Authors: Sylvia McDaniel
Connor glanced up the stairs, his gaze meeting and holding hers. Her heart skipped a beat as he strode toward her, a smile of eager anticipation on his face. For just a moment, she wanted to be a blushing young bride awaiting her groom. For just an instant, she wished she were an innocent young girl about to become a woman.
But reality overshadowed her daydreams and refocused her mind. She could never be innocent or naive again. And from the hopeful look on Connor's face, she realized disappointment would be his only companion tonight.
Reaching her side, he took her gloved hand and brought it to his lips, then placed her palm on his arm. He took her valise from Aunt Clara, and favored her with a grin. "Are you ready?"
Alexandra swallowed. She wanted to scream that she wasn't prepared to be a man's property, to be a wife again. No, she wasn't ready to face their wedding night and all the complications of being married.
Instead of yelling, she took a deep breath, and gazed out the doorway to the people awaiting them on the porch. In a day filled with the pretense of being a happy couple, there was one last act; then the public performance would be complete.
"Yes, I think so," she said.
"Let's make a dash for it, then."
As they ran through the doorway, the smell of roses and honeysuckle filled the air as the guests showered them with flower petals from Aunt Clara's garden. Reaching the surrey, Alexandra turned and threw her bouquet at the crowd. Her new
sisterinlaw
, Suzanne, reached out and caught the arrangement of orange blossoms and gardenias.
"Happy honeymoon," she called, causing Alexandra to grimace.
Connor helped Alexandra into the surrey, its black top decorated with flowers and ribbons. The horses each had a garland of orange blossoms around their necks. She scooted across the green cloth seat and made room for her new husband. He climbed in and took the reins. The crowd called goodbye as she and Connor drove off, waving at family and friends.
"Well, Mrs. Manning, I think your aunt and uncle gave us a splendid wedding."
"Yes, they are wonderful people," she replied quietly.
"Even your father was quite jovial."
"He can be," she acknowledged, feeling
selfconscious
as she left her old life behind, wondering what fate had in store for her now as she made her way to a new life. A life she hadn't wanted or expected.
The horses plodded along in the cool evening air, a tense silence invading the carriage.
"Suzanne is going to spend the next few nights with your Aunt Clara," Conner said, clicking to the horses, his eyes focused on the road.
Alexandra raised a suspicious brow.
"Whatever for?"
"It was your aunt's idea. She thought it would be nice if we had a few days alone."
"Hmm.
She didn't mention it to me."
Connor took a deep breath and released it slowly. Aunt Clara hadn't mentioned Suzanne's stay because he had asked her not too. He didn't need anyone to alert Alexandra to the fact he had every intention of wooing his way into his wife's bed. With only the servants around, he planned to spend the next few days closely attached to Alexandra's side. Surely with his gentle persuasion, his new bride would come around and relent to his wishes.
Connor glanced at her. "I thought tomorrow we could start the day with an early morning ride around the plantation. I could show you River Bend."
"That would be fine," she responded amicably. "Mr. Manning, I don't know what you expect in a wife, but I must tell you, most mornings after breakfast, I spend my time in my bedroom catching up on correspondence."
"Connor.
Please call me Connor now." He smiled. "I don't care what you do as long as my sister is trained in the ways of a lady, my meals are ready on time, and the house is run efficiently."
"You are going to give me the responsibility of your home?" she asked, surprised. She glanced at him, bewildered. "You really do want a wife?"
"Yes. Why are you surprised? Don't most wives run their husband's homes?" he asked, his gaze never leaving the road.
"Yes, but our marriage is different."
"I want our marriage to be normal in every way."
"I'm still reeling from the fact that we're married at all."
She turned away, staring out at the countryside fading into the approaching darkness. He watched as she slowly absorbed his words, fidgeting on the hard seat. Though they both had been nervous, the day had been almost perfect, and somehow she seemed more receptive than he had expected. Maybe, just maybe, he'd be in her bed before the night was over after all.
Alexandra drew herself together, and faced him. "Tell me about your home."
"What would you like to know?"
She paused and looked at him, her head tilted at an angle. "How long have you lived there?"
Connor pulled on the reins as they turned a corner on the dirt road.
"All my life.
My
greatgrandfather
built part of the house in the early 1800s. My grandfather made the plantation successful, built the family fortune, and enlarged our home."
They crossed a small wooden bridge, the horse's hooves making a clopping noise on the slats.
"But I thought most homes were burned during the Civil War."
"We lost everything but the north wing of the house and the land. Since then, it's been a slow road back to grander times."
He watched as she slowly relaxed against the cushions. Maybe, just maybe, everything was going to work out all right.
This was the first time they had been alone since the day he proposed, and he'd braced himself for a tongue lashing tonight. In fact, he'd almost wanted her to rant and rave at him for compromising her. Somehow he thought it might ease his conscience for his duplicity in forcing her to marry him.
But she had been pleasant, even congenial all the way home, proving she was a lady even in the worst of times. For a brief moment, he let his eyes slide down her face, past her bosom. She was beautiful, poised, intelligent, and was going to make him rich. God, she was everything a man could want in a woman. And tonight was their wedding night. Maybe he'd be a lucky groom after all.
With a sense of urgency, he turned down the lane that would take them to River Bend, and heard the bells chiming. As they rounded the bend, the shadows gave way to the oil lamps and candles that lit up his family home. He pulled the carriage to a stop in the circle drive before the house. The walkway was lined with the house servants and field hands, waiting to greet their new mistress.
