Ella Wood (Ella Wood, 1)

by Michelle Isenhoff

  The room swarmed with servants. Located in the front of the house with access to the side yard where the kitchen was located, preparations were already ongoing for the sumptuous buffet that would be served there at midnight. In the meantime, it was also being used as a passing-off point for the lighter fare replenishing the refreshment tables in the ballroom.

  Emily leaned against the wooden paneling and closed her eyes. Knowing she’d never withstand the remaining hours if she didn’t claim just a few minutes for herself, she sought the quiet darkness at the opposite side of the house.

  Emily sidestepped a footman hoisting a tray of drinks to his shoulder and collided with Josephine, the tall, rawboned cook who was delivering a fresh batch of hors d’oeuvres from the kitchen. The tray bobbled dangerously. A passing servant helped to steady it, and between them they lowered it safely to the table. Josephine set hands to hips. “Miss Emily, what you doin’ underfoot?”

  Emily had learned long ago that the woman’s bark was worse than her bite. “I was taking a shortcut to the music room.”

  “And why you goin’ to hide in Mrs. Preston’s music room?”

  “I’m not hiding,” Emily contradicted. At the cook’s steady glare, she straightened her shoulders defensively. “I’m not. I just need a few minutes alone.”

  “Well, go ’round nex’ time.”

  Emily escaped through the opposite doorway as the cook muttered about inappreciative children.

  At the end of the hall, she came to the spacious room containing her mother’s baby grand piano. The other furnishings were sparse—a few hard-backed chairs, a music stand, a table, and a cello—but a pair of French doors opened into a quiet side yard within sight of her grandfather’s extensive gardens. Slapping her dance card onto a chair, she slipped into the quietness of the night.

  The fragrance of angel trumpets sweetened the air. Emily sank onto a marble bench, inhaling deeply, and kicked off her shoes. It was an old habit, one her mother detested. If Marie only knew how often Emily had roamed the plantation as a child, barefoot and wearing only half the clothing she’d started with... She chuckled at the memory.

  Laughter helped ease the tension from her body. Throwing back her head, she let the rest of it slide off into the grass and focused on the crescent moon waxing in the heavens. Today was her birthday, by golly, and she deserved a little peace and quiet. It hardly seemed fair that she had to spend her special day playing nice in a crowd she’d prefer to avoid.

  Sixteen. It seemed unreal that she was old enough to consider marriage. Only Malachi knew her true ambitions. She held them close to her heart, guarding them like a lucky hand of cards, afraid that if she played them too soon she’d lose the game. But the time was almost ripe to reveal them. In recent correspondence, Malachi had agreed to help her take the first steps in making her plans a reality. She eagerly awaited his next letter.

  Emily yawned and stretched. The night was still young. After dinner, dancing would resume until the wee hours of morning, giving the neighbors just enough time to travel home to prepare for morning worship services. Not that anyone would be sharp enough to listen to the sermon.

  A pair of silhouettes rounded the corner of the house. Emily’s heart sank. She’d been discovered. But the shadows didn’t meander like a pair of lovers escaping for a bit of privacy. They were both unmistakably masculine, and they moved unerringly in her direction.

  “Have you been sent to find me?” she asked with a trace of disappointment. When no answer met her question, she tried again. “Am I needed in the house?”

  More silence. She didn’t recognize either of the figures. “Who are you?”

  The men were on either side of her now, grasping both her arms.

  “What are you doing?” she demanded as they dragged her from her seat. Fear pinched her voice, elevating it to a pitch she didn’t recognize. She struggled against them. “Unhand me or I’ll—I’ll scream.”

  “I wouldn’t recommend it,” the larger one growled. He flashed an object in front of her face. Moonlight gleamed on the dark edge of a knife.

  3

  Emily grew still, but her submission lasted only ten or twelve steps. With a mighty jerk, she wrenched free of her captors and sprinted barefoot toward the house, skirts held high and screaming at the top of her lungs. The many races she had run as a child gave her a quick lead, but encumbered as she was by heavy hoops, she was soon recaptured.

