I did know, but I didn’t necessarily desire the knowledge. Certainly, Alexandra Ludlow could smuggle more slaves than Alexandra Monroe ever dreamed, but at what cost and suffocating sacrifice? A life lived as a mirrored image of Mama’s life full of parties, ball-gowns, afternoon teas, social obsessions, and quite possibly a loveless marriage? Mama wanted that life. I didn’t.
“John, I don’t wish to discuss—”
“Discuss the matter any further, I know. You tell me all the time,” he said, parking his rump on my fluffy bed.
“Therefore, you should listen to me.”
I sat next to him, bumping him with my shoulder. The tension in the room eased, the storm clouds in his eyes faded, and he laughed for the first time.
“I brought you a gift.” He placed a small wooden box on the palm of my hand. Inside the box lay an emerald solitaire pendant on a silver necklace chain.
“It’s beautiful, John. Thank you.”
“Do you want to wear it tonight?”
“Yes, I do.”
He took the box from my hand, and within seconds, the beautiful jewel hung from my neck, sparkling in the candlelight.
“You look beautiful. I’m certain Thomas won’t be able to take his eyes off you.”
“Mama will be so happy.” I rolled my eyes.
“I suppose I should make my entrance, and you should make yours.” He rose and leaned down to kiss my forehead.
“I’d better be on your dance card, dear brother.”
“You already are, and more than once, as always. Good luck tonight, dear sister.”
The click from the door closing echoed through the hollow mood of the room. Not even my imagination could entertain an answer for the one question that plagued me: could I live with my parents’ desire, if the desire was not my own?
Obviously, with my chosen rebellious acts the answer should be, no. Mama and her snobbish friends would rather perish than help slaves. The theory sounded simple since I wasn’t anything like them, but in reality, it wasn’t simple. I chose to steal and smuggle slaves, and with that choice, came the responsibility and cost of protecting my secret. Thomas Ludlow was the price I would have to pay—he was an acceptance of my situation, not a desire.
I opened my bedroom door and stepped toward the stairs, slowing my breath every few seconds to help ease my fear and uncertainty. Frozen on the top stair, I looked down on the sea of faces staring up at me, all seemingly unfamiliar blurs at the moment and all staring with wide eyes.
Please God, don’t let me fall down the stairs.
Every inch of unoccupied space mimicked an indoor flower garden with bouquets of Gardenias, Alabama Azaleas, white carnations, and baby’s breath. Garlands wrapped around each staircase railing and arched over every doorway, and candlelight from numerous candles bounced off the cream-colored walls and dark, hardwood floors, illuminating the entire room in a soft glow.
As I stepped off the last stair, Daddy appeared at my side with a smile only seen at parties. His body stiffened as my hand touched his arm. Just like the plague, he avoided public displays of fatherly love, even when proper.
Daddy weaved me through the crowd, formally presenting me to everyone in the room. Minutes turned into an hour as I met new faces, and unfortunately saw others I visit with more often than I desired. My legs grew tired under the weight of my dress, the exhaustion began to consume, and soon my knees and ankles begged for relief with every curtsy.
“Daddy, may I rest?” I asked an hour and several faces later.
“In a moment, Alexandra, first, I desire to introduce you to a few important guests, Henry, Amelia, and Thomas Ludlow.”
My stomach twisted. My fate was upon me.
Chapter 3
Daddy released my arm and gestured for Mama who had been standing within earshot for the last several minutes. Nobility flowed through her veins as she gracefully touched Daddy’s arm and they made their way through the crowd. Her determination to project the illusion of the ideal southern family was unknown to everyone except me. I loathed the façade as much as I loathed having to play a part in the perfect family living in a world to which they desperately clung.
The only daughter of Charles and Jacqueline Hoover, Mama grew up with family wealth and a passion for lavish clothes, jewelry, and being envied. Growing up, I rarely saw her, she was always too occupied with entertaining her acquaintances. She never fed John and me, nor bathed us, dressed us, and certainly never played with us.
