Jackson
longed to strip down to his shirtsleeves and join the hands working on the levee. He wanted to experience the burn of tired muscles, and feel honest sweat roll down his face and neck. With a sigh, he folded his hands over the pommel of the saddle and resisted the urge to dismount and throw caution aside with his fancy coat.
This dangerous thinking was Randi Galloway's fault. His jaw clenched when he recounted all the ways she'd criticized his decisions, his judgment, his very life. What possible reason could she have for believing she was right and everyone else was wrong? Who had raised her in such an unorthodox manner to produce this free-thinking?
She wasn't going to tell him. He'd pushed her, angered her, and yet she'd resisted every opportunity to admit how she'd arrived in his home. He should ship her off. He should be done with her disruptive influence before her ideas spread to his staff or even his daughter. Randi Galloway wouldn't be happy until he espoused the views in
Letters on the Equality of the Sexes
, marched into church with a copy of
The Bible Against Slavery
under his arm, and quoted Thoreau.
The black gelding shifted beneath him, pulling at the reins. Jackson sat up straighter in the saddle, suddenly as restless as his mount. With a nudge of his boot heel, the horse leaped forward. Jackson reined him to a controlled canter, passing by Brewster with a salute from his whip.
Out of sight of his field hands, he urged the gelding up the levee to where the earth lay flat and even, putting heels to the horse until wind whipped past and tore at the fabric of Jackson's fine clothes. Too soon, he had to slow his mount, guiding them back to the woman who had destroyed his peace of mind as surely as the threat of flood.
He had half a mind to confront her again. He could confine her until she relented. If he wanted, he could withhold food and water, lock her away, refuse her requests to see Rose or anyone else. If she complained to the authorities, Jackson could explain away his actions. No one would listen to an odd young woman with no past who pretended to know the future.
But as he thought of the possibilities, he knew he would do none of those things. Force would bring out the stubbornness in her, and besides, he couldn't live with the knowledge that he'd abused a woman. His actions in the past had occasionally been illegal, sometimes even immoral in a strict Biblical sense, but he'd never hurt a woman through conscious actions. He wasn't about to start now, when he was a respectable member of planter society.
He knew in his heart that if he took any action against Randi Galloway, he'd be reacting to the unwanted physical response she evoked in him. The fact that she was a liar didn't effect how much he wanted her. Hell, he didn't know if she was an innocent young woman or an experienced courtesan. The worst part of his dilemma was that he didn't particularly care; he just wanted her naked and needy in his bed. The image caused an uncomfortable reaction that he was helpless to satisfy at this time.
When the threat of flood was past, I'm going to New Orleans . . . maybe for two weeks. I might not get out of bed the entire time.
The sight that greeted him as he reined the gelding to a trot did nothing to improve his black mood. Descending from the family's imported, blue lacquered carriage was Violet Crowder. Thomas stood beside the groom who was handing his daughter down, restlessness giving his plump features a decidedly nasty aura.
Unfortunately, his former father-in-law spotted Jackson before he could slip around the gardens toward the stable. He took a deep breath and prepared for an afternoon of mindless chatter with two people he did not have the time or inclination to entertain.
#
"Thomas Crowder, may I present Rose's new governess, Miss Galloway?" Jackson performed the introduction with the good will of a wolverine with a toothache.
Randi smiled slightly, then, not sure what else was expected, performed a little curtsy like she'd seen in an old movie. Not one of those all-the-way-to-the-floor bobs, but just a slight dip.
Thomas Crowder looked her over as if she were a slightly green-tinged slice of beef in the meat case, frowning at her short hair and who knew what else. "Jackson said he was sending away for a governess."
"Yes, well, I'm here," she said, not certain what she should say to this man who was Rose's grandfather.
"Miss Violet Crowder, may I present Miss Galloway?" Jackson addressed the blond bimbette with a big heaping of Southern hospitality. Randi found his attitude disgustingly male.
"Well, aren't you just the most unusual governess?" the young woman said, a sickly sweet smile on her face.
Randi clamped her lips together and forced herself to smile in the same sickening manner right back at the bimbette. "Violet is Rose's aunt," Jackson announced.
Randi blinked, comprehension dawning as she realized the connection between these people and Jackson. He was courting wife's sister? How disgusting. She'd known Violet was too young for him, but she hadn't realized that she was practically a relative. Didn't they have laws against that in the old days?
Fortunately, Rose was behaving like the little sweetie she was, although she was somewhat clingy. She needed a nap soon, and she wasn't going to tolerate a lot of passing back and forth between these critical relatives. She gasped the fabric of Randi's bodice and held on for dear life.
"Why don't you take a seat over here, Miss Galloway," Jackson said, indicating a chair near the empty fireplace.
She walked between Crowders on one side and Jackson on the other, feeling somewhat like she'd endured a mini-gauntlet. She felt the gaze from three pairs of eyes following her movements. Now would not be a good time to trip over these long skirts.
Violet chose a chair near Jackson, who stood with his arm on the mantle, watching Rose. Thomas settled his stout frame on the ornately carved, brocade-covered settee.
Silence stretched uncomfortably until Rose let out a squeal and reached her arms up to her daddy.
Grateful for the distraction, Randi looked up at Jackson, expecting him to pick up his daughter. But he didn't. He turned and addressed Thomas Crowder instead.
"As you can see, Rose is fine," Jackson said.
"Time will tell," Crowder said.
Randi felt like socking the old grouch in his paunchy stomach.
"I thought having a governess was one thing that would ease your mind about my daughter's upbringing," Jackson replied, emphasizing the fact that Rose was
his
daughter,
his
responsibility.
Even if he wouldn't pick her up.