  One of the men held the blade to her cheek. “Try that again, my dear, and I’ll mar your pretty face.”

  They hustled toward the road dragging Emily between them. The fragile dike that stemmed her flood of terror was mortared with pure audacity. “What do you want? Money? Jewels? My father will pay you. Send for him.”

  “This has nothing to do with your father. You can thank your brother, William Samuel Jackson Preston IV.” The man snorted with derision.

  “Jack?” she asked, startled. “Are—are you friends of his?”

  The man laughed, a low, dry rasp. “Sure. We’re good friends.”

  “How do you know my brother?”

  The man had no time to answer. As they passed the garden bench, his partner landed spread-eagle on the ground. The flying tackle came from behind, jarring Emily’s arm loose. She recovered more quickly than her remaining assailant and brought her fist down on his knife hand. The weapon tumbled from his grip. Flinging Emily away, the man leaped on her would-be rescuer.

  She scooped up the blade but lacked the skill to use it. As the men wrestled on the grass, their outlines traced with moonlight, the sharpened steel dangled awkwardly from her hand. Instead, she utilized a weapon she could wield well—her voice.

  “Help!” she screamed. “Help! Please, somebody help us!”

  Within half a minute, four new figures dashed around the corner of the house, babbling to one another in confusion. “There!” someone yelled.

  One of her abductors let out an oath. “Let’s go!”

  The two men scrambled to their feet and sprinted into the darkness. Three of the newcomers pursued them across the lawn. The fourth stopped beside her. “Emily! What happened? Are you all right?”

  She recognized the voice of Jovie. “I’m fine.” Dropping to her knees, she probed the crumpled figure of her rescuer. “Quick,” she ordered, “help me roll him over.”

  Gently, they turned the man onto his back. “Sir, are you wounded?”

  Moonlight sparkled off teeth bared in a cocky grin. “Hello, Miss Preston. Might I have the honor of your next dance?”

  She met the dark eyes of Thaddeus Black. Worry transformed into fury. With a flounce of her skirts, she stormed back inside the music room—detouring to snatch her slippers from beneath the bench—and left Jovie to help the young man to his feet.

  In the darkened room, she paused to steady her nerves. Who were those men? What did they want? Why had they abducted her? Icy water trickled down her spine. She didn’t want to think about what might have happened had they succeeded.

  But she couldn’t attribute all her agitation to fear. She peered again at the handsome young man now attempting to straighten his clothing and clenched her hands together to still their trembling. Thaddeus hadn’t stopped to consider the risks to his own neck. He’d simply jumped in and given her an opportunity to raise the alarm. Quite possibly, she owed him her life.

  She pressed her hands to the heat rising in her cheeks. She had no room in her plans for such emotion.

  The three men who had chased after her assailants straggled back into the yard. By now several others had swelled the gathering, including her father, who demanded an explanation. She watched half a dozen animated figures indicating the place where the men had attacked and gesturing out toward the lawn. One handed her father the knife she had dropped beside Thaddeus. Then someone pointed to the still-open French doors. “She went in there.”

  Emily smoothed her dress and cleared her throat in preparation.

  “Emily!” William shouted, bolt
ing through the doorway.

  “I’m right here, Papa,” she replied calmly. “I’m not hurt.”

  He crushed her against his chest and whispered her name in a gust of relief. “Emily! What would I have done if—” He couldn’t make himself finish the sentence.

  She gently pushed against him. “I’m fine.”

  “You’re certain?” he asked, peering down into her face.

  “Yes, just some bruising on my arms.”

  “I’ll have Doctor Malone look at it immediately. He’s in the—”

  “Papa,” she broke in with a shaky laugh. “I’m okay. Really.”

  His eyes flickered over her face, then he embraced her again, more gently this time. “Would you like me to make your excuses to our guests? No one would blame you if you’d prefer to rest. I can send Lizzie up with some supper.”

