The Flame and the Flower (36 page)

She curtsied and answered his inane prattle. "Why, sir, your appetite is showing. Perhaps this late supper has done you ill. Of course you seek the food and would cover my ugliness with your gentle words."

He started back as if sorely insulted. "Oh, most precious sister, you do me deepest hurt, for in this boorish bachelor wilderness the very sight of you dispels all thought of nourishment from me."

"Most gallant knight," she sighed, as if consoling him. "Your simple words of kindness are most dear to hear." She turned a hand toward Brandon. "But yonder stands the darkest dragon of them all, and I fear that he would gobble you all for a morsel. Oh nay, kind sir." She put up a hand as if to stop him. "I fear more staple goods we must soon dine upon or face that cruel beast that would digest us both."

She laughed gaily at their idiotic playing, and Jeff chortled, then prancing like a jester, poured a glass of light wine at the bar and brought it to her.

"Begging join us, m'lady. We've both progressed too far for sober pleasure."

Brandon turned, his temper little improved at having been made the butt of their game and commented caustically to the room in general. "It's not enough that I'm beset by worries of my own, but I am gifted with an idiot brother who would be better playing the buffoon in a traveling troop and a simple-minded wife whose temerity is exceeded only by her ability to mock me. At any time you two have had your fill of childish games I would appreciate it if we could get on with the meal. My hunger aggravates me more than my need for such witty entertainment."

Jeff chuckled as he offered Heather his arm. "Methinks my surly brother is sorely vexed with us, m'lady. He needs be humored, wouldn't you say?"

Heather glanced over her shoulder at her husband who stood staring at her and lifted her nose into the air. "Oh indeed, dear brother. He needs be humored much. You see, the gay bachelor he is nevermore but is burdened instead with wife and she with child. It would vex many a man to find himself thus tethered."

Brandon scowled at her but she turned back to Jeff with a bright, beguiling smile and tossed her head coquettishly, making her loose ringlets dance. "Now we must, sweet brother, find a wife for thee, so you may be as grave as he and sit and mope without a hint of glee. Wouldn't it test your good humor to find yourself so?"

Jeff threw back his head and laughed heartily. "With anyone but thee, dear sister, I would be so," he grinned. "Therefore I must wait until they make a replica and thus might keep my charming nature."

They laughed together and Jeff swept her through the French doors into the dining room. There the long table was formally set, Brandon's place at the head, Heather's at the foot, two crystal candelabras between them, and Jeff's place at the middle. The light-hearted brother seated Heather at her place then stood beside her frowning at the distance between their services. Brandon waited at his chair for his brother to assume his place, but Jeff still stood and frowned and stroked his chin.

"Dear brother, you may have some penchant for loneliness, but I for one am most friendly and cannot bear to see my tender sister dine alone."

Smiling happily, he seized his service, plate and goblet and moved them close to Heather's left. Brandon glared at him a moment, then sighed heavily and, relenting to their gaiety, joined the group. The meal progressed more informally and their gay and constant chatter lightened his mood somewhat. The servants swept the last dishes away and poured a cordial glass for each now sated diner. Heather sat back and sighed, having done some noble justice to the food, and now felt the weight of it upon her stomach. A drowsiness began to dull her senses and she had a need to stretch and exercise a bit. Brandon rose and came to slide her chair back from the table, and they went to the drawing room where he and Jeff began to trim long, green cigars, but she grew uncomfortable on the settee and felt the need for fresh air.

"Brandon," she murmured. "I fear that wonderful food has made it seem stuffy in here. If it is permissible, I'd like to walk outside."

He replied with an affirmative answer, glancing down at her rounded belly, then stepped to the door to call for a servant and bade him fetch a wrap for the mistress. When the young boy returned, Brandon placed the shawl snugly about her shoulders and accompanied her to the front door. He opened it and made as if to follow her out but she turned and placed a hand lightly upon his chest.

