“Stand here, child, and let me have a look at you,” she said sternly.
Heather nervously complied and was subjected to a lengthy scrutiny.
“Well, you are a very pretty young thing. I almost feel jealous,” she chuckled. “And you certainly have given the sewing circles much to talk about for weeks to come. If you don’t already know, I am Abegail Clark. And what is your name, my dear?”
The old woman’s servant brought a blanket and tucked it about her knees as Heather answered.
“Heather, Madam Clark. Heather Birmingham.”
The woman sniffed loudly. “I was a madam once, but since my husband died, I prefer to be called Abegail.” She continued without giving the girl a chance to reply. “Of course you know that you’ve destroyed the hopes of all the eligible young ladies here. Brandon was the most pursued young man I know. But I am glad to see he made such a fine choice. He had me worried for a while.”
A considerable group of ladies had gathered about them and were listening to the conversation. Jeff made his way through them to Heather’s side and placing a comforting arm about her waist, grinned at the seated lady who continued her comments, ignoring his presence.
“And probably now Jeff will inherit the attentions of all these feather-headed girls.”
She chuckled to herself over her own wit. Jeff smiled and glanced down at his sister-in-law.
“You’ll have to watch out for this old dowager, Heather. She has a tongue as sharp as a saber and the temper of an old bull alligator. In fact, I think she’s been known to take off a leg here and there.”
“You young dandy. If I were two score younger, you’d be on your knees at my stoop begging for a kind word,” Mrs. Clark declared.
Jeff laughed. “Why, Abegail, love, I beg for a kind word now.”
The old woman waved his charming words away. “I need no prattling young fop to sweet talk me.”
He grinned. “It’s plain to see, Abegail, that this bright sun has not warmed your love for me nor dulled your wits.”
“Ha!” the old lady chortled. “It’s that bright, young thing that stands beside you that has made my day. Your brother has done well for himself and been busy besides.” She looked at Heather. “When are you expecting Brandon’s child, my dear?”
Feeling every lady’s acute interest turned to her now, Heather replied softly, “Around the last of March, Mrs. Clark.”
“Humph!” The snort came from Mrs. Scott who had joined the group. “He didn’t waste much time with her, that’s for sure.” She sneered at Heather. “Your husband is well known for his preference for young ladies’ beds, but you hardly seem old enough to bear a child.”
Mrs. Clark stamped her parasol on the ground. “Be careful, Maranda. Your spite is showing. Just because you couldn’t trap him for your Sybil, don’t abuse this innocent.”
“Of course, it was just a matter of time before someone caught him,” Mrs. Scott smirked, glancing around her smugly at the other ladies. “The way he made his rounds, it’s a wonder some girl didn’t trap him sooner.”
Heather felt herself blush but Jeff replied easily with a grin.
“But that was all before he met his wife, Mrs. Scott.”
A sly look came in the woman’s eyes as she spoke to the younger girl in a loud, clear voice, heavy with insinuation. “Just when did you get married, my dear?”
Mrs. Clark’s umbrella chewed up the turf by her feet. “That’s no concern of yours, Maranda,” she interrupted testily. “And I detest this badgering.”
Mrs. Scott ignored the elder and continued in a mincing tone. “But however did you manage to entice him into your bed, my dear? It must have been some simple lure you used. He’s certainly shown no hesitancy around here.”
“Maranda, have you taken leave of your senses?” Abegail screeched, gripping her umbrella as if it were a club. “Where are your manners?”
Brandon had come around the corner of the church in time to catch this last exchange, and now with angry strides he came to Heather’s side and turned an icy stare upon her tormentor. Mrs. Scott’s waspish composure became more cautious and she retreated a step.
“There are some young ladies I show great hesitancy toward, madam, as you yourself are well aware,” Brandon said coldly.
Mrs. Scott drew herself up stiffly as a titter ran through the group of ladies, but Brandon turned his back, dismissing her, and smiled to Mrs. Clark as he took Heather’s hand into the bend of his arm.
“Well, Abegail, you’re in the center of the fray as usual.”
