Toward the end of the evening, Gerald Small began dancing with a pretty blond girl whom Flora did not know, and he kept casting triumphant, slightly mean glances at Flora. She barely noticed and was sure she missed some.
As it happened, the last dance of the night was a waltz. At the end, Lieutenant Stuart escorted Flora back to her father. They exchanged greetings, and Jeb said, “Sir, I have found out that Miss Cooke has quite a reputation as an expert equestrian, so I have asked her to go for a ride with me tomorrow afternoon. She has agreed. Will that be acceptable to you, sir?”
“Of course, if Flora wants to go,” Colonel Cooke said.
Jeb said in a most courtly manner, “I count it a great privilege, and I will be very careful to see that your daughter is safe. Thank you, sir.” He turned to Flora. “Miss Cooke, I cannot adequately express my appreciation for your company tonight. It has been a delightful evening, and I owe my enjoyment of it expressly to you. Thank you, and until tomorrow, Miss Cooke.” He bowed gallantly.
“Until tomorrow, Lieutenant,” she replied as she curtsied prettily.
Colonel Cooke studied his daughter’s glowing face. “You just met him tonight, and you’ve already agreed to go riding with him, Flora?”
“Yes, Father. Surely you have no qualms? Already I have ascertained that he is a Southern gentleman of the first quality, from a noted Virginia family, and a Christian man. I’m sure no one would think ill of me or of him.”
“No, of course not. That’s not what I meant,” Cooke said as they walked slowly toward the door, arm in arm. “He’s a fine man and a truly excellent soldier. It’s just that I suppose I’ve never seen you take to anyone quite so quickly.”
She laughed, just a little, and squeezed his arm. “Papa,” she said lightly, “perhaps it was just meant to be.”
CHAPTER TWO
Laughing with delight, Flora looked over her shoulder and called, “Is the 1st Cavalry always so slow?” Easily her mare jumped a broken-down snake fence and reached the border of the pecan orchard half a minute before Jeb Stuart caught up to her, his big white stallion easily clearing the fence.
He jumped down, grinning as always, his blue eyes dazzling in the blinding summer sun.
“Begging your pardon, ma’am, it’s not that the 1st Cav is so slow. It’s that you’re fast. You beat me fair and square, Miss Cooke.” He reached up to hold her hand as she dismounted. “I thought I would let you win, you know. Turns out I should have asked you to spare my manly feelings and let me win.”
Affectionately Flora patted her mare’s heaving sides. She was a pretty gray palfrey, a gift from her father upon her graduation. “Her name is Juliet, a noble and delicate name, but she runs like a hardworking quarter horse.”
“This is Ace,” Jeb said, slapping the big horse’s haunch. “And we always won until we met you two. Let’s walk them out, shall we?”
“Yes, let’s walk back to that little creek where we started. It’s very warm, and I think that the water may be much cooler than what we have in our canteens.”
Jeb had shown up at exactly two o’clock, as promised, resplendent in his cavalry uniform with the dark blue coat and sky-blue trousers, both with golden trim and insignia. He wore a wide-brimmed black hat with a golden band.
Flora had been so excited about seeing him again that she could barely get dressed, alternately berating Ruby for being so slow and urging her to hurry up. Finally, however, she had dressed in her very best new riding habit, emerald green of heavy cotton with a snappy jacket with a tight waist and peplum. The skirt was ground-length and had a small train, as it must for women to be able to cover their legs and feet appropriately while riding. She wore a dashing brimmed hat, pinned up on one side with a gold brooch that had belonged to her mother.
Jeb had made appropriate greetings to her father, but Flora was so anxious to ride that she had almost immediately demanded that they go. They had cantered outside the fort and come to one of the countless streams that crisscrossed the rolling hills above the river. On the other side was a wide field filled with black-eyed Susans growing riotously and the graceful lines of a pecan orchard on the far side. Flora had immediately challenged Jeb to a race.
Now they walked slowly back across the field. Jeb looked at Flora’s sidesaddle, mystified. “I’ve never understood how ladies can even sit on a horse on those contraptions. And especially I’ve never thought a lady could beat me in a race riding one. What I’ve heard is certainly true, Miss Cooke. You are one fine rider.”
