Just Imagine (14 page)

"My employer sent me here to attend to some family business for him. I'm returning home tomorrow."

"Your employer must think highly of you if he's willing to trust you with family affairs."

Again the self-deprecating sound that was nearly, but not quite, a laugh. "If you listen to my mother, she'll tell you that I'm running the Planters and Citizens Bank, but the truth is, I'm little more than an errand boy."

"I'm sure that's not so."

"The South has been raised on self-delusion. It's like mother's milk to us, this belief in our invincibility. But I, for one, have given up self-delusion. The South isn't invincible, and neither am I."

"Is it so very bad?"

He moved her toward the edge of the ballroom. "You haven't been to Rutherford for years. Everything's different. Carpetbaggers and scalawags are running the state. Even though South Carolina's about to be readmitted to the Union, Yankee soldiers still patrol the streets and look the other way when respectable citizens are accosted by riffraff. The state legislature's a joke." He spat out the last word as if it were venomous. "Living here, you can't have any idea what it's like."

She felt guilty, as if she had somehow shirked her duty by deserting the South to go to school in New York. The music ended, but she wasn't ready for the dance to be over. And maybe Brandon wasn't, either, because he made no move to release her. "I imagine you already have a partner for the supper dance."

She nodded, then heard herself saying, "But since you're a neighbor and leaving New York tomorrow, I'm certain Mr. Mayhew won't object to stepping aside."

He lifted her hand and brushed the back of it with his lips. "Then he's a fool."

Elsbeth swooped down on her the moment he took his leave and dragged her to the sitting room that had been set aside for the ladies to tidy themselves.

"Who is he, Kit? All the girls are talking about him. He looks like a poet. Oh, my! Your bows are coming untied, and you already have a spot on your skirt. And your hair…" She pushed Kit down in front of the mirror and snatched out the filigreed silver combs she'd given her last year as a birthday present. "I don't know why you wouldn't let me put it up for tonight. It looks so wild like this."

"For the same reason I wouldn't let you lace me into a corset. I don't like anything that takes away my freedom."

Elsbeth gave her an impish smile. "You're a woman. You're not supposed to have any freedom."

Kit laughed. "Oh, Elsbeth, what would I have done without you these last three years?"

"Gotten expelled."

Kit reached up and squeezed her hand. "Have I ever said thank you?"

"A hundred times. And I'm the one who should thank you. If it hadn't been for you, I'd never have learned to stand up for myself. I'm sorry Father's being so beastly. I'll never forgive him for not believing you."

"I don't want to come between you and your father."

"I know you don't." Elsbeth renewed her attack on Kit's hair. "Why do I bother to scold you for being so untidy? You hardly do anything the way a young lady is supposed to, yet half the men in New York are in love with you."

Kit made a face in the mirror. "Sometimes I don't like the way they look at me. As if I'm not wearing any clothes."

"I'm sure you're imagining it." Elsbeth finished securing the combs and wound her arms around Kit's shoulders. "It's just that you're so beautiful, they can't help looking at you."

"Silly." Kit laughed and jumped up from her chair. "His name is Brandon Parsell, and he's taking me in to supper."

"Supper? I thought Mr. Mayhew…"

But it was too late. Kit had already left.

A waiter came by with a third tray of petits fours. Kit started to reach for one, then caught herself just in time. She'd already had two, and she'd eaten every bite of the food she'd piled onto her plate. If Elsbeth had noticed—as most assuredly she had—Kit would receive another lecture. Templeton Girls ate sparingly at social occasions.

Brandon took the accusingly empty plate from her and set it aside. "I confess to enjoying a pipe after dinner. Would you be agreeable to showing me the garden? That is, if you don't mind the smell of tobacco."

Kit knew she should be with Bertrand Mayhew now, showing him stereoptic views of Niagara Falls and leading him to a marriage proposal, but she couldn't summon the will to excuse herself. "I don't mind at all. When I was younger, I smoked tobacco myself."

Brandon frowned. "As I recall, your childhood was unfortunate and best forgotten." He led her toward the doors that opened into the school's garden. "It's amazing how well you've managed to overcome the adversity of your upbringing, not to mention being able to live for so long with these Yankees."

