Amelia (Southern Hearts Book 2) Page 14

  Full, Charles leaned back and patted his stomach.

  Others at the table did the same. Henri said, "That was one of the best Christmas dinners I've ever eaten."

  "Why, Henri, what would Dolly think if she heard you speak that way?" asked Alice in a chiding tone.

  "Fortunately, we will never know because I don't intend to speak that way in her presence."

  Laughter filled the room. Servants entered and removed the plates. Dessert was placed on the table and Cora reached forward. Amelia slapped her hand.

  Cora cradled it to her chest. "What did you do that for? I wasn't making eyes at Charles this time, so you don't have an excuse."

  Amelia's face flushed and she pushed her chair away from the table. "Excuse me."

  The men stood, sitting only after she'd left the room.

  Stephen leaned over and whispered, "Don't you think you should follow her?"

  "Why?" Charles asked, wiping his mouth with a napkin.

  "Because it is cold outside and she went without a cloak."

  "Stephen, are you trying to make a match between myself and Amelia?"

  "From the first moment she walked in on us in the stable."

  Charles drew his brows together.

  "Don't make that face. You know you love her. You've had feelings for her since the first moment you saw her. Why do you continue to deny it?"

  "Because, oh never mind. I've already told you a number of times why I have not, and will not, pursue Amelia."

  Stephen clamped a hand on Charles' arm. "I assure you my friend, she could not do better than you."

  Charles bowed his head in thanks. Pushing away from the table he excused himself and went to find Amelia.

  From a distance he watched Amelia pull her thin shawl tighter around her shoulders and shiver with each quickened step. She made her way to the stables. At least there the walls would offer her some protection from the chilly winds.

  He pushed the door and peered through the chink. She sat on a bale of hay, the ends poked into her skirts and she shifted.

  Charles prepared to step into the light and offer his coat, but she spoke.

  "Stupid hay. Stupid cold. Why must I run from the warmth of the hearth because of my sister? What is wrong with her anyway? She doesn't care for Charles. All she wants to do is drive me mad. One of these days she is going to regret being such a – a pain."

  Charles placed his hand over his mouth to stifle his laughter as the poor girl struggled to find an appropriate insult.

  She continued to mumble until her breathing stabilized. As a gentleman he should reveal himself by stepping out of hiding and offering assistance. He stepped forward. She picked at a piece of hay, and he quickly hid in a stall, while she spoke.

  "I guess I can't blame her. Charles is charming. Oh, and handsome, oh, so handsome. He is also thoughtful, respectful, considerate, and always there when I need him."

  Heat rushed to his cheeks, and his heart thumped madly against his chest.

  "How I wish things were different. That perhaps he wouldn't care if he lived here or elsewhere. If land didn't tie him down, if the responsibilities upon him didn't exist, then maybe we would have a chance.

  "But I couldn't be so lucky."

  She gulped, drew her shawl tighter around her frame, and wiped tears from her face. Charles leaned against the wall, laid his head back, and closed his eyes.

  Sobs wracked her body, but he forced himself to stay still. Comforting her now would only lead to further heartache. He couldn't offer her what she wanted.

  She'd walked past without noticing him. Hiding his presence was wrong, but revealing it wouldn't have helped. No doubt it would have embarrassed her.

  Gathering himself, he returned to the house, where Stephen met him at the door.

  "What in the world happened out there? Amelia's face is puffy and her eyes are red. What did you say to her?"

  "Nothing. I said nothing."

  ****

  Dinner table cleared, the family gathered in the parlor. A pine tree, almost as tall as the ceiling, sat in a corner decorated with candles and wooden ornaments.

  Amelia studied the tree. "Where did you come by these ornaments? They are like nothing I've ever seen."

  Stephen answered, "Charles made them."

  "What?" asked Amelia, surprised.

  "Yes, he is quite adept at woodworking. In fact the mercantile carries some of his work," said Stephen, proudly.

  Henri asked questions and Charles answered. Amelia studied the craftsmanship of each item. They mimicked stars, angels, and even a manger. Picking up the last ornament, Amelia gasped. Within the manger rested a tiny baby.

  Charles appeared and peered over her shoulder. "Do you like that one?"

  "Yes. The detail on this piece is extraordinary. Did it take you long to make?"

  Charles shrugged. "I don't really time myself."

  "And this one here? Was this one hard to make?"

  Reaching for the ornament, he brushed against her and heat rushed to her cheeks. She'd spent the night in a cabin with him all alone, yet the simplest touch made her embarrassed?

  She listened as he explained his process. The meaning of his words was lost as she closed her ears and focused on the movement of his lips. Did they taste like honey?

  Randomly, she blurted, "Do you like honey, Charles?"

  "Honey?" he asked, cocking one brow.

  "Yes," she said, bowing her head and allowing her hair to cover her flushed face.

  "I guess so. Why do you ask?"

  Yes, why did I ask? Finding an answer to her strange question halted when her father stood before them and spoke.

  "Tradition in our family has always been an important thing. Walter and I have talked about our families at length and we've decided that instead of opening gifts in the morning we will do them tonight. God has granted us this day, so we will make the best of it."