“I’ve been riding since I was four years old,” Flora said. “And I do love to ride. I even like to shoot.” She glanced up at him slyly.
With his dress uniform, he wore his cavalry saber and his pistol in a black leather holster. “No, no, ma’am!” he blustered. “You’ve already beaten me soundly at riding. I’m not going to let you shame me right down to the ground by outshooting me.”
“Maybe some other time,” she said.
“I hope there are many other times,” he said quietly. Then, as he was wont to do after a sober moment with her, he reverted back to jollity. “Now I know you can ride and sing and play the guitar and piano. I know you can dance better than any lady I’ve ever seen. Tell me everything else about you.”
“Everything?”
“Everything. I want to know it all.”
“Oh, but no lady would ever tell all about herself. We must remain mysterious, so as to keep men intrigued,” Flora teased. “Besides, you already know a lot about me, and I know very little about you, Lieutenant. Tell me about your home and family.”
Jeb told her about his family in Virginia, about his father, Archibald Stuart, who had long represented Patrick County in the Virginia Assembly and then was a congressman. He mentioned some of their connections to other prominent Virginia families, such as the Prices and the Pannills and the Letchers. “But it was through one of my father’s political connections that I got my commission to West Point,” he said with some pride.
“A fine institution,” Flora said. “My father says West Point cadets make the very best soldiers in the world.”
“I’m a better soldier than I was a West Point cadet,” Jeb told her, eyes dancing merrily. “I graduated with 129 demerits. I think they just graduated me because I was so rowdy and raucous they didn’t want me to corrupt any more cadets. I had a nickname there, you know.”
“What was it?”
“They called me Beauty. It was because I was so homely, I guess. Like you call a tall man ‘Shorty.’ ”
“I don’t think you’re homely, Lieutenant,” Flora said casually. “Not at all.”
He looked pleased, like a young boy. “Really? Anyway, that’s why I grew the beard … to cover up my homely aspects.”
As they walked, Jeb bent and picked about six of the black-eyed Susans, then presented them to her with a bow. “Now you, Miss Cooke, have nothing at all homely about you. You’re like these flowers, bright and glowing in the sunshine. And I must say that your riding outfit there is about the prettiest concoction I’ve ever seen. You truly are a ‘beauty’ in it.”
“Thank you, kind sir,” she said, accepting the wild bouquet with a queenly gesture. Flora was rather accustomed to compliments from men, but deep down she knew that Jeb Stuart’s admiration pleased her more than any other.
They reached the cool deep shade of the cottonwoods that bordered the little singing stream, and Jeb filled their canteens with the cold, fresh water.
Flora watched him, bemused. In truth he was just a little above average height, but he was a big man, with broad shoulders, giant hands, and long legs. For being so brawny, he was curiously graceful, with a rolling stride, but on horseback he had a power and grace that she had never seen before.
And whoever in the world could say he was homely? He’s one of the most handsome men I’ve ever met! Men are blind to male beauty, I suppose … but women certainly are not. They crowd around him like honeybees to the comb! He’s just so imposing, so … co
mmanding … so …
The end of the thought made her blush, and at that moment he stood and turned back to her. A knowing, amused look crossed his face as he stepped up to hand her the canteen. She dropped her eyes and took a long drink of the refreshing water.
Jeb drank then led the horses up to the stream so they could drink. “Would your mare wander, do you think?” he asked her.
“I don’t think so, but even if she does, she always comes to me easily,” Flora answered.
“I’ve got a trick to get Ace to come to me if he’s off foraging,” Jeb said, looping the horses’ reins around the pommels. “Let’s take a little walk along this stream.”
They walked in the shade of the trees along the grassy bank. The stream was really just a little bubbling trace only a couple of feet across at its widest part, but in places it was waist-deep.
“I love this little stream. I ride here often,” Flora said. “I don’t even think it has a name.”
“Then let’s name it,” Jeb said. “How about Beauty’s Stream? Meaning you, of course, Miss Cooke.”
