“Lordy me, Mister Jeff. What you bother bringing that waterfront trash home with you for?”
Brandon swung open the carriage door and jumped down, grinning broadly, “Hatti, you old hounddog, one of these days I’m going to twist your tail proper.”
The woman cackled gleefully and rushed to meet him, arms held wide, and Brandon swept her into a hearty embrace, squeezing her tightly as he laughed. When he released her she let out her breath with a whoof.
“Oooeee, Mister Bran, you ain’t getting no weaker. You gonna crack my ribs for sure one of these days.” She peered past him into the carriage. “Who that in there with you, Mister Jeff? You trying to hide somebody from old Hatti? You just bring her out here and let me look at her so I can see what Mister Bran done gone and got for himself this time. Last time he brought that big old bull Bartholomew home with him. But it sure don’t look like no bull this time and I can see it ain’t Miss Louisa.”
As she spoke Jeff rose and got out of the carriage and turned to help Heather down. With hardly a pause Hatti continued her chatter.
“Hurry up, Mister Jeff,” she directed impatiently. “Get her down here so I can see her. And get out of the way, boy. You always was a clumsy one for your age.”
Jeff moved aside, a merry twinkle lighting his eyes, and let the old Negress have her first look at Heather. Hatti’s eyes roamed across Heather’s face and she smiled with satisfaction.
“Why, she ain’t hardly more’n a child. Where’d you find something this sweet, Mister Bran?”
She grew serious as her gaze fell to Heather’s stomach, and she turned to Brandon with eyes deep and troubled, having no doubt that he was to blame. Dropping his given name, she inquired with a raised eyebrow:
“Mister Birmingham, you gonna marry this child? She needs you more’n Miss Louisa. Your poor mother would turn over in her grave you didn’t do right by this girl.”
Brandon grinned at the old woman. “I took care of that in London, Hatti. This is my wife, Heather.”
Her big, broad, toothy smile reappeared, and her eyes lit up. “Oh, Lordy me, Mister Bran,” she cried happily. “You done stopped your tomfoolery and got us a new Mrs. Birmingham for Harthaven, and now we gonna have babies in this house, lots and lots of babies. It’s about time. Yassah, you sure took your time and scared us plenty with that other woman, giving my old heart a hard time. I almost gave this family up.”
She turned to Heather, beaming brightly, and put her hands on broad hips. “Mrs. Birmingham,” she grinned. “The name sure fits. Ain’t nobody what got the good looks like the Birminghams. You is pretty as a peach, child, and such a little slip of a flower.”
She gave no time for replies and took her smiling mistress by the hand. “Come with me, you little sweet honey. Don’t let these menfolk keep you standing out here in the dust no longer and in your condition.” She cast a shaming eye to Brandon. “Traveling all that way on a little boat with nothing but men to take care of you, you must be plumb tuckered. But don’t you worry none, Miss Heather. You is here with old Hatti now and you is gonna be took care of proper. We get you out of them traveling clothes and get you nice and comfortable. That’s a long ride from Charleston for you and the baby. You gonna need your rest before supper is ready.”
Heather looked over her shoulder at Brandon in complete helplessness as the woman drew her past him and laughed gaily.
Hatti gave rapid orders to two young girls they passed. “You get yourself out back and get some water for the Missus’ bath, and don’t dillydally, you hear?”
Jeff guffawed, leaning against the carriage in his glee. Brandon shook his head and chuckled.
“That old woman,” he muttered. “She hasn’t changed one bit.”
“You tell George and Luke to get the Missus’ trunks upstairs fast when they get here,” Hatti ordered back over her shoulder. “Those mules sure take their time.”
The front door slammed behind her and Heather found herself in an enormous hall that smelled nicely of beeswax where the floors shone with a soft velvety sheen under her feet and not one speck of dust could be seen. A large curving stairway led to the second floor and some pieces of furniture occupied the room, elegant in the rococo manner and bright and fresh in color. Yellow and royal blue velvets and multi-colored brocades were used in upholstering, and the light blue walls were clean and spotless.
