They call her Dana (34 page)

"Don't be silly. It's the latest fashion—and everything is nicely covered up."

' 'Barely. That bloody dressmaker should be run out of town.''

I smiled. Julian smiled, too. The dress was really quite modest even if it did leave my shoulders and the swell of my bosom bare. Julian, as his aunt had observed, knew nothing about fashion. I had die feeling he would be much more comfortable if I had no bosom at all, wore pigtails and had freckles scattered over my cheeks.

His bags were by the door, the same bags he had been carrying the night I had spied on him in the clearing in die swamps.

Well-worn, battered, they had seen many a trip, and they were bulging now. Julian put on his black and emerald striped satin waistcoat and, standing before the mirror in the foyer, began to adjust the emerald silk neckcloth under his chin, folding it carefully, tucking the loose ends into the top of his waistcoat. What a beautiful, gentle man he was. How grateful I was for all he had done for me. I helped him slip on the superbly tailored frock coat with its long tails and told him that I was going to miss him.

"Indeed?" he inquired.

"Of course," I said. "I won't pine every moment, but I'll miss you just the same."

He arched one brow. "You won't pine? I'm crushed."

"The house won't seem the same with—with you and Delia both gone."

Delia had left for Grande Villa yesterday morning in a swirl of hatboxes and parasols and breathless last-minute instructions. Neither she nor Julian knew of my visit to Conti Street, and they never would know, at least not from me. The hurt and humiliation of that visit still smarted inside, but I wasn't going to let it get the best of me. My blood kin wanted to have nothing to do with me, but I had been taken in and given a home by this wonderful man, and I could only thank God for bringing him into my life. What would have happened to me if I hadn't run into Julian in the swamps? I shuddered to think of it. Still standing before the mirror, he smoothed down his waistcoat and made a final adjustment to his neckcloth, then turned and sighed. I rested my hand on his arm for a moment, looking into those gentle brown eyes.

"I really will miss you, Julian," I said.

"I'm touched," he confessed. "You will keep up with your lessons," he added sternly.

I nodded. "Mister Howard's due this afternoon," I said wearily. "He'll bring a set of math problems for me to solve and a set of maps for me to color and he'll drone on and on about long division and the climate of Southern Rhodesia and I'll count the minutes until it's time for him to leave. He's really frightfully dull, Julian."

"Have you learned your multiplication tables yet?" he asked.

"Almost."

"How's your long division?"

"Dreadful," I confessed.

"Fractions?"

"What are they?"

He grinned. "It looks like Mister Howard will continue to come for quite some time."

"Why do I need to know long division? I speak beautifully now. I have lovely manners and perfect deportment. I use good grammar and write a legible hand and read dozens of books every month. Mister Howard says I'm a dolt. He says he's never had a slower student. He makes me feel—"

"Mister Howard is the best there is," Julian told me. "When I get back, I fully expect you to be able to recite your multiplication tables and startle me with your prowess at long division."

I made a face. Julian smiled again.

"Did you pack everything you need?" I asked.

"I think so—even an odd bottle of champagne or two."

"What about your pistol?"

"I packed that, too. One of these days I might actually have to fire it. Most disconcerting thought."

"Do be careful," I said, quite serious now. "I—you could run into a wildcat or an alligator or—any number of things. I know the swamps, and I—I'll worry about you."

"Will you?"

There was a husky catch in his voice, and there was a curious thoughtfulness in his eyes as he looked at me. I remembered the night of the ball and the emotion-fraught moments in front of my bedroom door. Julian was remembering it, too, I sensed, and I knew he wanted to say something, wanted to stroke my cheek, touch my hair. He did neither. He merely looked at me, silent. It was an eloquent silence, and I waited, afraid, so afraid of what he might say.

Pompey came into the foyer then to inform Julian that the carriage was waiting, and Elijah came prancing in to carry the bags out. The moment was lost. I was vastly relieved, and I think Julian was, too. He sighed again and told Elijah to be careful with the bags and started toward the door, all bustle now. I followed him out to the front steps. Morning sunlight splashed all around us in brilliant pools. Julian checked his pocket to make sure he had his tickets and his wallet. I took his hand and squeezed it tightly.

