To Love a Scoundrel

by Sharon Ihle

  How had she, the author of this scheme, become a mere observer as the drama unfolded? When had she lost control? She stared at Harry's graying temples and frowned. What was going on in his head? she wondered. What did he really and ultimately intend to do with her, this daughter he insisted he'd been blissfully unaware of? The man had positively dogged her heels since they'd formed their new alliance. Every time she turned around, there was Harry Benton, the contrite, ubiquitous father of her nightmares. Was it part of his act? Or did Harry Benton actually hope to step into her life and try to control it?

  He was certainly trying to do so now. Even the simple little detail of deciding how she would address him had to be done his way and with panache. He insisted that she call him, Faathah, not Father. So European, he'd said, so very distinguished.

  So asinine, she grumbled to herself.

  When he wasn't correcting her diction, he was showing her how to become a proper lady—a lady, for pity's sake, as if she didn't know the difference between a teaspoon and a soup spoon. When he finally decided her table manners would do, he began teaching her how to walk. Jewel Flannery, a woman capable of bringing the Royal Guard to its knees with one shake of her hips, had to be taught how to walk and by Harry Benton, of all people. If it hadn't been so laughable, she would have lost her mind over the last two days. Instead, it was beginning to look as if Brent had.

  Where had he been during all Harry's careful tutoring? Hiding around corners, laughing when he got the chance, grinning when silence was the order of the day. Every time she tried to ambush him and work out a plan for actually pitting Brent's mother against Harry, he would change the subject or excuse himself and run off to the pilothouse. It was almost as if he had other reasons for bringing the "Poindexters" out to his family home—reasons she hadn't yet figured out.

  Her frown deeper, more introspective, Jewel fanned her overheated skin and went back to work on her major objective: what to do when they arrived at Sumner Hall. Just let Mrs. Connors and her former lover bump into each other? Orchestrate an accident that would shake the truth from one of the most wanted criminals in America? Could the culmination of four years' work really be that easy? Not likely, she thought as the two men burst into another chorus of raucous laughter. Not likely at all.

  Her discomfort increasing, Jewel smoothed the skirt of her gray serge traveling suit and wiped at her brow.

  "Is the weather getting a bit too warm for you, ma'am?" Brent inquired, taking notice of her plight.

  "It's more than warm, suh. It's hotter than hell."

  Harry groaned, then scolded her. "Now, that's exactly what I was talking about just this morning, daughter. You'll never pass yourself off as a lady if you don't stop using vulgarisms."

  "Pass herself off?" Brent inquired lightly, baiting him.

  "Yes, sir," Harry said quickly, ever cool even near the hottest of fires. "Now that I have found this lovely lass, I intend to protect and harbor her until she meets a gentleman worthy of our family name."

  After pausing as Brent choked on a sudden convulsive cough, Harry leaned across the carriage and took Jewel's free hand in his. "To that end, I have made it my responsibility to train this sweet young girl as my hostess until the happy event of matrimony descends upon her."

  From behind Harry's top hat, Jewel watched as Brent rolled his eyes and mouthed the words, "Oh, good Lord." Muffling a chuckle, she let out a long sigh and resumed fanning herself.

  "So sorry for the vulgar outburst, Faathah dear, but I simply cannot abide this heat much longer."

  "Yes, it is growing warm," Brent agreed, his southern accent increasing as the distance to his home decreased. "They say there's only one place more devastatin' to the body's cooling system than the lower M'sippi in July."

  "And that place would be?" she asked, playing into his hands.

  "The lower M'sippi in August."

  "Oh, ha-ha," she tossed off. "In that case, I'll just have to make damn—oh, pardon me, Faathah—I'll just have to make dang sure I'm back up north in civilization before August, then, won't I?"

  "Tsk-tsk." Harry folded his arms across his chest and shook his head. Speaking to Brent, but staring across the carriage at Jewel, he said, "You can see, Mr. Connors, that I have an awesome job ahead of me. My daughter is a bit flighty and quite headstrong, but I believe that, in time and with a considerable effort on my part, she'll be a woman even a grand duke would be proud to call his wife. Don't you agree?"