  The offer sounded heaven-sent. Only then did Emily realize how drained the incident had left her. She nearly accepted before considering what an uproar her disappearance would cause. There’d be a million questions to answer, a million speculations to put to rest, and a million callers to entertain as well-wishers sought to satisfy their curiosity. How much easier to rejoin the festivities and make a show of health. Then perhaps when dinner was over she could slip away, claiming some trivial malady.

  “No, I’ll return to the party. But first,” she said with a glance out the door, “I have some unfinished business to attend to.”

  “If you’re certain.” He sounded unconvinced but planted a kiss on her forehead.

  She wrestled her shoes back under her skirts. Then, pausing to scoop her dance card off a chair, she swished back out the French doors.

  Her reappearance brought the lingering crowd to silence. She marched directly up to Thaddeus, her back straight and her chin high. “I owe you an apology, Mr. Black, as well as my gratitude. If you still desire a dance, you may enter your name on the line of your choice.” She held up the wrist from which dangled her card.

  Thaddeus slipped the booklet from her hand. “I’d be honored. Perhaps you would accompany me to some better lighting.” They made their way to the front door, followed by a dozen companions, where he wrote his name in her booklet. “I’m glad to see you’re unharmed,” he said, wincing slightly as he stepped forward to relinquish her dance card. “I will leave you here where I trust you will be well attended.”

  She realized with horror that she had not asked after his injuries. “Mr. Black, are you unwell?”

  “It’s not my favorite way to win a dance, but in this case, it was well worth the effort.” He flashed a smile and slipped into the shadows.

  Emily stood in the midst of the crowd, momentarily at a loss. She had expected him to accept the next dance. Glancing at her card, she saw he had chosen one several spaces down, the last before dinner. It was a waltz—one of the few dances not performed as a group but one-on-one, face-to-face. Her blood thickened to honey, slowing her pulse, strengthening its beat.

  She fought to regain her composure as her card was requested by two more individuals and an introduction made to a third young man. Through it, Sophia’s brother never left her side. “Jovie, will you help me find my mother?” she pleaded. “She’ll be worrying about me, and I’d like to set her at ease.”

  He smiled warmly. “Of course.”

  She reentered the noise and brilliance of the house, grateful for the young man’s steadiness.

  “Emily!” Marie Preston pushed through the crowd, graceful even in a rush. “Thank goodness you’re all right.” She pressed her daughter in a close embrace. William followed in his wife’s wake and winked at Emily over her head. Behind him trailed Edna and Walter Cutler.

  Emily told the tale of her near abduction again and assured both her parents and the gawking bystanders of her well-being. During her narrative, Walter tugged an empty pipe from the pocket of his waistcoat and chewed absently on its tip.

  When she’d finished, William kissed his daughter on the top of her head. “It won’t happen again,” he assured her. “We’ll find them. I’ve sent out four of my best men, and six or seven of our guests have mounted up to give chase. If the intruders are still on the property, they will find them.”

  “Do you want me to send Cage round for his dogs?” Walter asked. “Men could miss something in the dark.”

  “He’s already gone after them.” William smiled at his guests to set them at ease. “Dance,” he encouraged. “Enjoy yourselves. The problem is being addressed with all earnestness.”

  The musicians started up again, smoothing the rumpled atmosphere, and Emily’s next escort accompanied her to the dance floor. Two dances later, Jack unexpectedly broke into a quadrille. “Sorry,” he growled to her three partners, clutching her by the arm and pulling her from the formation. “I need to talk to my sister.”

  “Jack!” she protested. “You’ve ruined their dance!”

  “They’ll get over it.” He dragged her out of the ballroom and into a quiet parlor off the main hallway, interrupting a pair of lovers who had slipped away for a few moments alone. “Get out,” Jack commanded, holding the door open.

  “Jack, what is the matter with you?” she demanded as the affronted couple swept past them.

  “Thad told me what happened.” Her brother reeled slightly, grasping the doorjamb for support.

  She set her hands on her hips. “Have you been drinking again?”