"Watch out for the alligators," I said.

"I intend to."

"Snakes, too."

"I will, " he promised.

"You'd better hurry now. The steamboat leaves at ten."

"Ten sharp. You're right. I'd better hurry."

He frowned, checked his pocket again and hurried down the steps and climbed into the carriage and scolded Elijah, who had dumped the bags into an untidy pile on the seat. Elijah hung his head and looked properly chastened and then peeked up and asked if he could go to the docks, and Julian put on a look of weary forbearance and told the rascal to climb on. The lad bounded up onto the seat beside a sternly disapproving Jasper, who had just returned from taking Charles to work. I stepped to the carriage door, resting my hand on the open window.

"Do be careful, Julian," I said.

"Dana-"

"Yes?"

"When I get back, there—there's something we're going to have to discuss. I think you know what I mean."

I nodded. I knew. We were both uncomfortable.

"Behave yourself," he said.

"I'll try."

"And—and study that math."

Jasper clicked the reins and I moved back and the carriage pulled away, Elijah waving merrily from his perch. I stood in front of the steps with sunlight splashing brilliantly all around and watched the carriage move slowly around the drive and disappear through the front portals, and I gentiy gnawed my lower lip, far more disturbed than I cared to admit. Julian Etienne was a wonderful, wonderfully attractive man, and I owed everything to him. I loved him, but I wasn't in love with him. I was in love with his brother, and Julian was very definitely in love with me. He had fought it, had tried to deny it, I knew, but he had finally acknowledged the truth to himself, and when he got back he planned to declare his love . . . What was I going to do then?

I gazed at the flowers and plants in the front garden and felt the sunlight on my cheeks and arms. How complicated it all was. I knew that I couldn't hurt Julian, nor could I disappoint him, not after all he had done for me, and I knew as well that I couldn't quell my feelings for his brother. I had been attracted

to Julian in the beginning, but it was nothing like what I felt for Charies. It was as though ... as though part of me had been completely dormant before and had sprung vibrantly to life all at once, changing my whole being. In the romances I read, love was frequendy called a "great awakening," and I understood now what that meant. I felt newly alive to sight and sound and sensation, and I was filled with heady exhilaration that, at any moment, could turn to bleak despair. I didn't want to feel this way, but I had no choice in the matter. Remembering the dream, I could almost believe I was destined to love Charles Etienne even before I laid eyes on him.

I went inside. The house seemed strangely quiet and empty. I missed Delia already, and I would indeed miss Julian, too. I wandered around the rooms, hoping to find some task to be done, but everything sparkled, everything was in order. How different it had been when I first arrived. Delia was a darling, but she wasn't a housekeeper. Resdess, I went into the library and browsed through half a dozen books, but I could find nothing that interested me. The novels of George Sand and Jules Sandeau and Alexandre Dumas that I had read with such relish seemed strangely unappealing now, the fictional emotions eclipsed by those I felt inside. I browsed through a volume on porcelain and finally, more restless than before, went upstairs and began to sort out the linens. It was there Kayla found me forty-five minutes later.

*'There you are, Kayla," I said. "The linens in this pile need to be mended, and these need to be laundered. Such fine linen, as soft as silk. The pillowcases over there need to be laundered, too, and do you think we can match the lace that is torn?"

"Fse sure we can, Miz Dana. I'll get right on it, but you'd better go see Jezebel. Mister Charies went ofl" and forgot his lunch, and she's madder'n a wet hen."

"Oh dear," I said, but actually I welcomed the distraction.

Leaving the linens to Kayla, I went down to the kitchen. Jezebel was pouting among her pots and pans, angrily poking a wooden spoon into the pan of gumbo simmering over the fire. Cut okra and plump shrimp bubbled up temptingly, and I could smell a wonderful array of spices. Jezebel put down her spoon and pointed to the basket sitting on the edge of the butcher block table.

"Mister Charles, he's gonna poison hisself. Dem places down

there where he goes to eat lunch, dey don't know nothin' 'bout proper cookin'. I told him so. You jest stay out of dem places, Mister Charles, I told him, you let Jezebel fix you up a lunch basket to take with you, and dat's what he's been doin'. I worry 'bout dat chile, an' now he's gone off an' forgot his basket an' he'll be eatin' dat poison dey serve in dem eatin' places."

