To Whisper Her Name (41 page)

O
livia had never laughed so much in her life or seen people more eager to find joy in the everyday. Even in the painful parts. After what had happened earlier that afternoon, Ridley was the talk of Belle Meade — at least among the servants — and Julius and Betsy’s tiny cabin was overflowing with folks who’d come to thank him.

Standing by the window with Rachel, sipping cider, Olivia enjoyed watching several of the men who’d witnessed Colonel Burcham’s comeuppance take turns reenacting the event. Much to Ridley’s chagrin, it seemed. But it was Big Ike who made everyone laugh until they could scarcely draw breath.

“You got any idea who I is,” Big Ike thundered, mimicking what Colonel Burcham had supposedly said. “Or what I could do to the likes o’ you?”

Jimmy jumped up, brandishing a towel high over his head like a whip. Then he tucked his chin tight against his chest, obviously trying for his lowest voice. “I don’t care who you is, sir. No one takes a whip to the general’s horses or workers here at Belle Meade!”

Jimmy brought the towel down with a
snap
against Big Ike’s boot, and the comical look of surprise mixed with terror on Big Ike’s face drew a fresh wave of cheers and applause. Uncle Bob laughed and patted Ridley on the back. Ridley just smiled and shook his head again, then sneaked a look in Olivia’s direction. She was so proud of him her heart ached with the force of it.

Some time later, Ridley rejoined her side. “It’s getting a little late. Are you ready to go?”

She nodded. “If you are.”

It took another ten minutes to say good-bye and thank Betsy and
Julius for their hospitality. As they walked out the door, Olivia drew her shawl closer about her, and Ridley offered his arm. Mindful of the bandage on her palm, Olivia slipped her hand through. The gash hadn’t needed stitches and still hurt a little, but it was healing nicely.

She glimpsed Rachel walking ahead, and as if reading her mind, Ridley called out.

“Mrs. Norris!”

Rachel paused and waited for them. Ridley offered his other arm when they came close. With a grin, Rachel accepted.

“Been a long time, Mr. Cooper, since I been escorted all proper-like. But you quit callin’ me Mrs. Norris right this minute! Makes me feel old as the hills.”

They laughed and talked all the way back to Rachel’s cabin. Rachel let herself in and lit a lamp by the door.

“I thank you both for walkin’ me home. Bein’ with everybody like this tonight sure makes me look forward to the shindig next month.”

“Shindig?”
Olivia looked between them.

Rachel smiled. “You ain’t heard ‘bout that yet, ma’am?”

Ridley laughed softly, but Olivia shook her head.

“Oh, Missus Aberdeen … You got to come. It’s only the biggest party of the year.” Rachel winked. “This year we havin’ it on the same night the Hardings are goin’ to some rich lady’s fancy house across town. It’s
our
time to get all fancied up and act like we’s the kings and queens of the world.” Rachel lifted her nose in the air, then laughed. She glanced at Olivia’s gray dress, her expression softening. “You got somethin’ else to wear other than them mournin’ clothes, ma’am?”

Olivia shook her head a second time. Then thought better of it. “I have a dress that belonged to my mother. It’s beautiful, but … She was a good deal shorter than I am.” She gave a tiny shrug. “And it doesn’t matter anyway. Because … I’m still
officially
in mourning.” She felt a little odd saying it, especially with her arm still linked with Ridley’s. But it was the truth.

Rachel gently touched her hand. “This is the
one
night we take all year long to forget about all the bad and live like there’s only good. And, no offense, ma’am …” Rachel arched a delightfully caustic brow. “But none of us want to see you comin’ in this drab ol’ raggedy thing.”

Olivia giggled, Rachel’s smile warming her heart.

“So you bring me that dress from your mama, Missus Aberdeen. And you and me, we’ll work to get it right.”

Olivia was grateful for the few moments alone with Ridley as he walked her back to the mansion. The house was dark save the warm glow coming from Cousin Lizzie’s bedroom window. When they reached the staircase leading to the second-story porch, Ridley brought Olivia’s hand to his lips and kissed it.

“Thank you for coming with me tonight,” he whispered. “The whole …
debacle
… was embarrassing.” He laughed. “But it was also nice to have you there.”

“I’m grateful you invited me. And I’m so proud of you.” She looked down at their hands clasped between them. “I only wish I could have seen what happened for myself. Although … thanks to Big Ike and Jimmy, I think I have a fairly good idea.”

That made him laugh again.

She wanted to tell him how much his actions today meant to her personally. But she hadn’t yet confided to him about General Harding’s determination to find her a second husband. Specifically, Colonel Burcham. The topic wasn’t one she was eager to discuss with Ridley.

The abrupt manner in which Colonel Burcham had departed, leaving without a word to her, instilled hope that whatever interest the colonel had in her had quickly abated. Burcham’s pride had been sorely bruised, and she knew only too well that a man like that, who fed on the constant affirmations and fawnings of others, was like a wounded animal looking for a place to lash out. And she never wanted to be on the receiving end of that kind of wounded pride again.

Ridley touched the side of her face, and she turned toward his hand and kissed it. His lips parted, his gaze dropping to her mouth, and she knew he was going to kiss her. And oh, she wanted him to. He leaned down and she closed her eyes, remembering what he tasted like and wanting to feel his arms around her again like when they —

He kissed her forehead —
once, twice
. Olivia opened her eyes in time to see him step back.

“Good night, Olivia,” he said softly.

Staring up, swallowing back disappointment, yet determined not to show it, she managed a smile. “Good night, Ridley.”

