The Lady and the Officer Page 7

  Shaking off the painful memory, she lifted her hand and rapped again. Within another minute the door swung open, and she peered into the face of a tall, dignified black man in full livery.

  “Good afternoon, madam. May I be of assistance?” He spoke perfect Queen’s English with a slight drawl.

  “I’m Madeline Howard. Is Mrs. Duncan at home? I’m her niece from Pennsylvania.”

  “Come in, ma’am. The Duncans have been expecting you. Both ladies are in the back garden. I would be happy to show you the way.” He stepped aside so she could enter.

  As he reached for her valise, Madeline saw his nostrils flare. “I apologize for the bag. The cloth still retains the smell of smoke.”

  “No apology necessary, madam. I’ll see that it is properly cleaned. My name is Micah if I may be of assistance to you.”

  Madeline didn’t hear him as she peered around the two-story center hall with a gaping mouth. A round table held a porcelain urn with an enormous arrangement of flowers. Below her feet was a highly-polished marble floor covered with a fringed Persian rug. Every item in the foyer seemed oversized and ornate, including the multifaceted crystal chandelier overhead.

  Micah cleared his throat. “Shall I show you to the garden, or would you prefer to rest in your room?”

  She briefly contemplated the coward’s choice. “Please take me to my aunt.”

  “Very good, madam.” The butler led her through a long corridor lined with portraits of ancestors, long dead judging by their garments. At the far end, a set of French doors opened onto a terrace of wrought iron tables and padded chaise lounges. Huge potted palms and hibiscus lent a tropical feel to the garden.

  Spotting her aunt doing needlework in the shade, Madeline quickly wiped her palms down her skirt. The years had been kind to Clarisa Duncan, her skin remarkably unlined at forty-two. “Mrs. Duncan?” Suddenly self-conscious of her appearance, she trilled like a canary.

  “Madeline! How wonderful to see you.” Aunt Clarisa dropped her embroidery hoop into the wicker basket.

  The pretty young woman sitting beside her sprang to her feet. “Do you remember me, Cousin Madeline? I’m Eugenia.” She extended a delicate hand.

  Madeline crossed the flagstones toward the two women. “I recall playing with a sweet child years ago. I’m pleased to see what a lovely woman you’ve turned into.” She clasped the girl’s fingers and squeezed.

  As Eugenia blushed demurely, Madeline turned to her aunt. “Mrs. Duncan, forgive my intrusion on your afternoon. I pray my visit was not wholly unannounced.” She bobbed her head in deference.

  Her aunt’s face warmed in the dappled light. “Mrs. Duncan? Please call me Aunt Clarisa the way you did years ago. And you are intruding on nothing at all. We were heartbroken to hear of your loss in your letter.”

  “It came just yesterday,” Eugenia interjected. “I could barely sleep a wink last night wondering how long your journey would take.”

  A wave of embarrassment washed over Madeline. “Oh, dear me. You’ve had but a day’s notice?”

  “Little notice was needed, my dear. We relish guests and always maintain preparedness in hopes of one.” Aunt Clarisa’s encouragement couldn’t have been more effusive. “Please, sit. You must be exhausted.” She gestured toward a chintz-covered chaise.

  Madeline perched on the edge of her seat nervously, even though plump pink and green pillows beckoned her weary body to recline in comfort.

  Aunt Clarisa shook a small silver bell next to her chair. “Your uncle and I were truly sorry to hear about the fire, Madeline. Couldn’t anything be done to save your home?”

  “Nothing. And had I not been rescued by a passing soldier, I would have died. I had taken refuge from the artillery fire in the cellar, but once the house caught fire, smoke filled the cellar so quickly I couldn’t breathe.”

  “Saints be praised,” Aunt Clarisa said softly, pressing a hand to her throat.

  “You were saved by a soldier? Was he riding a white horse like a knight in Merry Olde England?” Eugenia pulled her footstool nearer the chaise. “How romantic, Cousin Maddy.”

  Aunt Clarisa clucked her tongue at her daughter. “Why do you insist on reading dime novels when we have a library filled with Shakespeare and Dickens? And you are fixating on her rescue instead of the terrible loss of her home.”

