"You look gorgeous tonight," he informed her, studying her delicate features and creamy skin. She was no longer a mountain girl in buckskins, but the most ravishing creature he'd ever seen, he decided, his chest tightening with emotion. At the same time, he sensed every other man in the ballroom felt the same way. No doubt some of the officers might want to call on his beautiful cousin, he realized, knowing the possibility would pose a definite problem.
Silky considered Taggart, mulling over the incident about the Cuban cigar. It still troubled her when she thought of Harrison's comment that only Yankees smoked that kind of cigar, but Taggart's remark about the gambling debt had been acceptable, especially when every time she looked at him she experienced a great rush of love and affection. How glad she was that Caroline Willmott wasn't here tonight and she didn't have to compete with the gorgeous creature for his attention! It was bad enough that he had to attend meetings with her about raising funds for Chimborazo, but the committee did such good work for the hospital, it put her to shame to complain.
Looking over Taggart's shoulder, she let her gaze meander over the room and saw a dark-haired officer leaning with crossed arms against a column, watching her. She blinked at his fashionable Zouave-style uniform, for it was a sight to behold. Over a waistcoat of red he wore a jacket of black with red epaulets and rows of silver buttons. Red pantaloons covered his legs, and white gaiters rose almost to his knees. Despite his splendor, the first thought that came to her head was what a wonderful target he would make for some Union sharpshooter.
The man in the splendid uniform cast his sharp brown eyes up and down Silky, seemingly devouring her. At first she was flattered by his attention, but after a few minutes an uncomfortable blush rode her cheeks. Lordamercy, she thought, her heart heating a little faster. Who was this handsome man with the jet black hair, and why was he watching her so intently?
On Christmas Eve, Silky sat by Taggart's side in St. Paul's Church, a place she'd longed to visit since they'd arrived in Richmond. With the war going badly and severe shortages of commodities, a somber spirit pervaded the city; nevertheless, pine boughs and holly berries from the surrounding woods decorated the cold, drafty church. The ancient building was full of creaks and groans, and, from the balcony above her, she heard footsteps and coughing as the last of the parishioners slipped into place.
Wearing a new red wool mantle and fox-fur toque and muff, she glanced at Taggart, who, like the rest of the military men, sported Confederate gray. He was easily the bestlooking man in the assembly, but how serious he looked, she thought, wondering what was running through his handsome head. Perhaps he was simply worrying about the war, for on the day of Colonel Lehman's ball, Sherman had taken Savannah, prompting Burton Harrison's early departure from the social gathering. To make matters worse, the flamboyant Union general was now rolling into the Carolinas, destroying everything before him.
Soft organ music began floating over the crowd, and she opened a musty hymnal in preparation for congregational singing. As the pastor claimed his place behind the carved pulpit, a murmur rippled through the worshipers and Taggart touched her arm, whispering, "Look to your left; it's Bobby Lee himself."
With a thrill, she saw Robert E. Lee walking down the aisle to claim a pew, reserved for himself and the group of junior officers who trailed his tall figure. Over six feet and soldierly in every way, Lee moved with purpose and assurance, his short steel-gray hair and whiskers adding to his manly appearance. An immaculate gray uniform, beating gleaming general's stars, gatbed his thick, hard-muscled body, while an elegant ceremonial sword glittered at his side. He radiated an air of gentlemanly dignity and quiet possession, but, with a pang of sadness, Silky noticed deep lines furrowing his bronzed face, undoubtedly carved by his great responsibilities. The stories she could now tell them in the Blue Ridge! she thought with pride. She'd seen the great General Lee himself, and he was as imposing as she'd always imagined.
Taggart studied Lee, thinking how much he'd aged since he'd known him at West Point. Possessing great strength and integrity, the general had borne his responsibilities gallantly, but one look at his tired, pensive eyes said it all. Like Jefferson Davis and his cabinet, Lee was living on hope, trusting that a stroke of fortune might give the beleaguered South another chance for victory.
