Southern Legacy: Completed Version Page 8

  “It won’t be all torture. You have Lieutenant Smythe, who has given his word to see to your comfort this evening.”

  “I thought you said that he would never do…being a Yankee and all.”

  “Mr. Whitney said your daddy would never agree. I myself think it would be a splendid arrangement.”

  Jo eyed her cousin dubiously. At first, she thought perhaps Grace Ann teased her, but the look upon her face said otherwise.

  “I do,” Grace Ann reiterated. “I believe the two of you would make quite a match. I met his parents in Newport last summer when Mr. Whitney and I visited the Dunlaps.”

  “I thought he lived in Philadelphia.”

  “You silly goose! The Smythes have a summer home in Newport.”

  “A summer home? Why then did you call him a poor relation?”

  “I said a poor Yankee soul. Heavens to Betsy, Jo! To be so intelligent, I do wonder about you at times.”

  The news struck Jo as strange. It bothered her. Why, she wasn’t certain. It shouldn’t matter to her a twit what Lieutenant Smythe’s financial status was. She doubted that his offer for her was nothing more than a moral shield for the Montgomerys’ honor…especially if he was as well-off as Grace Ann indicated.

  Of course, the lieutenant had said her dowry mattered little to him…but she had taken it to mean that it mattered little because he had no intention to marry her either…like Wade. It was no more than a game to either of them!

  Then how could she explain her dreams, once filled with Wade, were now replaced this arrogant lieutenant? Deep in the darkness he came to her, embraced her, whispered words within her ear, his lips upon hers. She forgot everything around her when she had been in his arms…even Wade.

  Guilt raged within her. Shame. She was shameful to have allowed him to kiss her in that manner when she was heartbroken for his cousin! When had her life become such a tangled mess?

  Only a few days ago, Harry Lee had warned her. “Them Montgomerys are up to no good. I’m telling ya, Jo. Out for revenge they are. They blame your father for Douglas Montgomery’s death. Can’t trust ’em, not a one.”

  Of course, Harry Lee had been drinking when he uttered the warning. She didn’t trust him—she would never trust him—but there was truth in his words she couldn’t ignore. She had heard the rumors of Douglas Montgomery’s death, but had paid them no mind. Perhaps she should have.

  The carriage slowed to a stop. She had arrived, leaving her no choice. She would have to face the world in which she lived, pretend to be resigned to her fate and lull them with sweet sincerity.

  She thought her heart would burst it beat so rapidly. She whispered a prayer. She would need all her strength and courage this night.

  The door opened. Grace Ann exited first. Jo stepped out, and concealed her anxiety behind a façade of charm and smiles. Her cousin interlocked her arm with hers and the two walked up the steps together.

  * * * *

  The house had been transformed. The mansion shone brightly; candlelight illuminated from every window, carried outside with strings of Chinese lanterns. Laughter and merriment teemed throughout the mansion. It seemed the whole of the Low County had been invited for the event. The house brimmed with a bounty of guests, who trickled out into the lawn and beyond.

  A wide spread of food had been placed outside on the piazza for the convenience of the guests to eat and drink at their leisure. Tables and chairs had been arranged out of the flow of revelers. The elaborate meal had extended into the night.

  French champagne flowed, along with imported wines. The house blacks served the immediate needs of the guests, filled up empty glasses. A group of young slave boys paddle-fanned the food to keep flies and insects away from the food.

  The rooms carried the fragrance of all the potted plants that had been brought in for the occasion: gardenias, roses, hydrangeas, geraniums, and oleander plants. On the first floor, the furniture had been cleared out except for the chairs to allow room for guests to dance the night away. Old ladies had already staked their place to overview the entertainment. They prepared themselves to guard the young ladies for the evening, much like bears protecting their cubs.

  A bevy of maidens swirled around in their multitude of colors with lace shawls hanging around their arms. Fans spangled and dangled from their wrists. Their hair amassed on top of their heads in only the most fashionable chignons. Necklaces and earbobs glittered in the candlelight. Men attired to match their elegance for the occasion.

