Nan Ryan (7 page)

When they were together, Dawson and Kathleen displayed the changes wrought by the mysterious magic of love in opposite ways. Dawson was unaware of anyone but Kathleen. He would sit in the drawing room of Sans Souci, his arm around her, looking only at her. If Louis Beauregard tried to engage him in intelligent conversation, he answered in polite, short sentences. He had little interest in anything or anybody but her and cared not at all who knew it. Including Louis Beauregard.

Kathleen on the other hand grew more talkative than ever, bending over backwards to act interested in what everyone had to say. She was animated and lively, spending endless hours discussing subjects that had never inspired more than a bored yawn from her before. Dawson listened to her endless chatter with adoring ears and one would have thought he was sitting at the feet of Plato, hearing pearls of wisdom from the master’s lips, instead of the giggly conversation of a sixteen-year-old girl. Everything she said or did amused and pleased him; she was amazed and puzzled that she did. She was totally in awe of her handsome, intelligent lover and found it almost unbelievable that he was in awe of her, too.

No two people were ever more in love than the innocent, beautiful Kathleen Beauregard and the reformed, handsome Dawson Blakely.

The night of November 10, 1856, was damp and cold in Natchez, Mississippi. Dawson stood in the foyer of Sans Souci in a long gray cashmere cloak, shaking off the chill of the evening. Daniel had let him in and was taking his cloak when Kathleen came down the stairs to meet him. Dawson looked up at her and drew in his breath. She wore a deep rose velvet dress with long, tight sleeves and the molded bodice was pinched in at her small waist and buttoned discreetly up to her chin. The ten-yard skirt billowed out and rustled over matching crinoline petticoats. Her blond, silky hair was tied up in a rose velvet ribbon and loose tendrils of its golden beauty escaped the ribbon and hung around her small face and on her neck. She was smiling at Dawson, holding up her skirts prettily and coming down to him. Dawson looked at her, smiled, and decided in that instant he couldn’t wait much longer to marry her. He had been patient long enough, he must have her soon or he would lose his mind.

“Darling,” she stood on tiptoe to kiss him.

“Hello, sweetheart,” he smiled, “are your parents home?”

“Yes, they’re in the library, shall we go in?” Kathleen took his hand and led him into the big room.

Louis and Abigail were gracious as usual to Dawson and their warmth made it easy for Dawson to tell Louis he had something on his mind.

“Mister Beauregard, I would like to have a meeting with you tomorrow, sir, if it’s convenient.”

“Certainly, Dawson, anytime you say,” Louis smiled and offered the young man a drink.

Dawson declined politely. “Then I shall come out at 2
P.M.
tomorrow, if you are agreeable.”

“Fine, Dawson, I’ll be looking forward to it. We’ll have the place all to ourselves. The ladies are planning a shopping trip, I believe, aren’t you, dear?” He looked at Abigail.

“Why, yes, we are. Kathleen and I are going into town for lunch. Then we intend to do a little early Christmas shopping, as well as look at some new winter frocks.”

“Mother, this is the first I’ve heard of it,” Kathleen looked at her mother, puzzled. “I’d rather stay here if Dawson is coming out.” She squeezed Dawson’s hand.

“Now, dear, I need your help. I want you to go with me and besides, Dawson wants to
talk
to your father.”

“Where are we going tonight, Dawson?” Kathleen leaned close to him in the back of the carriage.

“Darling, tonight I’m taking you some place you’ve never been before,” Dawson smiled mischievously.

“Where, where?” She loved surprises.

“You’ll see,” he said, refusing to tell her. It was a short ride across town and when the carriage pulled up to a stop in front of his big mansion, Kathleen was as excited as a child.

“Dawson Blakely, your house! But, why? I’ve asked to see your home at least a hundred times and you never would bring me here. Why have you changed your mind?”

He didn’t answer, just smiled broadly and helped her out of the carriage. The doors were swung open by a smiling, short black man who said, “Good evening, Miz Kathleen, Mistah Dawson.”

“Kathleen, this is Jim. He’s been with me for years and takes good care of me,” Dawson handed his cloak and Kathleen’s cape to the smiling servant.

“Pleased to meet you, Jim, but how did you know my name?” Kathleen held out her hand to him.

“Oh, Miz Kathleen, Mistah Dawson, he tell me all bout you. I feels lak I knows you already.” He laughed and disappeared with the wraps.

