“Miss?” She hissed at the dozing girl. Emma cracked one eye to look at her.
“What?” Izzy nodded toward the dust clouds.
“Mister Towers, Miss. Should we go inside and tell the master that he has company?” Emma sat up quickly and smoothed down her skirt.
“You go on in now, Izzy. And don’t forget when you’re done, to put all my clothing away again. You left them in terrible disarray this morning and I would thank you to make that closet presentable.
“Yes, Miss. I will do it immediately.” Emma nodded and watched the men approach as her servant fled from the sight of him. She assumed the well-dressed, corpulent man to be the plantation owner, Mister Towers, and the rat-faced man next to him was more crooked and unattractive than Emma would have even imagined, but he had to be the tracker her aunt had mentioned., Her stomach recoiled at the thought of him being the face you saw when you got caught escaping your wrongful enslavement. She realized abruptly that she was practically snarling with hate that had balled her hands into white-knuckled fists, and burned in her gut like brandy.
She breathed deep and slow, and schooled her face into one of boredom and apathy befitting a spoiled child of wealth and importance. When the men bounded off their horses, she noticed there was more similarity between the men than she had first perceived. Neither had time for nor interest in the slip of a girl staring at them in challenge, but spoke only to the doorman, to locate and announce their arrival to the master of the house. Emma found herself perversely unhappy that he hadn’t noticed her enough to recognize her intense dislike of him.
She was so engrossed with the man, she missed the figure who had come up the long drive behind them. He watched her now, wondering what the men before him had done to incur the rage that was plainly painted across her features. He had not been in the colonies for long, but the ways of the people here seemed savage and uncivilized. Perhaps this open display of anger and irritation was simply the way that young women here behaved, as they were not afforded the luxury of social education the way that would be considered proper in France.
After all, he thought to himself, these people did come from England, where social propriety was barely acknowledged even among the higher classes. He straightened his cravat and coughed politely to not startle the beautiful young woman too much. Emmaline turned, eyes wide and stood silent for a moment before gathering herself.
“Sir, welcome to my uncle’s house. Whom do you seek?” She asked politely. Stephen masked his surprise at her sweet voice and gentle demeanor, which was in stark contrast to the shaking violent rage she’d worn a moment before.
“My name, is Stephen Du Morney, I believe it is you that I am here to see. I am a professor of History, and have been asked to tutor the Auburn niece and complete her studies.” Stephen introduced himself with a thick accent that made Emma’s mouth water as her eyes roved over him. “Ah,” he thought to himself as he watched her scrutinize him. “This is what I expected of a colonist.” She finally met his eyes and colored a deep red at the realization of what she had done. She gasped and looked away to compose herself.
“My apologies Mister Du Morney,” she blurted. “I have no excuse for my rudeness, I only hope that it does not prevent you from teaching me.” Du Morney put his fingers under her chin and turned her face until their eyes met. She trembled at his closeness, and he felt and answering tug low in his body. He was certain he would be teaching her more than she expected, no matter what social propriety called for.
“Mademoiselle, I understand that you have been through far too much lately to be entirely in control of your emotional response to being startled. We need not mention it again. It would be a shame for such a lovely young creature to be ashamed and afraid of her teacher, and I would be remiss in my duties if I harbored any ill will that could prevent me from helping you learn.” He watched the young woman gather herself right before his eyes, pulling herself together, piece by piece, until she was composed and serene, and completely unreadable.
“Thank you for your kindness, sir,” she replied, gently pulling away from him until they stood at a respectable distance. “Please come inside, I will take you to my aunt and we can speak at greater length there. There was something about the man that made Emma’s knees turn to water, and her stomach clench with desire. The strength of that sensation frightened and intrigued her, and she was certainly not letting him disappear without finding out why.
Aunt Rebecca was thrilled to see the young professor. She had spoken to the wife of the headmaster only one week before and was not expecting to see him so soon. Stephen explained that he also was astonished to see his new charge upon his coming, as he had only come out to speak with the Auburns regarding the impending arrival of their niece and get a more complete history and explanation of their needs.