  "My opinion is of no consequence," Brent answered, the words slow and deliberate. "But yes, I believe any man would be proud to call Miss Poindexter his wife." He added softly, his gaze centered on Jewel's mouth, "I know I most certainly would."

  Her eyes trapped by his, her mind vacillating between accepting his statement as truth and laughing it off as yet another shot in their verbal war, Jewel hesitated for a long moment. Then she opted for sanity and viewed them as banter. "Before you seek any more of Mr. Connors's advice, Faathah, I feel you should know that his initials are B. S. I believe you'll find there's a very good reason for that."

  Harry leaned back against the leather cushion and turned to Brent. "You see what I'm up against, my good man? The girl's mind is positively saturated with vulgarisms. I shall have my hands full wringing the filth out of her, yes, indeed, I shall. Perhaps a large bar of lye soap would help."

  "Faathah dear," Jewel warned, tired of his paternal gestures, whether genuine or theatrical. "I agree with something Mr. Connors said earlier—what he thinks is of no consequence. Let us speak of other things."

  "Yes," Brent agreed as the carriage rounded the final bend in the road. "We ought to speak of Sumner Hall. There she lies, dead ahead."

  Then father and daughter gasped in unison at their first glimpse of Brent's plantation home. The carriage, drawn by a matched pair of Palominos, rolled lazily along a lane framed by gnarled live oak trees that stretched for nearly a quarter of a mile up to the mansion. The trees arched inward as they rose, then bowed, scattering filigree patterns of sun and shadow across the cropped grass bordering the road. The scene was pastoral, cooling, and offered welcome relief from the broiling midday sun.

  "Oh, Brent," Jewel said with awe as she caught a glimpse of the mansion's four soaring columns. Appearing to soar upward from the fertile alluvial soil, they rose like huge alabaster candlesticks and stood like sentries before the impressive terra-cotta brick building. "Your home is absolutely gorgeous."

  "Thank you," he said, pride coating the syllables. "It is impressive to a first-time visitor, I suppose, but nowhere near so grand as it was before the Yankees stormed it during the War between the States."

  Jewel's eyes widened. "Battles were fought around here?"

  "Not exactly. The siege of Vicksburg spilled on up this way a bit. The Yankees burned Greenville to the ground, then destroyed as many homes and plantations as got in their way. Sumner Hall was badly damaged, but Dad managed to save it. We've spent the last ten years trying to put the place back together again, but we still have a ways to go."

  "Goodness gracious," Harry breathed as the carriage rolled to a halt and he got a closer look at the Grecian-style home. "Goodness me."

  The Bentons seemed to be totally involved in indulging their senses, so Brent gave them a few moments of silence as he helped Jewel down from the carriage and escorted her toward the fan-shaped front steps. Harry quickly joined them, but just before the trio reached the immense beveled glass and walnut door, he halted in mid-stride.

  "Goodness," he repeated, fingering one of the giant columns. "I haven't seen fluted columns the likes of these since my last visit to Greece."

  "You have a good eye," Brent said as he rang the bell. "They are Corinthian, and as authentic as the other embellishments you'll find in our home."

  Harry turned back to the columns, but before he could comment further, the door opened and a large black man greeted them.

  "Mr. Connors, so good to have you home again."

  "Afternoon, Maxwe
ll." Brent gestured for Jewel and Harry to precede him. "This is Miss Poindexter and her father. They'll be stayin' with us until the Dawn resumes her journey."

  "Yes, sir." The butler nodded, then led the guests into the foyer. "I'll prepare their rooms. The gentleman should be most comfortable in the teak room, and the lady?"

  Brent's gaze slid to Jewel as she glided across the black and white checkerboard pattern of the marble floor, and he grinned. "I think the lady will enjoy the magnolia room. It should be a nice change for her to inhale the scent of something other than violets."

  Jewel tore her attention away from the impressive entry- way long enough to make a face at Brent. Then she looked at the walls, trying to decide if the lush depictions of the Mississippi countryside were painted murals or wallpaper.

  Maxwell clicked his heels together. "Will there be anything else, sir?"

  "Where might I find the family?"

