Morning Song (17 page)

"You're going," Stuart said. Grateful to focus on his words instead of his hold on her waist, she clasped her wayward fingers in front of her bosom and looked up at him.

It was a mistake.

He was scowling down at her, but his eyes were so blue that his expression scarcely mattered. His face was lean, brown, and heart-poundingly handsome beneath the crisp black waves of his hair. His mouth was tight with annoyance, but it was still a beautiful mouth.

His hands were large, and they gripped her waist securely. Her waist had grown small enough so that his thumbs almost met just above her belly button. At the feel of them pressing, ever so gently, into her soft flesh, Jessie felt her insides heat. She bit down, hard, on her lower lip. While she still had the will to do it, she pulled back from him, away from the seductive touch of his hands.

"I don't want to go," she managed, willing her contrary bones to solidify again. Afraid he might read her reaction in her eyes, she averted them from him.

"Look at me." His voice was impatient. Reluctant, Jessie nevertheless did as he bade her. She was afraid that if she did not, he would touch her again.

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Something in her face must have tempered his annoyance. When he spoke, his voice had gentled.

"Listen to me, Jessie. It's nothing short of insane for you to turn yourself into a recluse, and I'll be damned if I'll allow it. Have you never given any thought to the future? Don't you want to marry and have children someday? Of course you do. All women want that."

Jessie shook her head, and opened her mouth to deny—with some truth—any such urge. Before she could speak he was grasping her shoulders, clearly near to shaking her.

"Celia's at fault for letting you grow up as you have, but you're at fault, too. Damn it, Jessie, you're not a child anymore! You're a lovely, desirable young woman, and you'll have scads of boys panting after you if you'll just give them a chance to make your acquaintance. And you
are
going to give them a chance. You're going to this party if I have to sling you over my shoulder and carry you every step of the way!"

He had said she was a lovely, desirable woman. Did that mean that
he
found her lovely and desirable? His hands on her shoulders seemed to burn through to her skin. Jessie swallowed, and fought the urge to close her eyes.

"All right," she said, and pulled away from him again. It was either that or step closer, into his arms.

"All right?" he repeated, his hands dropping to his sides, his voice tight with exasperation. Clearly he had no idea of the effect he had on her. Thank goodness he had no idea! "What does that mean?"

"All right, I'll go to the party." If her capitulation sounded ungracious, it was because she felt ungracious. She felt taut as a bowstring and as ready to quiver, and she needed to get away 144

from him at once. Turning on her heel without waiting for anything else he might say, she swept across the lawn to the house, leaving him staring after her.

Later, as she rode beside Celia in the backseat of the open carriage, Jessie wondered at herself for capitulating so easily. She didn't want to go to this party. Since her father's death she'd gone her own way, with not even Celia to tell her what to do. Her willfulness was well known around Mimosa, and even the servants, who loved her, had learned long ago that it was best to let Miss Jessie do as she pleased.

But Stuart—much as Jessie hated to admit it7 she was clay in his hands. She wanted so much to please him that she would bend over backward to comply with his demands. Which was, when she thought it over, quite a disturbing admission. That he affected her physically there was no point in denying, at least to herself. But there was a great deal more to her wish to please him than that. Jessie decided, finally, that she succumbed so meekly to his bullying because they were friends. But, though she refused to explore it, she knew that the relationship that had developed between them was far more complex than mere friendship.

It was strange that a man she'd known for less than half a year (and hated at the outset) should have assumed such importance in her life. Was it simply that he was so kind to her, so genuinely interested in her well-being, that she gravitated to him as a hungry man might to food? Rarely since her father's death had anyone save the servants even bothered to talk to her, except to scold or ridicule. Was it any wonder, then, that she was dazzled by Stuart and the whole world of friendly companionship that he had opened up?

