“Jane Watkins, your roommate, arrived late last night. Like you, she comes from Mississippi. I’m sure you’ll get along famously.” Mrs. Dabbs moved to the door. “I’ll ask her to come up and help you settle in before dinner. We won’t start classes until tomorrow, as two of the local girls won’t be here until this afternoon.”
Removing her cloak, Camellia started to toss it across the foot of her bed. But then she stopped and looked toward the door. She would be a model student, learning everything Mrs. Dabbs offered whether she agreed with the lady or not.
Walking across the room, she pushed on one of the closet doors. It didn’t budge. She stepped back and considered the problem. Did it act like a fan? She looked toward the floor but saw nothing except wooden planks. Raising her gaze slowly upward, she spied a pair of depressions—one on each door. She placed her fingers in one and tugged, her lips curving upward in a triumphant smile as the door glided open.
She didn’t think closets would catch on. Her skirts looked odd—deflated—suspended from hooks that ran along the walls of the closet. The flounces bunched together, and the arms of her shirtwaists hung empty. Her clothing looked like it belonged on a scarecrow. With a sigh, she bunched up her cloak and tried to fit it on an empty hook. It slithered to the floor as soon as she let go of it.
“Here, let me help you.”
Camellia jumped at the unexpected sound of a voice. Her ringlets bounced around her face as she turned to the front of the bedroom. Taking in the pretty girl who must be Jane, she wondered if they were going to be rivals.
Sunlight poured into the room from a large window and seemed to set Jane’s thick auburn hair aflame. She stepped up to the closet and took Camellia’s cloak, shook it out, and hung it on the offending hook by its collar. “There. It only takes a little practice to get the hang of this.”
She giggled, her brown eyes dancing. “Get it? You’ll soon get the hang of it.”
A nervous laugh gurgled up Camellia’s throat.
“Oh good. I was hoping my roommate would have a sense of humor.” Jane put a hand on Camellia’s arm and pulled her toward one of the beds. “You’re quite beautiful, you know. I should be jealous, but that would make living with you so uncomfortable.”
Camellia took in her roommate’s curvaceous figure. From her long neck to her tiny waist, Jane was the very embodiment of femininity. She had thought the other girl’s eyes were brown, but now that she was close to her, she realized they were more hazel. “You’re pretty, too.”
Jane waved away the compliment with a quick motion. “I’ve always wanted curls like yours, but no matter how much effort I expend, my hair has more in common with a mop than a corkscrew.”
Unable to resist the urge to laugh, Camellia felt the tension and fear fading. Jane was not going to be a rival. Whatever sadness had lingered at parting from her sisters disappeared. “Your hair gleams, though, while mine is as dull as wash water.”
Her new friend’s mouth tightened, and the green flecks in her eyes dimmed. “I have an idea.”
“What?” Assuming an equally serious expression, Camellia straightened her spine.
“I assume you’re here for the same reason I am—to find the perfect husband.”
Camellia wasn’t sure if she was ready for this much frankness. She waited for Jane to continue.
“Think about it, Camellia. Not every man wants a vivacious, redheaded beauty on his arm.”
Both of them were perched on the edge of the bed, their skirts billowing around them. Camellia thought they would present a nice picture—one dark, the other fair. Her eyes widened. She looked at Jane, who nodded. “I believe you may be the smartest girl I’ve ever met.”
Jane squealed and fell on her neck. “Between us, we’ll attract every available man in the city of New Orleans.”
“Why stop there?” Camellia emerged from the embrace with a sigh. “I have my heart set on marrying a hero, someone who is willing to fight for his beliefs.”
Jumping up from the bed, Jane squealed again and reached for her hand. “I cannot believe it.”
“What?”
“My brother. You have to meet my brother. He’s rich, handsome, and a soldier.” She ran to the desk and pulled out a chair. “I’m going to write to him right away. I can’t wait until we’re sisters.”
