Ashes in the Wind (44 page)

For a moment, Alaina was struck with the thought that on the brow of the cliff crouched some awesome, ancient, many-eyed beast hugging its belly in agony and watching her as if to ferret out what further torment she might be bringing. Silently rebuking herself for such foolish imaginings, she thrust down the dour thoughts. She knew nothing of this place, but given half a chance, ere long, laughter might ring within its walls. Too much of her
world of late had been cheaply spent in pain and strife. This was a time to forget the old and seek out the better moments of whatever life had to give.

Alaina blinked her eyes against the splattering of windhurled droplets and looked up at Cole as he jerked his head toward the house. He spoke above the rising, keening wind. “We’d better get inside before this storm breaks.”

The buffeting wind whipped and snatched at their garments. Hampered by her petticoats that seemed determined to drag her back, Alaina fought against its force, almost straining for each step. A sudden gust tore the black bonnet from her head, and before she could catch it, the ribbons, loosely bowed beneath her chin, snatched free. The hat sailed off in a riotous dance of freedom, eluding her attempts to retrieve it.

“Let it go!” Cole bellowed with unwarranted gusto.

Helplessly Alaina watched the bonnet tumbling away into the deepening darkness. It was well beyond her reach now. Pushing back the flying wisps of her hair, she turned to Cole. He had also paused to witness the bonnet’s departure but with something of a pleasured smile on his face.

“You don’t have to look so pleased,” Alaina snapped and stalked past him, ignoring the wind that whipped her skirts out behind her.

Cole gave a last wry grin over his shoulder and followed. Even as they were climbing the front steps, large drops of rain began to fall. It was only a signal for the more punishing downpour that quickly followed. As Cole hurried her across the porch, a
tall, wiry man swung open the massive oaken door to let them in. The butler stood aside as they entered and accepted his employer’s outerwear.

“We were doubtful that you would return tonight, sir. Murphy mentioned that you might be staying at the hotel.”

“A change in plans, Miles,” Cole answered, taking Alaina’s wrap. The introductions were briefly made, before Cole announced, “Doctor Darvey will be along shortly. Will you advise Annie that he may be staying for supper?”

The butler nodded, surreptitiously observing the new mistress as he received the cloaks. Her gown was drab and colorless, even worn, but she complimented it with a grace and poise that was a pleasure to behold. She seemed quiet and reserved, yet quick and observant. He wondered if anything escaped those alert gray eyes. When she faced him, there was a gentle honesty within them that was disarming at the very least. Still, she would bear watching, he avowed, determined to be far more cautious this time. The first Mrs. Latimer had been beautiful also, but had soon proven the shallowness of that quality.

The young man, Peter, had paused at the bottom of the main stairs to get a glimpse of the new mistress for himself, and when Miles passed, the older man nudged the youth to remind him of his duties. The sheepish smile Peter bestowed upon Alaina was suddenly swept away by embarrassment, and in clumsy haste, he hurried up the stairs with her trunk.

“You bedazzle the youth,” Cole observed brusquely when the men had gone. “I’ve never seen him so smitten.”

Alaina descended the steps from the small entry vestibule and strolled across the hall, rubbing her hands along her arms to ward off the chill that permeated the mansion. “Perhaps, Major, he’s just afraid of you.”

“I’ve never noticed that kind of behavior before.”

“As I cannot judge that for myself, I will not argue the point, but I scarcely suspect that my mere presence can disrupt your household, however much you may wish to claim that it will”—she half turned with the question—“how did you put it—‘raise a lot more than the boys’ spirits’?” She eyed him coolly. “I assure you, sir, it is not my intention.”

Directing her attention to something less provoking than his mildly amused stare, Alaina glanced about her. The oil lamps did little to erase the shadows and lighten the mood of the hall. The massive, ornately carred rosewood staircase clung to the wall that faced the entrance, and the vine-clad theme of the elaborate woodworking was carried out in the pillars and posts positioned throughout the hall. In all, the decor was rather garish and cluttered, though everything gleamed with a tidiness that was more characteristic of its owner.

Bracing his hands on his cane, Cole spoke ruefully. “You’ll get used to it in time.”

