The Bride Fair Page 8

  “I don’t believe I see your father.”

  “My father is in hiding,” she assured him.

  She took him to the Kinnard woman first—a good indication of the pecking order, he thought. He already knew that Mrs. Kinnard felt her importance—as must her husband, given the number of petitions from him on Max’s desk.

  “And this is my daughter, Valentina,” Mrs. Kinnard said of the young girl next to her.

  “Miss Kinnard,” Max said. Valentina was striking; there was no doubt about that. She was the only one in the group wearing a new and decidedly fashionable frock, a pale gray and blue thing with black stripes. It was that as much as anything that made her a rose among the weeds.

  “You will come to our house for dinner soon, won’t you, Colonel?” Mrs. Kinnard asked. “At your convenience? Mr. Kinnard and I would be so honored.”

  “Yes, please do, Colonel,” Valentina said, lowering her eyes so that he could get the full effect of her long lashes. At the right moment, she looked up at him in a way that was so calculated he nearly laughed.

  So this is the “bride fair,” he thought.

  “I’m afraid that wouldn’t be possible,” he said. “As much as I regret it, I must strike an impartial pose and not seem to have particular favorites.”

  “Are the Markhams not your fav—”

  “Of course,” Mrs. Kinnard interrupted, squashing her daughter’s impertinence. “I did not think. Appearances are so important, because they are so easily misconstrued. But you will join us this evening then, Colonel Woodard—so that we may enjoy your company here? Perhaps even read for us?”

  He had every intention of outmaneuvering the Kinnards on this matter, as well, then abruptly changed his mind. It was obvious to him that Maria was annoyed by the entire business—and that alone was reason enough for him to choose to remain.

  He had a brief conference with Perkins—who looked very much like the proverbial fox in the henhouse—then returned to the parlor, allowing Maria to continue to make introductions all around the room and into the hallway again. He recognized a number of the surnames as being on petitions for favors like Kinnard’s. And one young woman’s name was the same as one of his officers.

  “Carscaddon?” he said. “I believe I have a Lieutenant Carscaddon.”

  “Lieutenant James Carscaddon is my husband,” she said, blushing.

  “Indeed? Well, I can see I must compliment the lieutenant on his excellent choice of brides when next I see him.”

  The blush deepened, and Maria moved him along to the next eager presentee. He kept glancing at Maria as they moved from person to person. She avoided his eyes at every opportunity. Clearly, she still considered this distressing gathering all his fault.

  “Will you sit here, Colonel?” she asked finally, showing him to a chair by Mrs. Kinnard.

  He took it, just in time for Perkins to arrive with a huge platter of neatly quartered oranges and a large bowl of sugar in case any were too sour to be edible—the United States Army’s contribution to the evening. Max knew oranges to be a rare delicacy in the town, and he sat there amid the exclamations of delight, feeling every pair of eyes on him—save Maria’s. She kept busy, opening or closing windows, according to the desires of the guests nearest to them, finding napkins to accompany the orange platter. He watched her closely as she moved about. She was wearing the black dress again—which must be her only good one.

  “Oh, my!” Valentina Kinnard cried next to him. “Forgive me, Colonel Woodard, but have you a handkerchief?”

  He glanced at her. She had made a pretty mess with her orange quarter, and she looked at him coyly. He found his handkerchief, one of several his mother had sent him, and gave it to her. But he had no interest in observing her dab her pretty mouth with it. He looked for Maria again. She was no longer in the room.

  “Colonel Woodard,” Mrs. Kinnard said, determined to keep his attention from straying.

  “Yes, Mrs. Kinnard?” he said, still trying to locate Maria.

  “I asked if you would read for us?”

  She was already pushing a green leather book into his hands.

  William Wallace—The Scottish Chiefs.

  He took the book and opened it where she directed. There was an immediate hush in the room. He hesitated, then began to read aloud to the wives, the mothers, the sisters of men he had likely wished dead many times over. The irony of the situation did not escape him.