Heather gazed around her with wide eyes, and Hatti, seeing her interest in the house, made a detour through double doors into the drawing room, never ceasing her chatter. She pointed to a portrait over the fireplace of a man looking a great deal like Brandon and Jeff but with dark eyes and a much sterner line of face.
“That’s the old Master. He and the Missus built this house.”
In this room the walls were covered with a mustard flocking with a cream background, and velvet of the darker hue was draped over windows with soft silk draperies criss-crossed beneath. French doors led onto the porch and the woodwork was a warm gray magnolia wood. Fresh green silk covered the settee and there were Lows XV chairs of light blue and of mustard. A luxurious cream and pale gold Aubusson carpet covered the floor, and a bombe Louis XV commode took its place of honor between a pair of cane-backed chairs of the same era with a gilt Chippendale mirror above the piece, complimenting the beauty of the commode. A tall, elegant French secretary stood by double doors leading into the dining room through which they passed. As in the rooms before, this was decorated in the rococo manner. A long dining table dominated the room and a crystal chandelier sparkled brilliantly above it.
Heather stared agog at the splendid furnishings and Hatti chuckled with pride as she pulled her along again into the central hall and up the stairs.
“Where you from, Miss Heather?” the woman continued, but she gave her mistress no chance to reply. “You must be from that place London. Did Mister Bran meet you there? He sure do get around, that boy. We got a nice fire in his room to take the chill off it, and your bath will be up here shortly. We’ll have you nice and comfortable in just a little while.”
The Negress turned at the top of the stairs and led the way to the master bedroom, a large room occupied by a huge four-poster canopied bed, with the family crest carved into the headboard and yards of mosquito netting tied to the posters. It was a warm and cheery room, and Heather immediately felt content. It seemed a place where she belonged, and as she went to stand beside the bed, her heart pounded a little faster as she thought of the coming night when her husband and she would again share a bed. Then a thought flashed through her mind that this was where she would give birth to their child when the time came—and where others would be created—if there were to be others.
The bath was readied and as Hatti helped her undress, Heather’s eyes fell on a gilt framed miniature portrait of a woman on the dressing table. She picked it up in curiosity and stared at it. The green eyes unmistakably declared her heritage to Brandon and the smile carried a hint of Jeff’s perpetual gaiety. Neither the light brown hair nor the small face resembled anyone she had ever seen before. But the eyes—oh, the eyes!
“That’s Miss Catherine,” Hatti beamed proudly, “the Master’s mama. She was a little sweet thing like you, but Lordy, she sure run this house. She had a way with her that made those two young bucks she bore and their pa bend over backward to do for her. And if those boys did something they not suppose to, she just speak soft to them and they’d go crawling under the front porch. But they don’t know she run this house and them. Leastwise if they did, they liked it that way, ‘cause there never was no complaining. She was soft and all honey. And she love the old Master and her boys like there wasn’t no others in the world like them. Now the Master, he was something else. He was so contrary and ornery, he could have fought the war alone and won. Mister Bran’s just like him. He’s so contrary he’d spite himself. And proud, Lordy! Ain’t nobody like him. I done thought that Miss Louisa caught Mister Bran for sure. But that would have been bad trouble. He’d a killed her befor
e too long.”
Heather glanced up at the woman in surprise. “Why do you say that, Hatti?”
The Negress pursed her lips. “Master says I talk too much,” she replied, rolling her eyes, and she hurried off to find bath oil for the water.
Heather sat perplexed. Her curiosity was aroused now, but the Negress seemed, for the moment at least, to have run out of words.
A shout and an angry whinny from outside caught her attention and she went to the window to see Brandon astride a black horse which pranced and snorted and wasn’t at all pleased to be mounted. Jeff stood aside watching his brother battle the horse for control, and Hatti joined Heather at the window to view the scene below. Angry under the bridle and spurs, the animal reared and lunged, throwing up great clods of dirt with his hooves, but Brandon carried a heavy riding crop with the butt forward, and each time the animal tried to rear he struck him smartly between the ears with the heavy end. Finally the raging beast began to run in frustration. Brandon shortened the reins and even then forced his commands upon the horse. He ran him around the pasture until the steaming, sweating beast condescended to stand shivering and subdued by the gate.
