by Sharon Ihle
"Don't worry your head about it, Mr. Connors."
Jewel's further thoughts were put on hold as a boisterous male voice shattered the gentle conversation.
"Brent, you ole coon dog. How'd I miss you in town?"
"Good Lord, Beau. See if you can't get a grip on yourself. We got company."
The younger, more gregarious version of Brent, froze in mid-stride, then surveyed the occupants of the wicker chairs. After setting a tray of drinks and snacks on a table, he bowed at the waist. "Glory be, if we don't," he said, his voice lush and rich with southern masculine pride. "Glory be if we don't got us some right pretty company at that.
Barely acknowledging Harry as Brent introduced the two men, Beau lingered over Jewel, keeping her hand sandwiched between both of his as he heard his own name repeated, "...my brother, Beauregard Sumner Connors."
"Meetin' you is a pleasure, ma'am. A real pleasure," he repeated, openly admiring her from head to toe.
Jewel cocked one eyebrow as the younger Connors leaned closer to her. His eyes, nearly the same honey brown as Brent's, lacked the depth, the sensitivity, but seemed filled to overflowing with gaiety and frivolity. His face, round, smooth, and free of whiskers, was boyish and hopelessly adorable. Beauregard Connors was a cuddly bear of a man, Jewel decided, but probably infinitely more dangerous to the ladies of Washington County than the real item.
"Excuse me, Beauregard," she said with a saucy lilt, "but are you feeling all right?"
Beau raised his brow and said, "Pardon me, ma'am?"
"I was wondering if you'd taken ill, sir. Your tongue seems to be lolling out the corner of your mouth."
Just as her little comeuppance began to sink in, a big hand crushed down on the nape of Beau's neck. Then Brent's voice, low and dangerously polite, raised the hair on his spine.
"Perhaps I can interpret for the lady, brother. I believe she's concerned you might drool all over her nice dress. You wouldn't want to do a disgustin' thing like that, now, would you?"
"Uh," Beau stammered with a nervous chuckle as he straightened his spine. "No, 'course not." He turned, his eyes bright and innocent. "Just tryin' to be polite, Brent. You know me, 'bout as polite as a fella kin get."
"Yes, li'l brother, I do know you, and you're damn lucky that I do." Then, his grin broad, Brent pulled the younger man into his arms for a brief hug. When he released him, he reached for the tray and offered refreshments to his guests, inquiring as Jewel helped herself to a mint julep, "Why didn't you meet us at the Dawn, Beau? I was hoping you'd stay on board while I visited the folks."
Beau grabbed a chair and pulled it up beside Harry as he answered. "I rode on up to the levee, but I got sidetracked some. Stopped off to the McAlexander place for a spell, and I guess the time got away from me."
Brent cocked an inquisitive eyebrow as he sat down next to his father. "That little McAlexander gal still single?''
"Yep." Beau laughed. His dimples were arresting but not as deep or carved in appearance as Brent's. "She's still lots a things, and lots of fun and such."
"Do mind your manners, Beau."
"Oh, yeah," he said through a muffled chuckle as he finally dared another glance at Jewel. "Sorry, ma'am. Anyways," he went on, speaking as if he'd never been interrupted, "time I got to the ship, y'all had gone, so I come on home."
"No harm done." Brent shrugged. "Tex and Reba assured me they could take on supplies and passengers."
Beau's boyish grin was still in place, but his obvious boredom with the business side of the conversation shone in his impish honey-brown eyes as he turned to Harry. "You a passenger on my brother's steamship, Mr. Harrison?"
Harry cleared his throat and took a sip of his julep before he said, "Poindexter. My name is Harrison Poindexter." He looked down Iris nose at the young man. "You you may call me Harry."
"Harry? That's a good easy name. That real, Harry?" Beau said, pointing to the three-carat diamond adorning his gold stickpin.
"Good Lord, Beau," Brent groaned. "Do button your lip and save us from any more of your observations."
"That's all right." Harry laughed, genuinely amused by the childish curiosity that seemed so much a part of the younger Connors's personality. "Many people wonder the same thing."