  “I beg your pardon, Cousin Maddy.” Chastised, Eugenia cast her eyes downward.

  “What about your barn and horses? I remember from your mother’s last letter that you had married a horse farmer.”

  “It’s all right, Eugenia,” Madeline said. “And no, Aunt, the barn was spared, but it had already been picked clean by one army and then the other. I did have one horse left… after a fortuitous twist of fate.” Madeline chose not to mention meeting General Downing in her garden, calling on his headquarters to plead for Bo’s return, and then being pulled from the inferno by him. Young Eugenia would believe every single fantastic tale inside dime romances.

  Aunt Clarisa placed a delicate hand on her arm. “Well, you are safe here with us. All of that misfortune is behind you.”

  “Thank you, ma’am, and I will work for my keep. I don’t wish to be a financial burden on you.”

  Her aunt’s eyes grew as round as an owl’s. “You’ll do nothing of the sort. We have paid staff to handle our household needs. No family member of mine will lift a finger to earn her grits and ham.” She laughed merrily. “Ah, here’s our tea now.”

  The imposing butler carried a silver tray with delicious-looking things to eat. He set it down on a filigree table, straightened, and waited, clasping his gloved hands behind his back.

  “Thank you, Micah. Have you met Mrs. Howard?”

  “I’m pleased to make your acquaintance, madam.” He bowed in her direction.

  “And I, yours, sir,” murmured Madeline.

  “His wife, Esther, is our cook. You will have a chance to taste how blessed we are to have her this evening,” Aunt Clarisa said, smiling graciously at him.

  “Thank you, madam. Shall I serve?”

  “No, no, we will be fine on our own. That will be all.” Aunt Clarisa tilted a sandwich tray toward her niece. “Would you like something to eat? We have both salmon pâte and watercress. How about you, Eugenia?”

  “I’ll have one of each, Mama.” She fluttered a linen napkin across her lap.

  Madeline stared at the crustless triangles surrounded by seasonal vegetables of every variety. Someone had arranged the crudités by color. “Salmon, please.”

  As her aunt handed her a plate, a tall thin girl delivered a tea service to the opposite table. “Tea, ma’am.” The girl spoke with a heavy Irish brogue.

  “Please pour, Kathleen. You know how Miss Eugenia and I prefer ours. How do you take your tea, Madeline?” Aunt Clarisa handed a cup and saucer to the maid.

  “Just plain will be fine.” At the moment, she didn’t dare admit she vastly preferred coffee over tea.

  “Kathleen, this is Mrs. Howard, my niece and our guest. Please see that she’s made comfortable in every way.”

  Kathleen filled all three cups before responding. “How do, ma’am.” She bobbed her head while handing her the tea.

  “Very well, thank you.” Madeline shifted uneasily on the chaise, unaccustomed to being waited on. “Do you have many servants, Aunt Clarisa?”

  “In addition to Micah, Esther, and Kathleen, we hire a laundress and gardener for piecemeal work. Micah also drives Mr. Duncan to and from the office because our former chauffeur… moved north recently along with the other maids.”

  “We don’t have to worry about any more slaves running off because we have none left,” Eugenia added between bites of her sandwich.

  “Yes,” Aunt Clarisa intoned almost melodically. “Micah and Esther have been paid staff for quite some time, but Kathleen moved here from Ireland less than a year ago. She booked passage on a cotton factor’s ship on its way to Wilmington. When she came to work for us, we could barely understand
a word she said.”

  The maid refilled teacups and left the garden without acknowledging the conversation had centered on her.

  Madeline ate her first sandwich in three bites. Then without a thought to decorum, she devoured the second as quickly, not realizing how hungry she had been.

  Aunt Clarisa discretely placed two more sandwiches on her china plate. “Was your journey tedious, my dear?”

  “The trip by train wasn’t bad, but I didn’t care for our nation’s capital. The muddy streets were teaming with panhandlers. I had difficulty finding a room with so many people in town.”

  “It’s not our capital anymore, Cousin Maddy,” Eugenia said matter-of-factly, without a hint of pique. “Richmond is our capital now.”

