When the Splendor Falls

by Laurie McBain

  Eleven

  No one is so accursed by fate,

  No one so utterly desolate,

  But some heart, though unknown,

  Responds unto his own.

  Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

  Brightly colored Chinese lanterns spilled an eerie, amber glow into luminous pools of light that appeared suspended between heaven and earth like small captive moons. The air was heady with an exotic perfume that overpowered the senses. The scent of roses and jessamine, blending with the smoke rising from the flickering candles of bayberry wax, created an incense that drifted along the shadowy paths of the darkened garden as if lost in an Arabian night. Flashes of light, like sparks of fire, appeared mysteriously and, just as quickly, disappeared, before flashing magically again high in a treetop or deep within a spiny hawthorn hedge as fireflies flitted to and fro on fairy wings and enticed strolling couples deeper into the gardens.

  Inside Travers Hill, the setting was no less magical. The long banqueting tables were lit by many-branched silver candelabras and decorated with a profusion of fresh flowers arranged in tall cut-crystal vases that sparkled with prisms of dazzling light. Garlands of evergreens were draped around the moldings of the ceiling, the windows, and the double doors, and potted palms and miniature orange and lemon trees were grouped together in the corners of the room where chairs had been placed for those wishing to sit and converse quietly while catching their breath from the more arduous demands of dancing.

  The damask-covered tables were heavy with the bountiful feast offered in celebration of a young girl’s sixteenth birthday and coming of marriageable age. The tables were crowded with diners progressing from course to course while they inched along a slowly moving line and were offered ample time to choose from a variety of tempting delectables. Silver dishes full of pecans, walnuts, and almonds; molded jellies, pâtés, crepes, and turnovers; consommé clear soups, chilled ones, bisques, and gumbos; shrimp, melon balls, salmagundi, salads, chicken and marinated; oysters on the half shell, crabmeat, and lobster; garnishes and stuffings and relishes; French peas, snow peas, black-eyed peas; asparagus spears, okra and stewed tomatoes, ratatouille; mounds of steamed rice and wild rice, or potatoes, rissole, creamed, fried, and sweet; casseroles and souffles, puddings and puffs; ham and joints of meats, tender veal or lamb, roasted fowl and stuffed game; salmon, trout, and flounder; stacks of muffins, biscuits, hard rolls, and fritters; sauces, Madeira, sweet and sour, tarragon, and apple brandy; pyramids of fruit, fresh, dried, and sugared; cheeses; mousses, cakes, tarts, and charlottes; frozen creams and ices, custards, cookies, and dumplings. And centered in a place of honor, in a great crystal bowl, a mountain of ambrosia, the slices of oranges, grapefruit, and pineapple, blended with strawberries and blueberries, and sprinkled with shredded coconut, ripened overnight in sherry, orange juice, and corn syrup, then chilled, was sweet enticement for those who wished to taste the food of the gods.

  A steaming coffee urn, and several decanters and carafes full of assorted spirits, and sparkling silver and crystal occupied the last table.

  People drifted from room to room, some choosing to sit and partake of the feast, while others, hearing the soft strains of music from the small grouping of musicians in the corner of the ballroom, chose to dance a reel or two, or if having already consumed a goodly portion from the buffet or punch bowl, a slow-stepping waltz would serve as exertion enough.

  “Enjoying yourself?” Adam Braedon asked his young cousin. “Saw you dancing a couple of waltzes with the redheaded Misses O’Farrell.”

  “They’re very charming, and their father is a professor of mine at VMI,” Justin Braedon remarked, nodding in polite acknowledgment of several people walking by.

  “Well, I’d say the most charming young woman in the room tonight is our young hostess,” Adam commented, his light gray eyes following the pale green figure of Blythe Travers as she moved among the guests attending her party, laughter following in her footsteps as she entertained them with a quick-witted, humorous retort and a ready smile.

  “Who? Oh, Palmer William’s little sister. Yes, quite nice.”

