The Magnolia Duchess

by Beth White

  “I’m afraid so, sir. I’m sorry for the confusion if I’m not what you were expecting.”

  “It’s just too bad that we came all the way down here for . . . But on second thought, I would like to inspect the stock that you have. If the others are of sufficient quality, then perhaps you’d go fetch your menfolk so that we can come to some kind of agreement.”

  Fiona held on to her temper with an effort. She had invested quite a lot of money and time over the past three years, raising Tully and the other horses for just this occasion. Now that her buyer was actually here, he wanted to bypass her and talk to her brother?

  “You’re welcome to look them over, of course, but I assure you all my horses are every bit as fine as Tully here. I also assure you that I know their value to a penny, and I’m perfectly capable of negotiating a fair deal. By myself. Without any help.” She spoke distinctly so there could be no misunderstanding.

  Coffee looked unhappy, but clearly he coveted Tully. “Just let me look at the horses, and I’ll send someone to the shipyard for your brother—just to make sure.”

  Thoroughly annoyed, Fiona put her foot back in the stirrup and wheeled Tully. “Follow me.”

  She led the soldiers toward the pasture. Putting two fingers to her lips, she produced a series of shrill whistles and waited for the horses to come running. They had been carefully trained, and she never failed to thrill at the sight of these magnificent creatures pounding toward her. Sneaking a glance at Coffee, she smirked at his slack-jawed admiration.

  As the horses gathered around her, she took a handful of carrot pieces from her pocket. “Every horse has his own signal,” she said, feeding each one a treat from the palm of her hand. “I’ve raised them all from birth. They’ve never been mistreated, and their mouths are soft and responsive.” She gave the general a pointed look. “They know who the boss is.”

  “I can see that.” Coffee’s eyes gleamed with reluctant appreciation. “Apologies for my initial doubt. Could I see you put each one through his paces?”

  “Of course. The paddock is just beyond the barn.”

  Here came the dicey part—keeping Charlie out of sight and sound. She led her visitors on a track as far as possible from the barn, entering the paddock from its west entrance. The rest of her tack was locked in the tack room, Léon had the key, and she was going to have a hard time explaining why.

  “You and your men may watch from outside the paddock here,” she told the general, praying he wouldn’t object.

  Apparently her theory that horses would obey what they were expected to obey applied to men as well, for Coffee nodded and ordered his officers to line up against the paddock railing. They sat their horses, talking quietly amongst themselves, spitting tobacco in nasty streams on the ground, while she took Tully to the center of the paddock.

  Dismounting, she stepped to his head and spoke to him softly. “This is it, boy, your chance to show off. Make me proud.” On her signal, Tully bowed, and the soldiers cheered. Smiling, she remounted and the show began.

  Twenty minutes later, she dismounted, removed her hat, and bowed along with the horse.

  “Are they all that well trained?” asked one of the officers, a mustachioed young man on the palomino.

  “Tully’s the best, but yes, they’re all fine.” As she removed the horse’s tack, she could hear the men muttering but tried not to let them shift her focus. Tully stood patiently until she turned him loose with a slap on the rump, then he galloped off into the pasture, tossing his magnificent head. When she called Dusty, he came running, dark mane flying.

  But before she could even put the saddle blanket on him, General Coffee waved to catch her attention. “I’d like to see the buckskin mare over there next, if you please.”

  Fiona followed the direction of his gaze to Bonnie, who stood with her head over the rail, watching the proceedings with the air of a queen enjoying the performance of her court entertainers. “Sorry, sir, she’s my personal mount and isn’t for sale.”

  Coffee handed his mount’s reins to a lieutenant and walked over to Bonnie. He examined her points, running experienced hands over her withers and legs, picking up her feet to check her hooves, opening her mouth to look at her teeth. “This is the finest of them all,” he said, patting Bonnie’s neck. “I’ll give you double the price for her.”

  “I told you she’s not for sale.”

  “My dear, everything has a price. I’m sure your brother will agree with me.”

  She laughed. “You haven’t even seen her working.”

