"Miss Redmon, how do you do? Tis been an age since we have seen you, I vow."
Her hostess, Lenora Haskins, Todd's mother, stopped beside Susannah's chair to smile down at her. There was perhaps a touch of condescension in that smile, because, of course, the Haskinses moved in a more rarefied social stratum than the Redmons, but on the whole it was kindly.
Susannah exchanged pleasantries with Mrs. Haskins, then settled back down to nod at Mrs. Greer and listen to the music.
It was nearly an hour later when she realized that she had not seen Mandy for some time. Frowning, she scanned the ballroom, where a lively country dance was now in progress. There were gowns of butter yellow and carnation pink and magnolia-blossom white swirling about the room, but nowhere could she spy the least hint of apple green silk. The ballroom was on the ground floor, with its long windows open to the night. Mandy, tired of having to stand about on the sidelines unable to dance, must have gone out onto the gallery. The question was, just who had she gone out there with? She had been unusually quiet ever since the afternoon when Ian had fought with Jed Likens, then carried Susannah upstairs. Pouting was nothing out of the ordinary for Mandy, of course, but a quiet fit of the sulks, if that was what this mood was, was a new departure. Susannah did not know quite what to make of it or whether or not to try to cajole her sister out of it. She did know that she was suddenly concerned about her sister's whereabouts.
"Excuse me, please," Susannah said to Mrs. Greer, cutting the old woman off in mid-flow. Mrs. Greer looked taken aback, but Susannah was already making her way unobtrusively along the wall toward the open windows.
There were two couples on the gallery, as far away from each other as it was possible to be and blanketed by shadows, but Susannah saw at a glance that neither girl was Mandy.
The lawn stretched out in front of her, dark and alive with chirping crickets and croaking frogs and singing locusts. To the right were the stables. To the left were the swampy deltas where the Haskinses grew their rice. Surely Mandy would not have gone either way.
"Can ah help you, ma'am?" A wizened old man, one of the Haskinses' slaves who had been passing out refreshments on silver trays inside the ballroom, materialized in front of her as she stood hesitating in one of the apertures, looking back over the guests with a frown. As if she could have somehow missed her own sister, of course.
"I'm looking for my sister," Susannah said. "Miss Amanda Redmon. She was wearing a green gown. Have you seen her?"
The old man frowned and shook his head. "No, ma'am, can't say that ah have. But ah'll ask Henry, if you'd be pleased to wait a minute."
Susannah watched as he made his way across the room to where Henry, who was the Haskinses' major domo, supervised the proceedings. As her eyes swept the crowd, she noticed three things: the festivities were growing increasingly merry, Todd Haskins was in the ballroom, dancing with an excessively attractive blonde—and Hiram Greer wasn't.
Had Mandy gone off somewhere with Hiram Greer? If so, Susannah did not know whether to be worried or relieved. Greer was well known to them, and he would not harm Mandy, but that she should choose him for a companion was odd. Susannah was not well enough acquainted with the guest list to say for sure who else might be missing. But all the young men she had observed previously seemed to be present.
"Henry said Miss Redmon done went 'round to the rose gardens. Uh, he said she was escorted."
Susannah didn't want to ask the identity of the escort, fearing to rouse questions about Mandy's conduct if she made too much of it. The old man already looked worried, although perhaps that was his habitual expression.
"I see," she said, as noncommittally as she could. "And just where are the rose gardens, if you please? I've heard they are quite something to see."
"The easiest way to get there is to come out the back and go down past the kitchen," he said, beckoning. Susannah followed him, hoping that her progress would go unremarked. He pointed the way from the back door, and Susannah thanked him. Hurrying past the kitchen, which was a small brick building separate from the house, she was struck by the laughter and merriment that floated, along with appetizing aromas, out of the structure's open windows and doors. The slaves were having their own version of a good time, it seemed, even as they served the guests at the house. A dark-skinned woman wearing an apron and a turban appeared, bearing a steaming, obviously heavy platter of crab pastries in her hands, and sauntered along the covered passageway that led to the main house. More refreshments for the guests were on their way.