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At least she was not the only one whom he had cozened into practically eating out of his hand. Thomas dogged his footsteps almost constantly when Stuart was walking about the grounds, and Fred vied with Thomas to fetch and carry for the master. Tudi and the rest of the house servants had long since started addressing him as the familial "Mr. Stuart," an honor that had not been accorded Celia until she had lived at Mimosa for more than three years. (Even after ten years as mistress of Mimosa, she was still mostly addressed simply as "ma'am." Celia, who had not been born to plantation life, never seemed to be aware of the subtle snub.) When even Progress unbent enough to give "Mr. Stuart's" horse, Saber, his own special bran mash to buck him up, Jessie knew that the plantation had fallen: Stuart had conquered it with scarcely a battle. And the funny thing about it was that she was glad.

"Are you ladies doing all right?" Stuart rode up beside them to ask. He was astride Saber, while Jessie, Celia, Minna, and Sissie rode in the buggy with Progress up on the seat driving. Minna and Sissie faced backward, each charged with the care of a carefully wrapped dance dress. Sissie, who had been recruited to act as Jessie's maid for the occasion, was puffed up with her own importance. Upon being told what her assignment for the day would be, she had donned a clean apron and turban. Her back was ramrod straight, and her face was as solemn as a judge's as she sat clutching the parcel holding Jessie's dance dress.

"We'd be better if you'd had the courtesy to order up the closed carriage," Celia said pettishly.

Jessie winced a little, but Stuart seemed unperturbed by his wife's rebuke. "I thought you'd enjoy some fresh air for a change/' he replied and, setting his heels to Saber's side, cantered 146

on to join Ned Trimble, who was on horseback escorting his family just ahead.

Elmway fronted on the Yazoo River. It was a low, sprawling house made of clapboards and stone that did not look from the outside nearly as big as it actually was. It was situated so that the rear faced the road. As their carriage rounded the bend that brought Elmway into view, Jessie saw that the drive was already lined with carriages waiting to discharge their occupants. Remembering the reception that had been accorded her at the engagement party, Jessie felt a flutter of nervousness. Would she be a social pariah this time, too?

She looked infinitely better than she had at the engagement party, Jessie knew. Her dress was blue-sprigged white muslin (white was practically the only color considered suitable for a girl of Jessie's age for afternoon wear), but it fitted her perfectly. It was trimmed by knots of sapphire-blue ribbon, and even that small amount of vivid color flattered her eyes and skin. A wide sash in the same shade of blue wrapped around her waist. Her hair she wore up in deference to the heat, which was still summerlike. The cunning tendrils that Madame Fleur had scissored into existence formed a soft cloud about her face.

"Hello, Jessie! Hello, Mrs. Edwards!" Nell Bid-swell and Margaret Culpepper were riding together in Nell's mother's carriage, with Mrs. Bidswell for chaperone and Mr. Bidswell riding beside them. They pulled into line behind the ladies from Mimosa. Jessie, surprised to be hailed, turned and waved. Celia did too, smiling for what, to Jessie's knowledge, was the first time that day.

Another flurry of greetings was exchanged as Chaney Dart and Billy Cummings rode up to the Bidswell carriage. Mitchell Todd 147

was not far behind them. As Jessie saw his approach, she quickly turned so that she was facing forward again.

"I thought Mitchell Todd was your particular beau, Jessie," Celia said snidely, a malicious glint in her eyes. Celia had never said anything, not a single word, about the transformation in her stepdaughter's appearance, which had brought a slew of compliments from everyone else at Mimosa. Jessie had known for a long time that her stepmother disliked her, but lately Celia seemed to take particular pleasure in doing anything she could to cause Jessie pain. When Stuart was not around, of course. Before Jessie could say anything by way of reply to that, she was surprised to hear Mitch call out her name. Embarrassed, she pretended not to hear. But then to her consternation he rode up beside the carriage.

"Good afternoon, Mrs. Edwards. Hello, Miss Jessie." Mitch greeted Celia politely and Jessie with more warmth. Seeing no help for it, Jessie turned to face him. Her answering hello was, she hoped, perfectly composed. But the memory of the last time she had seen him was still strong. The remembered humiliation of that awful night made her cheeks heat.