"No," she murmured. "I know that you and Jeff have much to talk about. I won't be long, only a few breaths of fresh air."

He seemed reluctant to let her go without him, but finally consented. "Don't venture too far from the house."

With a nod she turned and walked to the edge of the porch as he closed the door and went back to the drawing room.

It was a beautiful evening, cool and brisk, with small, white fluffs of clouds drifting across a brilliant starry sky. Under the full moon the great live oaks with their hanging moss seemed to stand like gray sentinels. The air hung still and quiet, no breeze stirring, and small night sounds drifted from the forest. A few lights shone from the servant's quarters and an occasional voice drifted up. She descended the steps and put her foot upon the cool, damp grass and strolled slowly out beneath the great trees, watching their branches stalk across the moon.

"My first night here and yet I feel an odd, delicious oneness with this land. It's so immense, so vast beyond my wildest dreams, a great wide space to let my heart run free and never know again the mean toil of a drudge."

She turned and looked back toward the house. It seemed to be silently watching her, contemplating her, not menacingly, but as if to see what sort of mistress she might prove. Its countenance seemed to soften and in her thoughts it became—"A home to raise my children in, a haven, a comforting place."

"Oh, great white house," she murmured. "Please let me find happiness here. Let me bring my children into life within your walls. Make my husband proud of me and may I bring no shadows to fall before your doors."

A great relief came over her, as if a burden had been lifted, and she began to hurry back to its warmth, feeling now its kin and a strange companionship. She entered the house again, opening and closing the door behind her quietly, not wishing to disturb the men. As she removed the shawl she heard Jeff's voice from the drawing room, raised in anger at his brother.

"Why, pray, did you go back there this afternoon? Dammit, you saw how the bitch treated Heather. She wasted no time in letting her know how it was between you two before you left. She was out for blood, Heather's blood, and she sank her claws in as deep as she could."

"Is it so unreasonable for you, dear brother," Brandon growled, "to believe that Louisa might have suffered a considerable shock this afternoon when, expecting to meet me as her returning fiancé, she was introduced to my wife? She did not have it easy and we were not the most gallant of gentlemen. The news of my marriage could have been broken a little gentler to her. I'm not too pleased with myself for having done her that way. I did treat her rather badly."

Heather stood in indecision, not knowing whether to turn and flee outside once again or hasten across the foyer to the stairs. She felt some sinking of her heart as she thought of Brandon alone with Louisa.

"Ah, hell, Bran, do you think she played the pure virgin while you were gone? She made the rounds as if it were her last days on earth and your friends can vouch for that."

Silence answered him and Jeff laughed shortly.

"Don't look so surprised, Bran. Did you think she'd go that long without a man? Sure, she considers you the best stud around, but while the stallion is away, do you think that mare is going to go without her pleasures? And you might as well know now since you're going to have to pay them anyway. She ran up quite a few debts in town in the name of the future Mrs. Birmingham. The merchants came to me with their bills to verify that you were marrying her, and you'll find she spent more than five hundred pounds in your name."

"Five hundred pounds!" Brandon cried. "What the hell did she do?"

Jeff laughed as if amused. "She purchased jewelry, clothes, everything you can imagine, then had Oakley refurbished on top of it. I'll wager she's the most expensive piece of tart you've come across in your lifetime. She's not the least bit frugal, as you know. If she were, she'd have had a life of ease with the money her father left her. But she ran that through in less time than it takes to skin a rabbit and let her plantation run into the ground while she went into debt. She was licking her lips in anticipation of your money."

As he finished talking Jeff strode across the room to refill his glass and in passing the doorway saw Heather standing without, now sheepishly holding the shawl. He stopped and looked at her, and her cheeks pinkened at having been caught eavesdropping. She shrugged her shoulders nervously.

"I'm—I'm sorry," she stuttered. "It was chilly outside and I—just wanted to go to my bedroom."

