Dark Chaos (# 4 in the Bregdan Chronicles Historical Fiction Romance Series) (38 page)

             
Charles took the woman’s arm as they reached the table.  “Robert Borden, I’d like you to meet Suzanne Palmer.  She’s a fellow Virginian.”

             
“Really?”  Robert asked.

             
Suzanne stepped forward and offered a daintily gloved hand.  “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Borden.”

             
“I haven’t heard that accent since I left home,” Robert laughed.  “I’m convinced.  Will you please join us, Mrs. Palmer?”

             
“Miss Palmer,” she corrected him.  “At least for another few months.  I’m to be married in December to a wonderful Englishman.”

             
“Congratulations,” Robert replied.  “I highly recommend it.  I was just married myself a few months ago.”

             
Suzanne smiled.  “And where is your wife?  I would love to meet her.”

             
“I’m afraid she is still in Virginia.”  For some reason he felt compelled to explain.  “Carrie is working at Chimborazo Hospital in Richmond.  Even though she hasn’t yet attended medical school because of the war, her services are much in demand there.”

             
“They wouldn’t let her come?”

             
“She chose not to,” Robert said honestly, somehow sure this woman with the direct eyes would understand.

             
Suzanne regarded him closely for a few moments.  “And how do you feel about that?”

             
“I miss her, but I respect and support her decision.  She’s quite good.”

             
Suzanne threw back her head and laughed heartily, obviously not caring what anyone around her thought.  “I like you, Robert Borden,” she said suddenly, then turned to Charles.  “Thank you for bringing me over here.  May I join you for a while?”

             
“Certainly,” the two men said in unison.

             
“What brings you to England, Miss Palmer?”  Robert asked.

             
“Oh, just the social life,” Suzanne said airily.  “The South is simply not the place to be now.”

             
Robert gazed at her then smiled.  He knew she was lying, and he knew that she knew that he knew she was lying.  “I see,” he said casually.  “How long have you been in this invigorating city?”

             
“Almost six months.”  She beamed across the table at him.  “I simply love London.  It is so alive!”  She laughed.  “I’m sorry.  Some people are a little put off by my enthusiasm.  It’s just that I spent almost my whole life on a small Virginia plantation.  Thankfully I was able to escape and spent several years in Washington, D.C., but even that is dull compared to London.”

             
Suddenly something stirred in Robert’s mind - a memory that tugged to be acknowledged.  He looked at Suzanne more closely.  There was something about her that seemed familiar...

             
“I’m afraid I’ve said too much,” Suzanne said suddenly, a curtain dropping over her eyes. 

             
Robert closed his mind to the memory, whatever it was.  “No you haven’t,” he said firmly.  “I’ve never seen you before until tonight.  You’re a Southern damsel in distress that simply can’t abide the idea of war so you fled to London.  I daresay there are many Southern women who would follow your example given the chance.”

             
Suzanne smiled at him gratefully.  “You are a true Southern gentleman, Robert Borden.”               

             
Robert smiled in return then signaled the waitress over.  Once Suzanne had ordered, he turned back to her.  “Now tell me what it is you like so much about this city?”  He was fairly sure this would be safe conversation.

             
“Oh, everything,” Suzanne exclaimed.  “I’ve tried to answer that question for myself before.  I can’t decide whether it’s the Thames River, the London Bridge, Buckingham Palace...,” her voice trailed off.  “Or maybe it’s just the people.  I feel so much a part of the world when I’m in London.  I have met people from so many different countries.  They inspire me and challenge me.”

             
Robert watched her eyes light with excitement and once more felt the familiar pang.

             
Suzanne, opening her mouth to continue, stopped suddenly.  “Is something wrong?  Am I gushing a little too much?”

             
“Certainly not,” Robert assured her quickly.  “It’s just that you remind me so much of my wife.  I think you two would be good friends.”

             
“From your description so far, I’m quite certain of it,” Suzanne replied warmly.  “Tell me,” she said suddenly, leaning forward, “do you mind being the husband of an independent, hard-headed woman?”

             
Robert laughed.  “Nervous about how your husband will respond to you?”

             
Suzanne smiled demurely.  “Perhaps.”  Then she laughed merrily.  “I’m afraid he knows full well what he’s getting into.” 

             
“I don’t mind,” Robert said thoughtfully.  “No, it’s more than that.  It’s not just that I don’t mind; I love Carrie just the way she is.  I wouldn’t want her to be any different.  I realize there are many men who would think me either foolish or stupid, but they are entitled to their opinion.  I find Carrie refreshing and stimulating.  I’m proud of who she is - of who she will be become.”

             
“You don’t feel threatened by her?”  Suzanne prodded.

             
Robert looked at her closely.  Perhaps she wasn’t as confident as she had at first seemed about her upcoming marriage.  “If I’m threatened by her, that’s not her fault.  It’s my own.  I realize it’s not orthodox Southern thinking, but I don’t view her so much as a wife as I do my partner in life.”  He paused.  “I must admit I didn’t always feel that way.  It took some time for me to change.”