  He was well into the jealousy Lady Mar felt for the beautiful Helen when Maria returned. She was carrying a large tray of mismatched glasses and a pitcher of water.

  He kept reading.

  “‘Wallace will behold those charms!’ cried her distracted spirit to herself, ‘and then where am I?’”

  He glanced up at Maria just in time to see her sway. She fell forward, hitting the floor hard amid the shrieks of alarmed women, the clang of the serving tray and the shattering of glass.

  Chapter Six

  “Unlace her!”

  “Colonel—”

  “Unlace her, damn it!”

  “We can hardly do that with you present!”

  “Get out of the way, Mrs. Kinnard. You! Mrs. Carscaddon! Come with me!”

  The voices swirled around her, and Maria felt rough wool against her cheek. Rough wool that smelled of tobacco and leather and the out-of-doors.

  “Billy,” she whispered, pressing her face into it, savoring the warm feel of him. “Billy—”

  He lifted her up, and she leaned into him, giving herself up to the sensation of being held close. She tried to say that she was so glad he was here, but the words wouldn’t come.

  Then she was in her own room, lying on her bed, and Ceily Walker, now Carscaddon, was removing her stays. Maria took a deep breath to fight down a ridiculous urge to cry. Billy wasn’t here. He would never be here again.

  She tried to sit up. Her head swam so she couldn’t manage it.

  “Maria, lie still—”

  “What…is it? What’s wrong?”

  “You’ve swooned in the middle of The Scottish Chiefs, that’s all. I think you were laced too tightly.”

  Maria closed her eyes. “Yes,” she said, grateful for an acceptable excuse.

  So much better than the real one, she thought. She gave a wavering sigh, then suddenly tried to sit up again.

  “The literary society…I must—”

  “The literary society is long gone. Colonel Woodard certainly is a forceful man. When he wants the premises vacated, vacated they are. No wonder James is scared of him. The colonel has sent for the regimental surgeon—”

  “No!” Maria said in alarm, trying to get up in earnest now. “I’m quite all right.”

  “Don’t worry, Maria. I’ve met the doctor on several occasions. He really is a nice man—”

  “No. I can’t. I won’t. Ceily, please!” Maria managed to sit on the side of the bed after all.

  “Maria—”

  “Please!”

  Ceily gave a sharp sigh. “I think you’d better tell the colonel, then. In the mood he’s in it shouldn’t come from me—for James’s sake. Are you all right sitting there?”

  “Yes. Yes, I’m much better now. Am I decent?” she asked, looking down at her dress.

  “Well, almost—” Ceily said, helping her button up. “And I think you’d better just sit there and let Colonel Woodard come to you. I’ll fetch him—you practice not falling on your face.”

  “Ceily,” Maria said when she was about to open the door. “Thank you.”

  Ceily Carscaddon smiled the smile that must have led Lieutenant James Carscaddon directly down the path to matrimony. “You’re welcome, Maria. I would have helped you any way I could—but you should have heard the colonel barking orders at me. I think he had me confused with James. Oh, and Mrs. K. is all irked,” she added, lowering her voice.

  Maria all but cringed at the news. “Why?”

  “Because the colonel wouldn’t let her say what was to be done with you
. He took charge—and he volunteered me. You certainly stole Valentina’s thunder, I can tell you. Valentina thinks you did it on purpose—so that the colonel would make a fuss over you. She was not happy—my guess is because she didn’t think of it herself.”

  “I didn’t faint on purpose!”

  “Well, of course, you didn’t. You toppled like a felled oak tree. It’s a wonder you didn’t really hurt yourself. You’re very lucky, Maria. I’ll be right back. Are you sure you’re all right sitting there?”

  “Yes,” Maria said, in spite of the throbbing in her head. But whether she was or not, she couldn’t let herself be examined by a doctor.

  She took a deep breath and waited. She didn’t have to wait very long—just long enough for it to occur to her that perhaps she shouldn’t be sitting on her bed when she spoke to Colonel Woodard.

  But the realization came too late. He strode into the room without knocking—before she could move—and he had no compunction whatsoever about coming very close and peering into her face.

