When the Splendor Falls (18 page)

Like the seductive murmuring of a cool mountain stream, reach out to touch, to capture, but the water remains elusive, slipping through your fingers
, his sister had been fond of saying. The girl had mounted the mare and was galloping toward the safety of the trees—each hoofbeat taking her out of his reach.

Neil smiled. “We’ll meet again,” he spoke softly. Getting to his feet, he made his way back toward the stream and his possessions. Taking the blue silk stocking from his pack, he held it up to the light. It was soft and delicate and fragrant, and it was his possession, along with the blue ribbon he had just won, and soon so would be the young woman who had worn it, he thought, preparing to track her down.

Six

Sensations sweet,

Felt in the blood, and felt along the heart.

William Wordsworth

Leigh lightly placed her fingertips to her mouth. Still tender from his kiss, her lips were sensitive to the touch. Her very first kiss, Leigh thought in wonderment, and from a stranger.

“Oh, Lord!” Leigh murmured.

Thinking of the stranger, Leigh suddenly remembered what she had done to him. Her last sight of the stranger had been of him bent over double, pain racking his lean body. Guy had taught her well, perhaps too well, she worried, for even if the stranger had deserved so punishing a blow from her raised knee, she hoped she had not crippled him.

Then her mood changed. How dare he kiss her, she fumed, fanning the fires of indignation and outrage that had been strangely slow to burn earlier, but the more she fueled her anger, the more she remembered the rough feel of the stranger’s mouth against hers, his hands moving over her body as if he’d the right to touch her so intimately.

Leigh drew in her breath, exhaling on a shudder as she glanced down at her breast and felt again the pressure of his hand against its softness. She blushed wildly as she remembered his thumb and the surprising way her nipple had risen into hardness beneath it.

Shakily, Leigh rubbed her hands over her hips, smoothing the creases from her gown, then wished she hadn’t as she remembered yet again the stranger’s touch and the manner in which he had held her against him.

Leigh closed her eyes in confusion, wondering what had happened to her. What had the stranger done to her in that instant in the woods when he had kissed her?

How could she ever face her family again? she despaired. Surely they would all see the guilt written across her face in flaming colors, and know the traitorous way her body had betrayed her to the stranger. That was the most damning remembrance of all—she had responded to his kiss. How could she have? How could she have allowed herself to be fondled by a strange man? How could she have actually felt a strange, sweet pleasure firing her blood, making her heart pound deafeningly when he had touched her, held her close against the hardness of his body? And that had been why she had fled, not because she had disliked being held in his arms.

Why did she now remember so vividly the strange beauty of his eyes? She’d stared up into them, mesmerized, feeling herself pulled deeper into their depths.

But his eyes were deceptive. One moment the pale, gray-green color reflected a golden fire that must come from the heart, warming her in its glow, and in the next instant, they became crystalline, repulsing her with a coldness that numbed to the soul. And it frightened her, for she had been unable to resist either as she’d been drawn relentlessly into his embrace.

Leigh shook her head in denial, feeling the heat burning her scarlet cheeks. But she could not forget her shame. She had been too quick to pay her debt with a kiss, she accused herself, mortified by her actions. She’d never before felt such confusing emotions. Never before had her heart pounded so erratically, not even when she’d stood close to Matthew Wycliffe, or some other handsome, respectable gentleman of her acquaintance. When strolling along the Battery, her gloved hand placed lightly upon Matthew’s arm as propriety decreed, she hadn’t felt the almost breathless excitement she had when in the stranger’s arms. At least it was heartening to know that she did not fall into every man’s arms, she comforted herself, salvaging some of her pride and forgetting the pleasure she had felt in those arms.

