Gregory, Lisa (14 page)

"Oh,
Katherine," her aunt moaned.

Katherine
did not return to work that week. For one thing, her fiancé called on her every
afternoon. For another, she had too much to do preparing for the engagement
party. She had to write and send invitations, all without the help of her aunt,
who had taken to her bed, prostrate with shock and grief. Her dressmaker was
making a dress for the occasion—a special rushed order for which she must be
constantly available for fittings. Pegeen kept trying new hairdos on her until
she managed to come up with one pretty enough for a bride and subdued enough
for Katherine. Most of all, there was the party itself to plan for. Katherine
decided on a large, elegant dinner, with fifty of her family and friends
attending. The ballroom had to be decorated, tables and chairs brought in,
flowers ordered, the meal planned—all with wartime shortages and delays. And
through it all, she had to withstand a constant barrage of disapproving visits
from Amanda Miller.

Aunt
Amelia had notified her sister immediately, of course, and Amanda had come over
the day after the engagement, every aspect of her (even her clothes) bristling.
She stormed to no avail and finally left, but she did not give up. Time and
again she returned to try a new tactic or repeat an old one. Katherine either listened
in white-lipped fury or stormed back at her. Her final visit on the afternoon
of the dinner turned into a battle royal. Katherine was already nervous and
exhausted from the rushed preparations, and it didn't take long for her
composure to crack.

"After
all the things Amelia and I have done for you, to turn against your family like
this!" Aunt Amanda wailed after delivering her usual lecture on the
inadequacy of Perkins's family and finances.

"I
would hardly say I am turning against my family, Aunt Amanda. Father is in
favor of the match."

Amanda
airily waved away her father as insignificant.

"As
for what you and Aunt Amelia have done for me—I really fail to see what you
have done. Saddled me with a fluttery, silly, crying woman who is worse than useless.
Given me constant, unwanted advice and criticism. Tried to foist your son on
me. Believe me, I would have been much happier without your aid!"

"Katherine,
how dare you speak to your own mother's sister like that! I have never been so
offended in my life. You have always been a stubborn, heartless child, with
absolutely no respect for your elders. Not a bit of consideration for our
feelings. How am I to ever hold my head up in society again, with you married
to that common, penniless Perkins person?"

Enraged,
Katherine picked up the closest thing at hand, a delicate crystal vase, and
hurled it against the wall, where it crashed with a satisfying sound. Her aunt
stared at her, dumbfounded.

"I'll
not have it!" Katherine roared. "Lieutenant Perkins is to be my
husband, and I will not hear another word against him. I am used to the
criticism you heap on me, but I refuse to listen to you revile Lieutenant
Perkins. If you cannot refrain from it, then I must ask you not to come
here."

For
once in her life, Amanda was speechless. Haughtily she stalked to the door. In
the doorway she turned and said, "To think that I would ever live to see
the day when my sister's child would turn me out of her house. Poor
Alicia." Theatrically, she dabbed at one eye with a handkerchief.
"I'm glad she is not alive to see this."

The
look in Katherine's eyes at that remark made her leave hastily. Katherine sat
down and indulged in a small fit of tears. There were times when she even felt
amazed and appalled at what she had done.

She
could receive no lover's reassurances from William, since Aunt Amelia
chaperoned them as closely as ever—she was not about to relax her vigilance
just because they were engaged. So their talk was confined to speculations on
when he would return, tentative wedding plans, what sort of house they would
have, and general talk of the War. After the South's defeat at Gettysburg, with
the North's blockade stranglehold, and with the Mississippi River in the
Bluecoats' hands since the fall of Vicksburg, surely the war could not last
much longer. The spring offensive would certainly bring an end to it. So might
not this be William's last tour of duty? Happily they conjectured that within a
few months he might return forever. Always, however, there lay between them the
unspoken thought that he might not return at all, that he might be killed in
the last gasp of the Southern rebellion.

The
couple were unable to shake their guard until the night of the party. The party
was successful despite the hurried preparations. There was no gap where the
Miller family should have been, since Amelia's tearful apologies and pleadings
and Katherine's own more formal apology (combined with Amanda's consuming
curiosity) persuaded Amanda to attend with son and husband in tow. The guests
were pleasantly amazed at how lovely Katherine suddenly seemed. Dressed in a
rich peacock-blue satin and with her hair swept softly upward and back in a
mass of gleaming curls, she looked elegant. Her sailor, as Amanda called
Perkins, felt his pulse race at the mere sight of her, and he spent the rest of
the evening trying to maneuver the two of them away from all the other guests.
After the announcement of their engagement, however, they were besieged with
congratulations and, being the center of attention, it was extremely difficult
for them to disappear.

When
the guests finally departed and Perkins thought that he, too, would have to
take his leave without having had a chance to be alone with Katherine, he was
surprised and pleased to see Mr. Devereaux take Aunt Amelia by the arm and
firmly lead her off toward the stairs, quelling her protestations with a stern
look. Katherine smothered a giggle at the outraged expression on her aunt's
face. William seized her hands and held them tightly between his own. He
discovered, now that his opportunity had finally come, that he had nothing to
say—or maybe too much to even begin to express it. So he stood gazing down at
her, drinking in her loveliness, as if he wanted to memorize every line of her
face.

