Devon turned, ready to offer assistance but the blind-side blow made him fall backward instead. “We’ll teach ye to stick your snooty nose in where it ain’t wanted,” a rough voice said from behind him as Devon whirled around. His punch caught his assailant in the stomach, eliciting a loud “oof” sound as he doubled over.
“Son of a bitch.” The man looked up with hatred in his eyes, then hurled himself forward, catching Devon’s knees in his brawny arms.
They rolled onto the dusty street, first the sailor on top, then Devon. Curses flew like rockets as the pedestrians swerved to make way for the brawling men. Devon’s fist slammed into a bristle covered jaw, stinging his knuckles. But in the next instant his opponent connected with Devon’s mouth, smashing his lip against his teeth. The blood that spewed over his shirt could have come from his lip or the sailor’s nose when Devon flattened it with his next punch. Devon lifted his clenched hand to land another blow, but the sailor just lay there. Straddling him, Devon grabbed hold of his filthy jacket.
“In Charleston we don’t treat ladies like that.” Devon jerked the man’s head off the street. “Now apologize.”
Devon twisted his head around only to find that the lady in question no longer stood beneath the palmetto fronds. Then shattering pain exploded in his head. Black dirt came rushing up to meet him. Devon lay, facedown, the smell of puff mud strong in his nostrils. Even if he’d anticipated the heavy booted kick to his ribs, or the groan of pain that came through his split lip, he could do nothing to stop either.
“That’s what ye get for foolin’ with true blooded sons of these here Confederate states,” one of the men laughed as he helped his fallen buddy to his feet.
Devon tried to lift his head, but it wasn’t until a strong arm braced him under his arms that he could pull himself up. His rescuer was Saul, Lil’s man. The black man, for all his rippling muscles and broad face, was gentle as he helped Devon to his feet.
Lil stood on the porch, marginally covered by a silk wrapper. “Bring him on over here, Saul,” she said, smiling cheekily to a well-dressed man who commented on her attire. “Stop by tonight if you’ve a mind to see more,” came her reply before she led the way inside the dim interior of her establishment.
“I can walk on my own.” Devon pulled away from Saul, embarrassed by the beating he took.
“Sure you can.” Lil motioned to Saul, who backed away as Devon collapsed onto the horse hair settee in the front parlor. “And I suppose you could handle all three of those ruffians by yourself too.”
Devon raised up on his elbows. “There were three of them?”
Lil sent Saul to fetch some water, shaking her head as she reached down to unbutton Devon’s shirt. “Don’t you even consider the odds anymore before you jump into a fight? Why I remember a time when Devon Blackstone had the advantage worked out every way to Sunday before he so much as answered a question.”
He remembered those days too. As a matter of fact, Devon still considered himself a cautious man... at least for a blockade runner. He wasn’t sure why he ran off half-cocked, so to speak. Actually, he did. “What happened to her?” He nudged aside Lil’s hand and sucking in his breath, peeled the linen shirt from his body. His left side was turning an ugly molted purple. But it didn’t look half as bad as it felt.
“The lady?” Lil arched her raven brow and sloshed a rag into the basin Saul had set on the floor. “That’s what this was all about? Playing the chivalrous southern gentleman for some woman?”
At Devon’s scowl she leaned over and wiped the blood from his lip. The front of her wrapper gaped open but she didn’t bother to cover her breasts. “The lady ran off before the fight even started.” Lil chuckled. “She probably didn’t realize she was supposed to stay around and pick up the pieces of her knight in shining armor.”
Trying to catch her breath, Felicity leaned against the whitewashed stucco in the alley behind Tradd Street. She’d run, dodging people and clutching her valise, all the way from the wharf. All the way from those terrible men.
Felicity sniffed, resisting the very strong urge to slide down the side of the building and give into a fit of tears. Her legs ached, her arm felt like it was going to break and she’d never been so hot in her entire life.
“Lord, how does anyone stand it here?” she muttered as she fished in her reticule for a handkerchief. Lifting the black veil she dabbed at the perspiration on her face.