"That may be, sir," Brent said, decidedly unamused, "but how many of them are idiotic enough to ask you about it?"
Again Harry laughed. "Please do not concern yourself about Beau's curiosity. I find it refreshing." He turned to the younger brother. "Yes, son, it is quite real. In fact, this particular diamond was a gift to me from the Prince of Wales."
"Whales?" Beauregard began to laugh. "Where in tarnation is that?"
"Not whales, son, Wales. Let me explain..."
As Harry spoke to Beau, Brent observed the pair, concentrating on his brother's reactions to their 'esteemed' guest. Then he realized Jewel was speaking to him.
"I'm sorry, Jewel. Did you say something?"
"Yes," she said, ignoring the lively discussion between Beau and Harry. "I think your father has fallen asleep."
Brent glanced to his right, then looked back to Jewel. "Happens often. Perhaps I ought to take you two to your rooms now and let you freshen up. The womenfolk should be coming downstairs before too long. You might want to take a short nap yourself before you meet the rest of my little family," he added with a wink.
"They can't be as, well, as—" For lack of respectful word, she glanced at Beau and raised her eyebrows.
"Worse," Brent said through a chuckle.
"Then perhaps I'd best retire for a short while." She laughed along with him as she rose from the chair. Her amusement soon died as she took another look at Raiford Connors. In sleep he appeared even more fragile, and so close to the end of his life that she wondered how his sons would bear to look at him. Again she fretted—how could Brent possibly subject his father to the scene between Harry and his mother? How could he allow the poor man to discover that he was a cockold?
Abruptly turning away from Brent, she snapped at Harry. "Let's go to our rooms, Faathah. I suddenly have a headache."
"Probably the mint julep, my dear," Harry said, oblivious of her sudden anger. "Is it possible you did not realize you swallowed a dash of Kentucky whiskey in that very refreshing drink? Perhaps it didn't agree with you."
"Perhaps," she agreed, tired of the charade, dreading the inevitable confrontations to come. "In any event, I'd like to rest now."
"Of course." Harry finished his drink, then joined her and Brent.
As the group started on through the library, Brent issued an order to Beau. "Go on ahead and round up Maxwell. Have him take Dad to bed. He'll need plenty of rest if he's going to join his company at the supper table tonight."
After waiting until his brother was out of earshot, Brent explained to the Poindexters as they made their way to the stairway, "You'll have to forgive Beauregard's lack of common sense. He means well, but even at twenty-four years of age, I'm afraid he's still got a heap of growing to do."
"Oh, I think he's delightful," Harry said with a laugh. "You don't often find an innocent sort like him."
"No," Brent said, barely able to hold back a knowing sneer. "I don't suppose you do." He had turned to Jewel and was about to show her the way up the winding stairway when a feminine voice called to him from above.
Like the whistle on the Delta Dawn, she spoke in a rare combination of five tones. Sweet, soft, and lilting, Miriam Sebastian Connors's voice could also carry an underlying strength and the distinct crack of a cat-o' -nine-tails.
"Why, it is you, Brent," she said, using only the first three tones. As she made her way down the steps, her soft gray eyes widened and she gasped, "And I see you've brought some friends home with you."
Chapter 15
Three pairs of eyes glanced up to the top landing where the sound of gently rustling crinolines heralded the descent of an ethereal figure. The flounced hem of Miriam's white muslin wrapper swished back and forth, lightly dusting the
hardwood steps as she made her way toward the trio, her ghostlike appearance becoming more dense with each step she took.
"Sorry if we disturbed you, Mama," Brent said, climbing several steps to greet her midway. "I brought some folks home with me. I do hope you don't mind the surprise."
"Not at all, son," Miriam said as she kissed his cheek and allowed him to escort her down to the foyer.
Jewel's gaze flitted from Harry to the woman, and back to Harry as she looked for some sign of shock, recognition, fear, or a combination of all three. She saw Miriam's cool, clear appraisal of her, but no acknowledgment of the man standing beside her. By the time the Connors's were within a few feet of the Bentons, Jewel's heart was thundering in her ears, and her mouth was dry with anticipation.