But it was not supposed to happen this way, Leigh thought, frowning in contemplation of what had happened, unable to comprehend the import of the revelation she had yet to admit to herself. Love was supposed to come gently, nurtured by the customs of courtship, when a deep affection would grow between two people. There was a meeting of gazes, a brief look of recognition, a shy glancing away, then a soft smile of encouragement from the lady, followed by a polite comment from the gentleman concerning the unseasonable warmth of the afternoon, a remark certain to elicit a response in kind from the lady, which would lead into genteel conversation. And should they meet at a soiree, the gentleman would ask the lady to partner him in the next reel, then fetch her a refreshment after he had returned her to her chaperone’s care. He would be allowed to sit next to her on the settee as she languidly fanned herself and lingered over her punch with a graciousness of manner. Chaperoned carriage rides in the golden glow of late afternoon. Strolls through the fragrant gardens with aunts and uncles hovering within earshot like busy bees. Delicate nosegays of violets, ribbons, and lace and sweetly penned poems declaring undying devotion would be delivered to the demure young woman from her ardent admirer. Invitations accepted, and attended together, to a barbecue or fish fry, followed by an invitation from the lady’s approving parents to stay over the weekend at the family’s home and then attend Church with them on Sunday. The gentleman would accept, and shortly thereafter, he would ask for the young lady’s hand in marriage. Soon would come the expected announcement of an engagement, the festive year of parties to fete the happy young couple, and finally, the nuptials that would follow in springtime.

That was the way it was supposed to happen, the way her mother had been courted by her father, and Althea by Nathan, and Thisbe by Stuart James, who had even traveled to Philadelphia during their courtship. And how Matthew Wycliffe had been courting her in Charleston and since her return home to Virginia. It was all very civilized. One had to go about love in the proper manner, Leigh reminded herself, pleased with the thought for a moment, until another, far less comforting realization came to her.

Love…?
No, Leigh shook her head vehemently, unable to believe such an incredible notion. No, it could never have happened. Not so suddenly…not so unexpectedly…and not so unacceptable. She was going to marry Matthew Wycliffe. Matthew was the man she loved. He was the man she wanted for her husband, the man she wanted to be the father of her children, the man she wanted to spend the rest of her life with—and the man her parents would approve of. For who was this man, this stranger who had entered her life with such destructive force, causing her to forsake all that she held dear in mind and body when close to him? Since first seeing him she had been unable to forget him, or the vision of his body bathed golden by the sun. She knew nothing about him—not even his name.

And yet, how could he be the half-savage Jolie believed him to be when he wore a gentleman’s attire as if well-accustomed to the feel of fine linen against his sun-bronzed skin, and his voice, despite a slight drawl, had been soft and cultured, each word spoken with the eloquence of a well-educated gentleman of leisure. He must be a gentleman, and yet…

“So there you are!”

Leigh drew in her breath sharply and spun around in surprise.

“We thought you’d been kidnapped or even worse!” Blythe said as she ran into their bedchamber, her voice breathless. “You disappeared without a trace. And then Stephen couldn’t be found anywhere. You should have heard the ruckus. It woke Julia and me up. And then Nathan, half-dressed, with Althea right behind him, and whiter than her nightdress, came charging out of their room and Guy nearly knocked Julia down when he banged open his door and ran out, waving a pistol in his hand, and that caused Julia to scream. Although, I suspect it was seeing Guy in his nightshirt that really set her reeling. And then Noelle started crying and we had to stop and see to her, and then we were all coming down the stairs, when Mama and Jolie, carrying her big basket of smelly medicines, came in the back. Jolie was so startled she dropped the basket and one of the bottles, that disgusting dark green bottle with the cod-liver oil in it, broke and the most sickening odor started climbing up the stairs. And there was Papa, still dressed in his evening clothes, and barefoot and unshaven, his hair ruffled on end, standing in the middle of the foyer and dripping gravy all over the rug and demanding to know where the devil Stephen was. Papa had been in the dining room, actually trying to serve himself, because there was a sticky trail of gravy all the way back into the room, and every time he demanded where Stephen was, he shook the ladle of gravy all over everyone. I thought Mama was going to faint. And then Althea made a strange gurgling noise and ran back upstairs, only she didn’t quite make it because I heard her getting sick on the landing. And you’ll never guess what happened to Stephen! He got himself locked up in the cellar by mistake,” Blythe said with a laugh as she perched on the foot of the bed, swinging her feet back and forth, almost giddy with excitement. “That was what awakened us all. There had been this awful banging and faint cries for help. While we were standing there, trying to figure out what had happened to you, because Julia had suddenly cried out that you were missing, and that it was a slave uprising and we’d all be murdered in our beds, it all started again. The banging and cries for help, only louder this time. Papa was about to grab Grandpapa Travers’s fowling piece, thinking one of Guy’s hounds had cornered a rat in the cellar, but Guy said you were probably stuck up a tree, when Jolie stomped past Papa saying the ol’ fool had finally gone and done it this time. For an instant, Papa had the funniest look on his face, especially when Jolie grabbed the gravy ladle out of his hand. I think he thought Jolie was talking about him,” Blythe said, tears starting to fall from the corners of her eyes as she laughed even harder, her slender shoulders shaking with mirth.