She had half a mind to fling the blasted hat off. After all, posing as a widow hadn’t protected her from those men who tried to steal her carpetbag. Felicity squeezed the leather handle to assure herself that it was indeed safely in her possession.
With a sigh she straightened the heavy veil, effectively cutting off even the tiniest wisp of a breeze. Maybe those men down by the dock hadn’t respected her widowhood, but they were obviously the lowest form of humans. But the truth was, most people she met on the train ride south were very solicitous of her.
Uncomfortable as she was, Felicity had to admit her plan to masquerade as a widow had been inspired. Almost as inspired as traveling to South Carolina to bring back Esther’s children. Felicity consoled herself by imagining the expressions of admiration and love on the faces of her father and Jebediah when she returned to New York, with the three children by her side.
As pleasant as those thoughts were, Felicity didn’t have time to indulge in them. She was hot and tired and more hungry than she ever remembered being. But all that would be taken care of as soon as she reached her cousin Louise’s house on Meeting Street. Felicity sighed, thinking of the cool, lavender scented sheets that awaited her. And she’d rid herself of this awful hat and gown. Once she reached Louise and her husband Cyrus’s house she wouldn’t have to concern herself with ruffians again.
Looking both ways to get her bearings, Felicity stepped out onto the street. Charleston wasn’t at all the way she remembered it. She knew there’d been fighting around the city, but she never expected to see so many signs of the war. The conflict left very few marks in New York City. Parades of soldiers, black draping over a few doorways and the tiresome political discussions were about the only indications.
But here...
The people she saw on the street were nothing like the genteel ladies and gentlemen who promenaded the oak lined avenues on her previous visit. These were coarse women and soldiers who seemed to have never heard of military discipline.
Felicity kept her eyes straight ahead beneath the veil and followed Tradd Street till it crossed Meeting. Turning right she headed toward St. Michael’s Church, blinking back tears of relief when her cousin’s house came into view. The shutters were closed against the sun and Felicity could almost feel the shadowed cool of the large, high ceilinged rooms.
Despite her fatigue Felicity practically skipped up the stairs to the front door. Lifting the dolphin-shaped knocker she let it drop with a loud bang.
Nothing.
Felicity knocked again, thinking Louise should speak with her servants about answering the door in a timely manner. It wasn’t until the third time she used the knocker that tiny tendrils of doubt began inching through her. But she wouldn’t panic. Wentworths didn’t panic. Instead she stepped back, squinting through her veil at the shuttered windows for some sign of movement.
There was none.
The windows she thought merely closed against the heat, on closer inspection, were boarded up. Lifting up her skirts, Felicity raced off the porch. The garden bore signs of neglect; roses had been let go to seed and weeds were clogging the once neat walkways. Still Felicity refused to believe the obvious. She pounded on the servants’ entrance, mumbling a prayer under her breath that someone would answer.
When she heard a voice, Felicity thought her prayers were answered. She whirled around, one hand flattened against her heart, the other still clinging to the heavy valise.
“They’s gone.”
Felicity stared down at the wizened black man who stood at the bottom of the porch steps,
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“Gone? Where are they?” Could everyone possibly be out for the day?
He shrugged, his scarecrow shoulders outlined beneath a tattered shirt. “Ain’t sure.”
“When... when will they be back?”
The old black man shook his grizzled head. “Ain’t comin’ back, least ways not till all them Yankee devils be pushed off South Carolina soil.”
“Yankee devils?” Felicity swallowed. She had the most uncomfortable feeling she was going to faint. “But I’m their cousin. I came all the way from... from Richmond for a visit.”
Before he ambled away, the black man’s expression said he thought that a particularly stupid thing to do. And the way she felt now, Felicity had to agree with him. Slowly, not caring if anyone saw her or not, she sank down on the porch step and yanked off the black bonnet.
What was she to do now?
All her plans hinged on finding Louise in Charleston. Louise would help her, Felicity was certain of it. She would understand what had driven Felicity to come to South Carolina. She would know where to look for Esther’s children.
