by Beth White
Mouth ajar, she examined it through blurry eyes, admiring the subtle ripple of muscles, the cunning fins and flippers, the details of blowhole and eyes and smiling mouth.
“Oh, Oliver.” Holding the dolphin to her cheek, she bent double and started to cry.
“Sehoy, wait . . . what’s wrong? I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to . . . Hey, now.” She felt his hand on her back. “I thought you’d like it, and I didn’t want you to get so excited about being in the city that you’d forget about us down here. Sehoy?”
“I like it—of course I like it.” She wiped her eyes with her skirt. “It’s so b–beautiful!”
“Oh. Well then. Then why are you crying?”
“Because you’re so sweet to me.”
He stirred beside her in confusion. “I do not understand girls at all. Fiona didn’t tell me you were going to cry.”
She sat up, wishing she had her own handkerchief, but it was packed in the trunk. Which Oliver had made. She almost burst into fresh tears, but swallowed them back. She wasn’t about to use his silk handkerchief to blow her nose.
“Here.” Oliver pulled another handkerchief, a clean white cotton one, from his breeches pocket and handed it to her. “Are you all right?”
Gratefully she dabbed at her nose. “I’m fine. Thank you so much. I’ll take him to Mobile and look at him every day and think of you.” Because he looked so gratified and so utterly Oliver-ish, she leaned up and boldly kissed his cheek. “I don’t really want to go anywhere.”
He put his hand where her lips had been. “You don’t?”
“No, but Fiona says I can’t stay here by myself with all you men, it wouldn’t be proper, even though she has done so for years. But I will definitely come back, and she says we won’t stay above a fortnight.”
“That’s all right then. I’ll make you something else while you’re away, and when you get back I’ll take you out in the pirogue and show you where the real dolphins swim and play.” He eyed her doubtfully. “Would you like that?”
She was terrified of being on the water, but she nodded. “I’d like to go with you.”
“Good.” He grinned, glanced at the door. “Maybe Fiona will stay in the house another minute.” His gaze dropped to her mouth. “I want to kiss you, Sehoy.”
A million butterflies took flight in her chest as she waited. Indian boys didn’t kiss girls, but of course she’d heard of the practice. She closed her eyes as Oliver’s face lowered to hers. His lips were warm and firm, lingering sweetly until she responded. Oh, she definitely liked this.
He lifted his head and whispered, “Hurry back, will you?”
9
NOVEMBER 1, 1814
MOBILE
Uncle Rémy’s house was full to bursting on this first night of November. Since the Spanish invasion, the Laniers of Mobile traditionally hosted a harvest ball, which in the past had been held at Burelle’s Tavern and Inn. However, Burelle’s had long since declined in both influence and glamour, leaving Aunt Giselle no choice two years ago but to wheedle her indulgent husband into building a ballroom onto the back of their already sprawling home.
Maddy, dressed in a new lavender sprigged-muslin empire gown, worked her way from the refreshment table toward a seating cluster in one corner, where beautiful Madame de Marigny, the guest of honor, held court. Madame was also gowned in one of Maddy’s creations, a peach-colored sarcenet with delicate puffed sleeves dripping in Alençon blonde lace to complement her Spanish coloring. Judging by the crowd of male admirers around the New Orleans matron’s chair—and the envious looks from her feminine rivals—the ensemble was a hit. Maddy had yet to greet her client this evening, and she meant to remedy the oversight. Madame was a delightful woman, witty and well-educated, and Maddy wanted to introduce her to Fiona.
She had almost reached her quarry when a big warm hand on her elbow stopped her. She knew it was Desi, even before she looked up into his smiling brown eyes.
“Where are you going in such an all-fired hurry, Mistress Burch?” he demanded, planting himself in front of her. “I want my name on your dance card before they’re all taken.” He plucked the little card dangling from a jeweled bracelet on her wrist and examined it with exaggerated anxiety. “Oh good, the supper dance is still available. I’ll take it.” He scribbled his name on the card, then lazily turned her hand to pull her glove back with his thumb and kiss her wrist.
