Beloved Enemy (5 page)

A
cross the room, Melinda Winstead stared at the petite blonde in the blue gown who had skittered to a stop in the middle of the dance floor. Within the blink of an eye, the girl pulled up her mask again, but it was too late. Melinda had gotten a good enough look to know that the lively flirt in the arms of a New York Zouave was none other than that brat, Carolyn Chandler.

“What a brazen little hussy!” Melinda hissed, as she watched Carolyn attract all sorts of admiring glances from half the men in the room. She couldn't have come here alone.

Melinda scanned the other dancers, then her gaze roved over the crowd on the sidelines. She paused when she saw a slim woman in a green gown with that unmistakable auburn hair—and wearing an exact copy of Carolyn's mask. Melinda snorted through her nose. Julia Chandler! How dare those Secessionists presume to come to her ball! Melinda's outrage grew even more livid when she noticed that Julia was in the company of an absolutely gorgeous major—easily the handsomest man at the party.

Turning on her heel, Melinda dashed through her guests and crossed the hall to the library where she knew her
father entertained some of the older men with bourbon and risqué stories. As she hoped, George Winstead stood at ease with his back to the crackling fire in the center of the book-lined room. Cigar smoke tinted the air blue.

Barely acknowledging the surprised stares of her father's cronies, Melinda demanded the attention of her frowning parent. She paid no mind to his understandable displeasure at her intrusion into his male sanctum.

“Papa, you must come quickly!” She grabbed him by his arm.

George put down his whiskey glass on the blotter of his polished mahogany desktop. “Here now, young lady. What has happened? Is there a row brewing?” Though his tone was mild, his words held a sharp bite.

Melinda gave him another tug. “Not yet, but there soon will be. Papa, you must come
now.
”

Giving his hasty apologies to his surprised friends, George allowed her to drag him across to the reception room. His frown deepened when he saw nothing to warrant Melinda's ill manners. She wanted to stamp her foot with frustration at his obtuseness.

She pointed to Carolyn who had finished romping on the dance floor and now fanned herself on the sidelines to the pleasure of her grinning partner. “Over there, Papa! See her? That's Carolyn Chandler. She had the brass to come to our house uninvited, and unwanted, too.”

Then she directed her father's attention to Julia, who crossed the room to join her sister. That too-handsome major followed her like a puppy dog. Disgusting! “And there's that horrid Julia Chandler. I'm surprised that she could bear to leave her precious books. Their presence insults our family, Papa. Evict them at once!”

George merely patted his daughter's arm, and shushed her as if she were a four-year-old crying for more ice
cream. “Hush up, Melinda,” he said in her ear. “I will do no such thing. How they got in here, I cannot imagine, but since they are under our roof, I will not be inhospitable.”

Melinda gasped as if her father had just doused her with cold water. “Those Chandlers are nothing but trashy Confederates. How can you—?”

George squeezed her arm in a viselike grip. “See here, missy! Dr. Chandler did me the good service of bringing you into this world eighteen years ago. I don't hold with his sentiments, but he's a good man at heart, despite his shrew of a wife. Don't forget that his daughters were once your playmates when you children were in short frocks.”

Melinda pulled herself away from him and rubbed her arm where her skin bore the red imprints of his fingers. “Julia is so puffed up with her book-learning that it makes me want to scream, and her little sister is a brat, plain and simple. They are wrecking our lovely party.” Several nearby guests stopped their conversations and stared at the father and daughter, but Melinda didn't care.

George whispered in her ear. “Lower your voice or I will send you to your room for the rest of the evening, Miss Winstead. I will not have you cause a scene, especially when none is necessary. The Chandler girls are behaving themselves much better than you, and I see no harm in allowing them a little fun in their lives. Julia hasn't been out in society since Frank Shaffer died, and little Carolyn not at all.”

He chuckled. “Though I can see that Carolyn has done some growing since the war began. Behave yourself, Melinda, and pay them no mind. They will be gone soon enough, I expect, and there will be an end to the matter. I have paid a great deal of money so that you could enjoy
the company of your friends tonight. Now do it and leave me in peace with mine.” With that, he returned to the library.