"Of course she needs a governess, Papa," Violet chimed in. "Even if our dearly departed Pansy were still here with us, a governess is entirely necessary."
Randi wanted to chime in, "Really?" but held her tongue. Didn't any of these women raise or nurse their own children?
"Yes, but a suitable governess is the key to raising a well behaved child. Are you sure about this young woman's credentials?" Thomas Crowder added gruffly.
Jackson looked down at Randi, his narrowed eyes unreadable. "She suits Rose just fine. I'm satisfied with the care she's providing . . . for now."
His message was clear: don't screw up again. She was trying, she really was. But having them talk about her as though she wasn't here, as though she wasn't important, made her so angry she had a hard time staying put in the chair.
"Papa is planning a ball for the first week in May," Violet announced. "We haven't had any guests or parties for a long time."
"I was under the impression you were in mourning," Jackson said, turning his attention back to the bimbette.
"Oh, of course, but Pansy has been gone for ever so long."
"Only eight months," Jackson answered.
"But almost a year," Violet said brightly. "Why, you'll be out of formal mourning before long, and I'm just sure you'll be looking for suitable wife."
"And a mother for Rose," Jackson added.
"Of course," Violet said, casting a quick, dismissive glance at the baby. What a horrid mother she'd make, Randi thought. Violet was so self-centered that she couldn't see beyond her next party, her next conquest. If Jackson married her, Rose wouldn't think she had a mother. An older sister, maybe, but definitely not a mother.
The image of Jackson and Violet locked together in a passionate embrace flashed into Randi's mind, giving her a queasy feeling in her stomach and the beginning of a pounding headache.
As if the baby could sense her mood, Rose began to fret, reaching for her father again. Once more, Jackson ignored her. Randi noticed his jaw was clenched, his lips pressed together in displeasure. She wasn't sure whether his expression showed he was irritated at the situation or at his daughter.
She wasn't confused about her own feelings, however. She was furious that he'd shunned his child, for whatever reason. He never acted this way when they were alone with Rose. Apparently he had different standards around his guests. Maybe he was more superficial and calculating than she'd thought.
Spurred on by anger, she said, "I'm sure Rose would just love a new mother, especially one who can plan parties and looks beautiful in her dresses."
Violet smiled in agreement, but Thomas Crowder's face took on a distinctively angry shade of red. Jackson's eyes shot fire across the few feet separating them.
"What a ridiculous statement," Crowder said. "Jackson, are you going to tolerate that kind of sass in your own home?"
"Miss Galloway has a disturbing tendency to speak her own mind. She's also gifted with an unusual sense of humor. I'm sure she meant no insult." He paused, looking down at her without any amusement. "Did you, Miss Galloway?"
"No," she answered, breaking eye contact and taking a deep breath. Her arms tightened around Rose, the one person who seemed to appreciate her for who and what she was.
However, Rose must have been aware of the stressful situation because she started to whimper and wiggle. She'd been good for some time now; she wanted to get down and crawl around. She'd especially like to stick some of the fabric roses on Violet's dress in her mouth, Randi knew from experience.
"Would you like me to take her to the nursery now?" she asked, wanting to leave this tension-filled room. She didn't understand what was going on, but whatever family drama was being played out, it wasn't her business. If Jackson wanted to play rob-the-cradle with Violet and ignore his own daughter's needs, then she couldn't stop him.
Not that he'd listen to her. Not that she had any influence over him. And not that she
wanted
to dictate his lifestyle or his love life.
All she wanted to do was go home. Her sketching was progressing nicely, the details of the museum room were coming back to her. She felt closer to her own time now that she'd started to draw.
"I think that would be a good idea," Jackson answered.
"I do too," she mumbled, holding Rose close when she reached out one more time toward her daddy. The baby's pleading gesture tore at Randi's heart until she barely had time to mutter, "Nice to meet you," before fleeing the room. By the time she reached the landing of the stairway, tears burned her eyes.
"I'm sorry, Sweetie," she whispered to the baby. "Your daddy is being a horse's patootie, but that's not your fault."
She hurried to the nursery, but not before Rose was in an all-out snit. Randi handed her over to Suzette for feeding, then retreated to her own room. She needed the comfort of her sketching, but most of all, she needed to concentrate on her goal--leaving this century and people behind.
Maybe fifteen or twenty minutes later, the fancy Crowder carriage pulled up to the house. The Crowders stepped inside, then Randi noticed one small gloved hand wave from an open window. What a silly bimbette! Seconds later, the carriage departed.
Through her closed bedroom door, Randi winced when she heard the front door slam. Damn! Jackson must be angry about something. She hoped she wasn't the reason his temper was in an uproar. She didn't want any more scoldings or threats from him.
She didn't want to think about him going to parties, meeting other young women, marrying one of them so he'd have the obligatory wife for himself and mother for Rose--even if the woman wasn't a really good and caring person.
Within a few minutes, she heard the door slam again. She unwound her legs from sitting on the bed sketching, then walked to the window just in time to see him gallop off on a reddish-colored horse with long legs that looked like they'd eat up the miles.
Jackson was really in a snit. She had a sneaking suspicion she was a big part of whatever was bothering him . . . and she'd find out about it, sooner or later.
#
He felt so guilty about ignoring his daughter earlier that he spent extra time with Rose that night. He curbed his bad temper, provoked to the breaking point by both Thomas Crowder and Randi Mae Galloway. What was he going to do about her? She continued to defy convention, and today she'd openly insulted his dead wife's family.
Rose seemed unusually sedate tonight. She didn't spend as much time reaching for things on his shelf or desk, but rather played with his collar, cravat, and buttons. She seemed fascinated by his face, running her chubby hands over his lips and nose, exploring to her heart's content.