With Lee and his entourage seated, the Christmas Eve service went on as expected, with singing and fiery exhortations from the pastor to hold to the faith and pray for the success and protection of the Confederate troops. Taggart realized that, ironically, churches in the Union would be filled tonight with weary families praying for the health and success of the Northern troops. So many prayers, he thought, covering Silky's hand with his. So many prayers when only one side could win, and the other must experience crushing defeat.
What would the New Year bring? He knew an old era was passing away. Would a spirit of reconciliation and hope sweep the land, or, after the hostilities, would there be continued strife and bitterness? He glanced at Silky's delicate profile as she studied her open hymnal, joining in with the parishioners who sang "O Holy Night." Where would they both be next Christmas Eve? he wondered with a flicker of sadness.
Would she be back in Sweet Gum Hollow while he was in Ohio, lounging in a paneled study, drinking expensive brandy and remembering this poignant evening in Richmond? Then, with a long, inward sigh, he realized he couldn't torture himself with possibilities. Like the rest of humanity all he had was this dark Christmas Eve of 1884, and he would have to make the best of it and trust the future to providence.
When the service was over, Taggart guided Silky from the church, passing officers in long Confederate overcoats and ladies in fur-trimmed mantles. After the pair had maneuvered their way through the murmuring crowd standing on St. Paul's steps, they walked down Ninth Street, gently falling snow icy against their faces. Illuminated by the glow of gas street lamps, silvery flakes came down in twirling showers, giving the moment a soft, magical quality. All about them were the sounds of the night: crunching footsteps in the snow, snatches of conversation from passing couples, their heads bent against the wind, and, in the distance, the sound of deeply tolling church bells.
Gradually Taggart heard singing, and from the darkness emerged a group of bundled-up childrencarolers led by a minister wearing a thick coat, muffler, and a stocking cap. As they paused to listen to the children's pure voices he noted Silky's lovely form. Cold pinked her cheeks, and snowflakes clung to her fur toque and red wool mantle, glittering in the lamplight and giving her the appearance of a lovely Christmas doll. She was so special, so unique, he thought. He wondered what she'd do when the web of deception he'd woven came falling down about them, trapping them both. No, don't think about that! he sternly advised himself, putting his arm about her and drawing her close to protect her from the cold. Think of tonight and tonight alone. Only by doing that can you survive.
After another carol the children moved on, the sound of their sweet voices becoming softer and fainter. With a smile, Silky hooked her arm in his. "That was nicereally nice," she remarked thoughtfully, gazing at him with large, moist eyes. "One of the best Christmas gifts I ever received. I don't think a person could ever want anything more."
They strolled on, passing Capitol Square with its statue of George Washington, and the capitol building itself, its windows softly aglow with light. "Well then," Taggart commented airily, surveying her curious face, "I suppose I'll have to find someone else to accept the presents I have back at the Spotswood."
"You bought presents?" she asked, blinking the snowflakes from her long lashes. "You bought presents when half the shops in Richmond are closed?"
"Yes, of course," he answered matter-of-factly. "That's what most people do at Christmas, isn't it?"
The look of surprised delight on her face amply repaid him for bidding for goods on the black market and buying the blockade-run luxuries at a highly inflated price. What will she think of the rest of it? he wondered as they hurried through th
e snow, locking their arms about each other like joyous children.
After they entered the hotel, Silky rushed up the staircase, both thrilled and embarrassed that with people starving Taggart had bought her Christmas presents. Wasn't it enough that he'd found the wonderful ensemble she'd worn tonight? she thought, recalling the looks of admiration the garments had drawn at St. Paul's.
Just before they reached her room, Taggart beamed down upon her and, opening the door, said, "Merry Christmas, Fancy Pants."
With a small gasp she peered inside, the deliciously pungent aroma of the forest washing over her. A small Christmas tree stood on a table in the center of the room, glittering with decorations and white candles that flickered with light. Beneath the tree, several beautifully wrapped presents, their red bows full and lush, waited to be opened. And before the fire, on a serving table covered with a snowy cloth and set with the finest china and crystal, was a holiday feast crowned with the luxury of a ham, befrilled in paper and crusty with brown sugar and spices. Buttery vegetables, candied yams, biscuits, and a warm pecan pie with a bowl of thick whipped cream finished off the fragrant meal, which was complemented a bottle of champagne resting in a silver bucket filled with slushy ice.
