They call her Dana (39 page)

I looked at that winding wrought-iron staircase that led up to the gallery running outside my second-floor bedroom. Every night since that first time, he had slipped out into the courtyard when the moon was high, silvering the tiles, intensifying the darkness, and he had silently climbed that staircase and moved along the gallery to my opened French windows. How impatient

I was, waiting in the darkened bedroom, longing to hear his step, yearning for his touch, craving the splendid gymnastics that made us one.

Dipping my fingertips into the cool water of the fountain, I thought about the changes in my life. I was happier now than I had ever been, in one sense, but I was also more insecure. What you do not have, you are not afraid of losing, and now that I had this beauty, this bliss, I didn't know how I could possibly live without it. I remembered the dream, and somehow I knew I was meant to love Charfes Etienne. How disconcerting it all was. How much simpler life had been before I stepped over that invisible threshold and discovered my reason for being.

I heard a step behind me. I turned. Julian smiled.

"Good afternoon," he said.

'Julian-"

"Kayla told me you were in the library. I found a math book on the desk, a clutter of wretchedly scratched-over papers, but I didn't find you. I looked out. I saw you standing here."

'' You—you 're back.''

"Just got in a few minutes ago. Haven't even changed. You— my God, you look beautiful. I paused at the French windows, watching you. You looked like a vision, standing here by the fountain in your yellow dress, the sunlight gilding your hair."

That made me nervous. I changed the subject.

"I'm through with math, Julian," I told him.

"Oh?"

"It drives me crazy. It makes my mind all a muddle. I don't intend to try to learn any more."

"Very well," he said fondly.

"You—you aren't even going to argue?"

"I want you to be happy. I've come to the conclusion that that's about the most important thing in the world to me—making you happy.''

He smiled again, a lovely, tender smile. He was wearing brown leather knee boots and dark tan breeches and a pale beige lawn shirt open at the throat, full sleeves gathered at the wrist. The boots were dusty, the breeches snug, and the shirt was not at all fresh. He looked even leaner, looked trim and fit and brimming with robust good health. He had acquired a tan, which made him look younger, while his chestnut hair was lightly sun-streaked, golden glints showing amid the dark brown.

"Did—did you have a good trip?" I asked.

"Marvelous trip. Got everything I needed. Spent a lot of time in the sun. Didn't encounter a single alligator."

"You look wonderful, Julian."

"I need to change. I've been traveling in these clothes."

He was in an exuberant mood, exuding energy and vitality, and he seemed far more at ease than he had been when he departed. Those gentle brown eyes looked into mine and I saw what was in them. It was something I had never seen in Charles' eyes.

"Did you hear what I said?" he asked.

"I heard."

"Making you happy—that's my main priority. You know what I'm trying to say."

I nodded. I knew. I wished it weren't this way.

"I love you, Dana. There, IVe said it at last. Never thought I'd be able to come right out with it. I think I've loved you for a very long time, perhaps from the first."

His voice was husky and gentle and sincere. How beautiful his words were. I was very touched, so touched I could feel my eyes grow moist. If only he were the one.

"I knew it was happening, Dana, but I fought it. I fought it valiantly. I told myself it was wrong. I told myself I was too old for you. I told myself society would disapprove. I told myself I'd get over it, and I tried, I really did try, but it was no use. That night after the ball, in front of your bedroom door, how I wanted to take you into my arms."

I didn't say anything. Julian shifted his weight, legs spread wide, hands resting lightly on his thighs.

"It bothered me. I tried to avoid you. I tried to put you out of my mind. I couldn't Dana. I decided to take this final trip and try to sort things out in my mind. I did quite a lot of soul-searching."

He paused, smiling at me and looking at me with eyes that made no secret of the love inside him. How I wished this weren't happening. How I wished I were someplace else. I loved him, too, though not the way he wanted, and I couldn't bear to hurt him.

"I decided age didn't matter," he told me. "I'm older, yes, but you make me feel young again. I'm old enough to protect

you, take care of you, give you the security a younger man couldn't. Do I seem terribly ancient to you?"

I shook my head, loving him.

"I decided I didn't give a damn what people might say. Let them talk. I'm not going to sacrifice happiness for fear of a few wagging tongues. People are going to talk no matter what you do."