She closed her eyes against the feel of his lips on her pulse point and said breathlessly, “You can’t write over someone else’s name. I’m engaged to Major Coffee for that dance!”
“Oh, was that fuzzy line a signature? I’m sure the major won’t mind yielding to an old friend in this instance. Besides, I have it on good authority that the orchestra is considering a waltz, and it wouldn’t be proper for you to engage in such a scandalous activity with anyone other than your big brother.”
“You’re not my brother.” She hadn’t meant for it to come out as such a bald, flat denial. Flustered, she jerked her hand from his and whipped it behind her back.
Desi’s eyebrows went up. “Indeed I am not, if we are speaking in less-than-metaphorical terms.” He studied her face. “Are you all right, Maddy-Mo?”
“Why wouldn’t I be? Have you seen Fiona?”
“She’s engaged with a cadre of young soldiers . . . somewhere over there.” Desi waved in the direction of the dance floor. “She and the little Indian girl are quite the belles this evening.”
Maddy stood on tiptoe and caught a glimpse of her cousin dancing with a young officer. She seemed to be enduring his attentions rather than precisely enjoying them. “I’m worried about her, Desi.”
“Why?”
“She’s . . . not herself. I don’t know how to explain it.”
“Hmm. Perhaps you’d better come tell me about it. Where’s your shawl? It’s chilly outside.”
“I don’t know. Desi, I really need to—”
But he was already towing her, gently but inexorably, toward the French window leading out into the garden. He paused long enough to remove his coat and drape it about her shoulders, then tucked her hand through his elbow and marched her out into the darkness. The spicy scent of Aunt Giselle’s wax myrtles drifted about them, and the tree frogs chirred a cheerful monotone. Maddy had been in this garden hundreds of times, but here alone in the dark with Desi Palomo, her nerves pinged. Clutching the lapels of his coat together at her bosom, she stood looking up at the bright crescent moon sailing overhead.
“Pretty, isn’t it?” Desi turned her, pulling her back against his chest and wrapping his arms about her. “Are you warm enough?”
She shivered. “I’m fine.”
That was a lie. She was anything but fine. At least with her back to him, he couldn’t see her face in the dark. But she could feel his strength, his protection, the deep rumble of his voice as he spoke.
“Tell me, what worries you about Fiona? You said something like that after we visited them at Navy Cove.”
“I can’t put my finger on it, but she’s not herself. She’s always been a bookish little thing—and horse-mad, of course—but since she arrived here, she will hardly speak of anything personal, even with me. And tonight her mind seems a million miles away, as if she’s barely tolerating the men she dances with. She used to love to dance.”
“Hmm. You don’t suppose she’s ill?”
“I don’t think so. At least, not in any physical way. Desi, I think something happened to her, maybe during that battle at Fort Bowyer. Maybe one of the soldiers assaulted her.”
“If she won’t tell you about it, there’s little you can do. What about the Indian girl, Sehoy? Have you tried asking her if she knows anything?”
Maddy sighed. “Sehoy is so shy, she rarely speaks to me directly. Honestly, I don’t know why either of them came.”
Desi’s arms tightened around her. “Maddy, you’re the easiest person in the world to talk to. But I’ll give it a try, if you want me to.”
; “Would you?” Anxiety dropping away with his simple offer of help, she turned in his arms and looked up at him.
His face dipped close to hers. “All you had to do was ask.”
She forgot the cold, forgot Fiona, forgot the party and everything else except this man who had gone from beloved brother to just . . . beloved. How long had she loved him? When had she not loved him?
“Des, I don’t want to take advantage of you.”
“Oh, Maddy.” He lifted a hand to brush his thumb across her cheek. “We’re long past that, you and I.”
“How long?” she whispered.
Laughter shook his voice. “Since I was old enough to shave.”
“What?”
“Your parents knew, of course, which is why I was sent off to college rather early.”
“How could I not know?”
“You see what you want to see, I suppose. They asked me not to speak to you until you’d had a chance to see more of the world—they took you to Europe, and then Washington.” He sighed. “And then you fell in love with the soldier.”
