The River Rose (19 page)

"I was planning on it," Clint answered. "Why, did you need something?"

Jeanne glanced up at George hesitantly, but he merely smiled at her. Finally with some difficulty Jeanne said, "Mr. Masters has invited me to visit his home tomorrow. But someone needs to be here, just in case there's any business that needs to be done with the shippers or suppliers. And then there's Marvel . . . I suppose I need to take her to the O'Dwyers."

"Why? The
Rose
is her home, and she's got the whole crew wrapped around her little pinky finger," Clint said. "She'll be fine here. And yes, I'll be glad to take care of anything that comes up, Captain Jeanne."

AS JEANNE WALKED DOWN the gangplank to meet George, she saw that he had traveled in a new carriage. It was bigger than the one he had borrowed, with brass lanterns and door latches, and the body painted midnight blue. The driver was a dignified-looking black man with his coachman's cloak and tall gray top hat. It was hitched to a couple of dappled horses that pranced and snorted, their breath making little steam bursts in the cold air. George helped her into the carriage and then got in and as always tucked a fur around her lap.

"This is a new carriage," Jeanne said. "Did you buy it?"

"No, Dr. Hightower just got tired of loaning me his barouche. I sent word to the plantation and instructed my driver to bring my own carriage into town yesterday. Do you like it?"

"Oh, yes, it's as big as a parlor," Jeanne said. "And the seats are so much more comfortable."

"They are, aren't they? I think Hightower skimped a little on his padding. So, Jeanne, now we have time. Tell me all about your trip."

They talked all the way about Jeanne's experience piloting again, about Buck Buckner, about the
Helena Rose
and her upcoming first freight run. After about two hours George glanced out the window and said, "Well, there's my home. How do you like it?"

Jeanne was ready for something better than ordinary but was taken aback at the sight of Morecambe, the Masters family plantation. A long sweeping drive lined with massive oaks and broad enough for three carriages led up a gentle slope to the mansion crowning it.

Morecambe House was a two-story building with white Corinthian columns across the front and along both sides. A balcony, set off by an ornate iron grill painted black ran all the way around the second floor. Tall wide windows could be seen on both floors of the house, with pale blue shutters breaking the luminous white of the stucco. The steeply pitched roof ran up to a center point broken by three gables on each side. High-rising chimneys capped with curving covers of brick added further beauty to the building. They pulled up in front of the house, and a black servant wearing a butler's tie and tails came out to open the carriage door, bowing deeply as Jeanne alighted.

George and Jeanne mounted the steps and the pair of enormous oak doors opened as if by magic. As they passed into the foyer Jeanne saw two black maids curtseying by the open doors. Jeanne's attention was immediately drawn to a broad, graceful stairway leading up to the second floor. The entrance hall and the staircase were of marble with a twilight gray swirl, and the elaborate wrought-iron stair railing looked like black lace.

A dignified-looking lady in her fifties came up to them and George said, "This is Mrs. Rawlings, my housekeeper." The lady nodded and took their hats and coats. George asked Jeanne, "Would you like to see the house?"

"Yes, very much."

George led Jeanne around the first floor of the house and the tour included a somber, well-stocked library, with glassed cases and busts of Roman emperors displayed. "I haven't spent much time in here," George admitted.

"I think I would have a hard time ever leaving this room," Jeanne said. There must have been four or five hundred books.

"You're a big reader, are you? A bluestocking," he teased. "You've surprised me again, Jeanne. How about we take a look at my favorite room?"

She followed him across the hall, and he opened the double doors. "The dining room," he said with a boyish grin. "You might know it would be my favorite."

It was at least twenty by twenty-two feet in size and floored from wall to wall with Aubusson carpet. The walls were wallpapered in gold with a bright green fleur-de-lis pattern. At the far end, overlooking the front grounds, were twelve-foot-high glassed French doors. On each side was a fireplace, the marble mantles holding pairs of silver George III six-light candelabras on a spreading circular base. Candle chandeliers of silver and crystal hung over the dining table, which was of mahogany and seated twelve. Lining the walls were Elizabethan carved chairs that looked like small thrones. "What an elegant room," Jeanne breathed.

"It's not really my favorite," George admitted. "It's far too formal. We have a smaller family dining room that I like to use unless I have a number of guests. In fact, that's where I told Mrs. Rawlings to serve dinner tonight. I hope that's all right with you."

"Oh, but I was so looking forward to being stranded about a mile and a half from you at the end of that monstrous table," Jeanne said.

"Sorry, I had something a little closer in mind. Over here, across the hall, is the ballroom." The empty room, with gleaming oak flooring, had a graceful arched entryway. George continued, "This comes in handy for big parties. In the summer we sometimes have as many as fifty or sixty of our neighbors come for two or three days. We have picnics and barbecues, hunting and archery, horse races, things like that, and dancing at night."

"It's very beautiful! I never saw a house with its own ballroom. You didn't build this house, did you, George?"

"No, my great-grandfather did. We've added onto it, though. In fact, it was my father that added the ballroom. He did love dancing."

"You must miss him very much."

"I do," George said quietly. "He was a good man, and a good father."