She chuckled. “You’ve quite upset the town bringing in an outsider as your wife, Brandon. But you’ve restored my faith in your common sense. I never did abide your other choice.” Her eyes moved to Heather. “But this one—this one I think your mother would have been proud of.”
He smiled and gently replied. “Thank you, Abegail. I was afraid you might be jealous.”
“Will you sit a while and chat with an old woman?” she asked of him, then grinned a little wickedly. “I’d like to hear how you captured this charming creature.”
“Perhaps another time, Abegail,” he declined. “The ride home is long and we really must get started.”
She smiled and nodded her head as she glanced toward Mrs. Scott. “I quite understand, Brandon. It has been a trifle cold today.”
“You haven’t graced Harthaven with your presence for quite some time, Abegail,” Jeff commented.
She chuckled. “What? And ruin my reputation, too? But now that you two have a woman about to keep you in check,” she continued more softly, “I’ll feel better about coming.”
He bent over her hand and brushed a kiss upon it. “Come out and visit us soon, love. It’s quite a different place since Brandon brought her home. Even Hatti approves of this change.”
After the Birminghams bade their farewells, Brandon steered Heather through the crowd with Jeff following. As they passed, Mrs. Scott raised her nose disdainfully.
“With all the lovely young ladies here he had to go to England and bring back a Tory as a wife,” she sneered.
Jeff grinned and tipped his hat. “Prettiest damned bit of Irish Tory I’ve ever seen,” he said and moved on past her.
As the three neared their carriage, Heather glanced up and saw Sybil Scott seated in that family’s carriage, watching them forlornly as they made ready to depart. She looked so dejected, Heather could not help pitying her and even her mother who stood glaring after them, having lost the futile game she had waged. She had gained little and lost face with many. If she had intended to strike revenge by informing her of Brandon’s past, it had been a wasted effort because she knew considerably more about her husband than the woman ever hoped to know. From their first meeting she had known he was no saint, so the woman’s words had had little effect.
Brandon handed her into the carriage as the two Scott women continued to stare. She sank down in the rear seat and unfolded a lap robe over her knees, holding half up invitingly as her husband climbed in beside her. He glanced up into her eyes in question to her mood, but she smiled gently and slid close against him for warmth. He stared thoughtfully at her gloved hand upon his arm before his gaze lifted to some distant spot outside the window.
A cold north wind played a mournful tune in the tops of the tall Carolina pines and brought a chill in upon the occupants as the carriage rattled along the dry, dusty road beyond the outskirts of the city. Heather snuggled against Brandon under the blanket while Jeff did his best to stay warm alone opposite them. She watched with some amusement as he tried to get some blanket on the cold seat under him, some across his long legs and some to keep his feet warm. He huddled in the corner with his greatcoat pulled about his shoulders and at every bump some corner came loose and had to be readjusted. Finally she slid even more tightly against Brandon, leaving space for Jeff to sit beside her.
“They say three’s a crowd, Jeff,” she smiled. “Would you care to sit beside me and make it a warm crowd?�
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He complied with no delay and spread his blanket across their knees. Heather wiggled back between the two men, under Brandon’s arm, and Jeff smiled down at her with amusement.
“Fie upon thee, madam.” He feigned injury. “’Twas not my comfort that concerned you. You only sought to be warm on this side too.”
Heather glanced up at him and giggled. Brandon smiled.
“Be careful, Jeffrey. This little Tory can charm the very warmth from your body.” He turned a contemplative scrutiny down upon her. “I can’t for the life of me imagine just whose side she would have fought on, being half Irish, half Tory, and married to a Yankee.”
Jeff joined with a teasing banter in his voice. “It’s her English accent I’m afraid that makes people wonder about her. Why, with speech like that she’ll soon have the whole country in arms against us. Poor father would turn over in his grave to know we harbored a Tory in our midst.” He grinned down at her and affected a simpering tone. “My dear Tory, you simply must learn to drawl like a Yankee.”
She acknowledged his comment with a nod of her head and mimicked the best drawl she knew. “Why, yassah, Misser Jeff.”