“Henry and Amelia, such an honor you could join us this evening.” Daddy shook Mr. Ludlow’s hand before lifting Mrs. Ludlow’s hand to his lips.
“Our pleasure, I assure you, Nathanial,” Mr. Ludlow said.
“Your manor is simply stunning, Elizabeth,” Mrs. Ludlow said, her melancholy undertone hidden delicately beneath her civil expression.
“Thank you, Amelia.”
“May I present our daughter, Miss Alexandra Monroe?”
“It is a sincere pleasure to meet you,” I said, extending my hand.
“Quite a beautiful name for a beautiful young woman,” Mr. Ludlow nodded, taking my hand.
“Thank you.”
Considered one of the wealthiest men in town, Nicolas Ludlow, Henry’s father, had owned the most successful tobacco plantations in the southern states. His political connections were legendary and it was rumored his power stretched as far as President Zachary Taylor and President Millard Fillmore.
I was only a girl when the senior Ludlow died, leaving his entire fortune to his sons, Henry and Joseph. It was just a few years later, though, when Joseph had suddenly vanished. Certainly, speculation about his disappearance from Alabama swirled around the gossip lines for years, but the rumors were played off as nonsense and nothing more. Any mention of the rumors, after a while, was forbidden.
With Joseph gone, Henry controlled the Ludlow estate, forcing him and Amelia out west to Alabama from North Carolina, the relocation Mrs. Ludlow hadn’t entirely desired. Mama never understood why, of course. Being the wife of the sole heir made Mrs. Ludlow an exceedingly rich woman envied by every other woman in town.
“I knew I would find you next to the whiskey cart,” teased a handsome, young man as he appeared beside Mr. Ludlow. The resemblance between father and son was undeniable.
I had heard rumors of Thomas’s handsome appearance over the years, but having never made his acquaintance, I never knew their validity, until now. Deemed royalty in the city of Montgomery made Thomas the most eligible bachelor in town, a detail Mama reminded me of everyday.
Thomas combed his sandy-blond hair away from his face, revealing his wide eyes, and a broad smile that made my cheeks flush and burn.
“You must be Miss Alexandra Monroe. It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance,” Thomas said.
He grasped my gloved hand, and slipped the satin off with a tantalizing slowness to his movement. His fingertips brushed the palm of my hand before he took it to his lips for a gentle kiss. The heat from his breath tickled my skin, and my knees buckled a little under my own weight. Certainly, charming and handsome were qualities he didn’t lack. Perhaps he was more than a mere acceptance for me, and my thoughts to assume a loveless marriage had been careless. Had Mama and Daddy been right to bring us together?
“Yours as well, Mr. Ludlow,” I nodded.
“Please, Miss Monroe, call me Thomas.”
“Then, please, call me Alexandra.”
He flashed a smile, and my face flushed once more. “Alexandra, are you having—”
“Quite the party tonight, dear friend,” a booming voice interrupted.
Mama shifted her weight as her shoulders lowered and back straightened, and I waited for her beaming smile to fade as Warren Grant sauntered toward us with his wife, Judy, in tow.
“
Warren, I was quite surprised I didn’t find you here by the whiskey already,” Daddy boasted, welcoming them to our conversation.
“Now that I’ve found it, perhaps I shall never leave,” Mr. Grant laughed and slapped Daddy on the shoulder. Always near the liquor at parties, Warren Grant loved to drink.
Mama cleared her throat, stifling her laughter at Mrs. Grant’s red-faced, embarrassed expression over her husband’s slurred words. No matter the circumstances, Mama never missed any chance to mock anyone she deemed below her instead of an equal, and Mrs. Grant was always her first target.
The daughter of a penniless journeyman and a dressmaker, Mrs. Grant grew up in a poor town in Georgia. At nineteen, she met Mr. Grant while working in a dress shop and they married not long after. His successful business expanded her world into a large house, nice clothes, beautiful jewelry, and a social life.
