Violet Fire

by Jo Goodman

  “Cherry.” He smiled. “You’ve done exceedingly well today. Are you nervous about meeting the Marchands?”

  Shannon laughed lightly. “What an odd question. Why should I be nervous of meeting my own parents?”

  Brandon gave her an arch look, then chuckled in appreciation. “I think we can dispense with the pretense for now. It must be wearing on you.”

  “It is easier than I thought it would be,” she admitted. “Sometimes, I don’t know, it’s as if I actually am her. I don’t have to think what she would do. I simply know.”

  “I’m not certain I like that.”

  “Neither am I,” she replied honestly. “It simply happens.”

  Brandon was thoughtful but he said nothing. Addie stepped out of the house, and he motioned to her to take Clara. Shannon started to rise but he held her back, placing his hand around her wrist. “No. Addie will see that she’s tucked in. You’re not her governess any longer.”

  “But I enjoy putting her to bed,” she protested.

  “I know you do. But do you honestly think Clara cares at this point?”

  Shannon glanced over her shoulder as Addie rocked Clara in her arms. The child hadn’t stirred. Reluctantly she agreed with Brandon and watched Addie take Clara away.

  “Anyway, is my company so terrible?” He tugged on her arm, turning her hand over in his.

  Shannon’s head snapped around. “No,” she said hastily. “That is…no, it’s not terrible at all.”

  “That’s a relief,” he mocked lightly. “Do you know there is one matter we have not addressed since beginning this charade?”

  Shannon frowned, trying to think what it might be. Nearly everyone at the folly had offered instruction on some point at one time or another. Addie cautioned her not to make her own bed. Oplas barred her from the kitchen except to plan menus. Martha relinquished her ring of keys and taught Shannon which opened the larder, the pantry, the linen cupboards, the smokehouse, the wine cellar, and the lamp room. As mistress Shannon found herself responsible for it all. Not that Aurora had taken much interest in her position at the folly, but during the infrequent visits of her parents, she delighted in playing the chatelaine.

  She had spent long hours with Cody while he drilled her on Aurora’s mannerisms. The dancing lessons that had begun on the verandah one evening weeks ago now continued in earnest. A young girl named Emily, who had worked in the kitchen, was assigned to be Shannon’s personal maid. She dressed Shannon’s hair, laid out her wardrobe, and drew her bath. The luxury of having another do what she had always done for herself annoyed Shannon because she found herself enjoying it. She continually reminded herself that it was a temporary state of affairs.

  Brandon abandoned her riding lessons when it became apparent she would not achieve Aurora’s expertise if she practiced for a lifetime. He merely glared at her when she apologized for her lack of skill, and set about thinking of some excuse that she could offer when asked why she did not ride anymore. He was much more pleased by Shannon’s ability to memorize details from Aurora’s past. For hours in the evening he offered information and quizzed her about her childhood, her friends, and her beaus. Shannon knew the name of Aurora’s governess, the street where she lived, the color of the shutters on her home. There seemed to be nothing that Brandon left out, including, painfully for Shannon, the details of his courtship with Aurora.

  “I cannot think of one thing which has been neglected,” she said at last.

  “Can you not?” he asked enigmatically. “No, I suppose it would not occur to you.” He drew in his breath, his eyes dropping momentarily from Shannon’s inquiring gaze to the perfect curve of her mouth. “Let us pretend for the moment that Aurora’s parents are sitting in those chairs over there. The four of us have just had a leisurely dinner, and the mood is quiet and comfortable. Michaeline is watching us and she whispers something to Paul. What do you suppose she said?”

  Shannon shook her head in bewilderment. “I haven’t any idea.”

  “She said, ‘Why is it that Aurora cannot bear to be close to her husband? He’s a handsome enough fellow. Quite splendid, in fact.’”

  Both of Shannon’s dark brows were raised skeptically. “Did she mention anything about my husband’s conceit?” she asked, using the intonation they had agreed would be Aurora’s.