The two brothers roared with laughter and she glanced between them, a bit confused at this response. Then she realized she had used a servant’s drawl, one quite different from those smooth, lazy voices of the women she had heard this morning, and she joined their hilarity, laughing at herself.
The servants had received their presents the night before when all of them had gathered in the Christmas spirit and enjoyed their master’s generosity with food and drink and celebrated the holiday in their own happy way. Heather had kept her gift for Brandon until this Christmas morning to give to him in private. She had awakened early to await the sounds from his bedroom of his rising and finally heard him move about, a splash of water as he washed and then the slam of the wardrobe doors. It was then that she rose and took the gaily wrapped present and gently pushed open the intervening door. He did not note her entry into the room. He was busy digging through his wardrobe for a shirt and was only partially dressed, wearing a pair of breeches and standing in his stocking feet. She placed the gift upon the bed and crept to a chair by the fireplace, sitting in it and drawing her feet up under her. Brandon found his shirt and turned, putting it on, and noticed the open door. His eyes went about the room and found his wife curled up in the chair with a wide, impish grin sparkling upon her face.
“Good morning, Brandon,” she said brightly. “Merry Christmas.”
Her attitude was so much that of some puckish sprite, Brandon could not resist a smile. “Good morning, sweet, and may yours be merry too.”
“I brought a present for you,” she said, pointing to the bed. “Aren’t you going to open it?”
He chuckled as he tucked the shirttail into the waistband of his breeches and did as she requested. With some surprise, he held the robe up and admired it, noting especially the family crest she had embroidered upon the left breast.
“Do you like it, Brandon?” she asked quickly. “Put it on and let me see.”
He slipped it on to find the fit perfect. Smiling with pleasure over the gift, he tied the belt and examined the handiwork in the crest more closely.
“It’s quite a handsome garment, Heather. You didn’t tell me you were so talented.” He glanced up with a devilish gleam in his green eyes. “And now that I know, you’ll have to make all my shirts. I’m not an easy man to please. Even my mother found me a tiresome burden when it came to making my shirts.” His voice became gentle and his eyes held something very strange as his look consumed her. “I’m glad to find my wife clever enough to please me.”
Heather laughed happily and jumped up from the chair to circle him and admire both robe and man. “It does fit rather well,” she admitted proudly, smoothing the fabric across his broad shoulders. “And you do look handsome in it.” She stepped back and smiled brightly. “But then, I knew you would.”
He chuckled as he went to his sea chest and obtained from it a small, black box which he brought back to her. “I fear my simple gift to you will be outshone by your radiant face and seem dull in comparison.”
He stood beside her as she opened the gift. The large emerald stone and surrounding diamonds sparkled brilliantly in the morning light as she lifted the lid, and Heather stared at the brooch in wonder and disbelief, then slowly raised her eyes to his in amazement.
“This is for me?” she questioned.
He laughed softly and took it from her and removing the pin, tossed the box on the bed. “And who, madam, would I purchase such a gift for if not for you? I assure you, it is yours.”
He slid his fingers under her wrapper and pinned the jeweled brooch to the burgundy velvet over her breast though his fingers trembled at the warmth of her soft flesh and it took him longer than seemed normal.
“Can you fasten it?” she questioned, watching his lean, brown hands at their task. The impish gleam in her eyes was gone, leaving behind a soft, warm glow which his touch had kindled. An old trembling possessed her.
“Yes,” he replied, finally securing the catch.
She leaned against him, not wanting him to move away, and caressed the brooch. “Thank you, Brandon,” she murmured. “I’ve never had anything so lovely.”
His arm slid around her, and her heart pounded as he lifted her chin, but from the door came a knock and in frustration Brandon moved away. He pulled a chair from the breakfast table for her as Hatti came in with a tray of food, and Heather slid into the seat as he teased the old Negress.
“Where is that parasol I gave you, Hatti? I thought you’d be pounding it about the floors this morning to get everyone’s attention. Mrs. Clark is bound to be jealous.”
