On the opposite side of the street only four houses down, a pretty young woman was standing at her bedroom window, staring idly at the people walking up and down East Battery. Mrs. Carolyn Craig, who had been a widow for nearly four of her twenty-two years, was bright, attractive, and flirtatious, and she had always gotten what she wanted from men. She had been the most sought-after girl in New York for a season and had broken scores of hearts when she married Thomas Craig. Tom had seemed so worldly and ambitious to Carolyn, who had wanted a fine house and more fashionable clothes than her parents could give her. But the marriage had been a terrible mistake, and less than a year after she took her vows, Carolyn was both relieved and grateful to see her young husband laid to rest, the victim of pneumonia. After months of being tied to a fiercely jealous man who was as close to a miser as Carolyn ever wanted to meet, widowhood had been a reprieve, a welcome second chance at life. Carolyn had enjoyed playing the part of the proper, grieving widow, all the while knowing she was as sought after and openly adored by men as she had been before. But she’d never found any man who could hold her interest for long...until now. When she had come to Charleston a few months ago to visit her late husband’s aunt and uncle, she’d achieved immediate popularity and enjoyed the attention of dozens of homesick soldiers. A single, suggestive smile and men were fluttering about her like moths about a flame. But it was the one soldier who had hardly glanced at her that had made her stay months longer than she’d planned.
“Major Drayton Rambert...” she sighed the name aloud, wistfully wrapping her arms about herself as a shiver of excitement ran through her. He was far more handsome than any of the others, she thought, though it was not his appearance which held her attention. There was something so cool, so masculine about his manner, an intangible aura of danger, or violence, masked by a demeanor of perfect control. The moment she saw him she felt butterflies in her stomach. Tom’s uncle had introduced them, as he had introduced her to a hundred other soldiers, and she had actually felt light-headed as Drayton politely repeated her name, his voice so smooth and rich and masculine...But then he had turned away. Carolyn frowned as the memory caused a pang of frustration to surge through her. She had failed so miserably where Drayton Rambert was concerned. She had tried everything to be noticed, only to be ignored. But there had to be some way to-Her thoughts scattered as her eyes riveted on a tall, broad-shouldered soldier making his way along the street. When he stopped for a moment to gaze out at the river, she pulled aside the lace curtain and leaned forward for a better view, then hurriedly shrugged out of her silk dressing gown and into a hooped petticoat and pretty green print muslin gown. Muttering anxiously to herself the entire time, she struggled with the fastenings at the back of her dress, then paused for barely a moment before the looking glass before flying out of her room and down the front stairs. She purposely ignored the puzzled inquiry her late husband’s aunt called from the parlor, and let the front door slam behind her with a bang. She scampered up the street in excitement. He was still there! She paused, totally out of breath, just a few yards from him, considering his somber expression and working out a plan of attack. She was still standing there, considering, when he turned his head, straightened, and began to walk away. Her voice rose to stop him. “Major Rambert! What a pleasant surprise!’ ‘
Drayton whirled, then removed his hat and gave a polite nod. “Good evening, Mrs. Craig.” He eyed her speculatively for a moment, noting that she was alone, that she wore no cloak or bonnet, that her cheeks were flushed, her dark brown hair smoothed, her blue eyes alight with a devilish glint. She fluttered long, dark lashes and turned her attention coyly to the river. “I can see we have something in common,” she announced softly, feeling his eyes upon her and enjoying the feeling.
“Oh?”
She gave a nod and made a show of inhaling very slowly, letting her breasts rise high and full against the neckline of her gown. “I enjoy this place...the river...’’ She tossed him a sidelong glance to be sure he had noticed before she added, “Oh, it’s nothing like New York, of course, but I often come here when I need to think.”
Drayton’s eyes left her as he propped one foot on the bottom rung of the railing and braced both hands on the top. He was silent. She let her fingers creep slowly toward his hand, but refrained from touching him. She had seen forward women lose his interest with a single aggressive tactic, and she didn’t want to do that. But it was so difficult to get his attention, and she had to make an impression now that she had it. “Do you miss New York?” she asked him suddenly.