A man sat alone in the dark on the steps at the side of the kitchen. He was in the shadows, and she would not have noticed him at all had it not been for the tip of his cigar, glowing red. Sparing him hardly more than the glance it took to identify the source of the red glow, Susannah hurried past.
"Susannah." It was Ian. She would know that gravelly voice anywhere. Susannah stopped, waiting while he unfolded himself from the step and came across the lawn to join her. Despite the fact that Jed Likens had been taken to jail just as Ian had foretold, he had been released the day before with a stern warning to behave. Ian had been livid when he had heard, and adamant that Susannah go nowhere outside of shouting distance of the house by herself. Her father, angered as she had rarely seen him by the huge purple bruise on her arm, had roused himself from his usual abstraction to add his stricture to Ian's. Susannah had not disagreed, partly because she was afraid that Jed Likens might just be stupid enough and mean enough to try something and partly because taking one or the other of her sisters with her when she walked about the farm or down the road was a pleasure rather than a hardship. Fortunately, no one had summoned her to sit with a sick person at night lately. When that happened, as it inevitably would, then she would decide whether or not to allow Ian to escort her, as he clearly expected to do. The question of whether it was worse to risk a solo encounter with Jed Likens and his ilk or with Ian was never far from her mind, and she hadn't yet found an answer to it. Though her rage at Ian had been largely dissipated by his actions that afternoon four days ago, Susannah was still wary of him. She wanted him, and the feeling only grew worse with every new day that passed. She yearned for his laughter and companionship and teasing, and, yes, for the heartstopping effect he had on her senses. She missed him with every fiber of her heart and soul and body, but still she refused to give in to her yearning. If she could just remain strong, just keep out of his arms and out of his bed until the hunger for him passed, as it was bound to do sooner or later, she would be her old self again.
Like getting over an illness, getting over a man took time. Her best course of action was to avoid being alone with him, she knew, and that she had done for the last four days. Tonight, when he had driven them to the party, a silent Mandy had been along as a buffer, and Mandy would be with them again when they returned home. Though of course, since he was a bound man and a servant and quite beneath the touch of the Haskinses and their guests, he was not so much as allowed inside the house. They'd fixed him a plate of food in the kitchen, and he'd been left to cool his heels outside until his owners should decide to return home again.
Susannah was surprised to find that he had accepted these strictures, made known to them in a most subtle way by Henry when they had arrived, with no more than an ironic smile. She had almost been moved to protest on his behalf, but Mandy had already swept past them into the house and she had feared that such a protest would look too peculiar. She would not want anyone to get the idea that she fancied their bound man. Even if she did.
But here he was, standing next to her in the moonlight, while the scent of lilacs from the bush by the kitchen door wafted over them and the heart-stirring strains of a violin drifted through the air.
"Where did you get the cigar?" she asked him as he drew on it again, making the tip flare briefly before fading. He removed the cigar from his mouth and looked down at it with what she thought was a real affection.
"One of the slaves gave it to me. From Mr. Owen's desk,
he said."
Mr. Owen was Owen Haskins, Todd's father and their host.
"I didn't know you had a fondness for tobacco," she said, somewhat embarrassed as it occurred to her that, even if he did, he had had no money to buy any since she had known him.
"There's a great deal you don't know about me, my girl. My liking for cigars is the least of it. What are you doing out here alone in the dark?" The tone of the question was severe, and Susannah was both unexpectedly touched by his concern and a little annoyed by his assumption that it was his right to question her.
"I'm looking for Mandy. And might I remind you that I survived for twenty-six years before I met you, and without a bodyguard."
He drew on the cigar again as if he relished the taste. "Is that how old you are? Twenty-six?"