Brandon came to the door beside his brother and she blushed even deeper, and now in complete confusion, she clutched the shawl to her, hurried across the foyer and fled up the stairs. Brandon stepped into the hallway and watched her hasty ascent. When he turned there was a scowl upon his face and Jeff raised an eyebrow in wonder at his turn of mood. Brandon gulped the remainder of his drink and stalked to the bar to pour himself another and treated it the same. Jeff observed his mounting agitation with a quizzical gaze, amazed to see him so abuse fine brandy. Brandon splashed more liquor into the snifter and seizing it with something of a vengeance, turned, and Jeff watched him with growing concern. Usually his brother had the good grace to enjoy his drink, but he seemed now completely out of sorts, and treated the brandy as some strong balm to ward off evil spirits.

"Offhand, I would say married life doesn't agree with you, Bran," he commented slowly. "I've seen you less upset with a reluctant whore, and I fail to see your problem. You watch your wife like a stud who smells a mare in heat and dote upon her every move. Yet when she turns to face you, you act the husband scorned or greatly wronged. You seem afraid to touch her, and still I've seen you maul the best. And hell, what's this I hear of separate bedrooms?" He saw his brother wince and send this drink to join the rest. "Have you lost your wits? She's pleasing to the eye, damned beautiful in fact, soft spoken, gentle, everything a man could hope for and you own it all. But for some strange reason which I can't understand, you've set her from you as if she had the pox. Why do you go so far to abuse yourself? Relax. Enjoy her. She's yours."

"Leave me be, Jeff," Brandon snapped. "It's none of your affair."

Jeff shook his head as if exasperated. "Brandon, with some amazing stroke of fate you've been bestowed a woman worth keeping. Just how you found such tender fruit quite puzzles me, though I doubt that any great talent of yours for choosing feminine companionship was responsible. Your tastes always ran toward prostitutes and loose women, not sweet innocents like Heather. But I'll tell you this, Bran. If you somehow manage to lose her, you'll lose far more than you could recognize."

Brandon whirled and growled at him. "Brother, you sorely stretch my temper. I beseech you, close your mouth. I know full well the extent of my fortune and do not need your mothering instincts to remind me."

Jeff shrugged. "From my point of view you need someone to tell you what to do because you're doing your best to ruin your damn fool life."

Brandon flung up a hand impatiently. "Well, forget it. It's mine to ruin."

The younger brother finished his bourbon and set the glass down and met the other's gaze. "I'll be around to see just how you solve your problems. Now good night, brother, and I wish you pleasant dreams in your lonely bed."

Brandon glared at him, but Jeff had already turned his back and was walking from the room. The older brother was left standing alone, holding an empty glass in his hand. He stared down at it for a long time, already feeling the loneliness that would greet him in his room—and his bed, already missing her small presence beside him under the quilts. With an oath he sent the glass flying to the fireplace and he too quit the room.

The sun rose bright and clear the morning after and Hatti rapped gently on her mistress's door to usher in a young woman she introduced as Mary, her granddaughter. The girl was to be established in a post of honor as Heather's personal maid. The old Negress hastened to assure Heather that her granddaughter was well versed in the necessary skills.

"She been learnt the best, Miss Heather," she beamed proudly, "so's she could take care of the new Mrs. Birmingham proper when we got one. She know how to fix hair pretty and all the rest."

Heather smiled at the slender girl. "I'm sure if you say she is the best, Hatti, she is. Thank you very much."

The old woman grinned from ear to ear. "You sure is welcome, Miss Heather," she replied. "And Miss Heather, Master Bran say he gonna be in Charleston for a few days. He's got to tend to his boat."

Heather bent her head over a cup of tea as she thought of what she had overheard the night before. No doubt Louisa had welcomed Brandon with open and loving arms, and when he had come back he had set her, his wife, from her rightful place, shrugging her off as he might his cloak. Now he would come and go as he pleased, not even caring to bid her farewell when he went.

She sighed and spread a warm muffin with butter. At least she had been well received in his home and she could find contentment in being among kind and gracious people.