Beloved Enemy (6 page)

“The Chandler house?” the doorman repeated Rob's question. “They's Seesech, Major, sir. Those kind of folks stay to themselves, they do. You don't want any part of that family.”

Rob swallowed his impatience. “Miss Julia dropped her fan this evening. I wish to return it,” he fabricated, itching to be off now that he had made up his mind for action.

The doorman gave him a fishy look. “The Chandlers were not invited to this here party. That's a fact.”

Rob controlled himself. He had never before spoken directly to an African servant, and he was afraid to press the man lest he lose his temper. Instead, he lowered his voice as if to impart a great secret. “Miss Julia and her sister, Carolyn, came in disguise. They haven't been to a party in years. No harm done—except, of course, Miss Julia losing her fan.” He hoped the man wouldn't ask to see the nonexistent item.

The doorman considered Rob's explanation for a moment, then nodded. “That's what old Perkins said down in the hall. Said old Mrs. Chandler would have had a fit if she knew what her girls were up to, but I didn't think he meant this party. Miss Julia, as I recollect, was a nice enough child, very polite to everyone. If she lost her fan here, I expect she'll feel mighty low about it.”

When the man paused for breath, Rob added fuel to his plea. “I hope for Miss Julia's sake that the fan does not belong to old Mrs. Chandler.”

The doorman shook his head. “Lordy, that child will be in a world of trouble if that be the case. You go along now, Major, sir, and see that Miss Julia gets it back right quick.”

Elation made his blood flow faster. “Which way do I go?”

The doorman pointed to the right. “Down to the corner, turn left. That's Prince Street. Go on two blocks. The house is in the middle on the left side. Red brick with black shutters. Got a double door in front.”

“And the number on the house?” Rob prodded.

“Now how am I expected to know that, Major, sir? I'm not allowed to read, you know.” The doorman's face turned as blank as an ebony mask.

Rob considered bribing the servant with a twenty-five-cent piece, but thought better of the idea. He might be insulted or he might be telling the truth, which would be a waste of Rob's time and money. Thanking the fellow, Rob got his greatcoat from the antechamber, then departed the Winsteads without a formal goodbye to the host, or telling his cousin Ben where he was going. Since the way sounded short, Rob chose not to retrieve his horse from the warm stable just yet. No point in allowing Buster to
catch a chill while Rob made his apologies to the lovely Miss Julia.

He didn't stop to think that for the first time in many months, he was running
to
something, rather than away from something.

S
itting cross-legged in the middle of the double bed she shared with her sister, Carolyn brushed out her hair. “What a divine time! I don't believe I have ever had a finer night in all my born days. And I didn't step on too many toes, either.”

Julia sat at their vanity table, also brushing her hair, though her strokes were not as vigorous as Carolyn's. Her head throbbed with a dull ache—the champagne's aftereffects. When she stared into the looking glass, it was not her face that she saw, but that of the handsome Major Robin Goodfellow, or whomever he was. She wished she knew his real name. She chewed her lower lip. No, it was better that she didn't, since she had made such an idiot of herself. At least, she would never see him again.

As if reading her thoughts, Carolyn asked, “Who was that Yankee you spent the whole evening with?”

Julia shrugged and massaged her neck. “I have no idea. We traded names from Shakespeare, not our own. I thought it was safer that way.”

Carolyn shook her head. “Julia, you are a caution! Even at a party, you can't forget all that heavy reading. You think too much to enjoy yourself.”

Julia smiled ruefully at her reflection. What she was thinking would shock Carolyn to fits, and it had nothing to do with English literature. Her cheeks grew warm.
He said he would kiss me many times and in many places.

Carolyn persisted. “It is a good thing that Mother didn't see you. She would have locked you in here for a month of Sundays for being so free and easy with that man.”

Julia turned around and stared at her sister. “Me? And who was dancing and flirting—and drinking champagne—with flocks of the enemy?”

Carolyn stuck out her tongue at Julia. “Pooh! I had to let those poor boys see what they are missing by living up North. I hear that Yankee girls are sour in looks and disposition. They wouldn't know how to have a good time even if it came knocking on their front door.”

Julia only half-listened to Carolyn's explanation. She preferred to muse over the devastating smile of her mystery man. And his lips! The ones that refused to ruin her. She tingled with a delicious thrill at the idea of his mouth pressed against hers. But it would never happen, she reminded herself. No proper girl should be kissed like that until she's engaged, and Julia would never consider engaging herself to a Yankee.

Carolyn tossed her brush on the daybed, then slipped under the satin eiderdown quilt. “Well, I am going to sleep. All those Yankee boys wore me to a frazzle. Ooh, my toes will ache so in the morning!” She giggled as she snuggled deeper into the covers.

“Good night, sleep tight, don't let the bedbugs bite,” Julia intoned absentmindedly, reciting the little rhyme that had been their bedtime ritual since both girls were small children.