“And, how are you, old friend?” Daddy asked Mr. Grant.
“Excellent as ever, and enjoying myself immensely this evening.” Mr. Grant poured himself a rather large glass of whiskey, took a few huge gulps, and then let out a satisfied sigh. “Did you hear what happened at the Cole plantation a few nights past? The old man told me several Negroes were stolen.”
I froze.
Daddy coughed and sputtered as he choked on a sip of wine. He glanced at Mr. Ludlow and Thomas, then set his glass on a nearby table and folded his arms with a look of concern.
“Did his slave hands catch them?” Mr. Ludlow asked.
“No. The hounds lost the scent a mile from the plantation. He claims a woman stole them and led them off.”
Uncontrolled laughter burst from my lips, and I cleared my throat when I met several confused expressions.
“Warren, did he tell you how many escaped?” Thomas’s smile had faded into the same serious grimace as the rest of the men.
“No, he didn’t say.”
Thomas glanced at his father and inhaled deeply, his expression was as perplexing as his reaction to Mr. Grants’ news. His body grew rigid and he fidgeted with the cufflinks of his sleeve, his agitation obvious, as he stood lost in thought. Finally, he glanced at his father once more. “Please excuse me for a—”
“Thomas, where are you going?” Mrs. Ludlow asked, interrupting her son before he could leave.
“I need to leave for an hour, Mother, but I shall return shortly.”
“You will do nothing of the sort, Thomas.”
“Mother—”
“Listen to your mother, Thomas,” Mr. Ludlow interrupted. “Whatever plans you believe you need to do can wait.”
“But—”
“Nothing should be more important than our guest of honor,” Mr. Ludlow said, slapping his hand against Thomas’s shoulder hard enough to make a point. “Perhaps Alexandra desires a glass of lemonade. Tonight is, after all, a celebration for her.”
Thomas looked intently at his father and then exhaled before conceding. Confused by the conversation and desperate to evade the tension between the men, I happily hooked my arm through Thomas’s and followed him away from the crowd.
“Before we find you a beverage, Alexandra, I must speak to Duncan. I hope you don’t mind.”
“Not at all.”
We found Duncan standing against the wall near the dining room. His arm was wrapped tightly around the voluptuous Mary Buchanan as he chatted with her brother Samuel. Her long, black curls cascaded down her shoulders and rolled across her exposed bosom as she looked from Duncan, to her brother, and back to Duncan.
Considered an intriguing beauty by many, including John, her self-interested boastfulness had always annoyed me. Women with her charisma often worked in parlor houses. They were not ladies of the household, in my opinion, and certainly were not wife material.
A bored-looking Emily Grant stood next to Samuel. Her usual judgmental expression disappeared when she saw Thomas—replaced with an evil smile that I’d never seen before.
Before I could blink, Thomas had drawn Duncan away from the crowd for a moment, waving his hands as he whispered intently. Their conversation intrigued me, and yet, to my annoyance, Mary grasped my arm forcing my attention toward Emily and her cackling laughter.
“My, my, Alexandra, that is such an eye catching dress. You will have to acquaint me with your seamstress,” Emily remarked with a slight roll of her eyes. Her thin nose crinkled as though she smelled something rotten as she twisted one of her white-blond curls around one of her fingers.
“Sarah stitched my dress,” I told her, instantly regretting my thoughtless honesty. My curious state over Thomas and Duncan’s conversation had caused too great of a distraction. Why did she have to choose now, of all times, to speak to me?
“You chose a slave to stitch your dress? I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised.” She laughed, clutching her sides for a more dramatic performance.
“Sarah is an excellent seamstress.”
Her smile curved into a sneer. “I only work with high quality seamstresses.”
“I think the dress is beautiful, Miss Grant,” Thomas interrupted as he and Duncan returned.