Pride swelled within Connor. The sight of the people of River Bend waiting eagerly to meet the new Mrs. Manning brought a lump to his throat. Nate and Leona, the oldest of his servants, waited in front of the crowd to greet them. These people needed him to give them shelter and employment. These people depended on him. He had to do whatever was necessary, no matter how his conscience stabbed him.
Tying the reins, he jumped down and went around
to help
Alexandra out of the carriage. Placing her on the ground, he turned to Leona.
The older woman hugged him to her breast, tears streaming down her cheeks. "What a wonderful day this is. Mr. Manning, we're all so happy for you."
Connor couldn't help but grin. "Leona, meet the new Mrs. Manning."
Alexandra took the black woman's hand. "It's nice to meet you."
Leona clasped her hand, her gaze carefully examining Alexandra. "Lord, child, we have waited so long for this day. His mama would be so proud.
You done
good, Mr. Manning.
You done real good."
Nate stepped up beside Leona, his lips spread in the biggest grin his black face could hold. "You took my advice and found yourself a wife."
Connor smiled. Let the old man think what he wanted. He moved aside to introduce Alexandra. "Mrs. Manning, this is Nate."
"How do you do?"
A toothless grin stretched across his whiskered face. "I'm doing just fine. We've waited years for this day."
Alexandra smiled. "It's nice to meet you."
They walked through the cluster of servants, receiving good wishes. Connor waited as Alexandra took the final steps up the porch and reached the door. When she reached his side, he swung her up into his arms, the blue silk of her skirt draped against his arm. With a gasp, she wrapped her arms around his neck, hanging on,
her
body stiffening in his arms.
"What are you doing?" she whispered.
The smell of lilacs tickled his nose, mingling with the scent he had come to recognize as Alexandra. He gazed down into her emerald eyes, and became entrapped in her world, as the sounds of the cheering servants came from far away. He licked his lips, eager to see what the rest of the night would bring.
With a languid motion, still lost in Alexandra's gaze, he carried her over the threshold and up the stairs to their quarters. "Welcome home, Mrs. Manning."
Alexandra glanced around the room that could be hers for the next fifty years. That is, if she decided to stay. She resisted thinking in such negative terms, but the past lingered into the future, killing her optimism and hope. She had less in common with Connor than she'd had with Gordon.
The
ovalshaped
room was decorated in Louis XV style with a large platform bed in the center of the room. A nervous tremor went through Alexandra.
Gold
cutvelvet
draperies adorned the windows and surrounded the bed, giving it an intimate feel.
Savonnerie
carpets graced the floor, and two
Revivalstyle
chairs faced the fireplace with a small table between. Above the fireplace mantel hung an ornately trimmed mirror, which reflected her anxious face. A big vase of
freshcut
flowers sat in the center of the mantel, along with a note from her husband that read simply, "Welcome home, C." It truly was a beautiful room for the lady of the house.
But Alexandra felt like an imposter. She wasn't the lady of the house. She was a struggling writer who wanted revenge against a man she hadn't seen in five years.
There were two doors in her room. One led to her bathing closet, and one, she knew, led to a sitting area adjoining her husband's bedroom. Only two doors separated her from Connor. Only two portals kept the master of the house from his lady. Two thin sheets of solid wood.
She ran her hand along a
marbletopped
commode. She knew he would try his hand at seducing her tonight, and though submitting was her wifely duty, Connor had agreed to her stipulation that their marriage be in name only.
But the man was just bullheaded enough to try to persuade her that consummating their marriage would be for the best. He was just arrogant enough to think she would succumb to his charms and persuasion. And she was just stubborn enough to show him that not every female found him attractive enough to shed not only her clothes, but also her morals.
The thought of him coming to her room tonight sent her searching through the
marbletopped
commode and wardrobe for the key that would lock the door. But her search was fruitless and she suspected the key was in Connor's possession.
Adorned in a new dressing gown that Aunt Clara had insisted she buy, she sat down on the bed, testing the feather mattress, waiting for Connor. Until this moment she hadn't realized just how tired the day had made her. The bed beckoned, and she leaned back to rest for just a moment. She stared up at the velvet canopy, and her body slowly relaxed, her eyelids drooping with sleep.
A rap on her door snapped her to attention just as Connor pushed the portal open with his foot. A slow, seductive smile stretched across his face as he stared at her. Hastily, she jumped from the bed, embarrassed at being caught so relaxed and vulnerable.
"How's the mattress? It's not too soft or too firm?"
A blush crept up her cheeks as she moved to stand before the fireplace, as far from the bed as possible. "No, it's just fine."
He came further into the room wearing a double breasted silk dressing gown tied with a single loop around his waist. In his hands, he carried a tray laden with two glasses and a bottle of champagne.
"I thought we should toast our new union before retiring for the evening," he said, a smile on his handsome face.
The cad was here to ply her with wine and charm in the hope she would consent to take a tumble with him.
"How thoughtful."
Crossing the room to the small table with two chairs, he set the tray down and picked up the bottle of champagne. As he wrestled with the cork, the bottle emitted a loud pop, and he began to pour the bubbly liquid into the two crystal flutes.
The silk of her dressing gown rustled as she moved to stand beside him, the noise reminding her of how little she wore. How the material clung to the curves of her body like a lover. As he handed her a glass, his fingers lingered over hers, sending shivers of awareness through her.
His eyes were as warm as the noonday sun, their heat touching her with liquid fire as Connor took note of her attire. The air seemed to become stifling, her breathing laborious, as she felt his eyes upon her.