“The outskirts of Charleston, Lieutenant. Have you ever heard of Schönheitstal Plantation? My granddaddy built it from the ground up.”
The Lieutenant smiled, glad to find something that put his partner at ease. Almost immediately, Veronica relaxed, her back no longer unwilling to comply with his lead. Her face regained much of its natural and charming animation. He was gratified by her warm tone, and when pulling her close to squeeze through a couple that had stopped to chat, he found her watching him with admiration. “What is it that I have done to cause such a smile?”
Veronica laughed, confused by this sudden compliment.
“You shouldn’t do that often, I am sure it would only attract more of your admirers; then what would I do with my ill-spent time?” the Lieutenant watched as she turned away, blushing. “Miss Vernon, what is it I am sayin’?”
“Please, stop, Lieutenant. I am not used to such compliments. You are too bold.”
“I sincerely doubt you are not used to such comments, Miss Vernon. Rather, I believe you are too used to such comments. And with my attitude toward you defined as one who will not be swayed by your flirtatious wiles, what you mean to say is that you are not used to such compliments comin’ from me. Am I correct in my assumption?”
“Why I never!” Veronica gasped, unsure whether she should laugh or be dismayed. “Lieutenant, you are very audacious. Where, exactly, do you hail from?”
“Far from here, Miss Vernon. You probably have not heard of it.”
“Do you mean I am so countrified that I have no notion of the world?” She harshly pulled away as the waltz ended. Glaring at him, Veronica realized the attention she was attracting and diffidently let the Lieutenant guide her to the refreshments as he murmured, “Thank you for the dance. It was very informative.”
Veronica petulantly picked at the tablecloth. If it were not for her current mood, she would have sworn there was a euphemism for what he said, but she could think of none. “I must say you do very well, though your conversational skills are not what they should be. I am surprised you lasted this long.”
“I could say the same of you,” he replied. Veronica was shocked to discover he seemed completely unaffected as he bowed and walked away.
She stared at the refreshments, struggling to gain control of her sprinting emotions. He had treated her incredibly unfairly, she thought, glancing at her card. The next dance was free, thank goodness. Spinning to freshen so others wouldn’t suspect her discomfort, Veronica was shocked when an arm slid around her waist and guided her out the door. She turned, surprised to see the lieutenant. Back for more diatribes, she assumed.
“I am afraid I upset you.”
Veronica shakily nodded.
He drew her out to the veranda. “I am sorry. I find it rather difficult to be polite to you.” Her arm was trembling, though from fear, chill, anguish or anger, he knew not. Ashamed for teasing her to tears, he tried to guide her to the bench. She resisted, surprising him.
“Why do you find it…difficult to be polite?”
He paused, and Veronica wished he would speak as she snapped, “I am not so stupid that slight inflections of tone would be lost on me.”
“You interest me. You’re not exactly typical of stereotypes,” he quite unwillingly mumbled, only slightly amused that Veronica blushed through her vanishing tears. Sighing, he met her curious gaze honestly and said, “You seem troubled. It is not because of me, I hope. Am I at fault?”
Veronica found herself contemplating. She couldn’t talk to Amy; she was still upset over Everett. She couldn’t talk with Madge; she would gloat. Maum Jo was help, Nan a slave; and Mrs. Beaumont…a bit officious. Sighing, Veronica leaned over the veranda railing to stare at the night sky. “A friend of mine died. We received the letter but a week ago. I feel as though…”
Veronica glanced at her escort, but he said nothing. Though his features didn’t change, his eyes showed a patience that comforted. “I had been thinkin’ he would survive. After all, we have been victorious. It was right for me to assume, right to think that he would make it. Others survived Manassas—I was there, you know.” Her shoulder slumped. “He was supposed to live. He was supposed to be…an attentive friend to Amy—Miss Williams. She is quite fragile, though she pretends not. I am content that I am here to help her, but with Madge continually interruptin’…bein’ jealous of anythin’ and everythin’ I ever say—” When she felt the warmth of his hand on her shoulder, she welcomed the lieutenant’s embrace. Veronica was mortified. Her mother would die, upon seeing so improper an embrace.