  “Not a word,” he said seriously. He continued to look at her expectantly.

  What would Aurora do? Her parents were watching. Appearances must be maintained. There was only one recourse open to Shannon. She eliminated the short distance that separated her from Brandon. He lifted his arm and placed it around her so that she curved into his shoulder and chest. “What is Mama saying now?” she asked.

  “I don’t know. She’s whispering.”

  Without thinking, Shannon punched Brandon lightly in the stomach. His belly was rock-hard. She cursed herself for noticing such a thing. “Rogue,” she said. “You heard her well enough a moment ago.”

  Brandon captured Shannon’s hand and held it against his stomach. Gradually he felt her fist loosen and her fingers unfold. “That’s better. You have to touch me. It would be rather odd if you didn’t.”

  “For appearances.”

  “What other reason could there be?” Did she suspect he was lying through his teeth? He would have used any excuse at his command to have her in his arms. It felt right that she was at his side, his arm around her slender shoulders, her hand in his. His chin rested against the thick sausage curls at the back of her head. If he moved his mouth a fraction, he could press his lips in her hair. Brandon resisted the impulse.

  “How did she…how do I…”

  “Yes?”

  “How do I touch you?” she blurted out. Her face flamed, but instead of retreating, she buried her face in Brandon’s chest.

  Brandon would have laughed if the question had come from anyone but Shannon. The poverty of affection that she had known stopped him. He realized she was quite serious. She had no idea how to touch him. “There are different ways,” he said. He set her a little apart from him. “Suppose you want to make a point or attach my attention. Place your hand on my forearm like this.” He took her hand and rested it on his arm. “It would be better if you looked at me at the same time. Then I shall be certain to give you notice. That’s better. Now, pretend that you want to caution me at the dinner table. Mayhap I have said something outrageous and you want to keep the peace. Place your hand on my knee.” He watched as her hand moved from his arm and hovered over his thigh.

  “We will be sitting at opposite ends of the table,” she pointed out reasonably.

  Brandon grinned crookedly, and firmly placed her hand where he wanted it. “Enough of your logic,” he said cavalierly. “It is misplaced here. You should know that a sidelong glance accompanies this gesture. Yes, just like that. You have very expressive eyes, you know.”

  Shannon’s hand squeezed his knee warningly. “Did I do that correctly?”

  “Was I saying something outrageous?” he asked innocently.

  “Yes.”

  “Then you were perfect.” He slipped his arm around her waist and gave her a little hug. “That was for reassurance. You try it.” Shannon imitated his gesture and regarded him questioningly. “I’m reassured,” he promised solemnly. “Let us say that you wish to show affection—for appearances. You could hold my hand when I put my arm around you, or you could place your hand very lightly on my chest and lift your face to mine.”

  “Perhaps another time.”

  “I’ll look forward to it.” Without asking her permission, Brandon drew her close again. Shannon went into his arms naturally. She was silent for so long that he thought she had fallen asleep. He smiled wryly when she finally spoke. He should have known she was worrying about something. She had shown a remarkable aptitude for that particular state of mind.

  “Did Aurora enjoy it?”

  “It?” he asked lazily.

  “You know…when you touched her. Did she enjoy it?�
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  “No,” Brandon said with bitter honesty, thinking of the deterioration of his marriage. Aurora had made it quite clear that she did not like being touched by him.

  Shannon’s heart sunk as she heard Brandon’s reply. Her first instincts had been correct. She should not find such pleasure in his embrace. It was wrong, horribly wrong. “And in front of her parents? What would she do then?”

  Brandon frowned, not understanding the bent of Shannon’s mind. “Why, she would pretend, of course.”

  “I see,” she said slowly, and she thought that at last she did. It seemed it was correct for a wife to pretend enjoyment but quite wrong to actually feel that emotion. She thought of her own mother, invariably smiling, always willing to assist her husband; then she thought of the way in which her mother fought Thomas Stewart in the bedroom. Yes, she finally understood, and the knowledge made her ache. Her stepfather had been wise to turn down William’s offer for her. She would not suit as a wife.