Camellia watched as she bent over a piece of stationery, excitement building in her. She’d known coming to La Belle Demoiselle was the right move, but she’d never dreamed she would find the perfect husband on the day of her arrival. “What’s your brother’s name?”
“Thaddeus … Thaddeus Watkins. But everyone calls him Thad.”
Mrs. Thad Watkins. She extended her hand and imagined a large ring on her fourth finger. Fate had ordained her future. Maybe she’d been foolish to spend so much energy regretting the necessity of putting off her education for a year. Everything was working out perfectly.
Jonah was sick of parties. He was tired of sifting through bits and pieces of information and trying to decide what was important enough to pass along to Mrs. Dabbs. At least he’d been able to report the encouraging news that the work on the two ironclads being built in the New Orleans harbor was at a standstill. Getting the supplies through Admiral Farragut’s blockade had proven more difficult than expected. Furthermore, many of the men who were formerly employed as shipbuilders had volunteered in the Confederate army.
Last night he had learned that a portion of the New Orleans forces were being sent northward, further weakening the city’s defenses. He needed to get that information to Mrs. Dabbs right away. If the Union showed up today, he believed they could take over the city without firing a single shot.
“Did I overhear you ordering that your horse be saddled?” His mother’s question interrupted his thoughts. “I am planning to visit Mary Lee Thompson’s mother and thought you might like to join me. You seemed to be taken with her at your sister’s party last week.”
“No, thank you. I’m going to La Belle to check on Camellia Anderson.”
“Again?” Her gaze searched his face. “You have been to see her several times in the past month. I thought the first time that it was just your sense of obligation to Lily, but I am beginning to wonder if you have other reasons to frequent the school.”
Another of the problems with being a spy was the lying, especially to people he cared about. “She’s pretty, but I have no interest other than that of an older brother. Besides, she has her sights set on a much bigger prize.”
A frown crossed his mother’s face. “I don’t know why she wouldn’t be flattered by your attention. Why don’t you take her some flowers? Young ladies always like romantic gestures.”
“Thank you for the advice, Mother.”
“I know, I know. You don’t need your mother telling you how to act.”
At least he knew enough about the female gender to not respond to that comment.
“Why don’t you invite Camellia over for a weekend visit?” His mother seemed to have taken his silence as an invitation to meddle. “I’m sure she would like to get away from the school for a few days.”
“She seems pretty happy at La Belle.” As soon as he made the statement, Jonah could have bitten off his tongue. Even to his own ears, he sounded too much like a jealous suitor. “I’ll invite her if you wish.”
“Excellent. Sarah would probably like to see her, too. And we’ll all go to church together. Perhaps I can even convince your father to join us.”
“I doubt that. Father cannot abide the pastor’s cooperationist leanings. The last time he went with us, I thought he was going to have an apoplexy.”
“He is a man of strong principles.”
“It’s a shame he’s chosen the wrong ones.”
She considered him for a moment before answering. “Youth is a glorious time. You know all the answers and could solve all of the world’s problems if only you were in charge.” She pursed her lips. “But things are not that simple. Your father is an arden
t supporter of states’ rights. He believes the federal government has grown too powerful, and he doesn’t want to be ruled by the politicians in Washington.”
“He would rather be ruled by the rich planters instead?”
Silence fell between them, filled with tension. Jonah wondered if other families suffered the same divisions, argued the same issues.
“Your father is a good man.” His mother’s voice was tender.
The tension leached out of Jonah’s shoulders. He smiled at her and pushed back from the table. “I should be back in an hour or so.”
Her eyes, a darker shade of green than his, were luminous with unshed tears. “I love you.”
He moved to her side of the table and dropped a kiss on the cheek she raised to him. “I love you, too, Mother.”
“Now go. And don’t let Camellia get away from you. If you wait too long, she may fall for some other fellow’s smooth talk.”
It was time to make his escape before his well-meaning parent sent out invitations for a wedding. “I promise you my heart is not pining for the beauteous Miss Anderson. I’m not ready to marry anyone.”