Wondering if her distaste was so apparent, Alaina ran a hand along a richly carved column. “I was just admiring the woodwork—”

Her husband descended the two steps separating the entrance from the hallway and stared at her dubiously. “I have often respected your frankness, Al, even when it was less than complimentary. Will you compromise your standards to please a Yankee?”

Alaina’s spine stiffened at his mockery, and her tone was brittle as she lashed out with a stinging reply. “Whatever standards I might have had, have been so completely tarnished that they bear no resemblance to those bright and shining values of my youth.” More gently, she conceded, “I fear it is a part of growing up. To give up one’s dreams for reality is the cost we all must pay.”

Cole smiled without a trace of rancor. “Well said, madam.”

Confused, Alaina met his gaze, sensing his approval but wary of his sincerity. His eyes were warm and laughing, which only added to her bewilderment. Then slowly he lifted his gaze above her head and stared toward the dark beyond the top of the stairs. She turned to follow his gaze, but found only shadows and gloom.

“Mindy?” Cole’s voice was soft, questioning.

Alaina faced him, wondering what he had seen in the blackness beyond the balustrade. A quick sound of furtive movement came from above, but when she looked again, there seemed only fewer shadows than before.

Hardly a second had passed before quick footsteps sounded from the opposite direction, and with a rustle of stiff taffeta, a dark-haired woman came into view, and crossed to the top of the stairs. There, in shrouding shadows, she paused as her attention fell upon the lower hall. In the briefest span of time, she seemed an illusion, an unfinished portrait that some artist had abandoned when he realized his subject had aged beyond the beauty of womanhood and that he had unwittingly captured her just as she
was. The black hair, lightly touched with gray, was pulled back severely and rolled into a simple bun at the nape. A long, linen apron was attached to the bodice of her black gown which, with its crisp white cuffs and collar, painfully reminded Alaina of her own rather austere apparel.

“Good evening, sir. Madam.” Her dark eyes briefly touched Alaina and betrayed a mild degree of surprise as she quickly perused the widow’s weeds. “Peter brought up the madam’s baggage, sir, and I was wondering what room I should make ready.”

Cole drew out his watch to hide his sudden ire. The merest thought of the arrangement raised his hackles. “You may show Mrs. Latimer upstairs, Mrs. Garth,” he bade curtly. “The choice will be hers.”

A sedate nod of obedience answered him before the woman directed her gaze to the new mistress. “If you will please follow me, madam.”

Aware that Cole’s stern attention came upon her and remained, Alaina mounted the stairs stiffly. The choice might well be hers, she mused, but it was also understood that the master’s suite was not open for selection. He could entertain himself when it met his whim, but that was as much as he wanted of marriage—and of her.

The housekeeper led her past the open balustrade and down the hall. “I’ll show you the late mistress’s bedroom,” she announced. “It has a view of the river and is most elegant. She preferred it above the smaller rooms.”

“And the master?” Alaina could not help inquiring. “Where does he sleep?”

The housekeeper displayed no surprise at the
question. “Doctor Latimer sleeps where he wills, madam. Except when his leg is bothering him. Then, I think, he doesn’t sleep at all.”

Pushing open a door, Mrs. Garth entered a dark room and moved about, lighting the lamps. As she did, Alaina’s vision of it enlarged by slow degrees. Dark red velvet covered the walls. Even the high ceiling was draped with scarlet silk that came together above the ornate gold and crystal chandelier. It gave one an illusion of being inside an elaborate tent. Reds and lavish gilts were plentiful, while the floor was cushioned with wildly patterned Oriental rugs. Large pillows were tossed haphazardly upon the floor in front of a richly carved marble fireplace, and a luxuriously tufted chaise stood nearby. If any windows existed, they were well hidden behind heavy drapes edged with thick corded golden tassels. In the. midst of all this grandeur, the lavishly draped gold satin bed reigned dominant. In all, the decor was a gaudy, overworked kind of richness that miscarried to the point of being vulgarly distasteful, much like the heavily carved baroque furnishings.