  “Nice? I hardly recognized her tonight. She’s blossomed into a beautiful young woman,” Adam said, his gaze searching out her figure again. And he was not speaking in exaggeration, for he had been almost speechless when greeting her this evening at the entrance to Travers Hill. Dressed in her pale green ball gown of ruffles and lace, she had been a startling vision of loveliness. Her dark hair was swept up to reveal the swan-like arch of her neck and the lovely contours of her bare shoulders, and the lacy décolletage of her bodice had revealed a tantalizing curve of soft breast, and Adam had forced himself not to stare like a country bumpkin standing dumbfounded before a queen. Why had he never noticed before what a lovely shade of hazel her wide long-lashed eyes were, and how they sparkled with humor? Her soft skin was creamy and touched with a blushing pink, her lips beautifully shaped and full above her delicately rounded chin, and when she smiled her left cheek dimpled just slightly, and the more he had watched her, the more he could guess by the dimple when she was about to smile. And it was indeed odd that he’d never realized what a perfect height she was. He had come to find it quite tiresome to hang his head low while bending down from the waist to converse with some of the smaller women of his acquaintance. But now Blythe, yes, Blythe was…

  “…yes, well I suppose some might consider her pretty, but she is rather quiet. Doesn’t say much, although I suppose she is bright enough,” Justin remarked, his eyes lingering on a petite blond who was chatting easily with friends nearby.

  “Quiet? Little Lucy?” Adam demanded, wondering if they were speaking of the same young woman. He laughed softly as he remembered her charging across the green with a saber in her hand. “Quiet?” he repeated.

  “Actually, I rather prefer fair-haired women. A pity only Althea inherited the fair hair from Mrs. Travers,” Justin remarked as Althea danced past, held close in the arms of her husband. Dressed in a ball gown of Lyons silk, with deep falls of lace trimmed with dark rose satin ribbons, she was, in Justin’s adoring eyes, the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen, and she was married to his cousin. “Although not fair-haired like her sister, Leigh Travers is certainly beautiful, in fact,” he allowed as she waltzed by in the arms of a handsome gentleman, “I’ve never seen her looking quite so lovely. She does have fine eyes, doesn’t she, and a very small waist,” he added, noting how easily the gentleman’s arm fitted about it while they danced. “And she certainly dances well,” he said with a look of admiration in his eye as she swung by again, showing a flash of lacy petticoat and slender length of silken calf above apricot-tinted silk slippers.

  “Well, I happen to like dark-haired women,” Adam said, feeling oddly irritated by his cousin’s cavalier dismissal of Blythe, “and admiration is all you are allowed as far as Leigh is concerned. She’s engaged, or have you already forgotten?”

  “I could hardly forget. My ears are still ringing from the tumultuous cheers that greeted the news. It would seem to be a match made in heaven. Leigh Travers and Matthew Wycliffe. An acclaimed beauty, and a handsome, wealthy gentleman, and a well-respected one at that. And both from good families, and from what I’ve heard, Matthew Wycliffe is the wealthiest man in the Carolinas. Do you know, I don’t believe I have heard a word spoken against the man’s name this whole evening? Quite remarkable. You’d think he’d have at least one enemy, would have slighted at least one fellow. Someone must bear a grudge against him. And everyone seems exceptionally pleased by the announcement,” Justin stated. “You’d think they were all about to marry the man.”

  “Yes, so it would seem.”

  “Except perhaps for that auburn-haired young woman in yellow,” Justin said, nodding in the direction of the woman of whom he spoke.

  “Sarette Canby. Once she gets over her envy, she will be quite pleased to have Leigh out of the county, and beyond her brother’s ear, for I suspect she thinks Leigh has influenced Guy
against her. But Guy, when he is thinking clearly, is not stupid, despite the way he acts at times. His temper will get the best of him one day, I fear.”

  “Wasn’t she after you last summer, at least till you took to your heels?”

  “Yes, I could introduce you again, but I don’t think she’d like army life, and that is what you intend, isn’t it?”

  “Seems a respectable career. I’m not like my father, or Neil. I am not content to spend the rest of my life in the territories, at least, not as a rancher. Both he and Neil like roaming the hills by themselves, and riding into the high country to hunt. Neither of them answers to anyone. They are lords unto themselves. A pity they don’t get along better. Now, I happen to like army life, and having my days regimented. I like order. And, I imagine, I’ll be back out in the territories soon enough when I get my commission, but I’ll be going back there with the power of authority of the United States government on my side. And I will use it against anyone who breaks the law, whether he be a white man, or a red man. And a Comanche is the worst, for he answers to no man,” Justin said, glancing across the room momentarily before emptying his punch glass. “Well, I must say, this has certainly turned into quite a celebration. It was a surprise, of course, to me, about the engagement. However, half the gathering seemed to be holding its breath in anticipation of the betrothal,” Justin said with a wide grin, winking at the petite blond who had managed to move slightly closer to where he stood in conversation.