Hatti shook her head. “That old horse, there ain’t but Master Bran can ride him. And he’s sure feeling this cool weather and all that corn he’s been eating. The Master has to break him all over again every time he comes back.”
As Jeff opened the gate to let the horse and rider out, Heather stepped closer to the window, pushing the curtain aside so she could watch them ride away. Man and beast faced the house for a moment and Brandon looked up to see her standing there in her shift gazing down at him. The mount pawed the dirt and champed at the reins, impatient now to be gone, but his master held him tight, distracted with the view at the window. When Brandon made no move to go through the gate, Jeff turned and followed his gaze upward. Heather drew back for modesty’s sake and dropped the curtain, and Brandon’s attention returned once more to the horse. In a flurry of hooves, the animal charged through the open gate and took off in full stride, stretching his powerful muscles in magnificent anger. Brandon shook out the reins and let him run, enjoying again the rhythmic surge of the great steed beneath him.
“Come on, honey child,” Hatti urged. “Your bath is ready and it’s gonna get cold if we stand here much longer. The Master knows how to ride old Leopold, so there ain’t no use fretting.”
Heather soaked in the bath while Hatti hustled George and Luke up the stairs and into the room next door with the trunks and began unpacking them, putting the clothes away in the master bedroom. From the assortment of gowns she selected one of mauve velvet for her mistress to wear and spread it carefully upon the huge bed.
“Is this dress all right, Miss Heather? It sure is pretty. Master Bran will like it. Did he buy all them clothes for you? He sure takes care of his own, that man.”
Heather smiled and let the woman ramble. She had already realized that Hatti continued on and with conjectures, in most cases, answered her own questions with amazing accuracy.
The Negress came to the tub with a huge towel spread to encompass her young mistress. “Stand your little self up here and let old Hatti dry you off, child,” she directed. “Then I’ll give you a good rubbing with some rose oil and you can rest a little before supper. Master Bran’ll be wanting his bath when he gets back.”
Some moments later Hatti closed the door quietly behind her and left a drowsy Heather lying across the bed, a soft, downy quilt spread over her. It was deep dusk when she woke and stirred, and the Negress, somehow sensing her awakening, came to help her dress for dinner.
“You sure got pretty hair, child,” she said, smiling broadly as she brushed its lustrous length slowly. “I suspect the Master’s strutting proud of it.” And under her breath she added, “Humph, that Miss Louisa don’t hold no candle to this at all.”
A moment later Heather heard Brandon’s footsteps in the hail and Hatti’s hands flew in frenzied haste to finish the task of combing her hair.
“Lordy me, Master Bran’s home and I ain’t got you near ready.”
The door opened and Brandon walked in, carrying his coat slung over his shoulder. His face was still red from the ride and he was slightly breathless.
“Yassah. Yassah. I’s gonna have her ready in just a minute,” Hatti hurriedly assured him.
He laughed softly as his eyes fixed on Heather sitting before the mirror in her shift. “Don’t let yourself fly to pieces, Hatti. You’re going to drive yourself into a fit.”
“Yassah. Yassah. There’s no rest for the wicked,” she grinned.
Brandon dropped his coat in a chair and began unbuttoning his waistcoat as the old Negress piled Heather’s hair on top of her head and tied it loosely in place with a ribbon. He watched with a warm, appreciative gaze as she helped Heather into the gown, but when the Negress reached up to fasten the back he moved to them.
“Here, Hatti, I’ll do that. You go see about my bath.”
“Yassah, Master Bran,” she chuckled and shuffled out.
He took the back of the dress in hand and slowly and deliberately fastened it, taking exceptional care that each hook was secured. With his nearness Heather was aware of the masculine smell of horses and sweaty leather. At the top of her gown his hands seemed to linger and he lowered his head until his face brushed her hair and he inhaled its sweet fragrance. Heather stood with eyes half closed, hearing him, smelling him, feeling him, afraid to move lest she break the spell of the moment, but Hatti’s voice came from the stairwell.