"Katherine,"
he said finally, "I love you."

"I
love you, too," she responded, wondering inwardly if she were telling the
truth.

"I
had a farewell all thought out to say, but now I can't remember it. Oh,
Katherine, I only know that I shall miss you unbearably. For the first time I
am very reluctant to put out to sea. I want to stay here, to marry you, to live
the life we plan."

"It's
what I want, too, William. I shall pray that the war will be over soon and
always, always that you will be safe." She realized suddenly that whether
she loved him or not, she cared for him very much and that he might be killed.
"Oh, William, keep safe. Come back to me. I'm so very frightened for
you."

"I
will," he said, gratified at her concern. "Very soon, I
promise."

He
bent to kiss her, and she flung her arms around his neck. He pulled her to him
and kissed her hard, their mouths opening against each other. Finally he pulled
away from her shakily.

"I
must go. I can't bear this," he said.

He
raised her hand and kissed it fiercely, then turned abruptly and left.
Katherine stared after him for a few moments, then covered her face with her
hands. Why didn't his kiss affect her as that man's had? Whatever was the
matter with her?

Hampton
was afraid that he had frightened her off again, so it was a great relief to
look up and see her dishing out food at the head of the line. It was disturbing
to realize, however, how intense his desire for her was. The risk he took had
been foolish, with her father and two Yankee officers lurking about the yards.
But he guessed, considering everything, the questioning about Charleston Harbor
that he had been put to was worth the chance it had given him to see her, to
kiss and caress her. Perhaps that opportunity had even been worth the
tremendous risk he had taken. Had he been discovered with her locked in his
arms, it would have meant solitary confinement for the duration—and the
complete destruction of his plans for escape. He would be more careful in the
future to avoid her, but when the escape was made, he was damned sure going to
reward himself by taking her with him.

Dreamily
he contemplated her. What a lovely, changeable creature she was. Out here in
the sun, her hair blazed golden; indoors it seemed a rich red-brown; and her
eyes, changing from a clear gold to a hard, dark amber. Those spinsterish
clothes and beneath them those full breasts. Her tart, brisk manner and that
passionate yielding the other morning. He smiled, remembering her little
whimpers of desire and her eager, questing tongue. Given a little time with
her, he knew he could turn her into a passionate creature who wanted to give
and receive pleasure. And he would dress her more fittingly—deep, vibrant
colors with low necklines to show off her flawless ivory shoulders and breasts.
Diaphanous nightgowns that would be for his eyes alone.

Bitterly
he shook himself back into reality. Once he could have showered her with such
clothes, with jewelry and trinkets, with anything she desired. But the Hampton
fortune had vanished in the War, lost in their merchant ships moldering in the
harbor and their rice and indigo crops lying ruined in the fields. The blockade
had crushed them, as it had so many, crippling the Jackton Shipping Line and
leaving no outlet for the export of the Soames plantation's crops. Thinking
about it, his hatred flared. Damn them all, including this lovely golden girl,
smugly sitting out the War, well-fed and far away from battle. While his
country starved and bled, while his mother and sister were forced to make do
with mended dresses and too little food, while even his mistress had been
reduced to waxing ecstatic over occasional black net stockings or French lace
petticoats that he brought with him from Nassau when he managed to slip through
the blockade.

It
was in this frame of mind that he stepped up to receive his plateful of food
and, glancing down at her left hand, saw the ring on her third finger. Quickly
he looked up at her face and saw it confirmed in her face.

"May
I congratulate you, Miss Devereaux?" he murmured.

"Thank
you, Captain Hampton," she replied stiffly.

Irrationally
he was furious. What a two-faced bitch she was! To respond as she had to him
when she was on the point of becoming engaged. He did not stop to consider that
if anyone had a right to feel betrayed, it was her fiancé rather than he.
Angrily, he found a place to sit by himself and began to devour his food
without really seeing it. He had no feeling for her except physical desire, he
told himself, for she was a cool Yankee bitch. It was just that he felt somehow
used; she had merely been trying out her powers on him, teasing him, indulging
in a little virginal curiosity, knowing that he was chained, powerless, at her
mercy, knowing that with the officers nearby he could not satisfy the desire
she aroused. He had seen the same sort of thing done by a Southern belle to a
slave—leaning forward to innocently expose a view of her breasts, showing more
leg than necessary when entering a carriage, laying a soft little hand on the
arm while giving instructions—all in an attempt to provoke a frustrated desire
in him which he knew would be death to fulfill. It also showed itself in the
way a young lady teased her devoted beau. In more objective moments, he was
prone to think that it was women's way of revenging themselves against men for
having all the power over them, using the one weapon at their disposal. Now,
however, he was simply enraged to think that she had been taunting him. No
doubt she felt smugly sure that he would burn without fulfillment; no doubt she
felt quite pleased with herself for putting a Rebel through a little agony.
Damn her; he'd show her soon enough that she was unable to pull her tricks on
him. It would not be long now until he was able to satisfy his craving for her.