Melinda's cheeks burned under her father's admonishment. He had no right to speak to her that way. Mama would have understood her feelings completely. She certainly wouldn't want any Confederates under her roof, even if they were former friends. Melinda realized that she had miscalculated which parent she should have approached. She knew without looking, that Papa was speaking to Mama even now, telling her about their uninvited guests and his decision to let them be.

Very well, Melinda decided. She wouldn't attempt to throw out the Chandlers herself, but that didn't mean she had to overlook their atrocious lapse in manners. Pasting on her best smile, she swept her way over to Julia and her escort. By the time she reached them, Carolyn had returned to the dance floor with yet another swain. Melinda burned with jealousy. These chits would pay, she vowed.

“Good evening, Julia,” she purred, coming up behind the older girl. It gave her satisfaction to see Julia jump at her name.

The young woman slowly turned around as did the man beside her. Seeing him at closer quarters, Melinda was momentarily distracted from her mission. He had the most beautiful dark brown hair with a curl that dropped over his forehead in an appealing way. Strong jaw, high cheekbones and very, very seductive eyes behind that mask. He was too delicious by a country mile.

Giving herself a shake, Melinda returned to Julia. “What a surprise to see you here—in our house!” she continued in sugar-sweet tones. “I can't imagine how
you
got invited, can you, Julia?” She cast a quick smile at the
silent man. “Tell me, Major, did
you
come to our party tonight without a proper invitation?”

He cleared his throat, then replied, “I must confess that I did not receive an invitation from your parents, Miss Winstead, but I came at the request of my cousin, Ben Johnson, who claims that he did. If I am remiss, I will not hesitate to leave.” He drew himself up, which only served to accentuate his height.

Knotting her brows behind her butterfly mask, Melinda swore at herself. She had overstepped some invisible boundary and offended him, when she had only intended to make Julia squirm. Melinda smiled and tried to slip her hand under his right elbow. To her alarm, he pulled back from her the minute she touched him. Confused by his prickliness, she plunged on.

“Lieutenant Johnson has visited us on occasion, Major, and I especially asked that he bring some of his friends this time. I am so delighted that he chose to bring you. On the other hand, Miss Chandler here will find herself in a world of trouble if she keeps inviting herself, and her little sister, to respectable people's parties.” It gratified Melinda to observe a dark red blush creep over the lower part of Julia's face.

Melinda locked the major in her gaze, forcing him, out of politeness' sake, to look at her instead of at the interloper. “Of course, what else could you possibly expect from a
Confederate
but bad manners?” she continued, savoring Julia's sudden intake of breath. “I suppose that you know, much better than I do, what these Rebels are like, Major. Nothing but low-bred ruffians.”

 

Julia gripped her reticule tighter. Her giddiness from the champagne had completely evaporated. She didn't dare look at Rob's face. She could guess what his opinion was,
now that Melinda had so cruelly explained the situation. First, her scandalous request, now this. Obviously, the ball was over for her, but she would leave with as much grace and dignity as she could muster.

At least, she had had a very lovely time, quite the nicest she had experienced in over two years—even those embarrassing moments spent in the alcove. The music had been excellent and she had enjoyed surveying the new fashions in ball gowns. She still had the caramels in her bag that she could savor over the next few weeks. She prayed that Rob would be chivalrous enough not to betray her secret proposition. She cast him a sidelong glance. He returned hers with a cool expression behind his mask. At least, he did not publicly rebuke her, nor claim her ruination. Now that she was literally unmasked, Julia realized that she would have died on the spot if he said anything.

Gathering the remnants of her composure, she replied to Melinda, “Just look at the time! I had no idea how late it had grown. I must find my sister immediately. Please make our adieus to your parents, Melinda.” She turned to Rob. “Please forgive me, Major Goodfellow. Forgive me for everything. I fear I have kept you from dancing with our charming hostess.” She pulled her shawl tighter around her shoulders. “Lovely party, Melinda,” she murmured.