Brent, amazingly calm and collected, smiled at her and said, "I'd like to present my mother, Miriam Sebastian Connors. Mama, this is Jewel Poindexter and her father, Harrison."
"A pleasure to meet you, dear," Miriam purred, lightly touching Jewel's hand before she finally looked at Harry and extended her greeting. "Sir, welcome to our home. I do hope you both understand and forgive the state of disrepair. These have been trying times."
"The honor is mine, madam," Harry responded as he lightly kissed the back of her hand. "And never apologize for a stately mansion like Sumner Hall, Mrs. Connors. It is truly one of the finest showplaces I've ever had the pleasure of visiting."
Jewel's gaze, piercing and perceptive, remained riveted on the pair as they exchanged pleasantries. She studied the handsome woman, looking for some glimmer of surprise, but her countenance was serene and contained no more than a casual interest in her guests. Miriam's features, alive with animation, were, Jewel decided, nearly a mirror image of her older son, right down to the dimples. But there the resemblance ended. Where Brent's hair was dark, as his father's had once been, Miriam's curly locks were faded blond, almost washed out in appearance. Her pale gray eyes were almond shaped and thoughtful, whereas her son's, honey brown in color, were round and playful.
Jewel stared into those silver eyes, forcing herself to forget the son and search instead for signs of familiarity with Harry. But the woman remained warm, polite and not much interested in the dashing stranger. Had Harry been so well disguised during his assignation with her that he was now unrecognizable? If so, what about Harry himself? Where was the shock of discovering he was in the home of a former paramour?
Miriam abruptly turned her pale eyes back to Jewel, lighting the first sparks in their depths since she'd reached the landing. Again touching her hand, she said, "You'll be staying to supper, I hope?"
Brent drew up close to Jewel as he addressed his mother. "I have extended our hospitality through the entire night, Mama. I do hope that won't inconvenience you."
"Oh?" Miriam glanced at her son, a smile tugging at the corners of her mouth, then looked back at Jewel. "No trouble at all. It's been too long since we had guests at Sumner Hall." Focusing her attention on her auburn-haired guest, she offered a deep-dimpled smile. "I expect you'll want to go to your room right away to freshen up and change into something a little cooler."
Jewel waved her off as she said, "Oh, thank you, Mrs. Connors, but I'm afraid I've brought nothing to change into. My, ah, luggage and other clothing—"
"It's a very long story, Mama," Brent cut in, saving Jewel the trouble of making up yet another story.
"Well, then," Miriam said, her amused gaze swinging between her son and Jewel, "perhaps we'd better save it for later. I think Mary Mildred will be able to find something suitable for your guest to wear."
"Oh, but I couldn't," Jewel objected.
"Nonsense," Miriam insisted. "The girls have an abundance of frocks. Now, if you'll excuse me, I have to run into the kitchen and see about supper. Brent? Would you mind showing the Poindexters to—Oh, by the way," she said, interrupting herself as she turned back to Harry, "you wouldn't be related to the Tennessee Poindexters by any chance, would you?"
"No, madam, but I understand they are a lovely family."
"Yes, they are lovely indeed," she agreed, before resuming her conversation with Brent. "Son, would you mind seeing your guests to their rooms now? And do stop by Mary Mildred's room and see about a dress for your friend."
Brent frowned, then narrowed one eye in warning as he assured his mother, "We were just heading upstairs. I'll join you downstairs in a few minutes."
"Good. I need to go over the books with you. See you all later, then," she said, patting Brent's arm as she nodded to her guests and glided down toward the hallway.
"Lovely woman," Harry commented as he started up the long staircase. "You have a lovely family, Brent, and an extraordinary home. You must be very proud of them."
"I am, sir, and I thank you for your opinion of them," he answered, guiding Jewel toward the top landing. At the apex, the hallway branched off to both sides, leaving a short walk straight ahead to the gilded double doors leading to the master bedroom suite. Brent led Harry and Jewel to the right down the carpeted path to the guest rooms, where he opened the first in a series of elaborate hand-carved doors.
"I think you'll be comfortable in here, Harry."
"Yes, yes, quite, I should think," Benton concurred as he stepped across the threshold and took in the small but well-appointed room.