“Sometimes.”
Carolyn could hardly keep from frowning her frustration. At this rate, she would never draw him into a conversation. She drew a deep breath and decided to be bold. ‘’Who is she, Drayton?’’
He cocked his head to look at her and lifted a mildly curious brow. “Who is who, Mrs. Craig?”
“The woman you come here to think about,” she returned bluntly. “And don’t tell me it’s not a woman,” she hastened to add. “I know enough about men to recognize the look on your face.’’
“I’ll wager you do,” he agreed under his breath.
Her lips tightened angrily for an instant before she caught herself. She forced them into an attractive pout. “I-I remember your wife,” she lied in a soft, wistful tone. “Of course, I was very young when she died, but I remember how lovely she was... and-and when my late husband’s aunt mentioned your name the other day at tea, well, I-I know how much you must miss her.” She did her best to conjure up a tear as she reached to cover his hand with her own. “Six years is a long time to mourn, Drayton. Life is so short...”
His eyes fixed on the hand which covered his, a soft, lily-white hand with perfectly manicured nails that rubbed lightly, sensuously at his knuckles, then slipped into his palm. The movement was bold and very arousing to a man who had been without a woman for a long time. An open invitation. Drayton was very tempted to take her up on it, though he knew her late husband’s uncle, Henry Bates, an official at the Freedman’s Bureau, and though Carolyn was supposedly a proper young widow. She was definitely not the type he usually chose to dally with. Still...
Carolyn saw the sparks igniting in his cool, blue eyes and immediately backed off. Too much too soon. It had taken her two long months to get his attention, and she wasn’t about to settle for a brief, physical affair. Not from Drayton Rambert. He was much too handsome and too rich, according to the rumors she’d heard. They said his father had left him a fortune a year or so ago. She had just about made up her mind that she would marry him when he asked, and she had no doubt at all he would...if she played her cards right. She was looking forward to playing those cards.
With a properly demure smile, she slowly withdrew her hand. “Will you be attending the Dalys’ reception Friday next?”
His eyes narrowed knowingly as she changed her tactics. She was going to play games.
“I’m sure you must be invited,” she bubbled with a coy smile. “Everyone is.” She tilted her head just so. “I was hoping I might see you there, Drayton.” She fixed a sweet, hesitant look to her blue eyes before she raised them to his.
He placed his hand upon hers and she shivered at the feel of his fingers, warm and strong against her skin. The slow smile he gave her was different from the one she had anticipated, cold somehow and calculating. But she found it wildly exciting. “Well?” she inquired breathlessly. “Will I see you there?”
His eyes were so intent that she nervously averted her gaze, only to hear a touch of amusement in his response. “There’s a fair chance you will, Carolyn...a very fair chance.”
Chapter 15
The month of November drew to a close, bringing an end to the hopes of many Southerners. Charleston swelled with carpetbaggers who generously arranged to buy property from destitute owners at half, even a third of its value, rather than see the government confiscate it for delinquent taxes due the first of Decem
ber. Many elderly women and young widows with children were forced to accept whatever was offered them. Others waited and hoped for a reprieve until the hourglass was empty and they were forced to face reality. For the South there would be no mercy.
The first of December was the start of the busiest season of the year at O’Neal’s Emporium. Ambrosia was on her feet the entire day, trying to keep up with the constant flow of customers as well as unpacking and keeping records of the newly arrived Christmas items Maggie had ordered. Ambrosia found it easier to work alongside Maggie these days, since the emporium was so busy and she rarely had the time to lecture Ambrosia about her cool response to customers, much less relate the latest gossip. It was just as well, since Ambrosia’s emotions had been at their breaking point these past weeks, ever since the dream of rebuilding Heritage had been wrenched from her grasp. Today it was final. Today the taxes were due and would not be paid.