  Aunt Clarisa angled her daughter a wry expression. Then she turned her attention back to her niece. “Were you forced to spend much time in Washington?”

  Her hunger somewhat abated, Madeline nibbled her third sandwich. “Four nights. I found a ladies’ boarding house willing to take me in the first night. It proved a blessing because I had to call on the war department four days in a row. Finally, an aide wrote me a pass allowing me to cross the Potomac into Arlington County.”

  “You waited that long?” Aunt Clarisa set her cup in the saucer. “Where, on a hard wooden bench in the hallway?”

  She nodded. “My name was put on the appointment list, but I daresay others took precedence over me.”

  “Where did you eat your meals?” Eugenia scooted her stool closer.

  “A woman sold sandwiches from a pushcart. They were twenty cents for jam and bread, forty-five for smoked ham.”

  “Dear me, you’ve suffered greatly to come here.” Aunt Clarisa stood with the bearing of a queen. “You must be exhausted. Eugenia, please show Madeline to her room. I’ll have more tea sent upstairs.”

  “But she hasn’t seen the rose garden or had a tour of the house—”

  “There will be plenty of time for that tomorrow.”

  Madeline stood. “I would like a brief rest before dinner.”

  Eugenia reached for her hand and whispered, “We’ll take the long way to your room.”

  “We usually dine at half past seven. You needn’t wear anything fancy tonight because it will be just the family,” Aunt Clarisa said, smiling warmly at her tired niece.

  “I’m relieved to hear that. I’m afraid a farmer’s wife has no need for ball gowns. I own day frocks and two good dresses for Sundays.”

  “Not a single gown?” Eugenia fluttered her dark lashes with dismay.

  “There were few parties in the small town where I lived.”

  “Have no worries,” said Aunt Clarisa. “We’re overdue for a trip to the dressmaker. It’s almost August. The social season is just around the corner. You must let me treat you to a few new gowns, my dear. It’s the least I can do for my sister’s only child.” With the matter already settled in her mind, she walked through the French doors, leaving the younger women alone.

  Madeline looked into Eugenia’s sweet young face and swallowed hard. Ball gowns? Aren’t these privileged Virginians aware that a war is going on?

  “Come with me and I’ll give you a quick tour of your new home.” Eugenia dragged her up the outdoor staircase to the second-floor gallery.

  With her traveling money exhausted, Madeline had no alternative but to smile at the daughter of her new benefactor.

  SIX

  LATE AUGUST

  What are you thinking, sir?” Major Henry asked, reining in his horse beside General Downing.

  James studied the lay of the land with his field glasses. From his vantage point on a grassy hillock, he could see nothing but unfenced pastures and scrub vegetation. “I think this is as good a spot as any. The higher elevation will allow our scouts to spot any movement of troops. We don’t want any surprise attacks from General Lee.”

  “Do you think he would try that, sir, after the whooping we gave him at Gettysburg?”

  “I think we would do well to not underestimate General Lee or General Longstreet.”

  “But they lost Pender, Barksdale, Garnett, and Armistead. Four generals moldering in their graves should make our job easier.”

  “Hold your tongue, Major! Some of those men were my friends at the academy.” James clamped down on his back teeth, never able to abide with disrespect.

  “Begging your pardon, sir, but the Rebs surely must need to bolster their regiments. More graycoats are lying in the grave in Adams County than our boys.”

  “Both armies are on Virginia soil now. Lee will have an easier time of filling ranks than us.”

  “True enough, but he had to send troops down to the Tennessee River to Braxton Bragg’s corps. He wouldn’t dare attack us now.”

  “General Meade had to send three divisions west as well. Nevertheless, I would welcome an attack by General Lee. Then we could finish this bloody business once and for all.”

  “We’ll be ready for him, sir.”

  James focused his field glasses on a cut in the western hills. “That tree line to the west is a good spot to place our picket line. We’ll make camp here east of the Rappahannock. The grazing is good, and we’re close enough to Warrenton to get supplies. As long as we maintain control of the rail line, we won’t be cut off from Washington. Keep a full regiment posted as guards at all times. War department dispatches and telegraph messages must be maintained.”