With a flash of happiness she entered the room, removed her toque, and tossed it on a chair along with her muff and coat. What a wonderful medicine this surprise was for her lingering worries. Tonight she could forget about Petersburg, and Caroline Willmott, and everything else that was bothering her. Joy perking through her, she watched Taggart close the door behind him, a pleased grin on his face. She just couldn't figure him out. He could be so secretive and moody at times, then turn around and do wonderful things like this as if it were nothing. "What have you done?" she exclaimed, horrified at the expense of such a gesture, but loving it just the same.
"I thought you deserved a little cheering up. It is Christmas, you know," he answered, divesting himself of his hat and long Confederate overcoat.
She rushed to him and threw her arms about him. "How did you manage this? How in the world did you find a ham with all the butcher shops bare?"
A satisfied smile lit his face. "I had conspirators in the kitchen. When I mentioned what I wanted to do, some of the help told me about this enterprising farm wife who lives a few miles from the city. The ham came from her smokehouse and the vegetables from her garden." He nodded at the Christmas tree. "One of the porters put this up while we were at St. Paul's. The decorations belong to the hotel," he added with a dry cough. "They are more or less on loan."
She stood on her tiptoes and laced her fingers behind his neck, feeling the swell of his powerful shoulders. "Yes, I'm sure they are," she replied, kissing him lightly on the lips. "You paid the porter to cut a tree, then had him scrounge around in the hotel attic for spare decorations, hoping the manager wouldn't find out." She laughed with pure pleasure. "Few people would think of bribing a porter to take on such a mission, but I love it, you scoundrel."
He unlaced her fingers, then led her to the sofa, where she sat down, spreading out her huge green taffeta skirt. "I'm glad you approve," he remarked, snapping out a white linen napkin and placing it on her lap. "What use is there in being a scoundrel if a person can't do something outrageous now and then?" He opened the champagne, sending the cork bouncing off the mirror above the mantel and making Silky giggle. "Here, drink this," he ordered with mock severity, handing her a sparkling glass of the bubbly wine.
"Maybe it will calm you down some. You're having too much fun for a refined Southern belle."
She sipped the champagne, feeling its bubbles tickle her nose. "Now remember," she said, wagging her finger at him, "I'm just pretending to be a refined Southern belle. I'm a mountain girl, plain and simple, with hardly any upbringing at all." She directed a hard gaze at him. "If you think this little bit of sour plum juice is going sedate me, you have another think coming. To someone who's used to Uncle Dooley's special three-week-aged white lightning, this stuff isn't any more than a light belly wash."
Laugh lines crinkling his eyes, Taggart sat down beside her and served her plate with a slice of juicy ham and all the fixings that had been prepared to go along with it. The crackling logs sent out a glow that wrapped itself about them, and as they engaged in playful badinage, she surveyed his rakish face, thinking she had never loved him more. All this he'd done to give her one evening's pleasure. A warm, sweet feeling glowed within her heart, and she knew that if she lived to be ninety-nine, this would be the best Christmas Eve of her life.
"Ummm, this is wonderful," she remarked with a full mouth, and not even caring that she did. "Give me more yams and cut me a piece of pecan pie." She waved her hand excitedly. "And be sure to put lots of cream on it!" Laughing indulgently, Taggatt obliged. "You know,'' she added, helping herself to another biscuit and reaching for the butter, "there's enough ham here for a dozen people. Who's going to eat it all?"
Taggart grinned. "The kitchen help. After all, they were the ones who told me where to get it in the first place." He glanced at his pocket watch. "Someone from the hotel kitchen will be up after a while to clear this away; then the scullery maids will eat like royalty tonight." He gave a warm laugh. "I've been told one of the waiters has managed to procure a bottle of whiskey. No doubt there will be quite a party below the stairs tonight."
Satisfaction hummed through Silky. Things couldn't be any better, it seemed. She knew Taggart had already given Delcie an enormous Christmas bonus that left her speechless, and Abby planned to bring Daniel a tasty home-cooked meal. The Confederacy might be in chaos, but everyone she cared about was amply provided for on this cold, blustery Christmas Eve.