“Yassah, Master Bran,” the woman grinned. “She sure is. She ain’t never had one that pretty before. And that’s a mighty fine coat you’re wearing too.” She glanced at Heather and rolled her eyes as she served them.
“Thank you, Hatti,” he said, smiling to Heather. “My wife made it for me.”
The old Negress served them with lips pursed and took her large shape to the door, but before leaving she turned and eyed his coat again.
“Yassah, that sure is a mighty fine coat.” She paused, then continued with a bit of ire in her tone. “But it’s too bad the missus got to trade her clothes off for the makings.”
Brandon laid down his fork abruptly and looked at her, but she turned away with a self-satisfied grin and left the room. Brandon slowly turned his attention to his wife, leaning his elbows on the table, and clasped his hands before him. Heather had turned her gaze out the window and seemed to be staring thoughtfully at some distant object. He propped his chin upon his hands and spoke with deliberate slowness.
“Trading clothes off for gifts, Heather? What’s this all about?”
She turned an innocent expression to him and shrugged her shoulders. “I had no money, and I wanted to surprise you with a gift. And it was just an old gown.”
He frowned at her. “You had no old gowns.”
She smiled brightly and quickly replied. “Yes I did.”
He stared at her blankly for a moment, raking his memory, but could not remember her having an old gown. Except for her bridal dress, she had come to him virtually naked. He raised an eyebrow at her.
“And which gown did you consider old, my love?”
She met his stare and leaned back, smoothing her hand over her rounded stomach. “The one you met me in, remember?”
“Oh,” he grunted. He raised his fork and took a bit of his breakfast and chewed rather irritably upon a piece of ham for a moment then swallowed it. There was disapproval in his tone when he spoke. “I wish you hadn’t, Heather. I dislike the idea of my wife trading clothes with peddlers.” A few more bites of pancakes downed and now stern admonishment in his voice. “There’s usually money in the desk downstairs. I’ll show you where later. It’s there to be used when you need it.”
She sipped h
er tea daintily and lifted her nose with a slightly injured air. “Sir, I understood quite well,” she needled, “that your money was not mine to spend.”
He dropped his fork and gripped the table and glared at her. “You traded off an object that was mine, madam, mine!” he ground out through clenched teeth. “Before we were married you took some money from me and left that piece in payment. To me, it was a trophy of a battle, so to speak, a keepsake of a comely wench I met, and I retained it for the memories I had of her and of a night gone by.”
Heather frowned in confusion and regarded him. Tears came to her eyes as she thought of his displeasure with her. “I am sorry, Brandon,” she murmured softly. “I didn’t know you treasured the garment.”
Her gaze dropped to her lap, and unconsciously she fingered the brooch, completely dejected now. Brandon looked at her and realizing it was Christmas day, softened and felt chagrined at having meanly snatched the joy from her gift. He hastened to set aright her spirits and rose and went to kneel beside her chair.
“My sweet,” he murmured and tenderly took her hand. “I do like the robe and shall wear it with pride in your skill at joining the fabric so neatly, but I am not a niggardly man and would not have my wife trading clothes with peddlers like some farmer’s hag. I have money and it is yours to use. Now come.” Rising, he drew her to her feet and slipping his arms around her, held her close for a moment. “Let’s have a gay Christmas and no more tears. You’ll ruin your pretty face.”
The day was rainy and the house was quiet and few servants about. Jeff had gone to Charleston to make his rounds with presents and wouldn’t return until evening to join them for Christmas dinner. Brandon built a fire in the drawing room and sat on the floor beside her chair, leaning back against it with his legs outstretched before him, his arm resting across her knees, reading to her from Shakespeare’s A Midsummer Night’s Dream. She listened contentedly, sewing on a garment for the baby, and laughed lightly as he brought the characters to life. In front of the fireplace rested a huge birch Yule Log which Jeff and Ethan had wrestled in the evening before. It was gaily decorated with pine boughs, mistletoe and holly all twined about with red ribbons and two huge candles burned at either end.
The Flame and the Flower Page 29