  In the first drawing parlor, a raised platform had been placed in the far corner for the orchestra from Charleston, a group of black musicians. Their mesmerizing music, a sweet melody, floated throughout the home. The room was crowded, hot and muggy. The players’ grinning faces already shined with perspiration.

  Cullen stood against the back wall and watched the dancers waltz. He sipped his champagne in a bottomless glass. No sooner had he finished his drink, one of the black servers would fill it. Lord, help him. That woman had his head spinning…though it well could be the champagne.

  His eyes fixed upon Josephine dancing with…what the hell was his name?… Taz Foster. She looked stunningly beautiful, all dressed in her glory. Her head tilted back as she laughed. The willful, stubborn woman!

  He drifted outside and leaned against a white pillar. He reminded himself to be patient. She had a part to play this night and had come well prepared. It became quite obvious that the Buchanans had circled around their own.

  A hush descended down on the festivities the moment the Buchanan cousins entered the house. It seemed that a sea of souls ebbed closer to observe the exchange between the newlyweds and the hussy who tried to steal the groom.

  Clarissa greeted her in the most stilted fashion…one that would have evoked more whispers…retreating from Josephine when she stepped up to congratulate the two. Wade watched helplessly.

  Cullen thought Mrs. Whitney was going to slap the woman, not that the woman didn’t deserve it. Clarissa well understood the ramification of such an action, but he had suspected she would have done so after their conversation last night.

  His words had fallen on deaf ears. She cared only that Wade had returned. Then the tears and fears of the night before were forgotten. Clarissa let her jealousy override her good sense. Instead of quietening the rumors, she was in danger of inciting more with her greeting of Josephine.

  It was an ill-thought-out revenge against Josephine. Clarissa underestimated a Southern family tie, for it was not only the Buchanans she had set to tarnish, but the Montgomerys as well. The Wraggs had maneuvered this marriage between their families, but Clayton Montgomery would not soon forget the manner in which it was forged…neither would Wade if Clarissa did not learn to contain her emotion.

  It was then that he strolled to Josephine’s side. “My dear, I have been waiting patiently for your arrival. You have been missed.”

  Her chin went up in defiance. A fire lit in her eyes and she smiled at him. “I’m sorry to have been delayed, but we are here now to enjoy the celebration.”

  Only when he leaned down to kiss her cheek did he notice her visible tremble. “Show no fear,” he whispered in her ear. “I will be by your side.”

  Her eyes softened on his utterance, but it had not come to be. His intent to escort her to the dance floor had been thwarted. Before he could speak once more, a group of young ladies swarmed Josephine.

  “I thought you would never get here!” His cousin, Charlotte, pressed through the people, along with Wade’s younger sisters, Jenna and Amy. “You look enchanting, I must say.”

  Josephine was swept away by an army armed with giggles and laughter, far stronger than whispers and rumors. Clarissa surrendered, having been given no other option, though Cullen noticed her grimace at the sight.

  He watched Josephine from afar. She had been surrounded by beaus on every side. It had not been as he had expected. The latent hostile crowd seemed bewildered, and then oblivious of her.

  Clayton Mont
gomery wandered up to him, drink in hand. “Come back in, enjoy yourself.”

  “I need some air.” Cullen stared down at his glass.

  His grandfather shrugged. “Do not frown. It seems the issue with that woman will soon be behind us.”

  Cullen’s head snapped up. “You arranged this?”

  “It needed to be handled. I won’t have one of my grandsons burdened with Brantley Wright’s daughter.”

  “No matter if it was your grandson who ruined her reputation.”

  “If it was not Wade, it would have been another with her sort,” Clayton went on. “Don’t fret. I will see to it that she is not shunned, if that weighs upon your conscience.”

  “With Taz Foster?” Cullen asked with thick sarcasm.

  “Much better than Buchanan’s solution of Holt Miller.”

  Unblinking, he stared at his grandfather. Taz Foster was a decent man…a teacher, Cullen thought he remembered. They were of the same age. He had heard the man had started up a school in Charleston for boys. A far cry from the landed gentry’s life Josephine had been accustomed to.

