity. Neither could she change the fact that some women were more interested in money than love. He would certainly accuse Charlotte's husband of the former, but she was certain he would acquit Vivian of the latter.
"I didn't know you and Holt were going to be here."
Felicity turned at the sound of Vivian's sister-in-law's voice. Lillie Hart smiled broadly. Her husband was talking to their host.
Holt turned to Lillie with a welcoming smile. "She wouldn't have been if I hadn't practically twisted her arm."
"That's not true," Felicity said. "I just don't happen to like parties like this very much, especially when I don't know many of the guests."
"I feel the same way," Lillie said, "and I know practically everybody. But if you want to be successful in Galveston, you have to be seen everywhere."
"Your husband's home is in Mobile," Holt said. "I would have thought New Orleans was a more likely place to go."
"That's where we were going until Vivian convinced Clifford to come to Galveston," Lillie said. "I didn't want to come, but things have gone very well for us the past three years. I have to thank Vivian for that." Lillie paused, seemingly undecided whether to go on. "I didn't really trust her at first. Her son inherited the family plantation, but Vivian hated living in the sticks as she put it. She sold the plantation first chance she got and moved to Galveston. We thought we'd seen the last of her, but she started encouraging us to move to Galveston and didn't stop until we did. She never stops trying to talk people into sending their business to Clifford. She's a wonderfully loyal sister-in-law."
That's what you get for making up your mind about people before you know them, Felicity said to herself. You were determined Vivian was an awful woman who would break Holt's heart. You even imagined her marrying just for money, then being relieved her husband was dead so she could enjoy all the attention her beauty could bring. Serves you right to have to listen to her sister-in-law paint an entirely different portrait that shows Vivian's loyalty and willingness to share her success with her new family. She may not be a paragon of virtue, but she is probably worthy of Holt's admiration.
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