But Felicity had no idea where to look for Louise. Her husband’s family was from Columbia, but there was no guarantee that’s where they were. Besides, Esther had said her children were on a plantation near Port Royal, and Columbia was in the opposite direction of where she needed to go.
Wiping her hand across her forehead, Felicity leaned her shoulder against the porch rail. She could think better if she weren’t so hot and tired and blasted hungry. But she knew one thing. She was going to find those children. “Even if I have to do it by myself,” she muttered slowly, pulling herself up. She brushed the dust from her skirt and looked around, deciding which way to go. She’d come this far on her own—she wasn’t going to give up now.
The first step was to get some rest and food. If she couldn’t stay at Louise’s she... Why she’d stay at a hotel! If she remembered correctly The Charleston Hotel was near here. She’d rent a room, take a nap, then decide the best way to handle her problem. Stepping out onto the brick sidewalk, she began trudging up Meeting Street. The air was thick and off to the east, over the bay, she heard the rumblings of thunder. She needed to hurry to shelter before it stormed.
She paid little heed to the traffic in the street until a voice called to her. Felicity looked up to see a handsome coach stopped beside her.
“Young woman, come here.” There was no mistaking the aristocratic authority in those words, but Felicity couldn’t decide if it was a man or woman calling her. She squinted her eyes trying to see into the darkness of the coach, but couldn’t make out a thing. Facing ahead, Felicity marched on only to have the carriage nudge forward beside her.
This time it was the black man holding the reins who spoke. “Miz Blackstone ain’t gonna hurt ya none.”
“I never thought she would.” Felicity swallowed, trying to keep her composure.
“Then come over here. I’m much too old to chase after you.”
The black man climbed off the box and opened the coach door. Cautiously, Felicity approached the conveyance. It was big and shiny black, much like the one she used when they went calling in New York.
“Come closer. Though some would argue otherwise, I’m not in the habit of devouring young women.”
Felicity could now see the voice belonged to an elderly lady. She sat very straight, her gnarled hand rounding the top of a gold tipped walking stick which she tapped impatiently on the floor of the coach. “Yes, yes, that’s it,” she said when Felicity was as close as she could get. “Now tell me young woman, who are you and what are you doing here?”
“I hardly think I owe you an explanation.” Felicity turned, stopping herself from walking away when she heard the gravelly chuckle. But when she looked back there was no smile on the wrinkled face.
“You have a mind of your own. I like that,” Eveline Blackstone said. “But that doesn’t change the fact that you shouldn’t be out and about all alone.”
“I’m perfectly fine.”
Eveline didn’t dignify that with a response. Instead, she leaned forward on her stick, assessing the girl from a closer vantage. She was rumpled and not entirely clean, but obviously of quality. “Where are you from, child? I know everyone from hereabouts, and you aren’t.”
“I’m from Richmond.” Felicity notched her chin higher and tried to shade her speech with some of her cousin’s slow drawl.
“Richmond, eh?”
Felicity couldn’t tell if the woman believed her or not. Though her face was heavily lined her eyes were bright and intelligent. They held Felicity entranced when she would have turned away. “Yes. I’ve come south to visit my cousin.”
“Visiting?” The woman put so much disbelief into that one word that Felicity grimaced. It did sound ridiculous considering the circumstances. And she had only to glance around to be reminded of those circumstances. The war was real in Charleston. Frighteningly so.
Felicity licked her suddenly dry lips. She couldn’t let fear overwhelm her. And she couldn’t go home empty handed. Not after the note she left for her father and Jebediah. She would find Esther’s children and take them to their mother.
But first things first. Ridding herself of this overbearing woman took priority. And the simplest way to do so seemed to be to satisfy her curiosity. Felicity cleared her throat. “Actually I came to stay with her.”
“Are you a widow?”
“I’m...” Felicity realized she’d left her hat and veil behind. “No.”