  There again, Holt Miller owned more than a couple of plantations, but he was a drunk with a temper. It was rumored his first wife’s death was no accident as Miller claimed…that in a drunken rage, he had pushed her down the stairs to her death. But no one dared challenge him on his assertion she had tripped and fallen.

  “I believe it should have been her decision. It will now be forced upon her.”

  “It is for the best. Your cousin, Andrew, isn’t hankering for it to go further and you can’t tell me that your father would be pleased if you brought home that vixen for a bride. I know you are an honorable man. I thought if I smoothed the horde of people readied to stone Miss Wright, you would be able to walk away with your head high.”

  Cullen studied his grandfather for a moment. There was more…Wade. He was protecting his own…Wade.

  “Grandfather, I believe I am capable of making my own decisions.”

  “You have always been pig-headed stubborn,” Clayton exclaimed, quite loudly…too loudly. Heads turned. He pointed his finger with the hand he held his glass. “I have always felt responsible for you…I want only to save you from a lifetime of regret.”

  “I don’t need you to do so,” Cullen said in a low, frosty tone. “I am my own man.”

  “As you will,” Clayton returned with the same coldness. “I raised you and failed.”

  “Why, Grandfather, why? Because I don’t believe in secession and won’t listen to such nonsense!”

  “When have you become an expert on the matter?”

  “Has it gone that far that we can’t disagree?”

  “Your mother…God rest her soul…wanted you raised as a Southern gentleman. I gave her my word.”

  “You kept your word, Grandfather,” Cullen said. His voice calmed at the mention of his mother. “I am who I am because of you…of living here at Magnolia Bluff. Give me credence.”

  “I do, Cullen. It is what I fear.”

  Cullen found he had no words. He downed his half-filled glass and walked away.

  In the midst of all the gaiety and music, Cullen drifted back inside to the dance floor. All the way across the room, his eyes lit upon Josephine. He grinned to himself as he watched her talk to Charlotte and her cousin, half-smiling behind her fan.

  Having felt his gaze, she looked toward him. Something in her eyes challenged him. One he would not ignore, though somewhere in his mind, a voice told him he should. Lord, he must be mad, but he had no willpower to stay away from her.

  A reel had only moments before ended. To his glee, the music began again…a waltz. Then from the corner of his eyes, he saw another man…that fool Holt Miller…walk toward her. He had enough with proprieties.

  With an air of utter assurance, he made his way through the crowd and stepped in front of Miller. With a slight bow, he extended his arm to Jo. Without a moment’s hesitation, she swept him a low curtsy and accepted his offer.

  His arm went about her waist and she smiled up at him…a dazzling smile. Her soft eyes gleamed with a mischievous twinkle. In the candlelight, they seemed a multitude of colors: green, brown, or were they dark as night?

  “I thought you had forgotten me.”

  “You have not been out of my thoughts all night. I have not been able to find a moment that you have been free.”

  “I am on display this evening, sir. Have you not noticed?”

  He glanced over her shoulder. She was not mistaken. The eyes of the ballroom were upon her: the pursed-lipped chaperons, anticipating any misstep; the ill-tempered girls, callously waiting to repeat malignant whispers; the gentlemen, biding their time in hopes of a brawl that would ensue.

  “I have eyes only for the most beautiful lady here tonight, my dear magnolia.”

  She blushed. “My word, Cullen, I did not realize you were such a sweet talker.”

  “Usually, I am not. It is the company I am keeping that has inspired me in a way I can’t explain.” He pulled her closer to him. “You dance divinely.”

  “Now I know you are teasing me,” she said, with another smile. “I do so enjoy the music. It is not often that I have been able to enjoy the activity.”

  “I cannot imagine you sitting alone on a night such as this.”