It was long after the sun had disappeared when Ambrosia finally finished the book work and put aside her pen with a sigh of utter exhaustion. Sheba, who had arrived at the usual time to escort her home, had taken a seat atop an empty wooden crate, shifting her weight uncomfortably every few moments and periodically shaking her head in disapproval. “You done miss suppah ‘gain, Miz Ambrosia,” she scolded as Ambrosia finally closed the book of accounts.
Ambrosia’s fingers lifted to gently rub her tired, burning eyes. “I’m not hungry anyway.”
“You’s nevah hungry no more.” She snorted as she abandoned her uncomfortable seat and came to stand beside her. “Prob’bly didn’t hab no dinnah, eithah.” When Ambrosia gave no answer, Sheba thrust out her bottom lip. “You wotks too hard fo’ a lady. An-”
“Please, Sheba. No lectures tonight,” she mumbled softly.
Ambrosia rose and put out the lamp, tying on her worn bonnet and throwing her threadbare cloak over her shoulders to ward off the evening’s chill. She reminded herself that she had caused Sheba to miss her supper too, and still she could not help but be grateful for the long day’s work, for the exhaustion. It had kept her from thinking about Heritage, which, as of today, no longer belonged to her. Acceptance of that came hard, though she had tried mightily to steel herself against the heartache.
She drew her cloak close about her as she hurried along Meeting Street, the cold wind echoing the despair that clutched at her spirit. The scent of a storm was in the air, and the night sky bore no trace of moon or star. Ambrosia reached the house and made her way into the parlor where Ledger, as was his custom whenever she missed supper, sat waiting in a large green chair near the window. She felt the need for his company tonight far more than the need for a meal, even though she had not eaten since early morning.
They spent time together every evening, though they were seldom alone with one another. A hand of cards or a word game or the simple conversation they shared made the minutes pass much too quickly. Often their eyes said far more than their words could say, particularly when Melissa sat nearby. And yet, there were strict boundaries to their behavior even when they were alone, a line over which neither Ambrosia nor Ledger dared to step. If she touched his hand, it was briefly, gently, always in what might be considered a sisterly fashion. If Ledger’s eyes held hers, it was only a few moments before one or the other looked away. The friendship that had begun with two adolescents in the garden at Barhamville Academy had become something stronger, more mature. Though their conversations were confined to trivial matters, though Ledger’s marriage vows placed hard and fast barriers between them, their relationship was deepening as each heart was drawn to the other.
Melissa, who envied Ambrosia her freedom and despised Ledger for condemning her to a life of poverty, seemed increasingly bitter and resentful of the closeness they shared, so Ambrosia was relieved when she entered the parlor and saw that Ledger was alone. Tonight at least she would not have to endure her sister’s deliberately cutting remarks. She made her voice sound bright as she took the chair nearest Ledger, grateful for the quiet, grateful that for once, Sheba had hurried off to have her own supper without scolding Ambrosia about having hers. She politely asked Ledger about Melissa and his mother, who were attending an engagement party for the daughter of one of Madeline’s friends. Ambrosia had not been invited; Ledger had chosen not to go.
“You’re late getting home tonight,” he remarked.
“We were busy today.” She gave him a half-smile.
‘’Looks like the Yankees celebrate Christmas same as we used to years ago, when we had money.”
She was sorry she had said it the moment she saw his face fall. She oughtn’t to have mentioned money or the fact that this Christmas there would be so little to celebrate. She hurriedly searched her mind for another topic of conversation. “Do you remember when you had the idea of tarring all the benches at the college because the dean refused you an extra Christmas holiday?”
He gave a faint, distant smile, very unlike the one she had hoped for. “You know I remember everything about those years,” he said softly. “Everything.” He sighed and struggled to his one good leg, propping a single crutch beneath his arm and turning so that he faced the window, though Ambrosia knew he could see little in the darkness. For once she could not bear the silence.
“The air smells of rain,” she said quickly, to break it. “And the wind off the sea is stronger than it was this morning. I think we’re in for quite a storm. And it will probably turn colder tomorrow, after...’’ Ambrosia faltered as he turned to face her, his eyes accusing.