"Yes. Though I suppose I should not admit it."
"You look younger."
Susannah glanced up at him sharply, then laughed. "You need not waste your silver tongue on me. I know I do not."
"I would have thought you just a couple of years older than Sarah Jane, and at a guess I put her at twenty-one or so. Is she older, then?"
"She's twenty, and I'm six years her senior."
"Why such a large gap between you?"
Susannah's face clouded. "My mother gave birth to three little boys who died in infancy between me and Sarah Jane. She was never the same after that, though she loved Sarah Jane and Mandy and Em, of course. Still, when the last little boy, the one after Em, died just a few hours after birth, I think she was happy enough to go with him. I think losing so many children just sapped her will to live."
"Was your mother like you?"
Susannah smiled reminiscently and shook her head. "She was more like Mandy. Very gay and beautiful. I take after my father in looks, and the Lord only knows who in disposition. Certainly not him."
"Your father is a saint."
"Yes," Susannah agreed, pleased that he had noticed.
"But, on his own, he could never have kept the church and the farm and your family afloat."
"He is not very practical."
"So you took on the responsibility for everything, including raising your sisters. It must have been very difficult for a young girl, especially at first."
"I managed. And, speaking of sisters, I really must go look for Mandy. She supposedly went to the rose garden, accompanied by an unknown gentleman."
"Ah." He fell into step beside her, and her heartbeat quickened. He didn't touch her, not by so much as a single brush of his arm, but she was aware of him with every pore. "And so you must play mama and go drag her back to the party."
"Something like that, yes." At least he did not seem concerned that Mandy was with another man. Susannah had wondered if he would be. The moon, a full frosty white ball about one quarter of the way along on its journey across the starry night sky, sent their shadows snaking out before them. Ian's looked very tall and elegant next to her own, which was—squat. The realization was lowering.
"So you gave up your own girlhood to take care of your sisters—at what age?"
"My mother died when I was fourteen."
"Forcing you to become a woman overnight."
"Someone had to try to fill my mother's place. Her passing left a huge hole in all our lives. My father was distraught, the girls were hardly more than babies, and there were meals to fix and the house to clean and the congregation to see to. There was no one to do it but me, so I just—did it."
"It must have been very difficult. But you've succeeded admirably, I must admit. The entire community obviously holds you in great respect, and your sisters are a credit to you. Though I don't think any of them realizes what a gem they have in you. Not even your father."
"If you mean my family doesn't appreciate me, you may be right," Susannah said. "They love me instead, which is better. And I love them."
She could feel his eyes on her face, though she steadfastly did not look up at him. Not that watching his shadow was a large improvement over watching him, but at least a shadow could not make her tingle with awareness. From the corner of her eye she saw his cigar glow red.
"You," he said slowly, "are a very nice woman."
That made her laugh, though the sound was a shade brittle. "Thank you so much."
"It's quite a compliment," he persisted. "Most of the women I've known are not really nice at all. Their every seeming act of kindness invariably has an ulterior motive, and they are grasping and greedy and out for what they can get."
"If what you say is true, then perhaps you need to expand your circle of acquaintances. Though I'm positive you exaggerate. Take your mother, for example; surely you would exempt her from such a condemnation." It was a delicate probe for information. Suddenly she was greedy to know more about him.
Ian laughed, but the sound was peculiarly unamused. "My mother would boggle your mind. She is as unlike you and your family as any creature could possibly be."
"Is she? In what way?"
He glanced down at her and dragged on the cigar again. For a moment he hesitated, and Susannah thought he might turn her question aside. But he did not. "My mother is not very—motherly," he said slowly. "In fact, she has said on more than one occasion that, had circumstances not forced her to, she would never have borne children. I have been a particular thorn in her side."
From his tone, Susannah immediately understood that his relationship with his mother was not a good one. She glanced swiftly up at him, to find that he was taking another deep drag on his cigar. Of course, to have a son who was a criminal might be just a little hard on a mother, but she was not going to point that out when the subject of his mother was obviously a sore one.