I nodded, afraid my voice would betray me.

"I—I never thought I would feel this way again, Dana," he continued, his voice quiet, full of sincerity. "This is difficult to say, but—after I lost my wife I shut myself ofl" from—from any kind of emotional entanglement. There were women, of course, but they were mere amusement. When I lost Maryanne I was so crushed I vowed I—I'd never allow myself to love again."

"I—understand," I said.

"Then you came charging into my life and turned everything upside down. My comfortable old routine was unsettled. Peace and quiet was disrupted. I suddenly had new concern, new responsibility, and, I might as well confess, it was extremely aggravating at first. Something started happening to me, and I tried my best to deny it. After the night of the ball, I could no longer even try to deceive myself. I knew I loved you."

He took my hand in both of his and squeezed it.

"I love you, Dana. I want to marry you."

I was startled, so startled I pulled my hand free.

"You—you want to marry me?"

"Of course I do," he replied. "I love you, and I'm an honorable man. I wouldn't dream of—any other kind of arrangement."

Your brother would, I thought.

"I want to make you my wife. I want to give you the worid. I'll be completely finished with the book in six weeks, two months, and then—then I want to take you to London, to Paris. I want to show you a world you've never seen. I want to make you the happiest woman on earth and—I swear I'll try."

He would try. I knew that. No woman could ask for a finer man than this. No woman could ask for love stronger than that shining in his gentle brown eyes. Why, why, why did it have to be this way?

"But—" I hesitated. "I—you're an aristocrat, Julian. You come from a fine old family. I—I come from the swamps. I'm

a bastard. I'm—people already believe I'm a trollop. If you married me—"

"Those things don't matter, Dana."

"Your family—"

He took my hand again, holding it tightly.

"I love you," he said. "That's all that counts."

"I—don't know what to say."

"I realize you—well, you're very young and I—I don't expect you to feel the same way about me, but—" He looked suddenly afraid, doubtful. "I believe you—you could learn to love me."

I couldn't bear that look in his eyes. I rested my free hand on his cheek. "I love you already," I said quietly.

"But—not in that way?"

I didn't answer. I couldn't bring myself to wound him. Julian let go of my hand and sighed, and then he smiled that beautiful, gentle smile that touched my heart every time I saw it.

"I know this must all come as a great surprise to you," he said. "I never thought I'd have the courage to—speak my piece. I was scared spitless you'd laugh at me."

"I'd never do that."

"I realize you'll need time. I just—I just want you to think about it. Will you do that, Dana? Will you think about marrying me? You needn't make up your mind right away."

"I'll think about it," I said gently. "I—I'm very honored, Julian."

"We—uh—we won't say anything about this to the others," he said. "It will be our secret."

"I think that would be best," I agreed.

Julian let go of my hand and stepped back, looking relieved now and looking suddenly shy and awkward as well. He grinned boyishly and then said he'd better go wash and change. I said I would see him at dinner. He nodded and turned and moved back toward the French windows in a long, brisk stride. The fountain continued to splatter merrily. Afternoon shadows continued to spread, darker now, purple-gray. I stood there for a long time, facing this new dilemma, wondering how I was going to handle it, and then, finally, climbed thoughtfully up the outside staircase and moved along the gallery to my bedroom.

Jezebel outdid herself that evening in celebration of Julian's return. We had a marvelous lobster bisque to start with, savory and thick with meat, then a delicious cucumber salad. For the

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main course we were each served an individual oyster loaf, a small, flaky, piping hot loaf of buttery bread stuffed with baked oysters cooked in a sauce and a variety of wonderful herbs and spices. Delia was radiant in an ivory silk frock with mauve velvet bows, chattering nonstop about her visit to Grande Villa. Charles wore his dark blue frock coat and a sky-blue waistcoat embroidered with sapphire leaves, looking splendid and neat and irritated as his aunt continued to babble charmingly. Julian was wearing a dark brown frock coat and a handsome waistcoat I had never seen, light tan satin with brown and gold stripes. Leaner than ever, with his new tan and the sun-streaked hair, he did indeed look younger. When, finally, Delia paused for breath, he told us about his trip, about his experiments with soil, about the plants he couldn't resist bringing back with him.