“If you change your mind, you will let me know, won’t you?”
“Of course. You’ll be the first.” He left the house then, snagging his greatcoat on his way to the stable. A misty rain chilled the air as he threaded his way through the congested streets.
A feeling of anticipation surprised him. He wanted to get this errand behind him, didn’t he? Of course he did. It must have been all the silly talk from his mother about other suitors that had him thinking of Camellia Anderson.
That was it. Jonah pulled back on his horse’s reins and moved out of the flow of traffic. He had no feelings about her at all. Visiting Camellia was nothing but a ruse to protect him from exposure. He didn’t even enjoy being around her. In fact, he hoped she would turn down his mother’s invitation. The idea of being around her for an extended period of time filled him with nothing more than dismay, perhaps even repugnance.
Once this war was over, he would turn his attention to marriage, and when he did, it would be to someone much more serious about life. A girl who had strong faith and exhibited the qualities enumerated in the book of Proverbs. Camellia probably had no idea how to be a proper wife, and he had no desire to teach her.
Satisfied with his logic, Jonah clucked his tongue and encouraged his mount forward once more, eventually arriving in the quieter portion of the city where Mrs. Dabbs’s school was located. The trick was to keep his mind on the job the military had given him. Maybe after he left the school, he would visit the Custom House to discover what the enterprising blockade runners had managed to slip past the Union navy. Feeling much more in control of himself, Jonah dismounted and tied his horse to an ornate post outside of the school. All he had to do was politely ask Camellia to visit. Then he could get on with the real reason for his visit.
Chapter Eight
I don’t understand why we have to practice needlepoint.” Camellia punched her needle through the piece of cotton, almost stabbing her knee through her skirt and the multiple layers of petticoats she wore. “I already know how to sew.”
Mrs. Dabbs was helping Camellia with a knot in her thread. “This is not about sewing. It’s about beautifying your home with handmade art.”
“Every well-bred lady should be able to ply a needle with skill.” Pauline, a short girl with olive skin and a long nose, added her opinion.
Fourteen-year-old Molly nodded. Camellia thought of the girl as Pauline’s shadow. She had an unfortunate lisp, so she didn’t speak often. Next to her sat bespectacled Catherine, who was probably doing a better job than Camellia even though she was practically as blind as a bat.
Even Jane seemed to be enjoying their lesson. She held her handwork up to the light, and Camellia could see how even each stitch was in the five-pointed star and the circle surrounding it.
She sighed and pulled her needle back through even as she realized the points of her star had an odd tilt and her circle was decidedly lopsided. She would much rather be practicing her penmanship or even adding up columns of numbers. At least those skills had some bearing on her future. If she needed artwork for her home, she would commission an artist to paint a portrait of her to be hung above the mantel in the front parlor.
A knock at the door brought Camellia back to the present. Mademoiselle Brigitte Laurent, Mrs. Dabbs’s assistant, entered the room and looked straight at her. “Excusez-moi, Mademoiselle Anderson, vous avez un visiteur.” The girl looked over her shoulder and blushed.
“Merci.” Camellia thanked her in French without effort. Her accent was getting much better. She caught Jane’s inquisitive glance and shrugged. She had no idea who might be asking for her. Standing up, she moved to place her handwork in her seat, but it was stuck on something.
A giggle from one of the other girls made her look down.
“Oh no!” The groan came when she realized she had sewn her star to her dress. Now everyone could see how poor her needlework was. She tried to jerk the pitiful cloth free, but she had no luck. She had never been so embarrassed in her life. A blush burned her throat and cheeks.
“I see you’re sporting a new style.”
Camellia looked toward the door and wished she had not gotten out of bed this morning. Her embarrassment increased tenfold—a hundredfold—as she saw the sardonic grin on Jonah Thornton’s face. She wanted to jump out the window, sink beneath the carpets, or at least run away from the derisive laughter. Even Mrs. Dabbs had a hand over her mouth, her eyes dancing.
