Lynette Vinet - Emerald Trilogy 02

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Cover Art by Amanda Kelsey of
Razzle Dazzle Design
.

Copyright ©
1985 and 2013
by
Lynette Vinet

First Leisure Edition: 1986

First Steel Magnolia Press Publication: 2013

Green Meadows Plantation, Louisiana

August, 1792

“The trunks are in the carriage, Mother.”

Dera Flannery’s gaze swept over the handsome swarthy face of her youngest son. He seemed unconcerned by the long sea voyage to Ireland, as careless and self-assured as only the young can be. She stifled the impulse to ruffle his ebony-colored hair as she had done when he was a child. Daniel now stood well over six feet tall, no longer the little boy who had often sneaked into the pantry to pilfer sweetmeats behind her back. It was impossible for her to reach the top of his head without standing on tiptoe.

“I gather your father is ready to leave,” she said as a gnawing fear clutched the pit of her stomach.

Daniel grinned; his steel gray eyes lit up. “I’ve never seen him so excited about anything. Father is pacing the porch outside like a caged bobcat!”

Dera turned away and picked up her reticule, not wanting Daniel to see the disappointment on her face. “Daniel, please make certain that everything has been placed in the carriage.”

“I did that. We’re ready to leave.”

“Do
it again,” she said softly.

 
~ ~ ~

After Daniel left her in the bedroom, Dera walked to the window. She drew back the lace curtains which allowed her an unobstructed view of the double rows of oak trees leading to the river that gleamed like gray silk in the morning sun. For well over twenty years this had been her daily habit upon waking, and she never grew tired of gazing at the water as it lazily meandered to the Gulf of Mexico.

Quint had built this house with his bare hands and with the help of the people who had become their neighbors. She loved this land, this house. She didn’t want to leave its stone columned magnificence, but Quint had insisted. After all, he’d said, they’d only be in Ireland for a short time. Didn’t she want to meet Paul’s new wife? Of course she did, but she questioned Quint’s motives. Suddenly she wished her eldest son had never written to them about his plan to meet and marry Allison Fairfax.

She blamed Quint for planting vengeful ideas into their son’s mind. For all they knew, Paul had not carried out his plan, and they traveled to Ireland only to end up in harm’s way. She shivered, though the weather was extremely hot, typical of a Louisiana summer. She had an overwhelming premonition that something was about to happen to destroy their happiness.

She felt Quint’s hands on her shoulders, and turned to gaze into the face she loved so well, barely able to believe that though he was fifty years old, he still had the power to make her heart beat hard with just a touch. “Taking a final look, my love?” he asked tenderly.

She leaned against him, resting her head on his chest. “I’m afraid that we’ll never return.”

“We’re going home, Dera.”

“
This
is our home, not Fairfax Manor. Admit you’re still obsessed by it and are overjoyed that your son might have married that poor, unsuspecting girl.”

“Ah, you know better than to underestimate the Flannery charm. I feel certain he married her by now, and he is master of the manor.” His bright smile warmed the depths of his pitch black eyes, but she felt unable to respond in a light tone.

“Quint, what if someone recognizes you? Though we use the name Flanders, you’re a Flannery, and there must still be people on the estate who’ll remember you were suspected of Avery Fairfax’s murder.”

He scowled and Dera knew why. Not once in over twenty-five years had she mentioned the crime he had been unjustly accused of committing. The murderer had been Jem McConnell, his friend. But now all the unpleasant memories rose unbidden and pained her with their strength.

“I’m innocent,” he remarked, “and I doubt if anyone will try to turn me into the authorities. The tenants were my friends. I led many of them in open rebellion against the English, and I’d be very surprised if they’ve forgotten that. Besides, Fairfax Manor may now be ours. Our son is determined that the property reverts to the rightful owners, whether others remember or not.”

Dera pulled away from him. “And very proud you are of him, too! Doesn’t it bother you that he must have deceived poor Allison Fairfax to get it? All those years you filled Paul’s head with nonsense about returning to Ireland to reclaim your land, I said nothing. I thought it was just a dream you’d eventually forget once you came to realize that Louisiana was our home.
Our
home,”
she reiterated. “Now, you think you’re just going to walk in without a fight. What about Cecelia Wiggington? I remember her well, and how she took everything from me after Avery’s death. She’ll do the same to Paul, if she hasn’t already. You forget that Paul’s letter was sent from Dublin months ago, before he even met Allison Fairfax. This is an absurd trip, perhaps a futile and dangerous trip if Paul’s plan was thwarted by Cecelia. You will be in danger, Quint.”