How warm and genial he was, wry and witty and full of good humor, an honorable man indeed. I sat there in my pale apricot silk frock, watching him, loving him, wishing he were the one. Charles, to spite Delia, I suspected, asked a number of questions about the soil, about the plants, egging his brother on, and Julian grew even more expansive. Pompey and Elijah cleared our places and then brought in dessert, vanilla ice cream with pecans and hot praline sauce, a rarity as ice was so very expensive. Delia clapped her hands in delight, declaring it a wonderful surprise, and I saw Jezebel peeking through the door, a wide grin on her round black face.

"And how is business?" Julian asked. "Have you gone to inspect the cotton crops yet?"

"Uh—not yet," Charles replied. "I thought I'd wait a little while longer. There are a few business matters I do need to discuss with you, though."

"Not at the dinner table," Delia insisted. "We've had to endure all that dreary talk about mud and roots and such. I positively refuse to listen to business talk. You boys can go into the study after we finish."

"Yes, ma'am," Charles said.

"We wouldn't want to bore you," Julian agreed.

"Heaven forbid," Charles added.

"I'm in much too festive a mood to let you boys rile me," Delia told them. "It's wonderful to be back, and it's wonderful to have you back, too, Julian. I must say, all that tramping around

in the swamps seems to agree with you. I've rarely seen you looking so hale and hearty."

"Thank you. Auntie."

"Don't be disrespectful!" she cautioned. "You know I detest that appellation. I do hope, dear, that you can pull your brother out of the mopes. Charles has never been the most amenable person I know, but ever since I returned, he has been downright somber. I suspect it has something to do with business."

"Business is fine," Chaiies said.

"Perhaps it's a woman, then. Oh my word! You haven't gotten involved with that dreadful Amelia Jameson, have you?"

"I haven't," he replied, "and Amelia is not dreadful at all. She's a delightfully charming, sophisticated woman who happens to still be carrying a huge torch for Julian."

"Really?" Julian inquired.

"God knows why," Charles replied.

The men retired to Julian's study after dessert, and I took coffee with Delia in her sitting room, conscious as always of the stem scrutiny of those eyes in the portrait hanging over the mantel. Running out of gossip, Delia recounted the plots of two delicious new novels straight from France she had read while at Grande Villa. Really, she confided, that M. de Balzac was getting a bit too racy even for her taste, but I would love Eugenie Grander and she would get a copy as soon as the stores here had it.

It was after ten when I escorted Delia to her room and told her good night. Charles and Julian were still in the study. I went to my own bedroom. The bedcovers were turned down and candles were burning. I put most of them out, preferring a hazy semidarkness. Still wearing my apricot frock, I walked out onto the gallery and stood there looking at the moonlight and shadows. It was a warm night, though not nearly as sultry as it had been two weeks ago, and a gentle breeze stirred the greenery below. A single window was lighted in the servants' quarters. Was that Jasper's room? Was Kayla with him? Kayla was shopping around for the right man to marry, and the finest man in New Orleans wanted to marry me. He was ready to face the wrath of society, perhaps even ostracism, in order to do so.

What was I going to do? He loved me as every woman wants to be loved, sincerely, utteriy, exclusively, and I had no doubt he would be as passionate a lover as his brother was, but therein

was the rub. I loved his brother. I didn't want to, I realized that now. I didn't want to love him as I did, I didn't want anyone to have that kind of power over me, but love him I did, and there was nothing I could do about it. I stood there on the gallery for a long time, thinking about my problem and wondering how I could possibly find a solution. I watched the moon sail lazily behind a bank of clouds, watched silver pools vanish below, and the clock struck eleven as I went back inside.

I put the rest of the candles out. I was sitting in the darkness when, almost an hour and a half later, I heard his soft step outside. I hadn't known if he would come or not. I stood up, my apricot skirt rustling. He stepped into the room, silhouetted dark against the moonlight that now streamed down in brilliant rays. He was still dressed, too, although he had taken off his frock coat and neckcloth. How tall he was, how lean and muscular. How my blood stirred at the sight of him. I almost resented that hunger inside. If I were free, if I were my own person again and not a captive of these emotions, everything would be much easier. Because he stood in front of the silvery blaze, I couldn't see his face, only the shape of him, but I could feel those eyes studying me.