             
Suzanne smiled.  “Thank you for being honest.”  She hesitated.  “It’s so wonderful to meet another Virginian.  I feel that I belong in England, but it’s always good to get a taste of home.” 

             
“Will you ever go back?”  Robert asked.

             
“I might,” Suzanne said evasively.

             
Robert realized he had blundered into uncomfortable waters again.  He looked to Charles for help. 

             
“I hear your future husband is involved in the cotton industry, Miss Palmer.  How goes it these days?”

             
Suzanne relaxed visibly.  “Things have been quite rough for the last two years.  At first no one thought the war would last very long, or that it would have much effect on the industry.  America’s crop in 1860 was the heaviest on record, according to Anthony.  Most of it had arrived here by the beginning of the war.”

             
“Her fiancé owns several cotton mills in Lancashire,” Charles explained to Robert.

             
Suzanne nodded.  “The whole industry came almost to a standstill last year.  Many of his workers and their families suffered greatly, especially during the last winter.  The government stepped in to help them, but, of course, it wasn’t enough.  Things are improving though.”

             
“How?”  Robert asked.  “Surely not enough cotton is getting through.”

             
“No.  Once it became obvious the war wasn’t going to end soon, the mill owners started looking for other sources.  New supplies started coming in from Egypt and the East this spring.  The crisis seems to have passed.”

             
“For England,” Robert muttered.

             
Suzanne gazed at him.  “I feel the same way you do, Robert.  I know the South counted on England’s support because of their dependency on our cotton.  It certainly caused distress for a while, but England has adjusted.”  She sighed.  “I’m afraid England will be stick to its policy of neutrality.”  Then she leaned forward and lowered her voice to a confidential whisper.  “There are still ways they are willing to help, though.”

             
Robert stared at her, wanting to ask her what she meant but knowing she wouldn’t tell him.  Suddenly he was very weary.  Charles’ news, along with the latest on the cotton industry, had tired him.  He stood abruptly.  “It was a pleasure meeting you.  I hope I will see you again.”

             
Suzanne and Charles stood with him.  “I’m sorry if I have upset you,” Suzanne said contritely.

             
“Not at all,” Robert said vaguely.  Turning, he strode out of the restaurant.  He took great gulps of air as he broke out onto Fenchurch Street.  Fog swirled around him as he turned west and walked quickly.  He needed time to think.  Time to process what was happening.  It seemed everything was falling apart. 

             
Minutes later he was crossing Thames Street.  His footsteps echoed in the mist as he walked out onto London Bridge.  Gas lamps glared through the fog, causing vapors to dance and swirl in protest against the invading light.  Robert reached the center of the bridge and leaned against the railing heavily.  The fog swallowed everything around him, but he could still hear water lapping against the pilings. 

             
His surroundings matched his mood exactly.  Loneliness battled with a feeling of utter futility.  Without more powerful blockade runners, the South would lose the war.  Every day, the dim hope England would eventually recognize the Confederacy faded away even more. 

             
“We may have lost the way of life we have cherished, but we won’t have lost our souls.  We won’t have lost our ability to love and laugh.  We won’t have lost our ability to learn and grow.”

             
Olsen’s words reverberated through Robert’s mind.  It was almost as if the old man were standing beside him, urging him not to give up hope, exhorting him to find the things worth living for.   Robert scowled, staring into the shrouding mist.  The fog wrapped a cocoon around him and separated him from the rest of the world – blocked out the muted noises and activities of London.

             
Robert didn’t know how much time had passed before he stepped back from the railing with peace permeating his heart.   A sure realization gripped him.  He had thought he had hope before, but it had been a hope based on the evidence surrounding him.  True hope - the hope he now grasped - was what came when you lost all
reason
to hope.   It was a condition that defied all reason and circumstances.  It was the hope that sprang from your true reasons for living - for being. 

             
Robert was sure of one thing now.  His hope wasn’t dependent on whether the South won or lost the war.  His hope was based on his own ability to love, laugh, learn, and grow.  No outside force could ever take those things away from him.  The whole crazy world might be spinning out of control, but those things would always be under his control.

Carrie stopped to wipe at the sweat pouring off her face.  The end of September had definitely brought no respite from the brutal summer heat.  She stepped over to the shade of a tree to cool off after the climb up
the hill from her father’s house.  The weariness pressing down on her had become her constant companion.  Summer had been just as she had envisioned.  After the initial swell of wounded soldiers from Chancellorsville, there had been a respite until Gettysburg.  Thousands of soldiers from that awful battle now filled every available space in the city.  Once again the stench of death hung in the air. 

             
“Carrie!”

             
Carrie turned as she heard her name called. 

             
Louisa, her face flushed from the heat, hurried up to her.  “Thank you so much for coming up on your day off.  It means so much to Perry and me.”

             
Carrie shook her head.  “I don’t know how you manage to stay so beautiful in all this heat.  I feel like nothing more than a wrung-out washrag.”  She smiled.  “Are you ready for the big event?”