“I am sure not all of that was your fault.”
She roughly wiped her eyes. “I am always to blame. My parent’s marriage failed when I was born. Daddy always wanted a son, you know. But Momma was too weak to have another baby. —Miss Williams’ family relations became strained when I appeared. That poor family…I never intended to cause such hostility between siblings.”
Hesitating, he shoved his hands into his pockets. “Perhaps I can make you feel better.”
Veronica stared at him, her gaze clearly cynical as he rushed to explain: “I assume your friends tell you that you are not to blame, which results in makin’ you feel all the more worse.”
“True…”
“What if I agreed with you?”
His thinking was much too unconventional. “What?”
Leaning near, he murmured, “What if I said you were to blame?” Veronica seemed confused—he would have to explain more clearly. “Would that take the pressure of your shoulders, somewhat? If there was something to remind you of this for every time you feel badly? To be blunt, what if I were to call you a jinx? To know someone actually thinks you are a jinx must surely ease your worry.”
“I—I don’t like it at all,” she nervously giggled, “it’s such an atrocious name.”
“I like it.”
“It’s not flatterin’,” Veronica frowned.
“Isn’t that the point?”
“I didn’t think so.” She bit her lip in confusion.
“What was the point?” he countered, leaning close, smiling as she jerked away, suddenly uncomfortable by their intimacy. It was all he could do not to laugh aloud as her eyes widened and she whispered, “To make me feel better.”
“And are you feeling better?” He reasoned that he was enjoying this entirely too much.
“No.” Veronica turned from him, frowning. What an imbecilic man.
“Oh. Why?”
Sighing, she decided this subject was definitely tired. Flourishing her fan, she turned to him with a smile. “How very amusin’, Lieutenant.”
“I thought you would enjoy it,” he said, offering his arm.
“Would you mind if I called you Jonathan?” Veronica asked as he led her to the ballroom.
“I suppose if you’re willin’ to let me call you Jinx, it is only right that you call me Jonathan,” he conceded. “You don’t really mind that I’m callin’ you Jinx, do you?”
“It depends in what way you’re goin’ to be usin’ it,” she lightly replied, hiding her yawn behind her fan. Her eyes suddenly narrowed as she slowly asked, “How will you be usin’ it?”
Shaking his head with a smile, he said, “I have taken too much of your time. Enjoy the rest of the party.”
“Don’t tell me you’re goin’ home to read, Jonathan?” she taunted, flicking open her fan.
“Ah yes. Now that we are in the open, you must play the part of a flirtatious belle.” He frowned. “Sometimes, I feel bad for you girls. We don’t make life very easy for you.” Suddenly displeased, he stiffly bowed and strode into the crowd.
Veronica wanted to faint. A man repelled by flirtations, amused by honesty, and full of cynical wit was not something to be found in other men. She was unused to such behavior, and wondered if this man really was Jonathan.
“Why Miss Vernon, how wonderful it is to see you so well durin’ the war!”
Veronica’s skirts whistled as she whipped to face
a most undeserving character. “Bentley!” His figure alone caused nausea. “…How nice of you to visit! I thought I left you in Charleston.”
“I couldn’t leave you, Ronnie, dear. After all, you are my fiancée.”
Veronica stumbled against the veranda door, clawing at her corset. “I am not…your fiancé, Bentley.” When it seemed as though he meant to pursue, she stumbled from the room. Ignoring imperious glances thrown her way, Veronica clutched the library door. If only she could breathe! Certainly this would not be so hard, if her panic would not impede such rational thought. How typical, that the moment she left Lieutenant Jonathan, Bentley showed his face.
Bentley caught Veronica as she sagged to the ground, unaware that the Lieutenant watched as he carried her into the library, shutting the doors behind them.
* * * * *
July, 1861
“What happened?” Veronica said, rubbing her forehead. She pushed aside a wisp of her hair in irritation, blinking in the dim room. Clearing her throat, she became resigned to the fact that it hurt to open her eyes, and quietly laid on the chaise, where she assumed she had been laid.