  “Yes, quite a surprise for some,” Adam agreed, his glance finding that same familiar, dark-clad figure across the room that Justin had been staring so intently at only moments ago.

  Justin was right. What an evening it was turning out to be, he thought, wondering about all of the undercurrents swirling about the room and promising himself he’d find Blythe and ask her to dance before the evening was over.

  “You danced with Blythe earlier, didn’t you?” he asked Justin, casually flicking a nonexistent piece of lint from his cuff as if more concerned by that than the answer to his question.

  “Yes, as a courtesy to Palmer and the family. It is her party, after all. Stepped on my foot too. Palmer does dote on her, though. And since I’m the same way about my little sister, Lys Helene, I can understand and take pity on both of them. Don’t want the wrong sort dancing with your sister. Knows she is safe with me. I’m like a brother to her. Wish I’d been with Lys Helene in Charleston. Had a rotten time, poor child. She’s much too shy and came hotfootin’ back to the territories after a year. Wasn’t good enough for her snooty classmates.”

  “I liked her when I met her,” Adam said, surprised. “Ah, is Blythe’s card filled?”

  “Believe so, although I feel I should warn the gentlemen to watch their step, but being a gentleman, I’ll hold my tongue. Are you interested?”

  “I’ve known Blythe her whole life,” Adam said, looking at his cousin as if he’d become a lout before his eyes. But he spoke nonchalantly enough. “As you said, courtesy demands I should ask her to dance.”

  “Well, since I happen to be on her card for another two dances, I’ll allow you to have the honor in my stead,” Justin offered, an amorous glint in his light blue eyes as he looked down at the golden head of the young woman now standing at his elbow.

  “Your generosity has become my good fortune,” Adam murmured, hiding his pleased grin.

  “And mine,” Justin returned, asking the lovely young woman beside him to partner him in the next waltz that had been promised to Blythe.

  With a loud laugh that jarred Adam’s nerves, the fair-haired miss walked away with a flirtatious swing of her colorful skirts, Justin’s name now on her dance card. Adam eyed his cousin up and down and grinned. “I believe it must be the uniform. I don’t believe she even saw me standing here. Or else she thought I was a potted palm. But then the ladies do like men in uniform.”

  “Now I know why you invested in that ship of yours, so you can strut along the quay in a blue coat.”

  “I’m only the owner, not the captain, and I never strut,” Adam disclaimed. “And you’ll not catch me in uniform. I haven’t a heroic bone in my body. Hate the sound of gunfire. Lord help me if there’s a war, I’ll be branded a coward. But despite the advantage you have over me, I’d say I was by far the more fortunate, since I do possess a natural charm, so I never had to resort to wearing a uniform like you lads. A beautifully tailored blue frock coat and a Panama hat was all I needed to attend university. Scarcely managed to graduate even at that. Never would have had I been in uniform, what with all the ladies flirting with me. I would have been far too handsome and charming for my own good. And I would have been worried sick. Damned embarrassing, and uncomfortable, don’t you think, if you should sit on your sword by mistake?” Adam commented.

  “Ah, there speaks the civilian. You see, the very first training a cadet receives has to do with his sword,” Justin declared, his expression very serious. “Lesson One in the manual, ‘How to sit down without emasculating oneself.’ Every cadet learns that one by heart,” he proclaimed, placing his hand over his heart as if swearing to the truth.

  Adam laughed. “A little lower, lad,” he advised.

  “I’ve never yet heard of any officer to make his promotions who had a high voice,” Palmer contributed, overhearing the jesting comments as he came to stand by his classmate.

  “Then he’s been fortunate never to have met our Julia,” Adam added, much to the laughter of the group that had formed around them, for many had been in church that Sunday for services when the Reverend Culpepper had delivered his sermon in a high-pitched, squeaky voice, his step that day rather mincing, as if he still suffered some tenderness from the scalding.

  “I’ve come on a mission of the gravest urgency,” Palmer said, glancing back toward the door, where a slender figure in pale green silk stood waiting nervously. “I believe you have a waltz to dance,” he said conspiratorially, placing a hand around Justin’s elbow to guide him forward.