“Let’s not begin our voyage on a sour note, sweetheart,” he pleaded. “I’ve waited my entire life for the day I enter my family’s home again.”

Dera was still afraid and wanted to convince him to change his mind, but she knew that it was useless. His heart was set on it and nothing would dissuade him now. She flung herself into his arms and held him tightly. “I love you,” she breathed into his ear.

He laughed, the silver gray of his hair gleamed in the morning sunlight. “And I love you, my wild Irish rose. Now let’s be on our way or Daniel will come looking for us.”

They went downstairs and entered the carriage. Daniel inquired if his mother was all right when the carriage pulled away from the house. Dera smiled and nodded, but huge tears glittered within the depths of her violet eyes.

Four months earlier

Fairfax Manor, Ireland

Allison Fairfax gazed out of her bedroom window and contemplated the many shining stars gleaming bright above the fields. She breathed in the scent of newly cut hay and hoped with all her heart and eighteen year old being that old Maggie was right—that if she made a wish on the brightest star, the prophecy would come true. She leaned forward, chilled by the cool April night, and fastened her eyes on the biggest and most glittering star. “I wish to meet the man I shall marry. I wish it to be tonight.”

Her voice was low and soft, her sparkling blue eyes rivaling the star-filled sky. Her daydreams of the handsome stranger who would sweep her away with ardor and devotion so enthralled her that she failed to see her aunt watching her from the open doorway.

“Come back to earth, Allison.”

Her aunt’s cool, clipped tone caused her to turn in embarrassment, her cheeks turning a bright pink. “I was just looking out the window, Aunt Cecelia.”

Lady Cecelia Wiggington imperiously swished into the room. Allison trembled at the austere picture her aunt presented, with her gray hair pulled severely atop her head. The woman had never been cruel to her, but Allison doubted she had enjoyed the responsibility of raising an orphaned girl for the last twelve years. Allison’s father had been Cecelia’s youngest brother and quite a rogue, from the tales she had heard about him, but Allison barely remembered him since he had often been away at sea when she was small. Her memories of her mother, however, were clear; she recalled a beautiful, warm and utterly kind woman—totally unlike Aunt Cecelia. Her parents had drowned when their ship sank off the American coast. Since Cecelia was Allison’s only living relative, it had been arranged that Allison leave England and take up residence on her aunt’s huge Irish estate to live out her days perishing from boredom in Fairfax Manor.

Cecelia compressed her lips into a thin line. “I heard your wish, dear girl, and that is not the way to find a husband. Look to Ballysheen Hall and Howard Granger as a suitable mate.”

“Old Maggie told me my future,” Allison persisted. “She said a young man will soon enter my life, and that can’t possibly be Howard since I’ve known him for years. She told me that if I wished hard enough it would hurry him along…”

Cecelia raised her hand, halting Allison’s further prattle. “Stop this nonsense! I forbid you to visit that old peasant woman again. She, like the rest of these Irish,
are
filled with superstition and foolishness.”

Allison suddenly felt close to tears, but she controlled the trembling of her voice. “Old Maggie is always right. There are many things she has predicted and they’ve all come true.”

“The result of weak minds, no doubt.”

“Don’t you remember I told you she predicted the marriage of your brother Avery to the niece of his overseer many years ago? She told me she said it would come to pass, and it did. Oh, what was the girl’s name?” Allison put her hand to her head in a vain attempt to recall what Maggie had told her.

Cecelia reached out and took hold of Allison’s arm, the venomous fire in her eyes frightening Allison. “I don’t wish to discuss my poor, dead Avery and the scandalous marriage he made. I am appalled that you would bring it up.”

Allison shrank away. “I’m sorry, Aunt Cecelia. I won’t mention it again.”

“No, you will not.” Cecelia dropped her hand. “Let us forget this lunacy and concentrate on your party. Guests have already started arriving and you’re not ready yet. Where is that lazy Beth?” Cecelia swept out of the room, her black gown rustling behind her.