Kathleen turned and admired the huge hallway, its floor of black and white mosaic marble, which served as an art gallery with original paintings of masters dotting the walls, along with gold leaf mirrors. Dawson beamed and drew her into the large dining room on the left. Furnished in rosewood, it contained silver by Tallois of Paris, rare china, and crystal.

“Dawson, it’s lovely, I can’t believe it.” Kathleen’s eyes were big and full of wonder.

“Come,” he said, taking her arm and drawing her back across the hall and into the double drawing rooms. Kathleen admired the handcarved woodwork, ceiling rosettes of handmade plaster of paris, French hand-blocked wall paper, painted window shades. The furniture of rosewood was upholstered in antique blue brocade. There were Windsor chairs, a French piano in the corner, Aubusson carpet covering the floors. Venetian and Waterford chandeliers lighted the room. Kathleen drew in her breath and looked up at Dawson, “Darling, it’s absolutely beautiful. I had no idea your home would be so luxurious.” Dawson smiled and led her into the big library adjoining the drawing rooms. Gothic bookcases shelved thousands of books in the big room. “Dawson, have you read all these books?” Kathleen was impressed.

“Not quite,” he laughed. “I don’t seem to have time to read since I met you.” He took her arm. Behind the library, he showed her a card room with green felt tables scattered around and a long bar covering one entire wall. “I don’t use this room anymore, but we used to have poker games here often … before you came into my life.”

Dawson led Kathleen up the mahogany stairway, the most unusual one she had ever seen, its beauty outstanding. Down the long corridor, Dawson told her, “These are just bedrooms, guest rooms, I suppose,” and pointed to the many doors they passed. At the far end of the hall, he opened a massive door and took her into a gigantic sitting room. A roaring fire blazed in the room furnished in heavy mahogany furniture. The walls of the sitting room were of the same blue brocade she had seen downstairs. Dawson dropped her arm and walked to the double doors that connected the sitting room to his bedroom. He drew back the doors and invited her inside. It was the biggest bedroom Kathleen had ever seen. Another large fireplace directly across from the oversized master bed burned brightly. The room was filled with heavy furniture and tall windows covered two walls of the corner room. Blue brocade drapes were open, giving a breathtaking view of the lights below the bluffs and the Mississippi river.

“Dawson Blakely, this room is unbelievable. You can sit in your bed and look out at the river while you have your breakfast. I love it, it’s so, so …”

Dawson smiled and walked to the big bed and sat down. Kathleen stood at the windows looking at the lights below. She turned to smile at him and said, “Aren’t you going to put on some lights so I can see the room better?”

Dawson patted the bed beside him, “You can see the room well enough, the fireplace gives off plenty of light. I wanted a romantic atmosphere for what I have to say. Come here.”

Shyly, Kathleen walked to the bed. Dawson took her hand and pulled her down beside him. “What are you going to say, Dawson?” Kathleen was wide-eyed.

Dawson tilted her chin up, “Darling, I love you, I’ve loved you since the first moment I saw you. I want to marry you, I want you to be Mrs. Dawson Harpe Blakely.” He bent and kissed her lips tenderly.

Her arms went around his neck and she said, “Oh, Dawson, when? I love you, too; when do you want to marry me?”

“As soon as possible, sweetheart. That’s what I’m going to talk to your father about tomorrow. And that’s why I brought you to my house. It’s going to be your home now, so I wanted you to see it and start thinking about what changes you want to make. You can do anything you like with it. I want you to be happy.” He stroked the blond hair falling around her face.

“Dawson, I wouldn’t change a thing! It is the most beautiful home I’ve ever seen. I can’t wait to live here,” her eyes roamed around the big room, picturing how it would be to spend her days in the big mansion with him.

Dawson laughed, “Honey, I’m sure there’s some things you’ll want to do. The house is rather masculine. If you like, you can make this your room and do it over in a way that will suit you.” He pushed a strand of hair from her neck and kissed her.

“Darling, I want my room to be your room. I don’t want separate bedrooms. I want us to share everything.”

Dawson raised his head. “I was hoping you’d say that because I never want you out of my sight, my love. It’s settled. This will be our room and we’ll spend all our nights in this big bed.” He smiled and kissed her lips. Her arms tightened around his neck and slowly he eased her back and down into the softness of the massive bed. “My darling,” he whispered hoarsely as his lips moved to her throat. His hand left her waist and slowly moved up to the fullness of her breast. His fingers trembled as he caressed its curve through the soft velvet of her dress. Kathleen sighed and arched her body up. “I wish we were married now,” he breathed against her neck and pulled her closer. “I want you so much, my darling.”