“And you, Lieutenant Stuart. After all, if West Point says it, then it must be so.”
They came to a great fallen hickory tree just at the edge of the water. Flora sat down on it. Still holding her little bouquet, she threw one of the bright yellow flowers into the stream, and they watched it bob merrily away.
Jeb cocked one booted foot up on the log and leaned over her, not too close but near enough for her to again feel the sense of his physical presence so strongly that he might have been touching her. “I hear, ma’am, that you are planning to go to Philadelphia soon, to make your social debut.”
Her face still averted, watching the peaceful stream wander by, she answered quietly, “That is true, Lieutenant. That has been my plan. I mean, it is my plan.”
“I see.” He was quiet for a moment, his piercing blue eyes gazing into the distance. “How soon?”
“Next month. Around the fifteenth.”
He roused a little. “Oh? Oh well, that gives me plenty of time.” He was teasing her again.
She looked up at him and made a prim face. “Plenty of time for what, sir?”
“Plenty of time for my plan.”
“And what, exactly, is this plan?”
“Just because you told me your plan,” he said jauntily, “doesn’t mean I’m going to tell you mine. Not yet, anyway.”
“Not yet? Then when?”
“Maybe … mm … maybe when you start calling me Jeb.”
She sniffed and tossed another flower into the water. “It will be some time then. I only met you yesterday.”
“Was it?” he asked intently. “Seems like I know you already. Seems like I’ve known you for a long time, Flora.”
She was so enthralled with his words, and his nearness, that she never even noticed he called her by her given name. Nervously she stood, brushing her skirt, and somehow stumbled just a little.
He took her arm, presumably to steady her, but somehow she took a step, and he took a step and then they were standing close, facing each other. She stared up at him, directly into his piercing eyes, as he slowly searched her face almost hungrily. Very slowly he put his hands on her waist, and his fingers met in the tiny span. Flora felt the warmth from his hands spread through her, an oddly heavy sensation that made her catch her breath. He made a very slight move, lowering his face closer to hers, but then she saw a clear reluctance cloud his eyes and tighten his mouth. And suddenly she knew, as women sometimes did, that he was afraid to embrace her, afraid to make such advances too soon, afraid he would offend her, afraid he would frighten her away.
But Flora was not frightened, not at all; and she did not want him to be either. “May I …,” she said softly, almost imperceptibly moving closer to him.
“What?” he asked in a deep voice.
“May I … touch your beard, sir?” she asked, smiling a little.
“Yes,” he answered abruptly. His hands tightened on her waist until he almost hurt her.
Slowly she reached up and buried her fingers in his thick cinnamon-colored beard. “It’s very soft,” she said.
He stared at her, his eyes suddenly dark and brooding.
With one finger, she traced the outline of his beard up to the thick mustache, smoothing it a little, and then touched his lips. “So warm …,” she murmured.
He kissed her then. She could tell how difficult it was for him to restrain himself, because his hands on her waist were urgent, but his kiss was light, a mere brushing of his mouth against hers.
Then he lifted his head, and with an obvious effort dropped his hands and moved away from her. “I’m—I’m sorry,” he said in a guttural tone.
“I’m not,” Flora said lightly. To give him a few moments to recover himself, she bent to pick up the remaining flowers, still lying on the fallen log. She herself was deeply stirred and realized that already this man had a power over her that she had never imagined could exist. She took a deep, shuddering breath as she commanded her mind, her emotions, and even her body back under control. With careful movements, she rearranged the flowers back into a tight little bouquet and turned back to him.
He had recovered, all right. He was watching her, again with the joyful merriment that seemed to emanate like an aura from him. “I’ve never known a woman like you. I’ve sure never known a lady like you, Flora.”
“You may call me Flora,” she said primly. “But for my part, I shall still address you as Lieutenant Stuart.”
“You won’t know my plan until you call me Jeb, remember?” he teased, taking her arm, lightly now but with a slight air of possession.
“I may already suspect more of your plan than you realize, Lieutenant Stuart,” she said airily. “But it may be that now you don’t know mine.”