  Everyone agreed and found a place to sit. Amelia wedged herself between Cora and her mother on the sofa. Across from her Charles settled in a chair. He winked, and she dropped her gaze to her hands.

  Gifts passed around the room and Amelia worried her lip. Would Charles like the gift she'd bought for him? In the beginning her choice had seemed like a good one, but now she wasn't so sure.

  She opened her mouth to stop him from getting his gift but it was too late. Paper littered Charles' lap.

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  "I've shocked you," said Victor.

  "I – I—" stuttered Cassidy.

  "You're speechless, I understand. Human nature begs that man be altruistic. But from the beginning of time man has shown his selfishness, his desire to please no one but himself."

  "I don't believe you. I know you have a good heart."

  He reared his head back and roared with laughter. "A good heart? How ridiculous. My heart, as you put it, is as evil as the next man. It is just I'm better at achieving my goals than most."

  Cassidy stomped her foot, balled her fists at her sides, and cried, "I don't believe you. I don't. I know you! You love me! You want a life for us. That was why you asked my father for help–"

  "I courted you as a means to an end. As I said, I already knew of your father's position in the court and that by dating you I would have an open invitation to him. Simple, really."

  "No!"

  "Yes, my dear. Now if you will kindly leave. My servants have prepared a feast for me and I intend to consume it before it cools."

  "I will not," she said.

  Victor turned away from her. He grimaced. What more would it take to get rid of her? He'd told her he didn't love her. He admitted to using her. Most women would have run away without a second glance. He wouldn't take her down with him. She deserved better.

  Facing her, he placed a fake smile on his face. "If you do not leave peacefully, I will resort to force."

  "Then resort to force for until you admit that you love me and this is all a farce to get rid of me, I will not leave." />
  Victor fisted his hands and stalked from the room. In the hallway he could hear a faint echo of her curses. He covered his mouth to keep from laughing at her antics. She sure was a spitfire.

  Drawn like a moth to a flame, he reentered the room. She ran toward him, wrapped her arms around his neck, pulled him forward, and kissed him.

  Shaking his head, they came apart and he let her go. He asked, "What did you do that for?"

  "Because you still love me, and you needed it. And because it is Christmas and the only thing I want is for you to tell me the truth, which is that you love me," said Cassidy crinkling her eyes and nose.

  He hesitated. If he gave in, if he said the words, he could never take them back.

  She said, "I know your mother died when you were born. I know your father paid little heed to you until he sent you away to school. But they did love you."

  "They never loved me!" he screamed, his chest heaved with anger.

  "But–"

  "I tell you he never loved me. If he had then why did he give my inheritance to Charles?"

  "But that first will–"

  "Oh yes, the first will. The one I found buried under my mother's canopy bed. Yellowed with age and dated the day I took my first breath? Does that not seal it for you? Does that not tell you how little I was loved?

  "At first my father willed the property to me if Ray perished. I was next in line, but as time passed he changed his mind, and his will." Grabbing her by the arms, he shook her. "Why would he do that? Why would he love me then change his mind? What did I do to him to deserve it?"

  "I d-don't know," she cried, tears streamed along her cheeks.

  He released his tight hold and she stepped back. The dress sleeves formed to her arms and Victor knew she would have a bruise.

  "You need to leave. I'm not fit for company."

  "No. We need to talk about this. The question of your father's change of heart will not be answered this side of heaven. But I stand before you today professing my love. Will you not accept it?"

  He closed his eyes. Visions of Cassidy reclining on a blanket, visions of her sitting on a rock next to the river, of her studying an insect that carried away a piece of their food, visions of her smiling and laughing at him as he shared a silly story about his students… All those and more rushed in upon him.

  He fell to the couch, and she sat beside him cradling his head in her arms.

  "I - I don't know if I can," he said.

  "I'll help you," said Cassidy.

  Victor wept.

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  The lid creaked opened, and Charles pulled out a paper bundle secured with a red ribbon, a feather, and a button.

  He looked across the room at Amelia and she shrugged.

  Everyone around him opened their gifts. Nathan played with a toy wagon he'd made and put up for sale at the mercantile. Natalie cradled a cloth doll to her chest, trying to stick parts of it in her mouth.

  His present to Amelia sat unwrapped in her lap. He nodded in her direction but she shook her head. He wanted her to open it, but she refused.

  When things calmed, Charles carried his gift from Amelia over to where she sat unmoving on the sofa.

  "You haven't opened your gift," said Charles.

  "I'm too embarrassed."

  "By what?" he asked.

  "Over the silly gift I gave you."

  "Oh, this box of letters?"

  "Yes."

  "Why are you embarrassed? It’s a lovely box."

  "Agreed, the box is lovely, which is originally why I bought it, but I also bought it because of the letters inside," said Amelia.

  "Indeed."

  "I can't really explain it because it will sound crazy, but while I shopped, it seemed to draw me."

  "It did?"

  "You look at me as if I've lost my mind. Maybe I have, I admit it. But truth be told there is something about that box and those letters. I know you need them."

  "Then I shall take them and cherish them always."