"If you should require any assistance," Brent offered, "simply pull the cord just outside your door. Maxwell will see to your needs as soon as he can. We are a bit shorthanded, so don't be surprised it it takes him a while to arrive."
"Don't give it another thought," Harry said, waving him off as he resumed his financial appraisal of the Connors family.
"If you come downstairs in about an hour," Brent said, "you and I can have a bourbon before supper. Turn left at the foot of the steps and you'll run into the study."
"I'd be delighted. I'll see you in one hour."
With a nod, Brent closed the door, then grabbed Jewel's hand. "Come on," he said under his breath as he pulled her down the hallway, "you and I have a couple of things to straighten out before the girls wake up."
When he reached a door with a large white magnolia painted in the center, he pushed it open and dragged her inside the room. After checking up and down the hallway to make certain it was still deserted, Brent closed the door and gestured for her to follow him to the window.
Whispering conspiratorially, he said, "It looks like old Harry is a lot more cunning than I first thought. He didn't even blink when I introduced him. Shouldn't we have gotten more fireworks than that?"
"Well..." she hesitated, still appalled by the whole plan and Brent's apparent lack of compassion where his father was concerned. "Yes, I suppose I expected them to be startled at the very least."
"Then how come Harry wasn't recognized? Could he have worn some kind of disguise when he lifted the jewels?"
Jewel shrugged. "He's been described in so many ways that it's difficult to get a clear picture of him from his victims. Even so, Brent." She took a moment to examine her choice of words. "Son't you think your mother, or any other woman he'd been with, would have shown at least some sign of recognition?"
"My mother? What do you mean by 'been with,' and why in hell would she recognize Harry?"
Jewel heaved a frustrated sigh as again she looked for the correct words. "Something should have clued her. His voice, something in his eyes, the way he kissed her hand. A woman doesn't forget subtle little things like that once she's been a man's lover."
"What?"
"Shush." She glanced around as if she expected the door to bang open. "I thought you wanted to keep this little meeting secret."
"I do, but talk sense. What's all this about lovers and mothers?"
Jewel furrowed her brow and took a backward step. "Why, your mother and her little fling with Harry, what else?"
Brent's eyes widened and bulged. "Have you gone completely mad? How can you even think such a thing?"
Taking a couple more backward steps, she stammered
, "B-but I thought that's what this was all about. I thought Harry stole your mother's jewelry and that we were going to get them back."
"He did steal her emeralds, Miss Pinkerton, but he stole them from Beau, not from my mother." Brent cocked his head, and leveled a finger at her. "What made you think it could be otherwise?"
Retreating in earnest now, Jewel circled the canopied bed and ran her nervous fingers across the embroidered white coverlet. "It was an understandable error," she muttered, trying to reconstruct the crime in her mind. "Relieving wealthy women of their jewelry is Harry's specialty, you know. What else was I to think?"
"Maybe a little more of me," Brent grumbled, facing her from across the bed. "I find it insulting both to my mother and to me that you could actually believe I'd bring Harry into my home under those circumstances."
"It did seem a little callous on your part, but I still don't know what else I could have thought. The very idea of Beau losing the jewelry to Harry is so ridiculous, I can't even entertain the notion."
Still frowning, his feelings injured, Brent shoved his hands in his pockets and walked back to the window. Staring out at the cedar trees lining the pathway to the barns, he said, "The war shattered this family's spirit for a while, but it did not rob us of our honor. My mother is a true wife to my father and an extremely noble woman. Perhaps I need to question Beau a little further, but if he says Harry stole the jewels, then Harry stole the jewels. Understand?''
"Not really, Brent," she said softly as she approached him from behind. "Why don't you tell me exactly what happened to Beau? Maybe then we can get this all straightened out."
"There's not much to tell," he said, still staring out the window. "Beau went on down to New Orleans about a year and a half ago to make a loan so he could pay the taxes on Sumner Hall. He was going to use the emeralds as collateral."
Jewel waited a long moment, then prompted, "And?"
"And nothing." He shrugged. "He said Harry stole them out of his hotel room before he had a chance to find a lender."