  “Are you all right?” he asked, still staring at her.

  “I’m fine,” she answered, her voice shaky in spite of everything she could do. “I don’t need a doctor.”

  “I believe what you mean to say is that you don’t need our doctor.”

  She looked at him. “Yes.”

  “You’ve got a knot on your head.”

  She instinctively reached up to touch the place on her forehead that hurt.

  “It’s nothing.”

  “It looks like something,” he assured her.

  “I don’t want your help!” she cried. “How difficult can this be for you to understand!”

  “I understand,” he said quietly. “Even so, the regimental surgeon will be at your disposal…should you require him. If you’re feeling up to it, I think you should speak to your father. He is very concerned about you.”

  “Yes. I will. Thank you,” she added as a token afterthought—mostly because she wasn’t entirely sure what he’d done, other than alienate Acacia Kinnard. She wasn’t worried about Valentina. Valentina hadn’t come into her own yet.

  When the colonel had gone, Maria gave a heavy sigh of relief and lay back on the bed. If there was anything good about this situation, it was that Suzanne’s boys weren’t here. She’d never manage looking after them in her present state. Her head pounded so, and she closed her eyes. She would go see her father in a moment.

  Or so she thought. She awoke with a start, not knowing what had awakened her. She had no idea what time it was; the room was completely dark. In spite of the warm night, someone had covered her with the velvet quilt that had been folded and placed on the cedar chest at the foot of her bed. Her father, she supposed. He used to do that when she was a little girl and fell asleep in his chair. It was likely the only thing he knew to do for her, and for a brief moment she had to fight back the tears again.

  Soon.

  She would have to tell him soon.

  She pushed the quilt away, and perhaps she drifted off to sleep again—she didn’t know. She thought she heard someone call out, and with some effort, she sat up on the side of the bed. The dizziness had gone, but her head still hurt, and she was so thirsty. She got up and tried to find her shoes, finally giving in to the pounding in her head and abandoning the search. Her hair was coming undone, and she took out the remaining pins and raked her fingers through it before she stepped bare-footed into the hall.

  The house was very quiet. If it had been even a few years earlier, she would have been able to hear the grandfather clock that had stood for as long as she could remember in the downstairs foyer by the front door. But it was gone now, like so many other things, and so many people. All of them gone, leaving nothing but silence in their stead.

  Colonel Woodard’s door was firmly closed. Maria had no way of telling if he was there or if the latest disruption in the Markham house had driven him back to a hotel. If it had, then it served him right. She couldn’t help but feel a certain satisfaction that he had erred in his assumption that a household consisting of an old man and his spinster daughter would be peaceful and serene.

  Maria slipped down the hall to her father’s room, opening his door slightly and listening. He was snoring softly, and she stood there for a time to make certain all was well.

  She closed the door again and felt her way along the hall to the back stairs. The steps creaked as she went down into the kitchen. Her father was not a heavy sleeper, but she didn’t make enough noise to disturb him.

  The back door had been left open; she hadn’t realized that it was raining. She could hear it pattering on the stepping stones outside. She stood for a moment looking out into the darkness and listening to a lone frog croaking in the meadow beyond. She could hear a rumble of thunder as well. A storm coming, she thought.

  She couldn’t see any activity in the yard where the soldiers were camped. If they were keeping any kind of watch, she saw no evidence of it. Lightning flashed on the horizon, and the ensuing thunder sounded nearer. She pulled the door closed and latched it, then fumbled around in the dark until she found a small piece of candle to light. As long as she was downstairs and wide-awake, she wanted to see what state the parlor had been left in.

  She saw a plate covered with a frayed but crisply starched napkin on the worktable. Oranges left over from the Ladies’ Literary Society meeting. She was more thirsty than hungry, but she ate two of the pieces, pushing aside a nagging realization that she was accepting the colonel’s charity, after all.

  Colonel Woodard.

  What an unfathomable man, she thought, reaching up to touch the swelled place on her forehead. It still hurt.