  Her head rested against Brandon’s chest, and she could feel his breath ruffle her hair. Her eyes fluttered closed. To her shame she realized she would not have to pretend in front of the Marchands. With luck, no one would ever suspect the very real desire that shivered through her when Brandon held her in his arms.

  Chapter 8

  “I don’t look anything like them,” Shannon whispered. It was her first thought when she saw Michaeline and Paul Marchand, and panic caused her eyes to widen and her heart to race. They were standing at the rail of the Helena, both of them eagerly leaning forward, smiling and waving to Clara, who was dancing with excitement on the dock. Shannon knew there was no reason she should bear either of the Marchands the slightest resemblance, but given the fact that she was supposed to look like Aurora, she had thought there would be some similarity. That there was none brought her doubts about the masquerade rushing to the forefront of her mind.

  Brandon was standing behind her, his hands on Shannon’s shoulder, as the Marchands alighted from the gangboard. Sensing her fears, he tightened his hands, and he felt her lean into him for support. “It will be all right,” he said. He gave her a little push. “Go to them.”

  Shannon’s first steps were tentative, but when she saw the faint sheen of happy tears in Michaeline’s eyes, she responded naturally by running forward and embracing the woman who was, for the time being, her mother. Shannon laid her cheek against Michaeline’s graying cap of hair and felt the circle of her arms tighten. The sense of belonging in the fiercely loving embrace shocked Shannon, and she was troubled by the reluctance with which she left it. Before she could acknowledge the full consequences of her deceit, Shannon found herself in Paul’s arms and returning his greeting with an enthusiasm that had little to do with her pretense.

  “It’s so good to have you here,” she said breathlessly, looking from the taut planes of Paul’s sculpted features to the more gently rounded ones of his wife’s. Paul was several inches taller than Shannon and a full head taller than Michaeline. His hair was iron gray and somehow suited the uncompromising thrust of his chin and the breadth of his shoulders. Yet his light green eyes were gentle and kind and, at the moment, clearly amused by Michaeline’s inability to stem the tide of her tears. He plucked a handkerchief from the pocket of his forest green velvet jacket and handed it to his wife. Michaeline smiled ruefully and dabbed at her eyes.

  Shannon was spared having to deal with the emotions of the moment as Clara commanded the attention of her grandparents by asking them with forthright honesty if they remembered her.

  “Oh, darling,” Michaeline exclaimed, laughing. “Of course we remember you! Come, don’t mind the waterworks, and give me a hug.”

  Shannon felt her hand taken by Brandon as Clara was swept off her feet into her grandmother’s arms. There was tension in his stance that made her ache for him as the depth of his fear of losing Clara was transmitted to her. She longed to offer some word of comfort, to tell him that his fears were not rooted in any reality that she could see. It seemed inconceivable to Shannon that Michaeline, with years of loving laughter engraved in the faint lines at the corners of her generous mouth and hazel eyes, would ever consider removing Clara from the folly.

  As Clara was transferred to Paul and eventually carried on his shoulders, Brandon leaned over Michaeline and kissed her on the cheek. “You’re looking as lovely as always,” he said sincerely. “We’re very happy to have you here.”

  “Then you’re not displeased we invited ourselves?” she asked, glancing from one to the other, her uncertainty painfully evident.

  Shannon intervened quickly, wanting to ease the hurt that had prompted Michaeline’s question. “Of course not, Mama.” She took Michaeline’s arm and led her away from the wharf. Paul and Clara followed while Brandon directed servants to take care of the Marchands’ trunks. “I thought it was understood you were always welcome at the folly. Brandon and I never considered you would stand on such formality as an invitation.”

  “We didn’t in the end,” Paul said. Clara giggled as he jostled her around on his shoulders.

  “I’m glad,” Shannon said firmly.