  He gave her a look that probably cowed his troops. “You are clearly a gifted trainer—” he didn’t add “for a girl,” though she was sure he wanted to—“and this is a beautiful animal.”

  “And she is mine. My father bought her for me, I have her title, and she is at least half my source of income. Why would I let her go for any price?”

  The general frowned at her, stymied. Finally he grunted. “All right then, let’s see the gelding work.”

  By the time Fiona had worked the remaining horses that she intended to sell, well over an hour had passed. Just as she let the last one go, the officer who had ridden to the shipyard returned—without Léon.

  “Did you not find Lanier?” the general demanded.

  “Oh, I found him all right,” the young man said, looking sidelong at Fiona. “But he said he was working, and his sister was perfectly capable of selling her own horses.”

  She could have said I told you so. She could have done any number of satisfying, ultimately childish things. But none of those actions would raise the price of her horses. Nor reflect honorably on her family or her God.

  So she smiled sweetly. “General Coffee, perhaps you and your men would like to come inside for a cool drink or cup of tea to ease the negotiations. And I’ve a sweet potato pie that will make you drool.”

  Oh, this was going to be fun. He wanted those horses. And she could think of so many excellent ways to spend his money.

  Charlie jerked upright, thinking the rat in his dream was about to run across his pallet.

  He had no idea how long he’d been asleep, but judging by the deep darkness, the time had to be somewhere close to midnight. There had been a bright harvest moon in the sky during the last few nights, but cloud cover and rain since the afternoon had doused what light might have come from the heavens.

  The last dregs of the nightmare dispelled, he yawned and lay back down. Thank God it wasn’t real. He hated rats.

  Then he heard the noise again, louder. He sat up and scooted toward the door, the chains about his ankles clanking. “Who’s there?” It was too early for Sehoy, and he couldn’t think of any reason for Léon to come back.

  “Charlie? You’re awake?”

  “Fiona! What are you doing out here? It’s the middle of the night!”

  “I couldn’t sleep, and I wanted to talk to you.” She sounded forlorn.

  “You’re going to get in deep trouble if they catch you out here.”

  She didn’t answer for a moment. “I like that you’re worried about me. Nobody else cares how I feel.”

  “Of course I care how you feel. But I don’t want you arrested for treason.”

  “Nobody’s going to arrest me. Besides, like you said, it’s the middle of the night and everyone’s asleep. It’s a regular frog-strangler out there, so I seriously doubt anyone will come outside for any reason, even if they did wake up.” He heard her settle back against the door. “Please, Charlie, I just wanted to hear your voice for a bit, then I promise I’ll go back inside.”

  He engaged in a weak tussle with his better judgment. “Oh, all right, but no more than a few minutes. I’m very busy these days, and I need my sleep.”

  She laughed. “I miss you so much. Did Léon tell you I sold five horses today? I’m quite the businesswoman.”

  “I heard the commotion this morning, but Léon wouldn’t tell me who it was.”

  “He probably thinks you’ll try to escape and r
eport what you heard.” She sighed. “Charlie, why didn’t you let General Coffee know you’re in here? I kept expecting you to start singing or something.”

  “Oh, did you enjoy my singing? I could give you another concert, if you like.”

  “No, really. Why didn’t you make some noise?”

  “Fiona, think about it. If the American military takes me prisoner, I’m not likely to be treated with as much civility as you and your family have shown me. Have you seen the prisons in these old forts?”

  “Are they really that bad?”

  “Let’s just say I wouldn’t be getting any sweet potato pie.”

  “I imagine my brother Sullivan is being mistreated too. Isn’t he? Do you think he’s even still alive?”

  “I don’t have any way of knowing,” he said gently, “but let’s hope so.”

  “How long does it take for a letter to reach England?”

  “It can be done in a month, but more often six weeks to two months.” He hesitated, imagining the worry in her eyes. “But you understand that sometimes letters don’t reach their destination at all. The war may be over before my grandfather takes action.”

  “Charlie, maybe if you promise not to try to escape, my brothers will let you out. This is all so—so . . . frustrating.”