“Oh, Dawson,” she murmured and pulled his mouth to hers again. Dawson felt himself losing control as her sweet mouth responded to his kisses and the room around them started spinning. Abruptly, he sat up. Her eyes flew open and she looked at him, puzzled. “Darling, what’s wrong?”

“It’s time for us to go, Kathleen,” he said shakily and rose from the bed. He ran a brown hand through his disheveled hair and looked down at Kathleen, her arms spread out on the bed, her breath coming fast. A smile came to his full lips as calm returned and he put out his hand to her. “Come on, darling, and remember, the very next time we are in this room, you’ll be my wife and we can stay right here forever if we choose.”

She rose and smiled. “You’re right, darling. And don’t you dare change a thing about this room, I like it just the way it is.” She walked to the door and Dawson followed, nodding his agreement.

“Hannah,” Abigail called, “we’re ready to go into town, where are you?”

Hannah appeared at Abigail’s door, “Miz Abigail, I knows I promised to go with you and Miz Kathleen, but I’se feelin’ mighty poorly today. I wonders if I could stay here and rest?”

Abigail looked at Hannah’s tired face and said immediately, “Hannah, dear, of course you may stay home. Now go to your room and lie down. You stay right there until we get back, promise?”

“Well, sho, honey. I jest stay in my room and take a nap. You have a nice trip and I sees you when you gets back.” She ambled off.

When Abigail kissed her husband goodbye, Kathleen was already perched in the carriage waiting for her. “Louis, Hannah is sick and she asked if she could stay home. But don’t worry, you will not be disturbed, she’s promised to stay in her room all afternoon.”

“All right, dear. Take care.” Louis kissed his wife’s cheek. Abigail went to join Kathleen in the carriage. Daniel coaxed the horses and they left, Louis waving after them.

At precisely two o’clock, Dawson rode up to Sans Souci on a big, black stallion. No one was there to meet him, so he tied his horse to the fence and came up the long walk.

“Dawson, come in,” Louis answered the door himself.

“Hello, Mister Beauregard. Did Kathleen and her mother go on their shopping trip?” He smiled winningly at the older man.

“Yes, we’re quite alone, Dawson. Come into the library, please.” Louis’ face was stern as he closed the double doors behind them. “A drink, Dawson?” He poured one for himself.

“No thanks, Mister Beauregard. I’ll come right to the point,” Dawson smiled and stretched his hands out to the fire. Louis walked to the fireplace and stood looking at Dawson. “I love your daughter very much, as I’m sure you know. I want to marry her. I promise to take excellent care of Kathleen and cherish her forever. I hope you’ll give us your blessing.”

Louis took a long swallow of whiskey and looked into the fire, his eyes dark and cold. At last, he raised his head and looked straight at Dawson. “Mister Blakely, you are not about to marry my daughter!” He drained the whiskey glass and waited for Dawson’s reaction.

“Mister Beauregard, I don’t understand, surely you must … what are you saying?” Dawson was taken aback, stunned at Louis’ harsh words.

“I’m saying you are crazy if you think I would ever let my precious daughter marry you. Can I make myself any plainer?” He looked at Dawson defiantly. At a loss, Dawson looked at the older man and struggled to find his tongue. Speechless, he just stared. “You are not fit to marry Kathleen, Mister Blakely. You won’t marry her, I forbid it!”

“How can you forbid it? Your daughter is in love with me; you must have known we were planning to be married.” Dawson’s words came out in a rush. “You have made me welcome here, willingly let Kathleen see me. What has happened to change your mind? You aren’t making any sense.”

“I never wanted you here, never. I’ve tolerated your presence because my willful daughter was fascinated with you. I thought she would surely get over it, but it seems that isn’t going to happen. She fancies herself in love with you, much to my dismay.”

“What have you got against me? What have I ever done to displease you? I love and respect your daughter, you know I do. All I care about is making her happy.”

Hannah lay on her bed upstairs, her tired eyelids drooping sleepily. She heard faint noises downstairs and opened her eyes. Voices grew louder and Hannah sat up. She strained to hear and wondered who was talking. She slowly rose and went to her door and opened it a crack. Puzzled, Hannah shook her head. No one was supposed to be home. Abigail had told her just before she left for town that Mister Dawson was not coming out today, that something had come up and the meeting had been postponed. So who was downstairs talking? Quietly, Hannah slipped down the stairs and what she heard when she neared the closed doors of the library shocked and hypnotised her. Hannah pressed close to the door and listened to the unmistakable, angry voices of Louis Beauregard and Dawson Blakely.