“Oh, I’m certain that Emmaline can take a test and that will tell you where she is in her academic standing, will it not?” Rebecca looked at Emma, who was staring off toward the library where her uncle and the slave trackers were ensconced. “Emmaline, are you listening?” Rebecca frowned at Emmaline and the girl mentally shook herself.
“I’m so sorry, Aunt Rebecca. Yes, yes I can take a test. I will do whatever is needed.” Stephen looked toward the closed library doors, then at Emmaline.
“I will return in two days’ time to give an oral examination of mademoiselle Emmaline and then I will return every evening for classes, if that is acceptable to Madame?” Stephen inquired politely of Aunt Rebecca. She flushed with pride at the idea that her niece was to receive personal tutelage from such a polished and worldly man. Stephen smiled at the woman and watched her blush deepen from pick to crimson. Older women were always easy to flatter.
Her niece, on the other hand, had paid him no attention since they had walked into the house. It was vexing, to say the least. He would have to make the effort to find out what made those men in the library so important to her that his charm had failed him so completely. The beautiful redhead with the grey eyes had enticed him with what he’d assumed was audacity. He was beginning to suspect she was simply too naïve to know how forward she had been.
In Paris, he had been irresistible to any woman he had desired. Until he desired the wrong man’s daughter. Now he was stuck in this puritanical wasteland of southern belles who believed that men preferred a tease. As he looked at Emmaline, with her brusque Yankee accent and anxious eyes, he found renewed hope that perhaps there was more to this place than mint juleps, tittering fools, and black men torn to pieces by hunting hounds for sport.
“Mister Du Morney, I do hope that I can prove to be a worthy student. I have had some difficulty lately, but I assure you, you will have my complete and utter focus every minute that I am in your care.” Stephen smiled broadly.
“There is nothing I wished to hear more than those very words, mademoiselle. I am certain that we will get along… very well indeed.” He stood and bowed to the lady of the house, and Emmaline showed him to the door. He noticed again when she paused briefly by the library door. She chewed her lip and managed a wan smile as he watched her. He let her see through his façade when she looked up at him in the dim foyer, letting all his most predatory thoughts show in his face. She shivered and dropped her gaze, and his smile grew as she turned away to walk him to the veranda.
“Sir, I am grateful that I do not have to give up my education to be here. I again pledge my desire to be a good student to you.” She said softly, her eyes clouded and sad. She bit her lip and Stephen fought the urge to kiss her, if only to make the sadness disappear from her face.
“I am most anxious to return and give you my time and attention, Mademoiselle Emmaline.” He took her hand and, rather than kiss the air above it, brushed his lips across the back of it, drawing a gasp from her throat at his brazenness. “Until I return, lovely lady.” He gazed into her eyes until she flushed and dropped her gaze to the wooden slats of the porch.
“Until we meet again, kind sir.” She responded
automatically, her voice soft and tight in her throat. She gently removed her hand from his and curtsied politely. Stephen returned it with a small bow and strode down the steps to his waiting horse. He looked back over his shoulder as he kicked the big stallion into motion, but Emmaline had disappeared into the house. Undaunted, he reared the horse up and sped off, hoping it wasn’t his imagination that the lace curtain of the parlor window fluttered as he did so.
Emmaline watched from the window, holding her breath as Du Morney’s mount raced off, kicking up a cloud of dust. She turned to her aunt with an astonished expression and sat on the seat facing the library once more.
“Aunt, the tutor was not exactly as I imagined he’d be. Are there truly professors that are so very… young in the south?”
“Ah, Emmaline, Bright minds like Professor Du Morney’s are discovered at an early age. You are so lucky to be his student. I am certain you cannot even imagine everything he is going to teach you. Emmaline rubbed the back of her hand with her thumb, over the place where his lips had touched her and set fire to her blood. Indeed, there was much that her new tutor could teach her, if only she knew how to ask.