  “Yes, sir.” The major surveyed the area with his own glasses. “You think we’ll be stuck here all winter, out in the middle of nowhere?”

  “We’ll make camp, but I don’t think we’re finished with engagements for the season. General Lee may have slipped our noose in Pennsylvania, but General Meade won’t let the grass grow beneath our boots for long.” James shoved his field glasses back into his saddlebag. “See to my orders, Major.”

  “Yes, sir.” He snapped a salute and rode off in a cloud of dust.

  James pulled a cigar from his breast pocket. He only indulged in the nasty habit on rare occasions, usually when he found himself in a foul mood. Now happened to be one of those times. Nothing but headaches had followed his corps through Maryland into Loudoun and Fauquier Counties of Virginia. At least daily marches kept him too busy to fixate on the enigmatic Mrs. Howard. But when he closed his eyes for a few hours of sleep, it was her face he saw, and the scent of lemon verbena filled his head.

  He’d written her several letters, posting one each in Frederick, Purcellville, and then Middleburg. He prayed each night that one would find its way to Forsythia Lane in Richmond. Was her journey fraught with danger? Was she greeted with hostility in Jefferson Davis’s capital?

  He should have insisted that she stay with his parents in Philadelphia, but there had been little time to make the arrangements. And they had spent too little time together for such presumption on his part.

  If the Army of the Potomac stayed in this lush part of Virginia for a while, surely any reply she wrote would reach him. If only he knew her heart. If only she didn’t lose patience and faith in him after months of separation. Because he planned to do everything in his power to see his troops prevail. Then nothing… and no one… would stand in the way of his finding her again.

  Madeline slept for ten straight hours her first night in Richmond. Marching bands or exploding artillery shells couldn’t have woken her. Not that there were either of those on Forsythia Lane. The side street the Duncans lived on was blissfully quiet. Neighbors went about their business mindful of people’s privacy, as they did elsewhere in the country.

  Yet Madeline no longer resided in the United States. Virginia and eleven other states had withdrawn from the nation as they might have from a club whose rules they could no longer abide. Still, her aunt, uncle, and cousin, along with their staff, not only welcomed her but treated her like an honored guest. Aunt Clarisa insisted that Madeline treat the mansion as her home. But no house she ever lived in contained fourteen rooms, with servants’ quarters, galleries, terraces
, and two formal gardens. The Howards of Cashtown had never dined on china, crystal, and silver, or spent two hours at the table. She and Tobias sat down, said grace, and ate their food. Then they returned to chores after a brief exchange of news, such as ripening tomatoes or the foaling of a mare.

  That was not the case in the Duncan dining room. They discussed all sorts of matters, such as which bills were being debated in the state legislature or which candidates might run in the fall elections. Blessedly, the topic of war had been avoided during her first evening. After dinner Eugenia took her on a tour of all three floors, including the subterranean winter kitchen. The younger woman explained that two of the five staircases were reserved for servants. When Madeline asked if she ever just used the closest steps, Eugenia had replied: “Why, no. That never occurred to me.”

  After Madeline bid her cousin good night, she’d fallen into bed exhausted. However, her fatigue had nothing to do with the train ride from Washington. She wasn’t accustomed to being polite for hours. Two years of widowhood had turned her into a semi-recluse. Now that she was part of a family again, that had to change. For the next two weeks, Madeline studied the Duncans’ routines so she would no longer ask naive questions about the conventions of proper—and decidedly Southern—society.

  Aunt Clarisa’s excursions to the dressmaker consumed the better part of three days. First, they selected patterns and fabric from an impressive array. Next, they were measured down to the circumference of their wrists. Finally, Madeline had to try on every ready-made garment in the shop because her new gowns wouldn’t be finished for several weeks. Even the two she selected took a week to be altered.

  Each afternoon when they returned from shopping, after being poked, prodded, and stuck with pins, Madeline collapsed onto a chaise, grateful for a few hours to nap or read in the garden. Had she been home in Pennsylvania, she would have chopped, peeled, and cooked in a never-ending cycle of meal preparation. Here, the Duncans had servants for the tedious chores.

  Home… would she ever see Cashtown again?