“You fainted, Ronnie, dear,” a voice murmured, patting her hand. His hand was warm, and she felt uneasy.
Veronica winced, though why, she knew not. “Where are we?”
“In the library.”
That voice jerked her back to those years on the plantation, when her daddy lived, and Bentley was her assigned playmate. “Who do I have the pleasure…?” Veronica mumbled, not daring to open her eyes.
“I’m surprised at you, Ronnie, that you don’t recognize your own fiancé’s voice.”
She recoiled, tentatively opening one eye as she realized she had not dreamed his presence. “What are you doin’ here?”
His eyes smiled in sweet pleasure: he did so love to surprise her. “Makin’ sure my honey is still that innocent little girl I planned to marry.”
Now both her eyes were open. Veronica jerked into a sitting position. He was making sure she was still innocent! Bentley never cared until he knew it counted. How she hated him! And to think he still believed in the engagement. There had been no hint of a betrothal at all, until the day of the announcement, when suddenly Bentley appeared before her, beaming that insidious smile.
The day had been humid—unbearably hot. Nan, her slave of only two years at the time, had dressed Veronica in a pale dress, fitting to the weather. Her feet were housed in ankle-laced boots, the skirt hem barely reaching the tops of them, thanks to the newly installed crinoline.
She had walked with her hand tucked in the crook of her father’s arm. They made a handsome couple, everyone had whispered: Veronica had blushed with pleasure.
Half an hour into the assembly, her father called for an announcement. She had paused to hear him utter words that caused her breath to catch. “I am happy to announce to y’all news of great joy. It has been decided that my daughter will marry a most deservin’ youth, Mister Stratford. Of course, she will not marry until she is of age—seventeen, or so—but I am content in knowin’ my baby girl will have someone to take care of her, and her mother, should somethin’ happen to me,” Master Vernon said among nervous laughter, for there had been rumors of disreputable transactions.
As the room teemed with polite applause, Veronica involuntarily let a small cry escape. All eyes focused on the fifteen-year-old girl. “What do you mean by announcin’ this engagement when we—” she paused. With a bleary frown Veronica realized it would not do to sob in public, when expected to be aware of her fortune.
“What Ronnie means to say, dear, is that she objects to the fact that you announced her engagement when we haven’t even talked over the…details yet,” Adorabella smiled. “Isn’t that right, honey?”
Veronica nodded, stupefied into silence.
Bentley walked to his appalled fiancée from across the room and tucked her hand in his. He smiled at the silent room. “She’s just beside herself with happiness,” he said, pinching Veronica’s hand. As the room admired them, he hissed, “Pull yourself together, Ronnie.”
Immediately she painted a smile, feeling its frigidity through his distressed reaction: “We don’t want these people think you don’t want to be my fiancée, now do we?”
“Well, I didn’t volunteer for it!”
A month later, after her father’s untimely death, Veronica’s mother called off the engagement, for she couldn’t let her daughter marry so soon after a death in the family. And if it had not been for rumors that her mother was in fact forcing her to marry Bentley, Veronica would have stayed home. For two years she bounced from house to house, and, hearing that unless she came home with a beau she would have to marry Bentley, Veronica bolted to Richmond, where she had last heard of Jonathan.
Veronica jumped from the lounge, having sat beside Bentley much too long.
The library doors were pulled shut to dampen the hovering smells of heavy perfume and body odor. Across the room, a mirror sat on the mantel, revealing Veronica’s reflection. Her eyes flicked to Bentley, skimming over his meticulously clean clothing and fastidiously combed hair. She could hardly stand the sight of him.
He was making sure she was still…innocent! That was a definite euphemism where she came from, and it was intolerable Bentley felt he could speak to her in such a manner. Reclaiming her seat, she simpered, “You were just makin’ sure I was still innocent, ain’t that right, sugar-dumplin’?” As he nodded, she traced the length of his arm, still smiling as she nestled beneath it. “That was…sweet of you. After all, why would you want to marry a woman who ain’t clean?”
