The Velvet Shadow (37 page)

“You come here, woman.” Beau’s arm went around her waist and drew her back into the moonlight, and Charity caught her breath at the strength in his arms. Seemingly oblivious to the cold, he wore a common shirt with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows. The skin of his hard arms gleamed like polished ebony in the silver light. “Is you gonna speak to your mistress or not?”

“I will.” Lost in the dark power of his gaze, Charity whispered the words. “But I can’t just yet, Beau. I’ve got to know—”

“What?” His silky voice held a challenge.

“I’ve got to know if you really mean it.”

His hand tightened upon her waist, and for one dizzying minute Charity thought he could snap her in half if he wanted to. Beau was stronger than any man she’d ever known, snake-muscled from long hours on the plantation from which he’d escaped. He worked now for Colonel Farnham, but he’d assured Charity that he’d leave everything and take her away from the army if she’d just agree to go.

“I don’t lie, woman. I said I’d marry you, and I will, as soon as you want. But you gots to come away from this place first. Don’t neither of us belong in the middle of a war.”

“Oh, Beau.” Charity threw her arms around those massive shoulders and clung tightly for a moment, closing her eyes against her fears. She’d been meeting Beau for weeks now, amazed at his persistence and his gentle courtship, but even the most patient men had a limit to their endurance.

“Beau, it’s not that I don’t love you—I do. It’s just that I can’t leave Miss Flanna now. She’s still far from home, and she’s not as strong as she thinks she is.”

“Charity.” Beau’s wide hand cradled her head against his chest. “Girl, when are you gonna break free? I’s ready to go—you just say the word.”

Charity lifted her head and met his gaze. “I’ve got to give her a little more time, Beau. Mister Alden knows her secret, so it won’t be long now. If I can just get her closer to home, I’ll feel better about leavin’.”

Beau sighed in frustration, but his arms drew her closer. “You say the word, honey, and we’re gonna go. You just let me know when.”

Secure in the strength of his embrace, Charity nodded.

The next afternoon, after Sunday services, Flanna thanked the drummer boy who’d been sent to fetch her, then stepped inside Alden’s tent.

His eyes snapped at the sight of her, but then he turned and abruptly gestured toward a soldier sitting with his back to Flanna.

“Private O’Connor.” Alden’s voice sounded stilted and unnatural. “There is someone here to see you.”

She closed her eyes, knowing without being told that Roger sat in the chair before her. She heard a creaking sound as he turned, then the sharp intake of his breath: “By all that’s holy, Flanna! What have you done?”

“Hello, Roger.” She opened her eyes and forced a smile. “It is good to see you.”

“Flanna!” She felt a small, fierce surge of satisfaction under her annoyance as his eyes bulged and his face went white. Apparently the diplomatic politician was not
completely
unflappable.

She looked at Alden. “I thought you’d tell him.

“Alden gave her a bland smile. “I did.”

Roger leaned forward, his hands moving in wide, meaningless circles. “Of course he told me, but I never dreamed—I mean I couldn’t imagine—” He peered at her, his eyes narrowing. “Sakes alive! You’ve cut off all your hair!”

“It was necessary,” Flanna said, running her hand over her bare neck. Recoiling from Roger’s hot eyes, she looked at Alden and tried on a smile that felt a size too small. “I’m glad you sent for me. I have something to tell you.”

“And we have something for you.” Gesturing broadly with his right arm, Alden indicated two large boxes on his desk.

“Those are for me?” she asked, perplexed.

“Yes.” Roger rose from his chair and scooped the first box into his arms, then bowed and offered it to Flanna. “My dear, I know you must have a very good reason for this charade, but I am happy to tell you that it is finished. Please.” He waited until she took the box, then thrust his hands behind his back and grinned in pleasure. “Open it. I picked out the fabric just for you.”

“Oh dear.” Suspecting what lay uppermost in both brothers’ minds, Flanna returned the box to the desk and lifted the lid. Beneath a layer
of delicate tissue paper she found a showy velvet gown, complete with silk flowers at the bodice and lace at the hem. She took it from the box, straining to lift the yards and yards of heavy fabric, and discovered a corset, pantalets, chemise, and steel-banded hoop skirt at the bottom of the box.

She looked at Alden and arched her brow. “Has Mrs. Lincoln invited me for tea?”

Alden’s mouth twitched with amusement as Roger leapt to the extravagant gown’s defense. “Flanna, darling, it will suit you so well! You are a beautiful woman, and you should dress like one. When you walk through the camp in this, every man will smile at you. Even the general will be impressed.”