Jezebel began to chop up parsley, her round black face a study in exasperation. "I packed dat basket special for him," she continued, "put in all th' things he likes, includin' a huge chunk-a angel cake with sugar frostin'. He'll eat in one of dem places down dere where dey fry everything in hog fat an' he'll come home with a bellyache an' won't want his dinner either—an' me fixin' my special chicken breasts stuffed with spices and butter tonight. You ain't never had 'em yet. You stuff 'em an' bread 'em an' bake 'em till deys real tender an' juicy and you serves 'em with white wine sauce."

"They sound delicious," I said.

"He ain't gonna be in no shape to 'preciate 'em iffen he fills his belly up with dat poison dey serve. I reckon I might jest as well feed you all com pone an' greens tonight."

"Why—why don't I carry the basket down to him," I suggested. "I'm sure Jasper is back from taking Mister Julian to the boat. He could take me and we'd get there before Mister Charles has time to go to one of those places you disapprove of."

Jezebel beamed. "Dat's what I was hopin' you'd suggest, only dere ain't no need you goin' yourself. Elijah can deliver de basket."

"I—I don't mind going," I said, perhaps a little too quickly, I thought. "I—I'm kind of restless with—with Miss Delia being gone."

"Her bein' away don't seem natural," Jezebel said. "Seems like de heartbeat's gone outta de house. You be sure you'se back in time for your own lunch, missy," she added.

"I will be," I told her. "I can hardly wait to taste that gumbo."

Jezebel looked horrified. "Dis stuff! It's forde servants. You I'se makin' a real lunch."

Ten minutes later I was on my way to Etienne's with the lunch basket on the seat beside me. Jasper was certainly earning his keep this morning, I reflected as the carriage rumbled over the

cobbles. Jezebel was right. There really was no need for me to be taking the basket to him myself, it would have been far more appropriate to send it by a servant, yet I had jumped at the opportunity to see him, if only for a few minutes. I had taken time to brush my hair and apply just a suggestion of blush to my cheeks, and I was glad I was wearing this flattering turquoise dress with its low-cut bodice and very full skirt.

My heart seemed to sing with joyous anticipation as the carriage moved down the street. Was it wicked to feel this way? Ever since he had held me so tightly in his arms, I had scarcely been able to think of anything but Charles, and I ardently yearned to feel those arms around me again, to feel those muscles tightening, drawing me closer, to feel his strength and his warmth and smell his hair, his skin, his sweat. That yearning was like an obsession in my blood, tormenting me constantly. It was tender torment, a not unpleasant ache that craved to grow and swell until it possessed me completely. I had never felt anything like it. Charles and Charies alone could assuage that ache, with his arms, with his mouth, with his body.

All this was inside, yet I knew I must control it, must let no one suspect, not even Charies. I wanted him, I wanted him urgentiy, but deep inside I knew I must not let it happen. I must fight. I must resist. I was a good giri, and I knew it would be disastrous to give in to this urgent desire. It would complicate things even more. I could exercise control, yes, but in the meantime I saw no reason why . . . why I shouldn't warm myself in his glow of glory. Just to be near him was joy enough. I had seen precious little of him since he held me in the carriage. He had been cool and remote, avoiding me as much as possible. I knew the reason why. I knew it was because he felt the same way about me. He wanted me every bit as much as I wanted him, and he, too, knew it would be disastrous.

I was playing with fire, I realized that, yet I couldn't resist the opportunity to see him and give him the basket and perhaps chat for a few minutes, savoring the rich, husky sound of his voice. I would warm myself by the fire, yes, but I wouldn't get burned. I would be dignified. I would be demure. I would smile pleasantly and ask him about things at the store and I wouldn't stroke his lean cheek or rub my thumb along the full pink curve of his lower lip or beg him to hold me, hold me close. I caught my breath as the carriage came to a halt in front of the store. A

faint, rational voice inside warned me to beware, told me to let Jasper take the basket in and then drive straight back home, but I didn't listen. I stepped out of the carriage, that joyous anticipation swelling inside until I could scarcely contain it.