She felt his disappointment and hurt, suddenly understood her parents’ reluctance to bless her marriage. But they’d let her go her way.
“Oh, my . . . Desi—”
“No, don’t feel sorry for me. I had a lot of growing up to do. Things I needed to accomplish. I really was happy for you.” His voice roughened. “But I confess, I’m glad you’re free now.”
“Me too. When I saw you again, I couldn’t believe it. I never imagined you’d come back here after serving on the president’s staff.”
“I asked for the assignment, for lots of reasons. I didn’t know your husband had died, and I needed to get you out of my system, to say goodbye. But—there you were, standing in the French market, beautiful as ever, only more so. And there seemed—seems to be a chance for me now.” He paused. “Is there? If you tell me to leave you alone, I will, but as long as you need me, I’m here.”
The silence of the garden stretched, muted sounds of music and laughter bleeding from the house. And oh, the delicious anticipation of that silence. “Desi, will you kiss me? I really need you to—”
His lips took the rest of the words from her mouth, gave them back to her, navigated her into uncharted territory where up was down and inside was out. Making himself at home, he kissed her cheeks and eyelids and temples, and again her lips, until she couldn’t have said where he left off and she began.
Then that fragile, incandescent bubble of oneness burst as sudden noise blared from the ballroom.
“Mistress Madeleine! Mr. Palomo! They said you were out here—”
Maddy dropped her arms from around Desi’s neck and whirled. His coat fell away from her shoulders as she hurried toward the light of the patio. “Here I am, Sehoy. What’s the matter?”
Sehoy stood just outside the open window, wringing her hands. “Oh, thank goodness! Please come—and hurry! Fiona’s in trouble.”
“Wait.” Behind her, Desi cupped Maddy’s shoulders, holding her still. “Before we jump, tell us what happened. Better to go in prepared.”
“One of the soldiers who went to Navy Cove to buy Fiona’s horses suspected something funny and started asking questions. Then a couple of men from the shipyard, here in Mobile for the weekend, mentioned that Charlie Kincaid had disappeared. So word got back to General Coffee, and he buttonholed Fiona just now. She wouldn’t lie to him, and so he accused her of hiding an enemy spy.”
“Charlie Kincaid?” Maddy couldn’t think where she’d heard that name.
“Yes, ma’am. Please come with me—the general is very angry, and I didn’t know what to do!”
Desi sighed and put on the coat he’d picked up off the ground, then took Maddy’s hand to tuck it through his arm. “We’d best intercede, don’t you think? And quickly.”
If she’d never taken a ride on the beach that day. If she’d ridden in another direction. If she’d told Léon and Uncle Luc-Antoine who Charlie was to begin with. If she’d let General Coffee take him prisoner when he came for the horses.
If. If. If.
No going back.
Fiona held her head high and stared at the general with every bit of inbred Lanier confidence. “I am no traitor, sir, and I resent your questioning my patriotism. My brothers and I simply decided it would be best for our family and our country—not to mention the family of Lord St. Clair, who saved the life of my uncle Rafa—to hold Mr. Kincaid at Navy Cove until such time as he could be traded for the safe return of our youngest brother Sullivan. I don’t see what catastrophic line has been crossed. Prisoners are exchanged all the time.”
Before General Coffee could answer, a deep, smooth voice behind Fiona said, “Miss Lanier is in the right of it, as you are very well aware.”
She looked over her shoulder to find Desi Palomo approaching the gathering crowd, with her cousin Maddy—looking beautiful but oddly mussed, as well as wide-eyed with anxiety—clinging to his arm.
Desi gave Fiona a Keep your mouth shut look. “General, I assume you don’t know the history of the Lanier and Gonzales families in this area, but their loyalty as American citizens is unquestioned. Also—perhaps General Jackson did not inform you of the heroic actions of Miss Lanier and her family during the battle at Fort Bowyer?”
Coffee folded his arms. “I heard some such story, but everyone knows how such tales get exaggerated in the telling.”
“General, I was there,” said a young soldier standing nearby on crutches. His bandaged left leg was missing from the knee down. “Miss Lanier and her cousin over there by the door tended the wounded for nearly forty-eight hours straight, and I doubt I’d be alive today without them.”