"Why, Miss Jessie, you went and turned into a beauty while my back was turned!" Mitch exclaimed, looking her over with transparent surprise. There was a teasing note to his voice, but there was also no mistaking his underlying sincerity. Jessie stammered, turning pink with embarrassed pleasure. Celia looked on with a smile. Jessie wondered if she was the only one who could tell how much effort that smile cost her. Celia was seething with jealousy, Jessie realized suddenly. She hated for her despised stepdaughter to be the recipient of masculine 148

attention, while she herself was relegated to the ranks of the matronly chaperones.

It was amazing what a difference a fashionable dress and a becoming hairstyle could make to one's pleasure, Jessie thought hours later, after the barbecue was over and the ladies had retired to change into their dancing frocks. Nell and Margaret had complimented her on her beauty and asked her to sit with them while they ate. They were popular with the young men, so Jessie, for the first time in her life, knew what it was to be surrounded by a positive swarm of admirers. And that the gentlemen found something to admire in her altered looks she did not doubt. It was obvious in the way they gazed at her, in the teasing manner of their talk. Before, they had been merely polite, as if she were a kind of elderly aunt, if they'd bothered to address her at all. Now they were almost flirting with her. For the most part Jessie kept her eyes on the plate of barbecue she balanced in her lap, too unsure of herself to indulge in the easy repartee that seemed to come so easily to Nell and Margaret. But the gentlemen did not seem to find her shyness off-putting. If anything, they redoubled their efforts, showering her with outrageous compliments and telling her droll stories in an effort to make her laugh. Despite the rekindling of the childhood friendship she'd had with Nell and Margaret, and the kindness of the other girls, Jessie was still not quite easy in their presence. With Sissie's help, therefore, she dressed quickly, and went downstairs alone. She needed some breathing space before she had to deal with the intricacies of polite socializing again.

The ladies were all above stairs, with the exception of Lissa, who was looking harassed as she conferred with her cook at the end of the hall, and Miss May, who was out on the front lawn 149

directing the gang of children who'd come for the day in a game of hide-and-seek that entailed much shrieking and running about. Jessie listened briefly to the children's noise. She could remember playing so, once, in the warm dusk of Indian summer. But the memory was vague, and mixed up with recollections of her parents. She shook her head, refusing to allow herself to dwell on it. To become maudlin would serve no earthly purpose. Most of the gentlemen were apparently on the long portico overlooking the river, talking politics and blowing a cloud. To avoid them, and the rambunctious children, Jessie slipped out a side door. It was obvious that this particular section of lawn was used for the homeliest of purposes: a well-tended herb garden flourished to the left of a path of crushed stone, while a compost heap moldered to the right. Wrinkling her nose at the smell of the compost, Jessie walked along the path. She picked up her skirt carefully, not wanting to soil the fragile silk. The possession of lovely clothes was still new to her, and the garments were precious because of it.

It was twilight, and the fireflies were blinking above the brightly colored wildflowers that grew alongside the path. In the distance an apple orchard added its sweet scent to the spicy aroma of the flowers. Crickets chirped as night drew closer. The air was just starting to chill.

A greenhouse stood beside the path a little way farther along. It was small, probably for the cultivation of the prize roses Lissa grew. Jessie would have paid it no particular attention if she had not seen the silhouette of an embracing couple through the translucent glass.

Though she tried not to look, Jessie could not help herself. Whoever they were, their behavior was really quite shocking. 150

They were clearly kissing passionately. The woman's arms were locked around the man's neck, and the shadows of their heads and bodies merged so that they might almost have been one. With a pang of envy, Jessie wondered what it felt like to be kissed like that. For years, when she had imagined permitting a gentleman to kiss her, Mitch's face had arisen in her mind's eye. She would close her eyes very tightly, and pucker up her lips . . . But to Jessie's horror, as she suited action to thought, Mitch's face was not the one she saw against her closed lids.

"What the devil are you doing?" Stuart asked from somewhere behind her. He sounded amused, as well he might. Jessie whirled. Her eyes flew open and her mouth unpuckered to form an O as the very face she had been dreaming about materialized before her.

"Uh, uh—what are you doing out here?" Unable, in her embarrassment, to come up with a satisfactory explanation for why she was standing in the near dark kissing an imaginary partner, she tried to change the subject.