“Please excuse the interruption, I don’t wish to ruin the evening, but I must see to an issue that has arisen,” Duncan said, kissing Mary on the forehead.
“Is everything all right, darling?” Mary asked.
“Yes. Everything is fine. I shall return within an hour.”
As Duncan disappeared in the crowd, Emily gazed at Thomas for a few seconds, unsure how to respond to his retort toward her ridicule. “Samuel dear,” she finally said. “Would you please fetch me a glass of lemonade? I'm feeling rather parched.”
Samuel let out a groan and stomped off. Susanna, Emily’s younger sister, peered around the door she had been hiding behind, biting her lip while her love-stricken eyes followed Samuel. Without hesitation, she trotted off after him, her mouse brown curls bouncing with each step. Mary and I giggled as we watched her, but Emily scoffed.
“She is too young to believe she loves him.”
“I think young love can be sweet,” Mary said.
“He does not have feelings for her, Mary.”
“I know he doesn’t, Emily. My brother’s intentions lie with Jane Hamilton. He nevertheless should act a gentleman, and will be courteous to Susanna.”
Emily waved off Mary’s words. “Courtesy dwells in the eye of the beholder when it comes to the affections of a child.”
“She is fifteen,” I snapped. “Shall I remind you of your actions at her age?”
Emily eyed me with a glare in her blue eyes, but her smile remained frozen on her lips.
“I assure you, Alexandra, not one of those young gentlemen refused or regretted my affections.”
“And such is a guarantee which can be trusted, no doubt, Miss Grant,” Thomas mocked.
Emily laughed and seductively traced her neck with her fingers. “You are brave to question the validity of my sought-after reputation, Thomas, but I would rather perish than perjure myself regarding one’s desire for my affections.”
“Desire, or hoodwinked lust, Miss Grant?”
“No deception, I assure you, Thomas, for they only had a quest for passion and desire. And, Thomas, how many times must I tell you to please call me Emily?”
“Until I remember, Miss Grant.”
She laughed, as she stepped toward him, her expression causing me to blush. Not that Emily’s bold behavior ever truly shocked me. To expect the unexpected was the only way to survive her audaciousness.
“Very well then, Thomas, I shall continue to remind you every time I have the pleasure of your company. Are you enjoying yourself this evening?”
“Yes, I am.” Thomas replied, and retreated from her by a step.
She stirred toward him once more and batted her ey
es. “I am pleased you joined the celebration this evening. Are you—”
“Excuse me, Miss Grant,” Thomas interrupted her. “Alexandra, will you join me on the veranda?”
“I would love to.”
“Ladies, if you would please excuse us, I wish to steal Alexandra for a moment alone.”
Emily’s nostrils flared as we left. I remembered the day our friendship changed forever. While attending a wedding a few years ago, Dr. Hamilton’s daughter, Jane, had introduced us to her cousin, Paul, a dashing young man who caught my attention.
Although Emily looked at him with repugnance, the thought of me having something she didn’t was too much for her. I watched with bitter sadness while she spun around the room in Paul’s arms the entire night, dancing until midnight before enjoying a first kiss. “As long as I receive his attention and you don’t,” she had playfully whispered, before brushing my chin with her fingertips and leaving the party with her parents.
She could be nothing short of vicious, pouncing hard and swift before her prey had a clue or a chance to react.
“I didn’t wish to be rude, but I simply could not speak with her any longer,” Thomas said, shutting the front door.
“No offense taken, Thomas, I assure you. To be a male around Emily Grant, one has to watch for her claws.” As soon as the words left my lips, I covered my mouth in horror. My words had been vulgar, and shouldn’t have been thought, much less uttered.
Thomas roared with laughter. “Every woman is allowed one vulgar slip now and again.”
The stars twinkled above us, dancing in a sea of black velvet sky as I leaned against the railing, feeling nervous and wishing I possessed Thomas’s self-confidence.
The Woman on the Painted Horse Page 2