“Impressed by you.” Flanna dropped the gown back into the box. “Roger, dear, I have no intention of wearing such a gaudy gown, not here, and not anytime soon.”

“Flanna.” Roger stepped forward and pressed his hands to her shoulders. “Darling, you’ve been through a very difficult experience. I wish you had confided in me, but we’ll talk about those regrets another day. Right now it is in my power to help you. You will be my wife as soon as we’re finished here, and it’s time you began to act like the lady you are. Take the dress, and let Alden escort you to the tent he’s prepared. As soon as he can arrange for your transfer to Port Royal, he will. But until then let me behold the lovely Flanna I adore!”

Flanna stared past Roger to Alden, but he wasn’t watching her. He was staring instead at the second box, the customary expression of good humor missing from the curve of his mouth.

“Alden,” Flanna pleaded, “help me!”

He shot her a half-embarrassed look as he tapped on the lid of the other box. “This might be better,” he said, his voice sounding tired.

Sighing in exasperation, she opened the second box. It contained another dress, but a far more suitable one of sturdy cotton fabric. The full pleated skirt could be worn without a stiffening hoop, and the material was green plaid. Her favorite color.

“It is better,” she said softly, not wanting to hurt either man’s feelings. What did men know of women’s things? “When the time comes to leave, I’ll wear the green dress and take the red gown with me. And I thank you both for your concern.”

“What do you mean, when the time comes?” Roger wore a prim and forbidding expression. “Flanna, we had these dresses prepared so you can wear them now. Alden has a tent set up—”

“So you’ve said.” Flanna threw up her hands, not knowing how to explain. “Gentlemen, I appreciate all you’ve done for me, I really do. But I am quite comfortable with my messmates, and they are at ease with me.”

“What are you saying?” Roger asked, each word a splinter of ice.

Flanna squared her shoulders. “I want to stay with my company until I’m allowed to go south. Then I’ll go quietly, but I don’t want to walk around this camp as a woman. My messmates will be embarrassed to think they’ve spoken their thoughts so freely.”

“They’ll
be embarrassed?” Roger’s face went pale, with a deep red patch over his angular cheekbones, as though she had slapped him hard on both cheeks. “Flanna, who cares about those men? I care about
you
and the reputation you are so thoughtlessly trashing!”

Flanna swallowed hard and tried not to reveal her rising anger. “I care about those men,” she said, nearly choking on her own words. “And I assure you that Flanna O’Connor’s reputation is quite safe. But what does one girl’s reputation matter now? When men are dying, Roger, when drunken doctors are cutting off the legs of young boys, and hundreds are dying of typhoid, who cares anything about a reputation?”

“I care.” Roger spoke in a low voice, taut with anger. “And when this war is over, things will return to the way they were. I’ll still be running for office, and you’ll still be my fiancée. And then you will care very much, Flanna. And you’ll be sorry that you did not heed my words.”

“But the war is not over.” Her heart hammered; her breathing came in ragged gulps. “And until I can leave this camp, until the day
I can climb into a buggy and know that I am on my way home, I will remain with my men. They trust me—and I trust them.”

Roger did not answer. He stood there, tall and angry, as defiance poured hotly from his dark eyes. “Till the war is over then,” he said, his voice inflamed and belligerent. “I’ll come for you in Charleston. But do not expect me to see you, talk with you, or provide for you as long as you insist upon this ridiculous denial of everything you ought to be.”

Flanna drew a long, quivering breath, mastering the passion that shook her. “I expect nothing from you.”

Roger chuckled with a dry and cynical sound, then turned to his brother. “So, Alden,”—he took his hat from the stand where he had tossed it—“I leave her in your hands. Please arrange that transport as quickly as possible.”

“I’ll try.”

With one last reproachful look, Roger fitted his cap to his head, saluted his brother, and stomped out of the tent.

Flanna sagged in relief. She had expected him to be displeased, but she had not imagined he would be so angry. She had never seen anything but a smiling, carefree Roger. He was a charmer and persuader, not really the type to lose his temper…

Aware that Alden watched her, she dropped her lashes to hide the hurt in her eyes.

“He sets a great store by you,” Alden said, his own voice thick and unsteady. “He’s only concerned for your well-being.”

She bit back tears of disappointment. “He doesn’t even know me. Not anymore.”

Alden cleared his throat, probably about to make some other attempt at casual conversation, but Flanna held up her hand. “I’ll be going now,” she said, rigidly holding her tears in check. “I’ll come for the dresses when you tell me it’s time to go. Until then, you know where to find me.”

“That I do,” Alden said. She didn’t wait for a formal leave-taking, but hurried out the door, hoping to find a place where she could shed her tears in private.