  Immediately, he regretted his words. He had no desire to distress her. Had she been kept back from social functions? How little he knew of her upbringing…

  “I do declare, Lieutenant Smythe.” She laughed. “You must know by now that I have two left feet. At least, it is what Grace Ann has told me. I have not minded watching others. As a child, one of my fondest memories is hiding on the banister and watching the dancers whirl by in our home in London. I remember Momma looking so beautiful and happy on Papa’s arm. It is one of my last memories of her.”

  “You surprise me. You do not seem the sort to sit back and let others enjoy life while you only observe.”

  “How well you read me,” she said. “I believe we all have our talents. Unfortunately, dancing may not be my best, but I have not despaired. I have been told my horsemanship is excellent.”

  “I would not disagree. I have seen you upon a horse. Perhaps we can go for a ride later next week.”

  “Are you asking whether I want you to come calling?”

  “Is it scandalous to say I would love to spend more time with you? Do not fend that you do know I find you fascinating. There are so many things I want to learn about you.”

  “You want to know more about little ole me? Most would rather I not mention the time I lived away from Charleston.”

  “Come, Miss Josephine, I eagerly await your tale. You forget I dragged you out of the Charleston Harbor at one time. I know what most do not.”

  “You are being quite wicked, mentioning—”

  “Perhaps I see you with different eyes than others in this room. I see a compassionate, lovely woman, who has more courage than most men I know.”

  “Oh, Cullen, I fear that courage is not a virtue that most mommas inspire to their daughters.”

  “I find I disagree with you. I believe that Southern women are not only born with beauty, but the same innate character as Southern gentlemen, only they do not flaunt this ability. Women do so with grace and style.”

  “You did not mention bull-headed.”

  “It is not a word I would use, but, yes, I have found a certain lady quite stubborn.”

  He drew her tighter to him. For a moment, neither spoke. Warmth surged through him with her in his arms. He wanted this lady…of that he had no doubt. He had from the first moment he saw her.

  What he was feeling he could not put into words: desire, passion…lust…he felt all of those, but this was more…it was a need. For once in his life, he accepted what he could not explain.

  The music faded. Cullen slowed his steps to a stop, but he did not release Jo.

  “I’m not letting you go from my side. I fear you will disappear,” he said.
“Would you, my lady, care to dance the night away with me?”

  “You, sir, are indeed a brave man. I will confess I have enjoyed myself immensely. I cannot think of a more enjoyable way to spend the rest of my evening.”

  “It will be my pleasure. Come, let us rest a few minutes before the next dance.” He moved her through the crowd. “I believe I see a spot…”

  A sudden jolt halted their conversation. Jo gasped. The front of her gown had punch running down the bodice. Cullen recognized the girl who held an empty cup in her hand. Maybelle McIntosh…one of Clarissa’s friends.

  “Oh, my goodness, Jo. I’m so sorry,” the girl uttered. “I should have been paying attention to where I was heading. I was deep in discussion with Peggy about the beautiful wedding. Such a handsome couple. Don’t you think?”

  The other girl beside Maybelle covered her mouth in an effort to contain a giggle, but not well enough.

  “Here, let me help…” Maybelle brought out a handkerchief.

  Jo pushed her hand back harshly. Cullen stepped between them.

  “I will see to Miss Wright’s needs. I believe you have done quite enough.”

  Cullen took Jo by the elbow, but not quick enough.

  Maybelle hissed, “The nerve she has! She lost one of the Montgomery men and has turned upon the other. Hussy!”

  Cullen glanced over to see Clarissa watching the exchange. She made no movement, but he noticed a slight smile emerge on her lips. Angered, Cullen would have liked nothing more than to wipe it off her face, but then it would cause more of a spectacle than had occurred.

  Momentarily, self-consciousness flashed across Josephine’s face. Her confidence shaken…the incident reminded the lady of her indiscretion and shame. On every step he took, he saw the light dim in her eyes; her face whitened.

  “Are you okay?” Cullen looked down at her with concern.

  She tried to smile, but failed. “Can you not see? They are whispering behind their fans.” She glanced in the direction of the old biddies who sat in chairs against the wall. “This is the moment they have been waiting for…to see my disgrace.”