  He turned his cheek to the door, wishing he could touch her, wishing he could relieve her anxiety. “I cannot promise any such thing. I’m an officer, and I must follow my duty. But even if I did, do you suppose Léon would for one minute allow me to be alone with his little sister? Fiona, you should hate me.”

  “But I don’t! I’m sorry we’re on opposite sides of this war, I’m sorry your country has invaded mine, but I’m not sorry I’ve come to know you. I can’t help but believe there’s a way we can—”

  “What? What are you expecting? You’re not going to turn your back on your family and your home. Are you?”

  “Of course not!”

  “Then what?” He got to his knees, hands flat against the door. “I would give my life for you, Fiona, but you don’t want a man who would commit treason!”

  He could hear her crying softly and ached to comfort her. Still, he couldn’t be cruel enough to pretend there was a way for him to offer himself to her.

  “I’ve been lying here with nothing to do but pray,” he said, “—for you and for me, for our countries—which should be the same, you know.”

  “Charlie, you’ve been praying? Talking to God?” Her voice sounded lighter, in spite of everything.

  “It’s a bit one-sided,” he said with a sigh. “He’s not talking back.”

  “Uncle Luc says God already said everything he wanted to say in the Bible.”

  “So what does the Bible have to say about our circumstances?”

  “That we must love our enemies and pray for those who persecute us.”

  “You know I love you.” Saying it aloud made the darkness blacker, the distance between them more impenetrable than any wooden door. “But you are not my enemy.”

  “Ohhh . . . Charlie . . .” Her voice shredded on a sob. “What am I going to do? I can’t bear this.”

  “You’re going to go back to bed and pretend you never came out here. If I make it through the war, I’ll come back for you and we’ll sort this out. Promise me, Fiona. Whatever happens, keep yourself safe for me.”

  “I can’t make any such promise, you know that. I have to do my part—”

  He groaned. “All right, then. Just—go back to the house before somebody comes looking for you. Don’t do this again, it’s too hard on us both.”

  “I love you, Charlie. I dream about the night you kissed me.”

  “Fiona, for the love of God—”

  “I know! I know! I’m going.”

  He listened, heard her light footsteps moving away, until nothing but the soft nighttime shuffling of the animals broke the silence. He fell back onto the pallet. He had to get out of here. There had to be a way.

  OCTOBER 6, 1814

  By the time Fiona dragged herself out of bed, the rain had turned the yard and paddock into a sticky mess of mud, sand, and oyster shells, and large puddles of water created hazards for anyone foolish enough to venture out of the house. Despite this, the men continued work on the ship with dogged determination, leaving Fiona and Sehoy to keep each other company.

  While Sehoy worked on a drawing, Fiona moped about, unable to concentrate on her book. And now she only had Bonnie and Washington to care for. They were hunkered down in the barn, a place Fiona wouldn’t have gone if she’d been offered a thousand dollars. She couldn’t take another confrontation with Charlie. Léon had warned her, she hadn’t listened, and what a price she’d paid. She’d lain awake until dawn.

  The third time she walked to the window, looked out at the rain, and sighed, Sehoy put down her pencil. “Fiona, what’s the matter?”

  “I’m just bored.”

  “Really? Because you seem . . . sad. I know it’s hard on you . . . Charlie—I mean—”

  “I didn’t have any choice, Sehoy.” She didn’t mean to sound so abrupt, but she really didn’t want to talk about him this morning. Not when the pain was so raw. She turned, softening her tone. “I was just thinking, maybe you and I should make a trip to Mobile to visit Maddy. She missed seeing you when she and Desi came here back in August. Would you like that?”

  Sehoy hesitated.

  Fiona tipped her head. “Sehoy? What’s wrong? Do you have something against Maddy?”

  “Of course not!” Sehoy was blushing. “I just—I would miss your—the rest of your family. Uncle Luc and—and Oliver—”

  Huh. So the wind blew that way. She stared at Sehoy blankly. “But Oliver’s just a child!”

  “He’s not a child!” Sehoy’s voice was fierce. “He’s quite a good man, and of course I admire him—but no more than Léon or Uncle Luc,” she added hastily.