“Let me help you.” Jane pulled out a pair of scissors and snipped the threads holding the needlework to her dress.
Bless Jane, her only friend in the world. Even though her cheeks were still flaming, Camellia lifted her chin. “I have always been an innovative thinker.”
Jonah bowed, although his grin was still wide. “I look forward to seeing all the debutantes following your lead.”
The smothered giggles stopped as Mrs. Dabbs stood. “How pleasant to see you again, Mr. Thornton.” She nodded at Camellia. “Why don’t you and Jane show Mr. Thornton the visitors’ parlor? Mademoiselle Laurent will order the tea service.”
Grabbing her friend by the hand, Camellia hurried to comply with the instructions. Anything to put distance between her and their stitchery lessons. She pulled Jane past Jonah before he could say anything derogatory, leading the way to a small parlor just off the central staircase.
A cheerful fire crackled in the fireplace, its flames dispelling the February chill. A small sofa provided seating for an intimate conversation, while a single straight-backed chair some distance away was for a chaperone. Camellia sank onto the sofa, her cheeks beginning to cool. She motioned for Jane to sit next to her, but her friend shook her head and moved to the chaperone’s chair.
Did Jane think Jonah was a suitor? Far from it. Although she had considered him a possibility at one time, it had not taken her long to discover he was like a bothersome gnat she would like to swat. She was still staring daggers at Jane as he entered the room, having taken his sweet time to traverse the hallway.
Her heart stopped for a brief moment as their gazes met. He was handsome; she had to allow him that. She remembered the first time she’d seen him, his deep auburn locks stylishly disheveled, his emerald eyes swirling with mystery and challenge. But that had been years ago—almost two whole years—and she had become much more sophisticated since then.
In an effort to prove how little she cared, Camellia spread her skirts out to cover the length of the sofa. Of course he didn’t understand that she wanted him to stand.
He simply raised one supercilious eyebrow and towered over her. “I’m happy to see how much you’ve learned about decorum since you came to La Belle.”
Camellia’s shocked gaze met his and read the determination stamped there. Suddenly she realized that Jonah was no longer the carefree younger son. He was a man fully grown. She huffed her irritation but gat
hered in her skirt. “Please sit down, Mr. Thornton.”
“Thank you for the offer, Miss Anderson, but I believe I’ll stand.” He moved to the fireplace and leaned one shoulder against the mantel.
Infuriating man. One of these days she would get the better of him. Maybe she would even make him fall in love with her. Once she knew his heart was in her hands, she would make him beg for mercy. Then she would marry someone else, and Jonah would live out the rest of his days a broken shell of his former self.
With her plan in mind, Camellia fluttered her eyelashes at Jonah. “It’s so pleasant to see you on this dreary day.”
His grin widened.
Hanging on to her temper with all her might, Camellia forced herself to smile back at him. “How are your parents?”
He pushed away from the mantel, and she hoped it was because his backside was burning. After making a circle around the room, his gaze flitting from window to door, he sat next to her on the sofa. “My mother sends her regards. She and my father would like for you to come and stay with them for the first weekend next month.”
Since the moment Jonah had arrived at La Belle Demoiselle today, Camellia had felt like the very ground under her feet was shifting. His statement, however, changed all that. Her world steadied. He must have told his mother he would like to court her, and sweet Mrs. Thornton had extended the invitation so he would have ample opportunity. This was a game she knew very well how to play. She would turn him down and allow herself to be persuaded by his heartfelt pleas.
She leaned against the back of the sofa and turned her head toward Jane, giving her a broad wink as a cue. “Don’t we already have plans for that particular weekend?”
Jane shook her head. “I don’t—”
Camellia interrupted her friend. “Oh yes, the trip to Lake Pontchartrain is scheduled for that weekend, is it not?”
Jane folded her lips together and shot her a fearful look.
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