4.
When Emmaline’s uncle finally finished his business with Towers and the rat-faced man, one mister Taggert, the women of the house, both servants and masters, had readied and set the table for dinner. Emmaline was sent to bid them come and eat, and soon they were seated around the long formal table aunt Rebecca only used for special company.
The women were not welcome to speak much, and the men carried their business over to supper, as they haggled the high price of hunting men. There appeared to be a serious disagreement over who was to pay the bulk of the services, for although Towers owned the slaves in question, he had only recently acquired them from her uncle Dennis, and therefore, Towers was demanding remuneration for the loss of his investment.
Unfortunately, it was exactly as the discussion grew so heated to the point it might come to blows, that Towers former slave, Isabella, slid silently into the room to ask Emmaline if she would prefer a bath run for her that evening. Towers shouted gleefully and leapt from his chair, knocking it over backward as he catapulted himself toward the terrified woman.
“Aha, now you ungrateful cow, you are coming home with me!” He exclaimed. Isabella shook and instantly began to cry, begging Emmaline’s uncle and aunt not to send her back to the notoriously cruel man. Emmaline stood up and placed her hand on her handmaid’s other wrist, anchoring her as he tried to drag her away.
“Isabella was given to me. She is no more the property of my uncle than she is of the governor of South Carolina.” She paused, looking around the table at each of the adults. “I am embarrassed that a simple transaction has become a war, uncivilized and ugly. This is neither the time nor the place for such masculine endeavors as fighting and negotiating. Please unhand my maid and work out the price for this… hunter, without accosting any of our help.”
Infuriated, Towers raised his hand to hit Emmaline, but slowly lowered it when he heard the click of the hammer in the rat-faced man’s gun.
“She’s right, Harold. This is no way to behave in front of ladies. My apologies, miss, you must be completely unnerved.” The man smiled at her, and his face improved so resoundingly, she could hardly recognize him from the sullen, shifty creature that had ridden up hours before. Taggert, the man with the gun, resumed his seat and speared a tender piece of his Cornish hen on his fork. “Sit, Harold. Eat. I’m certain if these slaves of yours are so valuable, you’ll find a way to pay my fee.”
Towers stalked back to his seat and the houseman held it for him as he sat. Dinner was silent for a few minutes, and Emmaline found herself wishing that she was in the company of the handsome but unnerving Frenchman, instead of here. She picked at her food until she simply couldn’t bear the weight of Mister Towers’ angry stare any longer, and asked to be excused to her bed. Her uncle immediately agreed that for a young woman in mourning, there was far too much excitement at the supper table, and with a kiss on the cheek for him and her aunt, she bid them all good evening and glided from the room, as stately and demure as any debutant.
As soon as the door closed, she sank against the wall, her hand to her heart. The houseman and Isabella rushed to her side and helped her up the stairs and to her room. Edwin, the houseman, promised to return with a heated stone to warm her bed, and Isabella quickly undressed and readied her for sleep. Emmaline was still shaking when she was tucked in, and Edwin slipped back downstairs to ask Rebecca if it would be permitted to give her a small glass of brandy to calm her jangled nerves.
“I thought he was going to hit me.” Emmaline blurted to Isabella when they were alone. “I thought Uncle Dennis would let him.” Isabella rubbed her wrist, where red and blue undertones had begun to blossom in a vise grip pattern.
“I thought he might actually drag me all the way back to Camelot.” Isabella confessed. Emma wondered how far, exactly, Izzy’s old plantation had been from the romantic story of nobility and equality that it was named. “I did not want that to happen, and if it does, I will certainly kill myself before I let him take me.” She declared.
“Izzy, I told you I was your friend. I won’t just let anyone take you.” Emmaline reminded her maid. Isabella patted her leg through the linens.
“Don’t you ever put yourself in harm’s way again, young lady. I will not have you getting hurt over me, or any other slave.” She walked to the other side of the room and busied herself with the cleaning while she waited on Edwin.