“I’m so glad you are takin’ this all so well, honey. I would hate to—”
“So, who told you I wasn’t innocent?”
Bentley knew there had to be a catch. There was always a catch when Veronica acted as though she liked him: the thrills of a chase. “It wasn’t that, honey, it was just that your uncle had gotten news that you had gone up north, to the Yankees. I just wanted to make sure you hadn’t been tainted by their ways.”
Veronica jerked from his grasp. “My uncle doesn’t give a jot about my welfare and you repulse me by mentionin’ him. I couldn’t care less for my uncle’s ‘good opinion’…nor for yours if you continue in this manner!”
“What did those Yanks do to cause such a reaction?” He demanded, grabbing her arm.
When Veronica couldn’t release his hold, she hissed: “It really don’t matter what happened, now does it, Bentley? You’re just jealous I have fun without you…that I enjoy not bein’ around you. How many times—do you realize I’d rather make love to a yank than you?”
With a roar, Bentley slapped Veronica with the back of his hand. She stumbled from him, a wave of red flowing across her eyes. Reaching for something to steady her gait, Veronica shuddered when she came in contact with Bentley.
“Ronnie, honey, what is the matter with you? Have those Yanks tainted your mind?” Bentley cried out, plastering himself to the wall to avoid her swipes.
“Tainted my mind? Bentley Stratford—you abominable rogue—you are gonna regret the day you assumed I wasn’t…innocent. Innocent! Why what my momma would say to such an idea. I am never going to marry you. You jealous, insolent man… do you think I don’t know about your nightly escapades? Are your little colored babies doin’ all right? I have been patient. Quite patient, I believe…extremely patient, I have been told. I am not supposed to know of such things—it is unladylike!”
Bentley staggered away, coughing. “Honey, calm down. I wasn’t meanin’ anythin’ by it, Ronnie—”
“If I ever here you call me by that name again I’ll rip your—”
“Temper, temper, Miss Vernon,” a voice interrupted from the doorway.
“What concern of it is yours?” she demanded, spinning on her heel.
“I’m not the one you’re angry at, remember, Jinx?” ‘Jonathan’ replied, shutting the library door behind him.
Veronica blushed, suddenly asha
med by her conduct. Very unfortunate, that ‘Jonathan’ should see her so livid, when she wished him to think her appealing.
“Who is this, Ronnie?” Bentley saw this man carried himself well. Moreover, he called Veronica ‘Jinx’—what sort of relationship did they have, for him to call her by an intimate name? “Ronnie, must I repeat myself? Who is this?”
“A friend,” they smilingly replied in unison.
“Why did he call you ‘Jinx’?”
“It must make Jonathan feel better.”
Bentley jealously wondered why Veronica didn’t introduce this Jonathan man.
“What’s wrong with him?” Jonathan demanded, suspicious of Bentley’s silent, sulking air. “Is he your brother?” He had heard much of Veronica’s fiancé, and it was quite thrilling to discover him a rather pusillanimous chap.
“How awful it would be, if he were!” Veronica cried.
“I am her fiancé,” Bentley forcefully said, drawing Veronica near in ownership.
Jonathan’s brow arched as Veronica convulsed and stepped away. He couldn’t very well resist teasing. “I am not quite sure she knows that. Have you told her yet?”
“What kind of engagement would that be, not havin’ Ronnie know about it?”
“I told you not to call me Ronnie.”
“It seems that is how most arranged marriages are like, wouldn’t you say, Miss Vernon?” Jonathan said.
Veronica blushed as they watched her, waiting for a response. “I suppose so.”
“Ron—Veronica,” Bentley said, pausing to recompose himself, “Veronica, please, continue on with your thoughts—”
“Miss Vernon, if you please,” she jeered. Veronica knelt to pick up her fan, and looked at the little bows of wood that held the lace together. There was no one signed for the next dance—a pity. “I think arranged marriages should be illegal. It’s like sayin’ a woman is just above a slave, and that is not right.”
Bentley exclaimed in shock that Veronica dared voice such a strong opinion.
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