  "The ladies are having their midday nap, and your father is resting on the veranda outside the library. I am not sure where your brother has run off to."

  "Thanks. That will be all."

  Maxwell nodded, then strode toward the seemingly endless curved stairway.

  "Brent?" Jewel tugged at his sleeve, her eyes wide with alarm. "Did I hear right? Did that man say something about your father?"

  "He most certainly did. Come on. I can't wait for you to meet him."

  "But—but—" she sputtered as he led her toward a pair of burled walnut doors. "Your him?" she gave a slight jerk of her head, hoping he understood how appalled she was at the idea of his mother's two men meeting in such a manner.father?" she said again in a strangled whisper, aware that Harry was only a few feet behind them. "How could you have brought

  Brent gave her a look that clearly informed her he thought she'd lost her mind, then pushed the twelve-foot-high doors open and showed her inside the library. "I thought bringing him here was the point," he said under his breath as Harry joined them. Brent glanced through the glass doors at the back of the library and saw his father. The elder Connors sat at the edge of the veranda staring out at the ruins of his acreage. Turning back to his guests, Brent said, "Dad has had a little trouble getting over his war injuries, mental as well as physical. I'll just go let him know he has company."

  "Of course," Harry said before Jewel could open her mouth. "Take your time."

  "I appreciate your understanding." Brent smiled at Harry, then chucked Jewel under the chin before he started for the glass doors.

  When Brent was out of earshot, Harry turned to his daughter. "Look around you, my dear," he said in a barely audible but definitely unscrupulous tone. "Perhaps this would be a good place to start your lessons."

  And finish yours? she thought, wondering if Harry realized he was a guest in the home of a previous victim. She looked around the library and slowly shook her head. "I don't think so, Faathah. I prefer to learn our business among complete strangers, if you don't mind."

  "Humph. Then it's as I thought," Harry sniffed, raising his chin.

  "What's as you thought?"

  "This Connors fellow has been trifling with your affections. Just what has he promised you, and exactly what does he expect in return?"

  Jewel's mouth dropped open and she turned on him, hands on her hips. "Now just a damn minute, Daddy. I've managed without you, without any facsimile of a father, for my entire life. I do not need your misguided opinions or rules on the care and feeding of men at this stage, nor—"

  "Now see here, young lady. I realize that you did not have the benefit of a father's counsel during your formative years, but that was not by my fault."

  "Oh, please," she said with a grimace. "Don't insult my intelligence by suggesting that you'd have come back to my mother and me if you'd known."

  "I have no way of knowing what I would have done back then,'' Harry admitted. "I intend to make up for those years, however, and I simply will not allow you to speak to me in such an insolent manner. Nor," he added, his tone more authoritative, "will I allow you to be taken advantage of by some riverboat gambler with things other than your respectability on his mind. I hope I've made myself clear."

  "I can't believe this," she sputtered. "I'm twenty-five years old. What makes you think you can waltz into my life and tell me what to do and whom to see?''

  "I'm warning you, young lady. Age has nothing to do with the way you're behaving. It's all too apparent that your mother spoiled you into thinking you could always have your own way. Too bad she didn't give your backside a good thrashing more often. If you were a bit younger, I'd spank you myself."

  Jewel's mouth dropped open again, and she gasped. "How dare you talk to me like that."

  Harry met her green-eyed gaze with one of his own. "You of all people should know better than to issue a challenge to a Benton. Until I'm able to discern an alternative method for bringing an adult child to heel, I'd appreciate it if you would find a way to behave yourself."

  "Excuse me," Brent cut in as he strolled back into the library. "I hate to interrupt this touching exchange between you two, but my father is feeling a little weak this afternoon. I would so like for you both to meet him before he retires. Can I trust you together in the same room?"

  Jewel's eyelashes fluttered of their own volition as she turned her back on Harry and faced Brent. "Please forgive Faathah's poor manners. He and I are new at this father-daughter business. I suppose these little squabbles are bound to occur now and then."

  "I'd be beholden to you both," Brent said with a curt nod in Harry 's direction, "if you would please find a way to save them for the future. Perhaps when we return to the ship you can resume your discussion."