“I’ve never known you to force conversation, Ambrosia. Why are you doing it now?”
Ambrosia stiffened for a moment, clenching her jaw against an angry retort. But the effort, after endless months of holding back so many feelings, proved too much. She needed so much to tell him! “Oh, Ledger!” she whispered. “What’s to become of us?” She squeezed her eyes tightly shut, and her face contorted as she tried to keep from sobbing aloud. Her voice was filled with the tears she refused to cry. “Every day I see the Yankees beating us... taking away everything that’s dear to us...until we haven’t anything left to fight for-” Her voice rose suddenly and she shook her head, unable to go on, unable now to hold back her tears.
For a long time he said nothing. He had never seen her cry before. There had only been that small rush of tears when he had first come home. It hadn’t been like this. It hadn’t made her seem so small and fragile...and nearly broken. He watched her shoulders tremble with the force of her emotion, and suddenly he could bear no more. “Come here,” he said softly, taking an awkward step toward her at the same time, leaning heavily on his crutch.
She rose and stepped hesitantly toward him, stopping carefully while still an arm’s breadth away, stretching her hand uncertainly toward the one which reached for hers. For an eternal moment, they stood unmoving, their eyes locked, the barriers between them melting away as they continued to hold one another’s eyes. Ledger drew her close until she was encircled by his arm, her head pressed against his chest. He held her closer, closer, touching the softness of her hair as he had wanted to do all these past months, pressing his lips to the top of her head as her tears continued to slip over her cheeks. ‘’You’re a brave woman, Ambrosia,” he said softly.
He felt her arms tighten about his waist, but was un aware of her timorous smile as she remembered that he had spoken those words once before. She bit her lip hard and struggled to stop her tears as she heard the brighter note fill his voice. “Do you remember the way you climbed that tree and hid, just so that you could ask me my name?” She heard him smile. “You demanded it, if I recall, for another girl who wasn’t quite as courageous.”
She drew back, her eyes wide with surprise as they met his. “You-you remember that?” she asked in amazement, quickly wiping the tears from her cheeks.
He grinned. “I also remember that look on your face when I gave you that silly little flower. I could tell you hadn
’t had many men present you with bouquets, or you wouldn’t have been so infatuated with my-er, gallantry. “
“I was awestruck,” she corrected gently.
“You were infatuated,” he insisted. “It was written all over your face. ‘’
Ambrosia’s smile vanished suddenly and her voice was small and childlike. “I was in love with you, Ledger. I’m still in love with you.”
His smile faded and he started to speak, but she pressed a hand to his mouth to stop him. Slowly, carefully, she stretched on tiptoe and touched her lips lightly to his. Her lips were soft and warm, and they instinctively parted as he responded. Her heart soared.
But then he stiffened and turned away. ‘’Ambrosia, don’t.”
She stared at his back as he took a step away from her, her eyes filling with tears once more. For that one, precious moment they had stepped across the line that had been drawn years before, and Ambrosia had tasted the dream she’d kept locked so long inside her heart. Though he turned away from her now’ it was too late to go back. “You’re the only thing that matters in my life anymore, Ledger,’’ she said quietly to his back. She spoke slowly, giving each word ample time to echo in the silence of the room.
‘’Ambrosia, please...” He turned to face her again, his shoulders squared, his mouth set, though he could do nothing to still the pounding of his heart. What a fool he’d been to allow this to happen, to jeopardize what little they could have together rather than leave it alone. He had known that if he once took her in his arms, they could never go back. And now...
She stepped toward him again, her fingertips touching tenderly to the scars which covered his cheek. The words came hard. ‘’I-I know that you have never loved me-’’ He stilled the caress of her hand and pushed it roughly from his face. She was the only woman who could even bear to look at him now, much less touch him. And he loved her more than he had ever thought it possible to love anyone. The temptation was too much. If he did nothing to stop her, she would be in his arms again in another moment. He couldn’t allow that to happen. “Ambrosia, you’re still such a child!”
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