He then led her upstairs, where there were nine bedrooms, all roomy and grandly furnished. Jeanne's mind whirled. Even the smallest bedroom was much bigger than her room at the Pinch. But she was careful to say nothing like that; ever since she had come to understand that it was she, not George, who was so mindful of the difference in their stations, she had determined not to be so class-conscious. She admired all the rooms, and George led her back downstairs. "I'd like to take you on a tour of the plantation. I have an open landau that I thought you might like. It's sort of like a sleigh, only without the snow. But it is cold today, so we can put the top up if you wish."

"No, I'd love the open landau," Jeanne said. "It's a still day, with no wind, and the sun is warm. I think we'd be perfectly comfortable."

"I was hoping you'd say that," he said with pleasure. "In fact, I ordered Marcus, my coachman, to go ahead and bring the landau around."

They put on their outerwear again and went outside. A long black carriage drawn by two white horses and the mum coachman waited for them. It seated four, and instead of George sitting five feet across from her he settled in beside her. "May I?" he asked.

"Of course. How many horses do you have?" Jeanne asked curiously as they went around the graveled drive that circled the house.

"Eighteen carriage and saddle horses, and twelve farm horses."

"You have thirty horses," Jeanne couldn't help but say. "And how many carriages?"

"Four: the barouche, the landau, a stanhope, and a gig."

"That is a lot of carriages for one man," Jeanne observed.

"I don't plan on being one man forever," he said lightly.

Jeanne cocked her head and asked, "You've never been married, have you? May I ask why?"

He frowned slightly. "I was engaged, once. I was twenty, and I asked a young lady to marry me. But as soon as we became engaged, she changed. I don't like to speak ill of a lady; all I'll say is that as the year of our engagement went on, I came to realize that I had asked her to marry me because it just seemed the thing to do, to settle down and have a family. I didn't love her. I tried to make the best of it, you know, but after a while she knew of my feelings, or lack of them, and she released me. It was a very good thing for both of us. She's happily married now, with two children."

"But what about you? There's been no one since then?"

"No one I wanted to marry," he said delicately. "Because I've never been in love. Enough about me. What about you, Jeanne? You've never said anything about your husband."

Jeanne turned from him and looked straight ahead. "I know. He was a soldier, and he died."

"I see," George said, though he didn't. In a lighter tone he went on, "Here we are in one of our pecan orchards. It was an excellent harvest this year. As you can see, the trees are still making."

Jeanne roused out of her brown study to look around. "Oh, they are. The ground is still covered with them! May we pick some?"

"What? You mean, you pick them up yourself?" George said, startled.

"Yes, George. And it wouldn't hurt you to pick a few either," Jeanne said mischievously. "Mm—Marcus? Isn't that your name, sir?" she called to the driver. "Would you stop here, please?"

The coachman pulled to a stop and turned to look at Masters with stunned surprise. "It's all right, Marcus," he said, alighting and handing out Jeanne. "I am ordered to pick pecans."

"Yes, sir," the coachman said blankly.

Jeanne bent down and picked up eight plump nuts without having to take a step. George took two of them and cracked them easily between his palms. Holding them out he said, "Try them."

Jeanne popped the fat morsel into her mouth and said, "Oh, they're good. I always loved pecans."

"We've got barrels of them at the house," he said. "I'll send you home with all you want."

She looked up at him and asserted, "You're not going to pick any up, are you, George?"

"It's a problem, you know. Where am I going to put the things? Not in the pocket of my frock coat, it'll ruin the lines. And not in my hat either, this is my best beaver," he grumbled.

Jeanne laughed. "Oh, very well. I didn't mean to subject you to such demeaning manual labor. Come on, I promise to behave myself from now on."

Much to George's relief they climbed back into the landau and drove on. "We're coming to the north cotton fields. They look dead now, but in August the fields look like they're blanketed with snow. We had the best harvest this last fall that we've ever had."

"George, if you don't let the
Helena Rose
carry your cotton next fall, I'm going to be very angry," Jeanne warned him.

He laid his arm along the back of the seat and smiled at her. "Madame, you may have all of my cotton, all of my pecans, you can even have the kitchen garden crop if you want it. Because the last thing in the world that I want is for you to ever be angry with me."

THE FAMILY DINING ROOM was indeed smaller and more intimate, and pleased Jeanne much more than the cold grand dining room. A round table covered with a white damask tablecloth was set in front of the fireplace, where a small hot fire warmed the entire room. Twelve white candles in a silver candelabra lit the table with a gentle glow.

They were seated close together, and George took her hand and asked, "May I say grace?"

"Please do."

He prayed a simple prayer of thanksgiving, and a Negro maid brought in the first course, a creamy cauliflower and leek soup. After that was baked salmon, pink and delicate and falling away from the fork, then a remove of curried sausages with raisin and fig relish, which Jeanne had never had and found delicious. Finally the entrée, a spicy, lean, tender steak au poivre with cognac sauce. "Steak au poivre," Jeanne said reverently. "I've only had it once before in my life, and it was nothing at all to compare to this. I thought that I couldn't eat any more, but I'm going to finish this if it takes me all night long."

"Jeanne, we have ices, dessert, and nuts and cheese for the other courses," George objected. "I had the cook make a chocolate buttercream torte for dessert that I know you'll love."

Though she was chewing a little, Jeanne said firmly, "I'd rather have this steak than a torte. I told you I love beef."