Allison sank onto her bed, her stomach aching from tension caused by her aunt’s admonishment. She fingered the silk material of the gown which lay on the bed beside her, wondering why Cecelia spared no expense on her behalf when certainly she didn’t seem to care for her. The gown’s simple
design was enhanced by a row of seed pearls along the high-necked bodice and were
strewn across the full elbow-length sleeves. A renowned London dressmaker had designed it especially for her, and the gown fit her slim figure to perfection, setting off her fair complexion and pale gold hair. Allison sighed and looked down at her small, pointed breasts covered by the thin lace of her chemise. Why couldn’t she be bosomy and tall instead of small? Aunt Cecelia said she took after the Fairfaxes in coloring but her stature and luminous, large blue eyes were inherited from her mother.

A knock sounded on her door, and Beth, who was her maid and a few years older, entered. “Lady Cecelia says you’re not ready yet, Miss.” The girl’s face was blotched and tears misted her eyes. Immediately Allison knew that Cecelia had chastised the girl with the back of her hand, and Allison was sorry since she herself had sent Beth away earlier in the evening.

“Beth, I’m so sorry she struck you. I’ll speak to her.” Allison rose quickly from the bed and placed her arm about the girl’s shoulders. “I’ll explain that I sent you away.”

Beth sniffled and shook her head. “‘Twould do no good, Miss. Her ladyship cares little for the excuses of servants. Don’t be frettin’ over
a nobody
like myself.”

“You’re not a
nobody
! You’re my friend.”

Allison’s gentle tone caused Beth to smile. “You’re too kind, Miss, but now let’s be lacin’ you into your pretty party gown. Old Mag says your lover
awaits
below.”

“Do you think I will meet him tonight?” Allison asked eagerly.

“Aye.
I never doubt old Mag.”

“But how will I know him? Most of the guests are friends of Aunt Cecelia’s.”

Beth giggled, her light brown curls bobbing beneath her muslin cap. “I think you’ll
be knowin’
him when you see him. Your heart will guide you.”

~ ~ ~

Strains of music drifted through the manor house as Allison shyly made her way down the stone staircase. She held onto the carved mahogany railing, feeling suddenly uncomfortable in the beautiful gown and certain that she looked years younger than eighteen. With her hair artfully arranged atop her head and secured with pearl combs by Beth, she hoped at least she wouldn’t be mistaken for a child fresh from the school room.

She entered the drawing room and smiled timidly as her neighbors and Cecelia’s acquaintances offered their best wishes on the occasion of her birthday. She spotted Constance Granger and wondered why she couldn’t be as self-assured and beautiful as she, even though Constance was a terrible flirt and, Allison privately considered, a bore.

“Darling Allison!”
Constance floated over and gave her an obligatory peck on the cheek. “How sweet you look—just like a porcelain doll on a shelf. I was just a few moments ago telling your aunt how peeved I am with you! You haven’t paid Howard and me a visit in quite some time. Do drop by for tea soon.”

“I shall,” Allison replied, but knew she wouldn’t. She had always disliked the forced visits to Ballysheen Hall, because Constance always managed to humiliate her with veiled comments about her looks, and then Howard would try to impress her with his boring stories. She realized that Howard was truly fond of
her,
in fact he had been her one male friend for years. Perhaps her aunt was right—she should stop mooning over a man who didn’t exist and make the expected match with Howard Granger. Heavens knew she could do worse. “How is Howard?” Allison inquired.

“Wonderful as always.”
Constance conspiratorially took her arm. “I’ve recently met the most handsome man in the world. He’s a friend of Howard’s from Trinity College and was born in America! They should be arriving shortly, but I know I can trust you not to steal him away from me—you’re such a sweet girl. Paul is half in love with me already.”

Constance looked so smug that Allison wished to disarrange her raven coiffure and think of a stinging retort, but she was never any good at things like that, always thinking of cutting remarks hours later when it was too late. Suddenly she smiled, honey dripping from her voice as a thought came to mind. “How could I possibly want anyone of yours, darling Constance?”

“Ah … yes,” Constance replied, apparently caught off guard and not quite sure how to react. She turned to speak to her father just as Cecelia, solemn and stately, came to stand beside Allison.

“I trust you have put all that nonsense from your mind,” Cecelia cautioned under her breath. “Howard shall arrive shortly and I want you to be especially nice to him.”