She frowned slightly when Leigh didn’t laugh too, as she normally would have. Instead, her sister turned her back on her and resumed rummaging through the high chest of drawers.

“I don’t mind, Leigh, but those are my chemises you’re wrinkling so thoroughly,” she said, watching curiously as Leigh pulled out two different shades of stockings, unaware that they did not match as she tossed them over her arm. “I haven’t gotten much of a bosom yet, not like you, so my chemises will probably be a little too tight for you now. And I don’t know what Mama will say when she sees you wearing one pink stocking and one blue stocking. Although, after what happened earlier, I doubt it’d seem in the least bit strange, after all, there were even two corn bread muffins in the centerpiece. I couldn’t tell if Stephen was laughing or crying, though his eyes were tearing up, when he saw those two corn bread muffins,” Blythe added, shaking her long ponytail in dismay for this had turned out to be a most unusual morning, and she wouldn’t be at all surprised by what might happen next.

Leigh turned around and stared at Blythe as if she were seeing a stranger in her bedchamber instead of her little sister.

“Your chemise and stockings are on the chair,” Blythe reminded her, gesturing toward the lacy underclothing and silk stockings that had been neatly folded and placed on the chair by someone earlier. “And your good muslin, the mauve-striped one, is hanging in the clothes press. I gather that is the one you intended wearing, and you’d better change into it before Mama finds you in that old blue gown that even I couldn’t wear now. You’ve got some explaining to do, because she didn’t look in the least bit pleased to learn you’d gone out so early and without your hat, because it was sitting right there on the hall bench beside hers. But Stephen said he’d made you eat a proper breakfast. And then Jolie grabbed hold of me, Leigh, those yellow eyes of hers glowing, truly, they were, and she made me promise to tell her as soon as you returned,” Blythe confided. “Why do you think she wanted to know?”

But Leigh didn’t hear her.

Blythe frowned, and jumping off the bed, she hurried over to Leigh’s side. Pressing the back of her hand against Leigh’s cheek in concern, she opened her mouth in surprise. “I think you’ve got a fever, Leigh. Your cheeks are burning. And your lips look kind of puffy and red. You didn’t get stung by a wasp, did you? Do you feel sick? I think you’ve even got chills. You’re shivering slightly. I’d better get Mama. Maybe it was something you ate, like Althea. Mama said it’s the morning sickness. I hope we all don’t come down with it. Do you think you have it, Leigh? I wonder how you got it. I’ll have to ask Mama. But I don’t think it is too serious, not like swamp fever, because Mama didn’t seem too upset and Jolie was grinning from ear to ear.”

“No! Don’t get Mama,” Leigh said more sharply than she’d intended, but she didn’t want her mother and Jolie to find her like this. She wouldn’t be able to hide the truth from them, especially Jolie, who already knew too much. They would know she’d been kissed, you couldn’t hide something like that, Leigh thought, horrified as she grabbed the hand mirror from the dressing table and stared at her reflection. She did look different.

“I’m all right, Lucy, truly I am. I was out riding,” she said.

“Stephen said you’d gone down to the stables, but to go out riding so early?” Blythe demanded, thinking her sister must be feverish. “Of course, Julia does snore, so you probably couldn’t sleep anyway. I felt like stuffing a pillow in her mouth last night, and that was before she even fell asleep. I declare, Leigh, I’ve never heard anyone talk as much as she does, and half the time she doesn’t say anything. Thank goodness she’s still downstairs eating breakfast.”

“I had something to think about, and I wanted to be alone,” Leigh said lamely, looking down in amazement at the unmatched pair of stockings she held.