She smiles as he led her along a brick path hung with paper lanterns. She thought of Elsbeth, Fanny Jennings, Margaret Stockton, and even Mrs. Templeton. "They're not all bad."

"What about the Yankee gentlemen? How do you feel about them?"

"Some are pleasant, others not."

He hesitated. "Have you received any proposals of marriage?"

"None that I've accepted."

"I'm glad."

He smiled, and without quite knowing how it happened, they were standing still. She felt the whisper of a breeze ruffling her hair. His hands settled on her shoulders. Gently he drew her toward him.

He was going to kiss her. She knew it would happen, just as she knew she would let him.

Her first real kiss.

A frown creased his forehead. He released her abruptly. "Forgive me. I nearly forgot myself."

"You were going to kiss me."

"I'm ashamed to admit it's all I've been able to think about since I first set eyes on you. A man who presses his attentions on a lady is no gentleman."

"What if the lady's willing?"

His expression grew tender. "You're an innocent. Kisses lead to greater liberties."

She thought of Eve's Shame and the lecture on marital relations that all the senior girls had to endure before they graduated. Mrs. Templeton spoke of pain and duty, of obligation and endurance. She advised them to let their husbands have their way, no matter how shocking and horrible it might seem. She suggested they recite verses from the Bible or a bit of poetry while it was going on. But never once did she tell them exactly what Eve's Shame involved. It was left to their fertile imaginations.

Lilith Shelton reported that her mother had an aunt who'd gone insane on her wedding night. Margaret said she'd heard there was blood. And Kit had exchanged anxious glances with Fanny Jennings, whose father raised Thoroughbreds on a farm near Saratoga. Only Kit and Fanny had seen the shuddering of a reluctant mare as she was covered by a trumpeting stallion.

Brandon reached inside his pocket for a pipe and a worn leather tobacco pouch. "I don't know how you've been able to stand living in this city. It's not much like Risen Glory, is it?"

"Sometimes I thought I'd die of homesickness."

"Poor Kit. You've had a rough time of it, haven't you?"

"Not as bad as you. At least Risen Glory is still standing."

He wandered toward the garden wall. "It's a fine plantation. Always has been. Your daddy might not have had much sense where womenfolk were concerned, but he knew how to grow cotton." There was a hollow, hissing sound as he drew on his pipe. He relit it and gazed over at her. "Can I tell you something I've never confided to another livin' soul?"

A little thrill went through her. "What's that?"

"I used to have a secret hankering for Risen Glory. It's always been a better plantation than Holly Grove. It's a cruel twist of fate that the best plantation in the country is in the hands of a Yankee."

She realized her heart was racing, even as her mind spun with new possibilities. She spoke slowly. "I'm going to get it back."

"Remember what I said about self-delusion. Don't make the same mistakes as the others. "

"It's not self-delusion," she said fiercely. "I've learned about money since I've been in the North. It's the great equalizer. And I'll have it. Then I'm buying Risen Glory back from Baron Cain."

"It'll take a lot of money. Cain has some crazy idea about spinning his own cotton. He's building a mill right there at Risen Glory. The steam engine just arrived from Cincinnati."

This was news Sophronia hadn't passed on, but Kit couldn't concentrate on it now. Something too important was at stake. She thought about it for only a moment. "I'll have fifteen thousand dollars, Brandon."

"Fifteen thousand!" In a land that had been stripped of everything, this was a fortune, and for a moment he simply gaped at her. Then he shook his head. "You shouldn't have told me that."

"Why not?"

"I—I wanted to call on you after you returned to Risen Glory, but what you've told me casts a shadow over my motivations."

Kit's own motivations were so much more shadowy that she laughed. "Don't be a goose. I could never doubt your motivations. And yes, you may call on me at Risen Glory. I intend to return as soon as I can make the arrangements."

Just like that, she made her decision. She couldn't marry Bertrand Mayhew, not yet anyway, not until she'd had time to see where this exciting new possibility might lead her. She didn't care what Cain had written in his letter. She was going home.

That night as she fell asleep, she dreamed of walking through the fields of Risen Glory with Brandon Parsell at her side.

Just imagine.

   7