  "And read the letters?" she asked, shyly.

  "And read the letters, but on one condition."

  "Charles, please."

  "Wait. You must agree to open my gift."

  "Oh," she said with a smile.

  Bent to the task, she tugged at the ribbon careful not to rip even one shred of the paper. The present sparkled. Amelia lifted her chin. Her jaw dropped and she covered her mouth with her hand.

  "Charles! This is beautiful."

  "Let me put it on you."

  "No, you can't. It is beautiful, but I cannot accept it," she said.

  "You can and you will. Now turn so I may place it on you."

  She complied and lifted her hair. The gold chain wrapped around her neck and the gem hung above the valley of her breast. The ruby encased in diamonds reflected against her olive skin.

  "It belonged to my mother. When Father bought it for her, she had sent him to the barn for a week."

  "How dreadful."

  He laughed. "Eventually she relented and allowed him to come back inside."

  "Charles, are you sure?"

  "I've never been more sure of anything in my life."

  ****

  The afternoon progressed slower than he liked. The twins fell asleep on the rug and Alice and Evelyn carried them to bed. Henri and Walter conversed quietly by the fire. Delia and Cora sat on either side of a table.

  "Want to play Faro?" asked Cora.

  Charles hid a frown behind his glass.

  "What's that?" asked Delia.

  "You have to promise not to tell."

  Delia pursed her lips.

  "Do you promise?" asked Cora.

  "Yes. Tell me."

  "It's this really interesting card game."

  Charles leaned against the wall and crossed his feet at the ankles. He said, "Delia, it's the biggest gambling game in the West. In fact in the 1600s France banned the game altogether because it was too easy for people to cheat. Does that answer your questions?"

  Delia ignored him and faced Cora. "Are we going to use coins? I have some in my room."

  Charles rolled his eyes and left the two youngsters to their game. On the balcony, Stephen wrapped his arms around Millie's waist and nuzzled her neck. Her giggle echoed across the stone and entered the open door.

  "They make the perfect couple."

  Amelia stood behind him. Charles didn't turn but stared out the window. "Agreed."

  "Sometimes I think about how they met and it still amazes me. A couple of letters made all the difference."

  "It did." He faced her as she smiled. He rubbed the back of his knuckle across her cheek and she closed her eyes and sighed.

  "I should go upstairs to bed. I have an early morning," Charles said.

  "Are you leaving?" she asked.

  "I'm going back to the cabin."

  "Oh. You know you can stay. I think Father and Mr. Green decided to accommodate all family traditions so we'll have family dinners on both days."

  "I guess that means the servants who ate with the family tonight will rotate with those who served?"

  "Precisely."

  "Genius."

  "They thought so." Amelia paused before adding, "So will you stay? I mean for dinner tomorrow?"

  As he stared at her he longed to say yes. He could stay, they could be married, have a slew of children and live happily ever after but he knew better. He had to remain in South Carolina whether he ever got his land back or not. It was his home.

  He shook his head. "Not tomorrow, my dear. I need to return to the cabin and check on a few things."

  "For Stephen?"

  "Of course, for Stephen."

  "Very well." She tiptoed and planted a chaste kiss on his cheek. "I assume you will return in a few days..."

  "Yes, I will."

  ****

  Before the sun rose, Charles left. Longingly, he stared at the Green house, the visit to return foremost in his mind.

  It didn't take long t
o reach the cabin using the shortcut. How people who passed the road never found the entrance still baffled him. But he was glad.

  Fog a foot thick lingered on the ground. He jumped from the horse and secured it in the stables. Outside, the mist moved to allow him entrance.

  Inside the cold cabin, he shivered. First he needed to start a fire. Then he would sit and look again at his present.

  He understood what Amelia meant when she said the box, the letters, they called to her. He had a similar experience. The feel of the wood, the smell of the aged letters, the noise the lid made when it opened. Something about it brought back memories. They sat there at the edge of his mind waiting to be discovered.

  Hot coffee poured in his cup and the pile of letters arranged beside him, Charles took a deep breath and prepared to tug the ribbon free.

  Silky green, the strand disintegrated into separate threads. Remorse filled him as he threw them into the fire.

  Carefully he unfolded the top letter. The pages crinkled and made assorted noises but it didn't tear.

  Pulling a candle as close as he dared he read:

  Vi, I think about you night and day. As I lay here waiting for the next excursion, all I can think about is the brief time we had together. I know your pa thinks I'm too old for you, and maybe he's correct, but when I get home, you'll be older and then it won't be quite the same. Then we can be free to love each other. Zeke, 1782

  Charles sat the letter aside and grabbed another.

  Zeke, It was good to hear from you today. Things here on the plantation are the same as always. Nothing ever changes. Pa tries to boss me around and tell me what to do and ma sits idly by and listens. One of these days I'm going to escape and run to where you are.

  I know you've told me not to come because battles are bloody and you can't take care of me but I promise you won't have to. I've heard rumors of young women leaving home and working in the medical tents. I know I can do it. Now I just need to get up the nerve.

  Keep yourself alive mister, because I'm coming. Vi, 1782