“Then why do you wear that dreary garment?” Eveline pointed her stick toward Felicity’s gown.
“I really don’t think that’s any of your concern.” Felicity noticed the older woman’s dress was well tailored but made of a jewel tone silk.
The woman seemed to take no offense at Felicity’s words. She simply launched another question. “Who is this cousin of yours? I told you, I know everyone.”
Felicity didn’t doubt it for a moment. She was such a nosey old harridan. But luckily this part of her story wasn’t a fabrication. She would tell her, then move on. “My cousin is Louise Fraser. She resides in Charleston with her husband—”
“Cyrus. I know them well. At least I did till they up and ran off at the first sign of a Yankee. Feckless lot,” she mumbled.
“I resent your reference to my cousin as—”
“I’m only speaking the truth, young lady. How are we supposed to deal with the problems brought on by this war if everyone goes running off?” she asked reasonably.
“I... I don’t know.”
“Of course you don’t. Climb in here. I’m getting a crick in my neck from looking down. And besides, it appears we’re in for a storm.”
“Oh, I don’t think I should.” The words were barely out of her mouth before a nod from the elderly lady had the black man handing Felicity into the coach. Struggling seemed useless, and besides, Felicity couldn’t believe the woman, for all her abrasive ways, was anything but harmless. And it was so nice to get off her feet and sink into the soft leather seat.
“Much better. And you didn’t waste your time fighting Lucus. I like that. Conserve your strength for the important battles, I always say. I’m Eveline Blackstone, by the by. Now, where can we take you?”
The change of topics was so swift that at first Felicity only blinked. Then her manners surfaced and she nodded. “Felicity Wentworth, and I am quite capable of walking.”
Eveline paid no heed to Felicity’s remark. She simply glanced out the window to her servant. “Lucus, are we holding up traffic on the street?”
“Yes’m, I do believe we is.”
The look from the older lady’s sharp green eyes told Felicity she felt her personally responsible for the backlog... perhaps even for the traffic itself. Besides, the sporadic patter on the coach roof announced the rain had begun. With a sigh Felicity clutched her valise handle tighter. “Very well, the Charleston Hotel.”
Eveline shook her gray head. “We can’t
have you staying there by yourself. Take us home, Lucus.”
“But I...” Before she could protest, the coach lurched forward, throwing Felicity back against the seat. “I don’t even know you.”
“I’m sure Louise Fraser would vouch for me... if she were here, that is. Since she’s decided to high-tail and run, our introduction will have to suffice. I can’t in good conscience let a young thing like you wander the streets of Charleston. My daughter says I don’t realize that times have changed. But I realize, all right. And the city isn’t safe. Besides,” she wrapped her other hand around the head of the walking stick and peered at Felicity over it, “I have plenty of room and you can keep me company.”
Felicity wasn’t at all certain she wanted to keep the woman company even if she had the time—which she didn’t. But before she could figure out how to respond, the coach stopped in front of a large house, grander even than Cousin Louise’s. Lucus opened the door and reached in for Mrs. Blackstone.
Having no apparent alternative, Felicity followed, bending her head and hurrying through the now steady downpour to the portico. Brushing rain droplets from her hair, Felicity stood beside Mrs. Blackstone who seemed not to be wet at all. The older woman was much smaller than Felicity had assumed—perhaps because her voice suggested someone of larger stature. She seemed to bristle under the care of her servant who quickly let go of her elbow.
“Getting old is the price we pay for our sins,” Eveline said when she noticed Felicity watching her.
“I’d say old age is preferable to the alternative,” Felicity quipped, then wished she hadn’t. Before she died, her mother warned her repeatedly that she spoke too often without thinking. When she glanced toward Mrs. Blackstone the woman’s expression was stern.
“You have an impertinent mouth, young woman.” Eveline pursed her lips. “Perhaps that’s what I like about you.”
The door was opened by a black woman who looked every bit as old as her mistress. Speechless, Felicity followed her into the house. The foyer was wide and open, beautifully appointed with murals and mahogany.
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