"Tell me about your life before you, ah, ended up with us."
"Before I became a convict, you mean?" He was smiling a little now as he glanced down at her, and Susannah was relieved to see the return of his lazy humor as she allowed the subject of his mother to drop. "What would you say if I told you that I was rich as Croesus and had half a dozen fine mansions at my disposal and that the most strenuous work I ever did was play cards all night and watch other men race my horses and sign my name to bank drafts?"
For a moment Susannah stared at him, very much taken aback. But the twinkle in his eye gave him away. "I'd say you were a very great liar, which I've known all along."
He shrugged and took another drag on the cigar, which was scarcely more than a stub by now.
"I'll tell you the truth some other day, then. Right now, we are on a mission to rescue your errant little sister, are we not?" He took a final drag and tossed the cigar away. Its still-glowing tip traced a bright arc through the darkness before it landed on the path in front of him, and he crushed it out with his toe.
Clearly the subject of his past made him uncomfortable. Imagining the surroundings he must have come from—if he could speak of his mother in such a way, his childhood must have been harsh—she felt a rush of sympathy so strong that it was all she could do not to reach out, pat his shoulder, and say, "There, there." Picturing his reaction to such an action made her smile. He would undoubtedly be horrified. Whatever else he was, Ian Connelly was a proud man.
"This way. I think." For his sake, she willingly fell in with his attempt to change the subject. From the sweet perfume that seemed heavier even than the sultry air, Susannah deduced that the rose garden must be nearby. She glanced around and saw a dark tangle of bushes surrounding a small, white-roofed pavilion. Tucking her hand in his elbow, the action instinctive rather than by design, she steered him in the right direction. When she realized what she had done and would have removed her hand, he caught it, returned it to the crook of his arm, and held it there.
29
"Susannah," Ian said, "I asked you once before, and you never answered: have you ever had a suitor?"
Her gaze flew to his face, to find that he was looking down at her with a flickering smile. But his eyes, touched to silver by the moonlight, were grave.
"I don'
t see that that's any of your concern," she answered in a constricted voice, glancing down at the thick grass on which they trod to avoid looking at his face. The entrance to the rose garden was right in front of them. She had perforce to draw nearer to him as they stepped onto the path that was paved with thousands of tiny ground-up shells that sparkled in the moonlight and crunched beneath their feet. "And I wish you would stop flirting with me. I've already offered you your freedom, and I have nothing else to give."
"You're fun to flirt with, and, as I told you before, I don't want my freedom at the moment. And you still haven't answered my question."
He was clearly not going to let the matter drop. Susannah hesitated but decided that continued coyness on the subject would only make him think that the answer embarrassed her. Which it did, a little, but that she would never admit.
"Very well, then, if you must have it. No, I have never had a suitor." Her pity for him over his poor, deprived childhood had quite vanished. Hostility edged her voice.
"You have now."
"What?" Her brows knit, her head jerked around, and she stared at him. He grinned at her.
"Consider me your suitor, why don't you? Talk to me. Smile at me. Laugh with me. Flirt with me. Let me court you a little. Courting is an experience that shouldn't be missed."
"You're being quite ridiculous." He was teasing her, she knew, but still the picture he conjured up flustered her. Ian Connelly, did he put his mind to it, could charm bees right out of their hive, she thought. And he was charming her now, though she fought strenuously against falling under the spell of his handsome face and devilishly smooth tongue.
They had reached the center of the garden, where the small, round pavilion stood. Susannah would have skirted it, to exit the garden on the far side. It was becoming increasingly clear that wherever Mandy was, she was not here.
"From all I've seen, you've missed out on most of the pleasures that make life worth living. Haven't you ever done anything just a little daring?" He was drawing her inside the pavilion as he spoke. Susannah resisted.
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