“Now get that water up there. Master Brandon is waiting for his bath.”
Heather turned to face her husband but he had already stepped back and was unbuttoning his shirt. Hatti opened the door to allow several boys in with buckets of steaming water. They filled the tub and were quickly ushered out by the anxious old woman. The Negress paused at the door and turned to inquire:
“Is that all you’ll be wanting right now?”
“Aye,” he replied, beginning to peel his breeches off, and Hatti fled, closing the door behind her.
Heather readied his towel and clothes and with a discreet gaze watched him as he finished undressing, admiring with smoky eyes the long, sinewy muscles of his body, the narrow hips and the broad shoulders. She was suddenly filled with a possessive pride, knowing that he was hers and no other woman had a right to claim him, not even Louisa.
She went to the bed and sat on its edge to put on her stockings and shoes as he got into the tub. When she lifted her skirts above her knees, Brandon turned his attention on her and lathered soap idly over his chest as he admired her slender legs.
“Has Hatti shown you the house yet?” he inquired, watching her fasten a frilly garter around her thigh.
She shook her head. “No,” she replied happily. “Only the drawing room and dining room. But I’m anxious to see the rest. I never thought the house would be so grand nor half so beautiful.” And with a delightful giggle, she added, “I imagined we’d be living in a cottage. You didn’t tell me we’d be living in a mansion.”
Brandon grinned as she stood up and dropped her skirts, smoothing them down. “You didn’t ask, sweet.”
She laughed, passing the tub, and reached out and flicked her fingers through the water, splashing it on his chest. “Hurry up, please, Brandon. I’m starving.”
Brandon was shrugging into a waistcoat when a giggling in the next room caught their attention.
“Lordy me! What’s this?” Hatti’s voice came through the door. “I ain’t never seen nothing like this before!”
Brandon opened the door and Heather came to his side to peer into the other room at Hatti who stood holding up a pair of the quilted pantalets. She glanced at Brandon as they came into the room and raised her eyebrow.
“Master Bran, these things yours?” she questioned. “They sure got pretty lace on them.”
Heather threw a hand over her mouth and tried to suppress a burst of giggles.
“They�
�re way too little for you, Master. What you buy these for?” Her eyes grew wide suddenly as she shifted the pantalets around before Heather. “These yours, Miss Heather?” she asked incredulously.
“I’ll have you know, Hatti, I had those made especially for my wife to keep her warm,” Brandon informed her with a grin. “The North Atlantic during the winter is no place for a woman to be sashaying around with nothing beneath her skirts.”
“Yassah. Yassah,” the Negress agreed with a snigger.
Brandon chuckled and shook his head. “Hatti, get out of here. Go see how close supper is to being ready. Your mistress is about to collapse from hunger.”
The woman grinned broadly. “Yassah, Master Bran.”
She hurried out and Heather roamed into the room and wandered about, touching the bed curiously and lightly running her fingers over a chair. Brandon watched her intently as he buttoned his waistcoat.
“This was a sitting room, but my mother had the bed put in here after I was born. She didn’t like disturbing my father the few times Jeff and I were ill, so she stayed in here when we needed her. The nursery is next door.”
His eyes followed her slender form about the room as she familiarized herself with each item in it, and within him an urge began to grow, an urge to take her to him, to caress those shining locks. Her attention was drawn to the bed and its hand-sewn coverlet, and he moved to stand close behind her, almost taking her into his arms then, but he paused.
What if here again she would resist him, fight him? If met with violence he might conceivably injure the child or her.
His mind reeled with the nearness of her, the smell of her, the soft curling tresses before him. He could not force her again. He would not fight her or make her bend to him. She must come willingly.
“A choice,” he thought. “This room or mine. This lonely bed or sharing my attentions. I’ll let her make the choice.”
The Flame and the Flower Page 26