  Chagrined, Harry nodded. "Of course, Mr. Connors, and I am indeed sorry if we have caused you any distress."

  "No apology is necessary. Shall we?" He made a sweeping gesture with his arm, then bent his elbow and offered it to Jewel.

  Stifling the urge to stick out her tongue at the man she now called Faathah, Jewel consoled herself with a withering sideways glance, then slid her hand into the crook of Brent's arm. "I'd be charmed, sir."

  As they made their way across the room, Harry lagged behind, blocking thoughts of his daughter and their lost years from his mind as he kept a lookout for the subtle and not so subtle indications of wealth, along with any obvious signs of spurious attempts to merely indicate great wealth. The floor-to-ceiling shelves were filled with beautifully bound books. The furnishings—desk, chairs, sofas, and occasional tables—were all from Louis XV, carved from walnut, and ornamented with gilded bronze. Authentic, Harry observed, or the best damned imitations he'd ever seen. But just as he was about to decree the Connors family as truly wealthy, he noticed the tattered and stained rug covering most of the hardwood floor. Glancing up as he passed through the doors leading to the veranda, he also realized that sheer beige curtains hung in stark simplicity where heavy draperies should have billowed.

  Suddenly unsure about the wealth of Sumner Hall and its inhabitants, Harry circled around behind the chair Brent directed him to and awaited his introduction.

  "Dad," Brent said to the wizened man in the cane wheelchair, "this is Jewel Poindexter and her father, Harrison. My father, Raiford Connors."

  "A pleasure to meet you, sir,'' Jewel said as she extended her gloved hand.

  Raiford squinted up at her as he raised her hand toward his mouth and thin gray beard. "Y'all ain't from 'round these parts," he commented in a breathless drawl before kissing the back of her hand.

  "Ah, no, sir," Jewel said, unable to keep from staring at the outline of his withered, useless limbs beneath the thin blanket draped across his lap. "My father and I are from Chicago."

  Taking her cue, Harry extended his hand. "Harrison 'Harry' Poindexter, sir. An honor to meet you."

  Again squinting a chocolate brown eye as he studied the unfamiliar face, Raiford said, "Likewise, I'm sure. Y'all kin to the Tennessee Poindexters?"

  "Ah, no, sir, I'm afraid not."

>   "Shame. Real shame," he muttered, shaking his head. "The Tennessee Poindexters are right good folks. Right good. Now, why don't y'all sit a spell? I'm bound to get a powerful crick in my neck if I have to keep staring up at ya much longer."

  Jewel and Harry obediently slid into high-backed wicker chairs, and Brent sat next to his father.

  Just then a young girl appeared in the doorway. "Afternoon, Mr. Connors. Kin I get y'all somethin' to eat or drink?"

  "Thanks, Loanne," Brent said, looking to his guests. "Why don't you bring us some mint juleps and a few snacks?"

  "Right away, sir." The girl made a little curtsy, then disappeared into the house.

  As if he'd forgotten about his company, Raiford tugged at the huge wheels on his chair and propelled himself over to the railing. Looking out at his beloved plantation, he said absently. "How's the shipping business coming along, boy?"

  Brent shot an apologetic glance toward his guests, then said, "As I was telling you before, fair to middling, sir."

  "We gonna meet the tax bill on time this year?"

  Again Brent looked at Jewel and Harry, then turned his palms up and shrugged. "That and at least enough extra to restore Mama's rose gardens."

  Raiford whipped his head around. "That right, boy? Y'all hear that?'' he shouted as he looked back out at the farm. Slapping his atrophied thighs with glee, he laughed and hollered at imaginary soldiers. "By God, you hear that, you bastids? By dern, you Yankee boys thought you could wipe us off n the map, but I guess ya got another think coming."

  "Take it easy, Dad," Brent said softly, with no hint of condemnation in his voice. "Maybe you forgot, but we have a lady visitin' us. Won't do for you to go on like that."

  Quickly looking over his shoulder, Raiford blanched, then turned his gaze back to the fields. "Pardon my dreadful manners, little gal. I swear, sometimes I think those damn Yankees blowed away my ability to think as well as walk. I do hope y'all can find it in your heart to forgive me."