  “Never mind.” He slammed the door and glowered down at her. “Those men, did one of them have a chip in his front tooth?”

  “How could I possibly know that? It was pitch black out there.”

  “Describe them.”

  She sighed. “One was a large brute of a man with rounded shoulders like a bull. The other was smaller, wiry, and did all the talking. He carried a knife with a tip that curved upward like elf shoes.”

  Her brother’s oath echoed around the room.

  “Jack, what is this about?” She rose to her full height. “I insist you tell me this instant.”

  “They’re just some people I owe money to. It’s nothing.”

  “Nothing!” she screeched. “Nothing for them to steal me for ransom from my own yard? Who are you associating with, Jackson? Why are you borrowing money?”

  His lips compressed in a flat, even line.

  “How much do you owe?”

  “I’ll take care of it.”

  “Tell Papa, Jack,” she said more gently. “He’ll help you.”

  Jack’s face darkened. “Don’t breathe a word of this to him, do you hear me?”

  “And if I do?” Emily crossed her arms defiantly. “What if this happens again? I don’t relish getting dragged into the middle of your poor decisions.”

  The muscles in her brother’s neck stretched as taut as bowstrings. “It won’t happen again,” he said with deadly certainty. “I promise you that.” Opening the door, he strode into the hall without looking back.

  “What are you going to do, Jack?” she called after him. “Jack!”

  He disappeared around the corner, leaving Emily to fume in silence. When had her mischievous brother turned into this hardened, intoxicated man? “What have you gotten yourself into, Jack?”

  The beginnings of a real headache began to pinch between her eyes. Perhaps it was time to make her apologies to her guests and retire for the evening. She’d never been one to claim the fashionable weaknesses women suffered from, but after the night she’d experienced...

  Thaddeus met her as she reentered the ballroom in search of her father. “There you are.” He smiled broadly and caught her elbow. “Our waltz has already started.”

  She protested as he led her to the dance floor. “Mr. Black, I really must decline. I’m not feeling—”

  “Nonsense,” he interrupted, whisking her into the steps.

  Her eyebrows notched upward. “Pardon me?”

  “You heard me. You are the most hale and healthy young lady in the room, and I don’t believe for a moment that yo
u are feeling under the weather.”

  Irritation flashed in her eyes. “And you, Mr. Black, are the most reprehensible man I’ve ever met.” She struggled to break free, but he tightened his grip on her hand and waist. “Let me go!”

  He grinned again, his eyes never leaving her face. “It will take more than an insult to make me give up a dance with the prettiest girl at the ball. You’ll have to cause a real scene. But I don’t think you will. You’ve already received more attention than you like for one evening. Am I right?”

  Her eyelids were angry slits. “You are insidious.”

  He laughed. “I’m also a very good dancer. Just relax and maybe you’ll enjoy yourself.”

  The young man moved with poise and grace. Had she not been so furious, it would have been the most enjoyable dance of the evening. Thaddeus didn’t speak another word, but he smiled down into her eyes the entire time. She scowled back with stubborn contempt.

  When the music ended, she jerked away. “I will bid you good evening, sir,” she said coldly.

  Thaddeus bowed with a smirking grin. “Thank you for the pleasure of your company, Miss Preston. The impression I have left you with is not the one I would have preferred, but I trust it will follow you to your chambers this evening.”

  Emily’s eyes snapped open. She would have slapped his face, but he was right. She had caused enough of an uproar for one night. Without another word, she spun on her heel and stalked from the room.

  4

  Sleep eluded Emily. Her body felt thick and weighted, but her head swirled with images of the evening. Blurs of light and color flashed behind her eyes while the memory of music lingered in her ears. Futilely, she pressed the heels of her hands against her forehead to squeeze her brain into a state of rest.

  Nearer to dawn than midnight, buggy wheels grated on the gravel outside her window as guests took their leave. Muffled traces of conversation traveled through the panes of glass and trailed the buggies into the night. The party was over.