  She picked up the candle and walked to the parlor doorway and peered inside. To her surprise the room was in perfect order. No overturned furniture or scattered orange peels. No broken glass. She supposed that her “thank you” to Colonel Woodard earlier had been appropriate, after all. If Acacia Kinnard had indeed been upset by the situation, Maria doubted that any of the literary society would have remained to set things right. It naturally followed that he must be responsible. He must have assigned Perkins to cleanup duty. Hopefully, he hadn’t conscripted poor Ceily into helping, as well.

  When Maria stepped out into the wide hall hallway, she heard a noise upstairs. She waited, unsure of what it was. It came again—a voice—someone calling out.

  It was not her father—it had come from the front of the house. She climbed the stairs quickly and rushed down the hallway, but she stopped short of knocking on Colonel Woodard’s door. And she didn’t take the liberty of simply opening it. She had no right to enter his bed-chamber, regardless of the precedent he had set earlier when he’d barged into hers.

  She stood listening, hearing nothing. When she was satisfied that the episode—whatever it might have been—was over, she stepped away, her bare feet making no sound on the cool wood flooring.

  Maria walked quickly to her father’s room to make certain he had not been disturbed and was halfway to her own door when she heard Colonel Woodard again.

  “There! Get him! Get him, damn it! Watch…watch him—bring him down! Somebody bring the son of a bitch down!”

  Maria looked in alarm toward her father’s bedchamber. Surely he must hear. Something overturned inside the colonel’s room, making a loud crash. She threw open the door and stood there, shielding the candle flame from the sudden draft with her hand.

  The table at the bedside had fallen over. A tall candlestick and several books lay scattered on the floor. Colonel Woodard sat on the side of the bed, breathing heavily, staring straight ahead. He was dressed—except for his tunic. His shirttail was half out of his trousers. He kept making small gasping sounds—as if he had been running—and it was clear to her that whatever he was seeing was not in the here and now.

  She didn’t know what to do, and she still had a small hope that whatever he was experiencing would pass.

  “Noooooooo!” he suddenly shouted, his body rigi
d, and she jumped in alarm.

  He was standing now, lurching forward, crashing into the dresser.

  “Colonel Woodard—” Maria said. She came closer, but she didn’t dare try to touch him.

  “Colonel Woodard!” she said more forcefully.

  He suddenly reeled in her direction and was now between her and the door. He was speaking again, unintelligibly. She tried to edge by him. The last thing she wanted was to be trapped in here with him in his present state.

  Where was Perkins? she thought suddenly. Surely he must be somewhere about.

  But obviously he was not, or he would have been on the scene by now.

  Maria set the candle on the mantelboard. If she was going to have to tussle with Colonel Woodard to get out, she didn’t want to be carrying an open flame, and she didn’t want to be in the dark. He still didn’t see her, of that she was sure. If she was careful, she could get by him.

  She began to move toward the door, and he abruptly stopped talking and faced in her direction. When she moved toward the door again, he moved with her.

  “Colonel?” she said quietly. “Colonel Woodard?”

  He stopped—but whether he actually heard her, she couldn’t tell.

  “Colonel,” she said again. “Wake up. Wake up now.”

  “The marksmen. Did they get him?” he asked, his voice strained and hoarse.

  “Colonel, you were…dreaming.”

  He stood there, weaving slightly, and just as she decided that the episode was over, he suddenly looked heavenward and gave a loud, anguished cry.

  “Colonel Woodard, stop it!” Maria yelled. “Wake up!”

  But he didn’t stop. He lunged in her direction, grabbing her by her forearms before she could get out of the way. She couldn’t get free of him, and she tried to push against his chest.

  “Colonel! Stop it! Stop it!”

  His grip suddenly relaxed, but he still had hold of her.

  “Colonel?” Maria said more quietly. “Colonel Woodard—”

  “What is it?” He let go of her arms.

  “You were having a bad dream.”

  “I—” He stepped away from her, but he still seemed dazed and unsure of his surroundings. A clap of thunder rolled overhead, and it seemed to confuse rather than ground him.