  “Of course,” Fiona said, laughter bubbling. “I’d miss them too, but we wouldn’t stay long. Just long enough to go to church and maybe do a little shopping. I want a new dress, and Maddy could use the business. What do you think? Will you come with me?”

  “Of course I will.” Sehoy’s rare humor surfaced. “I suppose Oliver will still be here when I get back.”

  OCTOBER 8, 1814

  NAVY COVE

  Early Saturday morning, Sehoy sat by herself on the porch swing, waiting for Fiona to finish packing. The little trunk that Oliver and Uncle Luc had made for her when she first came sat over by the steps. Wrought of finely sanded and waxed pine, with beautiful brass hasp and hinges, it had a cunning false bottom where she could store art supplies and anything else she cared to keep from prying eyes. Charlie’s cipher was there, tucked into her beaded satchel.

  Beyond those meager items, she had little to pack, even for a trip to Mobile. She possessed only the dress and underclothes she wore every day, a dimity nightdress, and an extra pair of stockings. Fiona wanted to have a new church dress made for her, but Sehoy had only agreed to think about it. She didn’t want to be beholden to her benefactors any more than absolutely necessary.

  Two days ago, Fiona had sent word to Maddy that she and Sehoy were coming, and that they planned to stay for a week if it was convenient. Sehoy wondered what they would do if it wasn’t convenient. Would they turn right around and come back home? How embarrassing that would be! But this family did things—wild, impulsive things—that Sehoy would never dream of.

  For example, she knew about the night Fiona had gone to Charlie. Not that she’d been spying exactly, but she’d awakened when Fiona left the room, suspected where she was going, and asked Charlie about it the next day. He’d been unusually taciturn about the whole thing, though he admitted he’d spoken to Fiona and made her promise not to come to him again. And he’d sworn Sehoy to secrecy as well.

  She sighed, toeing the swing into motion. It was obvious that Charlie had strong feelings for Fiona. Only a man in love would be so careful to protect her from the repercu
ssions of her own folly. Maybe one day Oliver would come to feel that way about Sehoy. Until then, she had to keep her emotions to herself. Mama had taught her that nothing made a man run faster in the opposite direction than a woman’s direct pursuit. This little separation, painful though it might be, was a good thing. Maybe Oliver would even come to miss her.

  As if she had conjured him from her thoughts, the screen door opened and Oliver himself stepped out onto the porch. He smiled when he saw her on the swing.

  “Sehoy! Fiona said you’d be here, but I was afraid—” His cheeks turned ruddy. “I mean, can I sit with you while you wait for her?”

  “Of course. What are you going to do today?” She clasped her hands to still her trembling fingers.

  He looked at the seat of the swing as if measuring the distance between Sehoy and the arm brace, then flung himself down, a strategic inch between them, and crossed his arms without looking at her. “We’ll work on the ship, since the weather’s good. Pa says I’m a dab hand at carving trunnels, so that’s what I’ll be doing.”

  Sehoy nodded. Trunnels, or treenails, she had learned, were the wooden spikes used to fasten the planks to the ship’s frame. The trunnels would then be caulked with tar-soaked hemp fibers, making the ship watertight.

  “How much longer until the ship is finished?” she asked. “I want to see it launched.”

  Oliver’s lips pursed in the beginnings of a grin. “I’m sure you’ll be back before that happens. Top deck will take another couple of weeks, then we’ll build the cabins and their furniture. I’m hoping Léon will let me help with the figurehead. You’re not the only artist in the family.”

  She stared at him. “I didn’t know you were a wood-carver! Why didn’t you tell me?”

  “I wanted to surprise you.” He reached into his shirt pocket and pulled out a knobby little package wrapped in a silk handkerchief tied with a leather string. “Here, I made this for you.”

  So taken off-guard was she that a long moment went by before Oliver’s expression fell in chagrin, and she gasped. “Oh! Oh, let me see!” Eagerly she cupped her hands until he laid the gift in them. Unable to meet his eyes, she fumbled with the string and finally got it loose. The handkerchief fell away to reveal a four-inch-long cedar dolphin, carved so that it appeared to leap from its little pedestal. It was sleekly sanded, oiled, and polished—the most beautiful thing she’d ever been given.