Not noticing her mistress’s lack of enthusiasm, Mrs. Garth opened the massive armoire. Crowded within were the gowns Roberta had feverishly collected but had scarcely worn. The sight of them was enough to bring Alaina to her senses. Without word or explanation, she whirled on her heels and retreated through the nearest door. Across the hall, another door stood ajar, and inquisitively she pushed it wider. In comparison to the chamber she had just fled from, it was rather stark and barren. The brick fireplace was dark and clear of ashes, and Alaina
felt a chill draft in the room. A four-poster with a simple patchwork quilt covering, a small bedside table, a straight armoire and a large wing chair were the extent of the furnishings. The floor was bare wood with only a pair of small throw rugs in evidence. But the room, situated on the back corner of the house, had a sweeping view of the river and, to the west, the hills. The windows were meagerly adomed with linen curtains, but during the day, there would be
an abundant supply of sunlight to warm her.

“Is this room occupied?” Alaina inquired as Mrs. Garth came to stand in the doorway behind her.

“No, madam.”

“Then you may tell Peter to bring my baggage here.”

“Yes, madam.” The housekeeper moved past her and opened a door, revealing a separate bathing nook. A metal tub, a washstand with white porcelain basin and pitcher, and other conveniences, plain but serviceable, were present, all a person would need for simple comfort.

Cole’s uneven footsteps were heard in the hallway outside the room, and as he entered, he glanced about him with the same wry grin he had worn when her bonnet went sailing off down the hill. At his nod of dismissal, Mrs. Garth hastily withdrew, closing the hall door behind her. Lifting a brow, he regarded his wife for some time until she chafed at the unsuppressed humor she saw dancing in his bright eyes. At her glare, amused laughter broke from him. “So! You didn’t care for the red room.”

Alaina watched him narrowly, wondering what he had found so entertaining about her selection. “I
would sooner be in a sultan’s tent with the threat of ravishment imminent. At least, I’ve had enough experience to know that I can live through that.”

Cole dismissed her jibe and limped into the bathing chamber where he briefly inspected the water pitcher before facing her again with that same infuriating grin. “What is there about the red room that you find disagreeable?” He shrugged casually. “Roberta liked it.”

Alaina gritted her teeth in frustration. “You confused us once before, Major.”

“So you keep reminding me.” He dropped a hand on the knob of the far door in the bathing chamber, but as if reconsidering, returned through her room to the same portal Mrs. Garth had left by. “Annie will be serving dinner shortly,” he announced. “I’ll wait for you downstairs in the parlor.”

Alaina felt his eyes glide over her, and though unspoken, his meaning was clear. She must make herself presentable for dinner.

The storm had descended upon the house with the ferocity of a maddened beast. Rain cascaded down the leaded windows in heavy torrents, while lightning sizzled and cracked with increasing crescendo. As she joined the men in the parlor, Alaina managed to maintain an outward show of calm despite the turbulence that brewed beyond the haven of the house. She presented a most respectful and pleasing appearance now, having laid aside the black gown, with some relief, and donned the gray silk.

Cole had been standing with his back to the fire, but turned to face the door as Braegar halted in mid sentence and came eagerly to his feet.

“You are stunning, madam,” the large man proclaimed, stepping forth to escort her to a chair across from the one he had just left. “Yours would slight the beauty of a magnolia blossom in spring bloom.”

“Are you that familiar with magnolias, Doctor Darvey?” she questioned. Her soft, floating laughter was as pleasing as the delicate tinkle of silver bells on a still winter’s night. It threaded through Cole’s head, twining, twisting, weaving a spell. His eyes fed upon the beauty of her as she slipped into the chair, but unlike Braegar, he reserved comment on her appearance.

“Before the war, I went to Louisiana several times,” Braegar answered as he resumed his seat. He was anxious to converse with such a gracious and lovely lady, and he grinned wickedly as he teased. “Had I known it to be your home, I would have threshed through the deepest, darkest swamp to court you.”

Cole snorted. “Her guardian angel must have been working overtime.”

Braegar replied in undaunted spirits, his eyes gleaming devilishly. “I could believe that, yet—she is married to you.” Directing his gaze toward Alaina again, he leaned forward, bracing his elbows on his sturdy knees, and cradled his brandy snifter between long, blunt fingers. “Frankly, I’m beginning to think that I erred by not enlisting and lending my services to the cause. Cole seems to have been more than adequately compensated for what he suffered. Indeed, I’m rather envious of his good fortune in meeting you.”

Alaina chuckled warmly. “And I am beginning to think that you are an outrageous flirt, Doctor
Darvey, and your zeal seems not at all deterred by the fact that I am married.”