“I am always nice to Howard, and yes, I have put Maggie’s prophecy out of my head.” Allison gritted her teeth together in a false smile. How she hated being ordered what to think.

“Good,” Cecelia said, not quite convinced, but she left Allison to greet her other guests.

Allison took a sip of her first glass of champagne and sighed, suddenly disheartened. She looked around at the guests, all so pompous, so frivolous-and
so dull
! She decided that old Maggie must be wrong. There was no one there for her. She glanced towards the doorway and saw Howard Granger, and it was then that she saw
him.

He entered the room and stopped, watching her with eyes the color of a velvet black sky, almost as if he knew she would be there. Suddenly the sea of people parted, forming a pathway from her to him. The chatter, the laughter, the scent of many perfumed bodies ceased to exist. All Allison saw was him, and her heart cried out to him, “You’re the one! The one I shall love!”

The man followed Howard to where she stood, and she barely heard Howard’s voice droning in her ears or realized she was answering his polite questions. She was only aware of those black eyes boring into hers, and when Howard at last introduced him to her, his name echoed through her mind and engraved itself upon her heart.
Paul
Flanders. Paul Flanders.

When Paul’s sandy head bent towards her hand and his lips brushed her flesh, her skin felt so warm that she thought she burned with fever. “I trust your birthday has been a happy one,” he said in a deep rich voice that caused her heart to race.

“Very pleasant, sir.”
She conversed naturally with Howard then, but she would never remember their conversation. She only knew that Paul Flanders watched her and appraised her and didn’t find her lacking. For the first time in her life she felt almost pretty. The enchanted spell broke when Constance sidled up to Paul and possessively touched his sleeve.

“Paul, I’m quite perturbed you’ve not noticed me yet.”

He smiled at the petulant young woman. “It’s hard not to notice such a beauty as yourself.”

Constance giggled her delight. “You are a darling. Now let me show you off a bit to the ladies. Allison won’t mind.”

Allison’s spirits plummeted as he walked off with Constance, leaving her with Howard, who proceeded to find himself a glass of champagne and engaged in a lengthy conversation with a portly banker. Allison caught a glimpse of her slight reflection in the glass of the veranda doors and realized what a fool she was. She must look like a child to a man as handsome as Paul Flanders. How silly of her to believe she could hold such a man’s attentions when clearly he preferred voluptuous women like Constance.

Oh, what was wrong with her? She shouldn’t have listened to Old Mag. Tears of disappointment stung her eyes and she rushed through the doors onto the terrace, certain that no one cared or would miss her. Her misty gaze encompassed the dark fields. Once again she felt like a timid mouse. What had happened to her under Paul’s penetrating stare? For a moment she had felt beautiful and desired.

She shook her head to drive away the distracting thought. He had been kind to
her, that
was all. “It’s all ridiculous. I wish this party were over!” she said aloud.

“I don’t,” said a deep voice behind her.

Her heart thrummed because it was his voice. She found herself unable to turn around and face him. When he stood beside her, she felt rather than saw him in the darkness
.

“I hadn’t realized anyone was outside,” she said lamely.

“I apologize for not making my presence known earlier, Miss Fairfax. It’s a lovely night and your birthday ball. I can’t help but wonder why you seem so upset.”

“I—am not upset.”

“I’m pleased to hear that. I thought that as the guest of honor you would start the dancing. I would be most disappointed if I were not one of your dance partners.”

“You really should dance with Constance.”

He turned her face to his and before she was aware of it, he gently wiped a stray tear from her cheek. “I should like to dance only with you.”

His tender touch burned like fire. No man had ever touched her like that or looked at her with such passion in his eyes. The smoldering desire reflected in those dark orbs drew her sapphire gaze up to his. He towered over her by more than a foot, and Allison felt ridiculously small as he drew her gently against the broadness of his chest. She possessed no will of her own, no inclination to pull away and pretend she was properly outraged at the liberty he had taken by holding her thus. Somehow she felt that she belonged in his arms.

He smelled of tobacco, a slight trace of whiskey and an unfamiliar, male musky scent. Part of her wondered why she didn’t berate him for accosting her on the veranda as though she were a woman used to having a man’s arms around her; another part also wondered if he could hear the frantic beating of her heart beneath the silken bodice of her gown. From inside the ballroom she heard the lilting sounds of the harpsichord. Paul began to sway slightly to the melody.