“That’s probably all too true,” Jeb agreed. “What man was ever such a fool to imagine he knows what a woman’s thinking? Not me.”
They slowly walked back to the field, where the horses were well in sight, grazing. Flora and Jeb walked right up to Juliet, who stood obediently and let Flora take the reins.
Curiously she watched as Jeb reached in his pocket then called out in a clear ringing voice, “Ace! C’mere, boy!” He whistled, a clean, loud, boyish sound on the still hot air. Alertly the horse lifted his great head then set out at a gallop straight for Jeb, coming to a sliding stop just in front of him. Jeb chuckled and pulled a little packet tied with string out of his pocket. Quickly he untied the string and emptied the white granules into his hand. “Sugar,” he told Flora. “Works every time.”
“Yes, I can see that it does work very well for you, Lieutenant Stuart,” she said sweetly. “Every time. We had better be getting back. In spite of what you may think, sir, I have not utterly lost my sense of propriety. We’ve been gone for almost two hours, and that is quite long enough, considering.”
Jeb stepped up to her, again put his hands around her waist, and bodily lifted her up to set her on her saddle before she could protest. “You could never lose any sense of propriety, Miss Cooke. In fact, as far as I’m concerned, you’re just about perfect. And so, since tomorrow will be our second ride, perhaps it may be for three hours?”
“You truly are very sure of yourself, aren’t you?” she demanded, a little flustered.
“Am now,” he said, swinging up into his saddle. “Tomorrow, then?”
“Yes—yes. Tomorrow.”
CHAPTER THREE
Flora dipped her hand into the milk-glass jar, got three full fingers of the rich cream, and started applying it to her face.
Ruby came to the dressing table, snatched up the jar, and set a corked bottle down in its place. “Here, you needs to put this on yo’ face, Miss Flora.”
Suspiciously Flora picked up the bottle. It was colored a dark purple, and she could barely see a thick substance coating the sides as she turned it back and forth. “It looks like bacon skimmings. What is it?”
“It’s Mam D
owd’s Anti-Freckle Skin Lotion. You know, Mam Dowd, down to town, that makes all the herbs and potions and cosmeticals for white ladies?”
Flora uncorked it and held it up to her nose, then yanked it away. “Good heavens, it smells like rancid bacon skimmings, too!”
Stubbornly Ruby crossed her arms. “Now you just put that on your face, Miss Flora. You out riding in the summer sun all day ever day, with that pretty white skin. You got to cover it with some pertection.”
“I’m not going to get freckles. Give me back my Essence of Gardenia cream, Ruby. It’s protection enough.”
“Hit says in Levitican that if youse got spots youse has to go outside the camp,” Ruby said with an air of triumph. “And that was for sure talkin’ about freckled white ladies.”
“It’s Leviticus, and it was talking about—Oh, never mind what it was talking about! Give me back my cream, Ruby. If I put that grease on me, I’ll likely slide off my horse. And after one whiff of that, Jeb would turn and run away at a gallop.”
With a dire frown, Ruby put the jar of cream back on the dressing table and quickly whisked the bottle into the bosom of her shirt. “Listen at you, callin’ him by his give name already! And you barely knowing him a month!”
“It’s been a little over a month and a half,” Flora retorted.
“Mm-hmm. And you ridin’ out all over the countryside with him most every day. What does that tell me, Miss Flora? You lettin’ him take some liberties?”
Flora stopped rubbing the cream into her skin, and her gaze went to a far-off distance.
Since that very first time they had ridden out together, and Flora had dared to touch Jeb and invite him as she had, they had both known the powerful attraction they had for each other—and they had both been wary ever since. For Flora, even though she had not quite realized it at the time, it had been a test for her. She already knew that she was attracted to Jeb Stuart—to his jovial personality, his humor, his ready laugh, his avid attentions to her—but she had not really understood what it was like to feel passion for a man. And in those few moments, and in that brief kiss, she had come to know passion, deep passion, and had comprehended in some way that this tremendous rush of feeling was what men found so very difficult to control. But women could. And Jeb did.
The Sword Page 3