“'Night,” Carolyn murmured from under the quilt.

Julia returned to the mirror. Once again, Rob's face rose
in her mind. Again, she recalled his firm, sensual lips. She ran her finger over her own, then sighed. She wished there had been more time at the ball. He might have tried to kiss her if he had drunk some of that eggnog. She shivered, not with the night's cold, but with the speculation of forbidden delights. She sighed again.
I should have thrown myself at him….

 

Rob studied the front of the Chandler house. The dark windows facing the street indicated that the family had all retired. Much to his surprise, he felt a sharp stab of disappointment, though he had no firm idea what he would have done had the lights still been on. A gentleman didn't make social calls at midnight.

A large cat, silver-gold in the street's gaslight, brushed against his boots, then ambled down the narrow cobbled alleyway that ran between the Chandlers and their next-door neighbors. Rob watched the animal disappear around the corner of the house, drawing his attention to a faint glow in the rear garden. His heartbeat accelerated. Without considering the consequences, he followed the cat's path down the alley. In a brick archway of the rear garden wall, a narrow wrought iron gate opened to a brick path that led up to the Chandlers' back door. Sitting on the kitchen steps, the cat licked its paws with an air of ownership.

Rob traced the glow to one of the second-floor windows; its light fell gently on the garden. His sense of adventure stirred. He pressed down the latch and swung open the gate. The cat looked up, but did not hiss or give any other sign of alarm. Drawn by the light, Rob stole into the garden, and closed the gate behind him. He slid along the high brick wall and stopped when he came to the privy house in the furthermost corner. From this darkened vantage point, he could just make out the indistinct shape of
a woman sitting before a mirror with her back to the window. An oil lamp flickered beside her; the looking glass caught the light and reflected it out—to him.

Rob gave a slight start. The woman looked like Julia. Her hair color was unmistakable. Yet there could be other members of her family who bore her resemblance. “Turn around,” he whispered in the darkness. “Come to the window.” What would he do if she did look out?

The chill of the ground seeped through the soles of his boots. Rob gave himself a shake. What a damn fool he was to loiter in a girl's garden like a lovesick swain!

As he turned to leave, his sudden movement startled the cat. With a low yowl, it hopped from the stoop to the side lattice that supported a dry, brown vine. Displaying swift agility, the cat climbed up the lattice like a ladder to the windowsill above—the same window where the oil lamp still burned. Once perched on his place of safety, the cat scratched at the glass pane like a dog. Holding his breath without realizing it, Rob waited to see what would happen.

 

Julia cocked her head; again she heard the sound that had disturbed her musings. She smiled to her reflection. The scratching at the window signaled Tybalt's impatience. Outside on the ledge, the orange striped cat stared in at her with wide amber eyes. He lifted his paw and scratched the glass again. Julia unhooked the latch then lifted the sash. A wedge of cold air blew in through the opening.

“Hello, Tybalt,” she greeted him in a low voice. “Too chilly for you tonight?”

Mewing an answer, the cat slipped inside and landed softly on the floor. Julia started to lower the window, then stopped when she saw something flash in the darkness below. The hairs on the back of her neck prickled. Warning
spasms of alarm erupted in the pit of her stomach. She had the instinctive feeling that someone was down there, though she could see no discernible shape in the garden's shadows. Her first impulse was to wake Perkins. The bounty of the holiday season was enough to tempt many a burglar, especially now that Alexandria was full of louts from the North.

Something flashed again. A man stepped out from the overhang of the large magnolia tree, took off his hat and bowed to her. Covering her mouth, Julia swallowed her scream. Replacing his hat, he stepped closer.

Julia gripped the window frame. “Who…who's there?” she whispered through the opening.

“What light from yonder window breaks?” the man asked in a low, but distinct voice. “It is the east and fair Julia is the sun,” he continued, improvising the opening lines from the balcony scene in
Romeo and Juliet.

Julia released her breath. Though the speaker's face was in deep shadow, she instantly recognized his Northern accent. Her heart leaped to her throat and blood pounded against her temples. Casting a quick glance at the sleeping Carolyn, she knelt on the floor by the narrow open window.

“You have changed your identity, Major Robin Goodfellow. Are you now Romeo?” she responded, praying that her sister would not wake up.

He chuckled. “My name, dear saint, is hateful to myself, because it is an enemy to thee.” As if to accentuate his point, the brass buttons of his uniform greatcoat caught the light of the moonshine and flashed in return.

Julia hugged herself. This unsuspecting Yankee was certainly taking his life in his hands to come into their garden, especially in the dead of night. Though Jonah Chandler
was a mild-mannered man, he would not hesitate to use the shotgun hanging in the back hall to protect his family.

“You had best go quickly before you waken my father. He has a gun,” she warned.

The major chuckled again. “There is more peril in thine eye, than in twenty of his swords,” he continued, using Romeo's words.