  When Brandon caught up with them, he was pleased to note that the conversation was unexceptional and that he needn’t have worried that in the short time he was gone from them, Shannon may have said something uncharacteristic of Aurora. She was gaily speaking of the preparations she had made for their visit, the airing of the rooms, the planning of Paul’s favorite desserts. When they entered the house Martha greeted them warmly and showed the Marchands to their chamber. Clara went with them, enticed in no small measure by the promise of some presents in their trunks.

  When they were out of sight Shannon thought her knees would have buckled if not for Brandon’s support. He led her into the library and poured her a glass of wine. She took it gratefully and drained it in a long swallow. Brandon was amused by her prim “Thank you” and heartfelt sigh as she set the empty glass aside.

  “It is more difficult than you thought, isn’t it?” he asked.

  She nodded. “I did not think I would like them so much. It makes it harder.”

  “I know. Can you continue?”

  His question surprised Shannon. She searched his face for some hint of what he wanted her to say, and found no clue. “Yes,” she said quietly. “I can continue. Perhaps if they discover our deceit, they can forgive us, knowing that we did it out of our love for Clara.”

  Brandon’s hand stilled in the process of reaching for the decanter of Scotch. His face took on the still watchfulness of expectancy. “And is Clara the only reason?”

  “Yes.”

  “I see.” Brandon turned away and poured himself a drink.

  Shannon was grateful he did not seem to notice her response was too quick, too vehement to have been the truth, or, if he had noticed, refrained from pursuing the reasons behind the hastily given lie. She excused herself before she blurted out the only reason she had fallen in with his plans. That she loved him had to remain her most carefully guarded secret. The possibility that she might reveal it in front of the Marchands became sweet torment in the days that followed.

  Shannon became the consummate hostess, managing to draw out Michaeline and Paul, listening with unfeigned interest whether they were reminiscing about their courtship or discussing some aspect of the Marchand merchant line. She was able to direct questions that concerned the folly to Brandon and was quite relieved when he engaged the Marchands in spirited arguments concerning the latest British trade policy or the most recent tax King George II and his ministers had levied on the colonies. During those conversations Shannon paid scant attention to the topic, choosing instead to settle comfortably beside Brandon in the manner she thought Aurora would have done. He touched her often, as if reassuring himself that she was at his side and drawing a measure of calm from the serenity she radiated.

  Cody was an immense help, infusing laughter into the evenings with his good-natured humor. Shannon, knowing that the Marchands had
been aware Aurora disapproved of Cody, managed to give the impression she still found him lacking good sense and good manners. Cody, for his part, seemed to take great pleasure in goading her, and Michaeline and Paul put their own construction on the lively bantering, expressing a very real disappointment that Aurora had had no brothers to prepare her for Cody’s teasing.

  Clara’s presence, her chattering and her curiosity, covered the occasional awkward moment when Shannon was at a loss for a reply. It was through her reactions to Clara, and most especially to Brandon, that Shannon was able to show the Marchands that their daughter was happy with her life at the folly. Though neither Michaeline nor Paul ever spoke of what prompted their visit, it was clear to Shannon that it had come about because they were suspicious of Aurora’s long silence. Shannon did what she could to lay their fears to rest, disarming them completely by taking the responsibility for not writing as often as she should have, chastizing herself for not being the daughter they deserved. They could not fail to see that she enjoyed managing the folly or that she cared deeply for Clara and Brandon. And with each passing day she despised herself a little more for wishing the charade would never end.

  After Addie had taken Clara to the nursery one night, Paul suggested they go for a ride. Shannon felt her throat close in panic. She beseeched Brandon for direction.

  “It’s a beautiful night for it,” he agreed, looking out beyond the bay windows to the moonlit grounds. “We’ll take the carriage.”

  “Nonsense,” Paul protested. “The roads will take all the pleasure out of it. Michaeline? What do you say?”

  “I confess I’d love to go riding. By the time I wake up, the day is already too hot to really enjoy a ride. Do you still ride in the mornings, Aurora? I don’t think you’ve mentioned it.”

  “I don’t ride often.” It was the only thing she could think to say.