  “Actually,” Adam intervened, stepping forward quickly, “I have the great pleasure of the next waltz with Blythe.”

  “Oh?” Palmer questioned, glancing between the two cousins expectantly.

  “Yes, I discovered, much to my dismay, that Blythe’s card was filled, and I’d not yet had the pleasure of her company. So, since Justin had already danced with her, he very generously offered me the opportunity to dance with the loveliest young woman in this room,” Adam said, bowing slightly to them. “And as long as it is a Braedon your sister is dancing with, what difference does it make? We’re all cut from the same cloth,” he chided as he walked off, stopping momentarily by a vase to pluck a flower from the bouquet.

  Palmer stared after him suspiciously, for he knew Adam Braedon too well to take what he said very seriously, and he wasn’t going to have Blythe’s birthday ruined by one of his jests. But as he watched, Blythe’s momentary look of disappointment fled and was replaced by a shy smile as she looked up into Adam’s handsome face, then accepted the single rose he offered, then, with her gloved hand held firmly beneath his on his arm, he led her into the group positioning themselves as they waited for the first steps of the waltz to begin. Hurrying into a place next to them were Justin and the golden-haired woman he’d been eyeing, her giggles almost drowning out the first notes as the musicians began to play. And next to them, Julia, dressed in her yards and yards of blond lace, her shining golden hair a mass of curls à la Grecian and stuck with a long feather that kept flicking her partner’s nose every time she moved her head. And on the other side of Julia, who was smiling from ear to ear as she nodded at her dearest friend, were Leigh and Matthew, their figures gliding away in time to the music as if they’d danced together their whole lives.

  “If I may say so, this county has the most beautiful women in Virginia,” commented one of Palmer’s classmates as he watched the assemblage of colorful skirts, and the flowerlike faces with their petal-smooth complexions.

  “If I may correct you
, sir, all of Virginia has the most beautiful women, and in all of the country. I’m from Rappahannock County.”

  “My apologies. A toast, then! To the lovely ladies of Virginia!”

  “I’ll drink to that, since I married the prettiest little gal in Appomattox County.”

  “Another toast, if I may? To all Virginians.”

  “Here, here!”

  “I’ve never enjoyed such hospitality,” offered a young cadet from Alabama, who had been invited by Palmer, along with several of his classmates, to stay at Travers Hill. “To the Travers family, and their home, Travers Hill,” he said, holding up his glass to Palmer.

  “To the Old Dominion. Seat of liberty, heart of the Republic.”

  “Despite the fact that a Bostonian, or perhaps a Philadelphian, might dispute that, I’ll drink to our honored heritage.”

  “You’ve obviously never been to Texas,” another gentleman drawled.

  “Figure Texas hospitality is kissin’ kin to fightin’. I was there just long enough to get snakebit, catch a Comanche arrow in my leg, and learn to hate the sight of mesquite,” an older gentleman remarked, rubbing his thigh for emphasis. “Was down there at the border, defendin’ the Rio Grande in ’46.”

  “You saw action, then, sir?” asked an eager-eyed young cadet, the gold buttons on his uniform bright and shiny, and untarnished by time or battle.

  “Rode down there with Brigadier General Zachary Taylor himself. Old Rough and Ready. Now, there was a feller who knew how to fight Injuns, but then he was a Virginian, and come out of the cradle fightin’ on the frontier in Kentucky. I was part of Sam Ringgold’s flying artillery. Was just like bein’ back at the Point, being trained by him. Saw half of my ol’ classmates. Kirby Smith, Sam Grant, William Henry. Lost a good man when the major fell, yes, sir. But my luck was holdin’ strong, ’cause I dodged that Mexican cannon fire to cross the border without a scratch. Got all the way down to Mexico City and those pretty señoritas in time to see the Stars and Stripes raised high. Landed with Major General Winfield Scott right there beneath their noses on the Gulf Coast, then went climbing into the mountains with nothing more than I could carry on my back, didn’t know when I’d eat my next meal. Fought in the battle at Cerro Gordo, then rode with another good Virginian and West Point man, Robert E. Lee, when he and Kearny attacked Chapultepec, an old castle outside the gates of Mexico City, and then we broke through to take the enemy. Reckon that settled the score for what they did to us at the Alamo.”