Julia wanted to scream at him, this time in frustration. Didn't this Yankee have any sense at all? Perhaps midnight visits were a common practice in New York, but such outlandish behavior just wasn't done in Virginia. The man was apt to get his handsome head blown off.

“You are too rash, sir,” she told him. “So then, good night,” though she hated to close the window and turn away from him. This would never happen to her again, especially if she married boorish Payton and had to live in the midst of his tobacco fields.

The major stepped more into the moonlight, then went down on one knee. “Wilt thou leave me so unsatisfied?”

A new, unexpected warmth surged through her, not only by the seductive suggestion in his voice, but also by his sheer boldness. Had he come to ruin her now? A dizzy current of heat raced through her blood. Her body tingled. This Yankee was a romantic lunatic—and perhaps, so was she.

Raising the window a little higher, Julia leaned out. “You are the most thick-headed person that I ever met,” she whispered louder. “Don't you know that you could be killed for a prowler if anyone hears you?” She refused to wonder why she wanted to save this Yankee's life. Men like this one had killed sweet Frank. Yet Julia knew that she would feel very guilty if the major were shot in her garden because of her.

Rob tilted up his face, the white of his teeth gleaming
as he grinned at her. “I have night's cloak to hide me,” he said, not seeming the least bit worried.

Carolyn murmured in her dreams. Julia shot another swift glance at her. Even though her sister was a heavy sleeper, this insane conversation would certainly waken her if it continued. Julia knew that she should shut the window and be done with the man, but she couldn't do it. He enticed her; his boldness tempted her to do something equally rash in return. Should she ask him now to have his wicked way with her?

He stepped closer to the foot of the back steps. “Wouldst thou withdraw?” he called softly, almost tenderly.

This night would never happen to her again. There was a war between them. Tossing aside her common sense, Julia acted upon the most daring idea she had ever had in her sheltered life. She leaned out the window again. “Stay under the tree in the shadows. I'll be down in a minute.”

Julia didn't look at him as she shut the window, but she had the distinct impression that he grinned before he retreated under the magnolia, thick with its evergreen, glossy leaves. She didn't consider what she was about to do. Instead, she imagined his lips upon hers. Hastily, she twirled her hair up in a knot, then tossed a dressing gown over her nightdress. She swept up a knitted afghan from the foot of the daybed and threw it around her shoulders.

As she slipped her bare feet into her fur-lined slippers, Carolyn stirred from the depths of the four-poster bed.

“Where are you going?” she asked in a sleep-thickened voice.

“To get the cat,” Julia replied, lighting a candle. “Go back to sleep.”

Yawning, Carolyn snuggled down again. As Julia left
their room, she hoped that her sister wouldn't notice that Tybalt was curled in a furry ball next to her pillow.

A few moments later, Julia stepped onto the back stoop. She lifted her candlestick higher, allowing the light to spill deeper into the silent garden. Its flame flickered in the light breeze. Then she saw him move under the tree. Gathering her courage, she descended the steps carefully in case they were icy. She halted just inside the magnolia's screening boughs. After all, she didn't want to get too close to the man, in case his manner turned threatening. He had been a perfect gentleman up until now—but he
was
a Yankee. Nor did she want to give him the idea that she was a loose woman. Now that she faced him, she was suddenly unsure what to do next.

The major stepped just inside her candle's glow. “I am glad that you removed your mask, Miss Julia. Beauty should never remain hidden.”

His deep voice caressed her, and a spiral of nervous excitement corkscrewed down her spine. She fumbled for a suitable reply. Given the late hour and her shameful state of undress, there was nothing she could think to say. Instead, she fell back on Shakespeare's words.

“The mask of night is on my face, else would a maiden blush paint my cheeks.” In fact, her cheeks were on fire.

“Thank you for coming down,” he said, though he did not attempt to move closer to her. “I was running out of quotations.”

Julia wiggled her toes inside her slippers. “I must admit, I have never heard so much Shakespeare spoken in one night.”

He cocked his head. “Haven't you attended any of his plays? Surely Ford's Theater or the National must produce a few of his works in between their comedies.” He stepped closer to her light.

Julia sucked in her breath. Without his mask, the man was even more handsome than she had imagined. The classical lines of his face were softened by the hint of humor that shone in his dark eyes and lingered at the corners of his mouth. He looked taller in the darkness and even more broad-shouldered than she remembered from the ball.

At his question, she shook her head, and turned away. Suddenly, she was too shy to look at him. The courage provided by the champagne had disappeared. She moistened her lips. “Before the war, my parents often attended the theater in Washington, but since then, none of us has ventured into…” She caught herself before saying “that Yankee city.” Instead, she finished lamely with “there.”

He nodded as if he understood. “I see. Someday, there will be peace again, Miss Julia. Then I do hope that you will have the opportunity to see Shakespeare enacted on the boards.”