After they'd eaten, Taggart lit up a cheroot and escorted her to the Christmas tree so she could open her gifts. She cast aside the red velvet ribbons and crackling wrapping paper to find a lovely silk shawl, a velvet reticule, and French perfume in a crystal atomizer, which she dabbed over her arms and neck. How expensive the gifts must be! she thought, guessing the luxuries had been brought into the Confederacy by blockade runners. A last package produced a book on California. With a cry of delight, she carried the slim volume to the settee, then sat down and ruffled pages that still smelled of printer's ink, discovering drawings of Spanish missions, vineyards, and a rugged coastline with crashing waves.
Taggart stood beside her, cigar smoke circling his head. "This book is less colorful than your dime novels, but more factual, I think," he advised with a nod of approval.
She rose and clasped her arms about his neck. "Oh, I love it. You couldn't have got me anything I'd love more!"
His eyes dancing with merriment, he reached into his pocket and produced a small jewelry box. "I almost forgot this," he apologized, placing the box into her hand. "Go ahead and open it."
For an instant her heart stopped, for she thought he might be giving her a ring; then she realized the box was too flat. Oh well, she told herself, lightly brushing her disappointment aside. He will give me a ring one day; I know he will. How could this night be less than perfect when he'd gone to such expense to make everything wonderful for her? She opened the box and a pair of golden filigree earrings, sporting diamond chips, twinkled up at her. "Oh, they're beautiful," she cried, her voice thick with emotion as she brushed back her hair to attach the jewelry to her earlobes. She gazed up at Taggart, noticing touches of humor on his pleased face. "Why, they're prettier than red shoelaces!" she exclaimed, raising herself to kiss his lips once more.
There was a soft knock at the door, and when Taggart opened it, the kitchen crew entered to clear away the feast. There was laughter, flashing smiles, and "thank you, sirs" aplenty, when, after they'd completed the job, he tipped them generously for their efforts.
At last the pair were by themselves once more, and Silky twirled about, tilting her head to the side. "Santa Claus sure was good to me. Do you think he makes the rounds to those Yankee buzzards, too?"
Taggart laughed heartily. "Well, I imagine so," he answered, his mo
uth lifting with amusement. "I really don't know if Santa Claus holds Unionist or Confederate sympathies," he added, rubbing the back of his neck, "but considering his worldwide mission, I'll wager he's neutrallike the Swiss."
"Yes, I suppose so," she said vaguely, shaken by the dashing picture he made, standing before the fire in his elegant gray uniform with its gold sash and glittering buttons and trim. "Thank you so much for all my presents. I-I'm sorry. I don't have anything for you," she murmured, truly sad she had nothing to give him.
"Well actually, you might," he replied dryly, taking off his sash and jacket and draping them over the back of the settee. His starched white shirt contrasted starkly with his bronzed face and long black hair, and at that moment she couldn't think of anything she'd enjoy more than the feel of his lips upon hers.
As if reading her mind, he walked to her and took her in his arms, pulling her against his hard chest. She met his questioning gaze and, pulsing with desire, surrendered to the hot sensations clamoring within. For the time being, she pushed aside all her doubts and worries about him and their uncertain future. With the war raging about them, who knew what the future would bring? Absolutely no one. But tonight, she decided fiercely, she would be happy and luxuriate in the joy of the moment.
He lowered his head and brushed his mouth over hers, and she responded instantly to the warmth of his lips, lifted to the stars with a feeling so exquisite it almost took her breath away. Her whole body took on a sensual glow and, excitement swirling in the pit of her stomach, she felt her nipples tingle and strain against her blouse. Taggart gradually broke the kiss and rested his forehead against hers. "Speaking of Santa Claus, I think he has just arrived," he admitted with a sly grin.
Silky clutched his wide shoulders, meeting his amused gaze with a giggle. "Well, Lordamercy, don't stop what you were doing now," she ordered playfully, brushing her mouth against his once more. "I want everything he's going to bring me, and I want it right now!"
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