“Is he really that terrible? Did he hurt you especially when you were there?” Emmaline did not know how to ask her question so delicately that it would not offend or frighten.
“What happens in that big house, and even in the slave quarters, is not fit for a lady such as yo’self to hear or even think about.” Isabella scolded her sternly, but Emmaline saw her hands shake as she picked up her mending.
“I’m sorry, Izzy. I wish things like that never happened.” Izzy shot her a quick smile to let her know her apology was accepted. Edwin returned with a bottle of brandy and a single tumbler. He poured a finger of brandy in the glass and gave to Emmaline, who promptly handed it to Isabella.
Izzy stared at the glass for a long time without touching it. Emmaline encouraged her, reminding her that she was the most in need of something to brace her up, and finally, with a glance toward the bedroom door, she accepted the tumbler of copper liquid and sipped it. Her eyes widened as the liquid burned her throat, but she finished and handed the tumbler back to Emmaline.
Instead of returning the glass to the tray, Emmaline held it out as a silent request for more. Edwin hesitated and glanced at Isabella, who wore an expression of dumbfounded horror.
“I’ll get you a new glass, miss.” Edwin took the glass out of her hand and set it on the tray.
“How are you going to explain a second glass to the lady of the house? Emmaline reminded him. “I understand that here people think about, see, and treat people differently than I am used to. But there are those who have slaves in every corner of the union. The point is, I know that I am just a person, a woman, like you, and I am not afraid that touching your skin, or sharing a glass, is going to affect me in any way. I have not given up my mother’s dream for true equality. Please just refill the glass so no one suspects I have not been drinking alone.
Izzy shot Emmaline a small, grateful smile and Edwin filled the glass, giving Emmaline a larger portion than he had her servant. The liquid burned down her throat and shot straight to her head, making her feel light and fuzzy all over. She laid down in her bed and Izzy stroked her hair until she fell asleep, her dreams troubled by two men, one dark and ugly, but shot through with light, the other mysterious and handsome, with darkness in his eyes.
5.
Izzy woke Emma up to the sounds of industry and the warmth of morning sunlight as she laid out her mistress’ clothes, tidied her room, and when Emma refused to admit she was awake, th
e mouth-watering smells of breakfast that she brought up on a tray. Emma finally rolled over and with a heavy sigh, sat up so Izzy could place the breakfast tray over her legs.
She watched her maid work as she nibbled on sweet cornbread and honey and drank her tea. She wanted to ask Izzy more about her former owner, but she had upset the woman so much the last time, she was reticent to try again. Izzy rambled on about the day ahead and the schedule that Aunt Rebecca had set out for me with the staff. Emmaline stopped listening somewhere between the dress fitting in town and the promenade with her aunt and Mrs. Higgins who lived farther down the cobblestone lane.
She snapped back to attention as she realized Izzy had asked her a question about the handsome Frenchman, Mister Du Morney. The woman was watching her and fanning herself as she waited for Emma to respond.
“Please repeat yourself Izzy, I was gathering cobwebs.” She rubbed her temples and smiled at her maid, who shook her head and chuckled.
“I was jes’ saying that Mister Du Morney seems like quite a well-cut gentleman. I might expect a lady to have difficulty concentrating with a man like that sitting close and all alone.”
“Izzy! I am a lady and am certain I do not know what you are insinuating, but I will not be swayed from my lessons by the cut of a man’s suit, no matter how well turned out he may be.”
“Of course not, miss Emma. My mistake.” Emma was not at all certain that Isabella’s apology was sincere, but left it alone. As handsome as her tutor was, there was bound to be gossip among the tight-knit societal types. She had no time or attention to give such shallow matters when her heart was aching from the loss of the only person in the world she had ever truly mattered to. “Izzy, you will sit with us this evening while I take my lessons. Do you read or write?”
“A little, Miss. Only enough to read a list of chores or a recipe.”
The Thanksgiving Day Bride: Mail Order Bride Novels Page 91