She walked up to her room, the stairs feeling steeper than before.
She paused by the railing and followed his silhouette as he crossed the meadow. More than once, the darkness swallowed him. When he reached the porch of the cabin, he turned and raised his arm, like she’d hoped he would.

She waved back, telling herself that his choosing not to kiss her was nothing to be upset about. But somehow, it didn’t feel like nothing.

“Olivia?”

Clutching her shawl, Olivia glanced up to see the general on the front porch.

“Mrs. Harding and I would appreciate it if you would join us for tea, please.”

Olivia paused. She and Aunt Elizabeth had shared tea in the afternoon countless times. But with General Harding? She’d just returned from her first official trip to the quarries with Ridley, and her preference would be to freshen up first. But the general wore an insistent look. “Of course,” she said, reaching for a smile. “I’d love to have tea.”

Negotiating the porch steps, she tried to imagine what news the general had for her. Whatever it was, it surely couldn’t be good. And this, after she’d enjoyed such a lovely day with Ridley. All the way to the quarries and back, they’d asked each other questions and taken turns whistling bird calls, then trying to guess which was which. Games, Ridley had said. Ones he was especially good at. But she’d found herself either chirping or talking almost the entire time. So much so, she’d all but forgotten to be nervous about being in such close proximity to a horse. Ridley’s intentioned design, perhaps. She didn’t regret taking the additional work for the quarries. Besides spending time with Ridley, it would allow her to be more generous to Jimmy and Jolene — and perhaps others.

Inside the front parlor, she claimed a seat beside Elizabeth on the settee. Her aunt smiled, looking remarkably rested after playing hostess to a houseful of family and friends during the Thanksgiving holiday the previous week. Elizabeth’s string of good days was gradually lengthening.

Betsy wheeled in a cart, and when Olivia saw the silver tea service and Susanna’s pecan cheese wafers, her heart fell. The news must be worse than she’d thought.

“Olivia.” The general settled into a chair opposite them. “A letter arrived today. From Colonel Burcham.”

Olivia stiffened at the name, but the general held up a hand as though to say,
Let me finish, please
. Her throat suddenly parched, Olivia craved a cup of tea. But the steaming silver pot must have been heavy because Betsy poured each cup slowly, methodically.

“The colonel has written to inform me that despite the …
unfortunate
circumstances under which he departed Belle Meade two weeks ago, he’s still very much taken with you. And he wishes to see you again at his earliest —”

“No.” Olivia shook her head. “No, General Harding, I cannot.” Disapproval darkened the general’s eyes, and she hurried to temper her too-hasty response. “What I meant to say, General” — she included Elizabeth with a glance — “is that I have no interest whatsoever in Colonel Burcham, or in him pursuing a —”

“Olivia.” General Harding’s somber tone held warning. “Would it be asking too much to allow me the courtesy of expressing my thoughts on the subject
in entirety
, before you seek to assert your own?”

Her face burning, Olivia shook her head, knowing better than to offer further argument. “I beg your pardon, General. And no, sir. Not at all.”

Betsy handed her a cup of tea, and Olivia avoided the woman’s eyes.

“Will there be anythin’ else, Missus Harding?”

“Not right now, Betsy. This is all very nice. Thank you.”

Betsy nodded once and left the room.

Waiting for the general to speak, Olivia sipped her tea and sneaked a look beside her. Elizabeth’s hands were clasped tightly around her tea cup, her aunt’s gaze confined there as well, and Olivia felt a twinge of regret.

The general cleared his throat. “As your guardian, Olivia, I assure you I have carefully considered Colonel Burcham’s professional
and
personal attributes. I’ve also weighed the sentiments expressed in his letter, which, I believe, ring true. I also think that …”

Olivia felt sick. She struggled to listen while also scrambling to find the words that would convince the general to change his mind. That would convey to him the heartache of living with a man like Charles Aberdeen. And like Colonel Bryant Burcham.

She wouldn’t do it. Not again. She willed Aunt Elizabeth to say something, to speak in her defense. But Elizabeth — silent, submissive — said nothing. And Olivia couldn’t blame her. She knew only too well the cost of crossing a husband’s opinions.

“The Colonel and I have long been friends, as you know, Olivia.” The general’s voice registered again, and Olivia blinked back angry tears. If she wanted a choice in this, she’d have to fight for it. However much in vain her efforts might prove to be. “And this decision,” he continued, “was not an easy one for me. But my opinion on the matter is fully formed. And I am of the mind …”

Olivia took a deep breath, the words of her rebuttal forming swiftly now.

“… that Colonel Burcham is not the best match for you.”

“General Harding, I greatly respect you and appreciate your generosity, but I simply
cannot
agree to …” Olivia blinked, suddenly hearing what he’d said. Yet, seeing his scowl, she was slow to embrace the relief lest she’d misunderstood. She swallowed. “My apologies again, General, but … did you say that you
don’t
think Colonel Burcham is the best match?”

“That’s precisely what I said, Olivia. And it’s what I believe is best. For all involved.” Shifting in his chair, the general shot a quick — but telling — glance at Elizabeth, and the simple gesture revealed a counsel his words had not.

Relief pouring through her, Olivia couldn’t help but wonder if Aunt Elizabeth had spoken to him on her behalf after all.

The general set aside his empty cup. “Let me be clear, Olivia … My decision does not diminish my obligation, nor my determination to find a suitable match for you. Which, of course, I immediately began pursuing again once I believed the colonel had withdrawn his interest.”