The general scowled at the young man. “I don’t remember asking for your opinion.”
“But you said—”
Desi cleared his throat. “Sir, I understand your concern, but perhaps you’d allow me, as General Jackson’s agent, to go to Navy Cove, investigate the truth of the rumors, and bring back a valid report.”
“I want the prisoner brought here, not just a report. I’m going to send—”
“General Coffee! Sir, pardon the interruption—” A panting young officer pushed through the crowd. “General Jackson is looking for you. Immediately, if you please, sir.”
Clearly irritated, Coffee placed a hand on his sword. “All right. Where is he?”
“In Mr. Lanier’s smoking room, sir. There’s news, but the general said not to blurt it out here in front of—”
“Yes, yes, boy, tell him I’m coming, as soon as I settle this issue at hand.”
The young officer saluted and disappeared in the direction from which he’d arrived.
Coffee frowned at Desi. “Palomo, I shall leave the matter of the prisoner to you, though I should think General Jackson will have need of your services ere long. I bid you good evening, sir.” He quit the room, leaving the crowd of merrymakers milling about in an uneasy hush.
Fiona hardly knew where to look. She had just escaped a dangerous situation, but the worst might be yet to come. She should be angry with Sehoy, but the girl was looking so miserable, Fiona could hardly upbraid her in public. Biting her lip, she caught Maddy’s eyes. “I’m sorry to have embarrassed you, Cousin.”
“Nonsense,” Maddy said stoutly. “What dreadful manners the man has, to have made such a ridiculous charge without questioning you in private. In fact, I’ve had quite enough of this noise and heat. Desi, would you escort us ladies next door so that we may sort this out in my kitchen in peace?”
“Of course.” Desi bowed and went to retrieve Maddy’s woolen shawl and the new hooded cloaks Fiona had had made for herself and Sehoy. By the time they said their goodbyes to Aunt Giselle—who acquiesced to their early departure when Fiona pled a headache—the party guests had resumed their original gaiety.
“Elijah is sound asleep upstairs with Diron, bless him,” Giselle said, kissing Maddy’s cheek at the door. “Let him stay for breakfast, and I�
��ll send him home after you’ve all had a good night’s sleep. Fiona, a lemongrass tisane will take care of that headache, darling.”
“Yes, ma’am. Good night,” she said, and followed Maddy and Desi across the yard with Sehoy bringing up the rear.
The three guests sat at Maddy’s kitchen table, avoiding each other’s eyes while their hostess prepared tea.
When Maddy finally sat down, Fiona sighed. “All right, Cousin, I suppose I’ve run myself up a flagpole, as your papa would say. But I promise I didn’t do it on purpose! Events just . . . rolled one into the other, and I couldn’t seem to get myself untangled.”
Maddy skewered Fiona with a stink eye reminiscent of Aunt Lyse at her most Creole maman. “Then perhaps you’d best start at the beginning—and tell the entire truth this time, if you please! Who is Charlie Kincaid?”
“Don’t you remember? He’s Lord St. Clair’s youngest grandson, who was rusticating at Riverton when we were there.”
Maddy frowned. “The tall, skinny boy with the mismatched eyes? Didn’t he do something disgraceful at Eton to get sent down?”
Fiona nodded. “He thought you were beautiful, but you paid him not the slightest attention, which I suppose is understandable. But he and I became friends . . . of a sort. We nearly blew up the kitchen—” When Desi laughed, she said hastily, “—but I digress. Shortly after we left England, Charlie apparently talked his grandfather into buying him a commission in the British navy. We never corresponded, so I don’t know exactly where the navy took him . . . except . . .” She gulped. “The very day we found out about Sullivan’s capture, I found Charlie washed up on the beach at Mobile Point. He was out of his head and didn’t know me, but I recognized him right off and took him home to recover. I—I didn’t tell anyone who he was beyond his name, because—because it just didn’t seem like a good idea. I was afraid Léon would hurt him or turn him in to the authorities.”