Julia turned away before a hovering tear could roll down her cheek below her mask. She dove into the press of people where she spied her sister conversing with several more admirers.

Sliding her arm around Carolyn's waist, she whispered in her ear. “The cat's out of the bag. Melinda knows we are here. We have got to go now before she takes it into her flighty head to make a scene.”

Carolyn squeaked a little “oh!”, then smiled at her
companions. “Oh, dear, gentlemen, I fear I have over-stayed my time, and my mama would skin me alive if she knew. We have to leave your fine company, but with much regret.”

“Miss Carolyn,” protested one of the men.

Julia stepped into the breach. “I am so sorry, sirs, but I fear my sister speaks the truth. It has been a very great pleasure to have met you all. Come on, Carolyn.”

Before the officers could say anything else, Julia pulled her sister out to the front hall. Once in the cloakroom, Julia sent word for Perkins to meet them outside the front door. The maid in attendance couldn't understand their haste in departing when some of the guests were only just arriving after late supper parties.

“My sister is feverish,” Julia quickly confided to the servant, “and we don't want to infect anyone, do we?”

The young woman backed away. “No, miss, we surely don't.”

Once they donned their cloaks, they swept past the doorman and down the steps to the windswept street. Perkins awaited them on the curb with his lantern held high. He looked both surprised at their early departure and greatly relieved.

“Now, this is the first bit of good sense that you two have shown all day. Let's be off before the provost's patrol comes round. We don't have passes to be out this late.” He started briskly down the sidewalk. Julia and Carolyn hurried after him.

 

Though Julia was a Confederate, Rob discovered that he could not be angry with her, despite his deep aversion to the Rebels. She had not deliberately deceived him, but had merely sidestepped his questions with quotations from
A Midsummer Night's Dream.
He regarded Melinda, who returned him a smile of pure triumph.

“They're playing a waltz, Major,” she hinted. She tried to take his useless arm again.

Rob stepped back, leaving a small but definite space between them. “I do not dance, Miss Winstead. In fact, I find that the pleasure of the evening has somewhat palled. Since I will no doubt be sullen company for you, I beg you to excuse me.”

Melinda gasped. Rob roamed throughout the rooms, looking for Julia and her sister, but both the Chandlers had vanished. Questioning the doorman, he learned that the two young ladies had left only a few moments ago. Rob stepped out onto the front landing and surveyed the street, but the sidewalks on both sides were bare save for a mangy cat that slunk down the far wall in search of a garbage rat.

The cold air sharpened Rob's senses. Melinda's spiteful words to Julia had angered him. Even though the lovely Miss Chandler was a Confederate, she was also the most intelligent company he had enjoyed in quite some time. China doll-like Lucy Van Tassel paled in comparison to Julia's accomplishments. Lucy never opened a book, much less quoted Shakespeare. Nor had she ever displayed any particular talent other than gossiping and changing her clothes five times a day. For the first time since her abrupt termination of their engagement, Rob realized how lucky he had been to escape a lifetime with Lucy.

Not that he was interested in Julia, he told himself. She was a Southern sympathizer, and therefore, beyond further consideration from him. She had been merely a charming diversion on an otherwise deadly evening. Yet, she had looked so wounded by Melinda's words. He, like a tongue-tied dolt, had said nothing to champion her honor, especially since he was so acutely aware of her innocent virtue.
Julia must think that he concurred with Melinda's sentiments against her. In fact, he abjured them. But he had not been quick enough to tell Julia that, nor to bid her a proper good-night. He should have done that much, at least.

Rob stared down the street again. The skulking cat had disappeared. The only signs of life were the music and laughter inside the Winsteads' house behind him. Rob opened his timepiece and read its dial by the flicker of the gas lantern over the front door. Nearly midnight. He snapped shut the watch with a snort. Three hours at the ball were up; his time was now his own.

He would make amends to Julia right now, before any more time passed. The Chandler sisters had only left a few minutes ago. If they lived nearby, he might be able to catch up with them in time to give the lovely lady a proper apology. But which way did they go? He turned back inside to get his greatcoat.