Indigo (35 page)

The sight of him stole her breath away. He was elegantly attired in formal evening wear, and stood across the terrace leaning casually against the intricate ironwork of the waist-high terrace walls. Beside him was a white-draped table set with candles, gleaming china, and sparkling crystal.

Galen ran his eyes over his wife. Even though he had been lying in wait, he found himself mesmerized all the same. He'd known she would look exquisite in the sapphire gown but he'd not expected to be rendered paralyzed. She was, without a doubt, the most beautiful woman he'd ever known. With the way she looked tonight, she could easily wind up as the evening's dessert. "You look very lovely, wife."

Hester was still trying to regain the composure lost upon finding him waiting.

"I see you found the boxes."

She nodded.

"You didn't open them."

"No. I—didn't know if they were for me."

Galen simply shook his head, amused by her innocence. Any other woman would have ripped the wrapping away without a thought—but not his Indigo. "They are for you,
ma coeur..
."

Hester knew she would not survive this evening if he continued to address her as his heart. The husky sound of the endearment always made her blood rush. "Is this more of your extravagance?"

"I'm afraid so."

She said softly, "Galen, you must stop giving me gifts."

"Do they make you uncomfortable?"

She answered truthfully. "In a way, yes. You've given me more gifts in the past few months than most women receive in a lifetime."

"You aren't most women, Indigo." When she didn't answer he told her gently. "Indulge me. Open them— that one first."

Hester opened the first one and found an orange. She couldn't hide her smile.

Galen's once-jaded heart soared.

The second box, a bit longer and thinner than the others, held two tickets to a concert performance by songstress Elizabeth Taylor Greenfield, known to the race as the Black Swan. Hester had always wanted to hear the celebrated performer. She wondered suddenly when Galen had developed a sense for choosing the things she would value most.

He pointed out the next box to open, saying, "Be careful, the bottle inside is fragile."

Following his advice, she opened the box with care and extracted a beautiful crystal bottle that barely filled her palm. She undid the stopper, sniffed the delicate aroma, and asked quizzically, "Vanilla?"

"Pure extract from Madagascar."

"Madagascar?! Galen, you're jesting me."

"No. I had one of my ships bring some back about a month ago."

"Why Madagascar?"

"They grow the choicest beans."

Still awestruck by this last revelation, Hester opened the last box, which held an expensive pair of diamond-edged sapphire ear bobs that sparkled like something plucked from the heavens.

"Do you like them?"

"Why, yes, of course, but Galen—"

"No protesting allowed."

"Galen these are far too costly for a woman like me."

"You aren't listening to me, Mrs. Vachon."

Hester set the box with the others, unable to fathom any of this.

"Would you care for a brandy?"

She shook her head, no.

He accepted her reply with a polite nod, then asked, "Are you ready to dine?"

"Yes," she answered.

She took her seat, trying to calm the tiny tremors coursing through her as he helped her with her chair. She relaxed somewhat when he withdrew and took his spot at the opposite end of the table.

She picked up the soft linen napkin and placed it across her lap. When she raised her eyes he was watching her with a look so filled with contented pleasure, one could actually believe he did view her as his mistress.

"Did I tell you how lovely you look tonight?"

Hester nodded a bit self-consciously. "Yes, you did."

"Indulge me a moment more and come stand beside me. Bring the vanilla."

Hester swallowed nervously. His voice was as softly seductive as his manner. She picked up the small crystal container, then walked the short distance to his side. She handed it to him and watched as he set it on the table beside his plate.

"Give me your hands."

Hester held them out. He slowly stripped away her gloves, then softly kissed her knuckles. "I don't mind the gloves when we are out, but here at home there is no need to hide them from me. Agreed?" he asked softly.

"Agreed," she answered. She usually wore the gloves to forestall rude questions about her past. She'd learned at a young age that there were many unkind and ignorant people both inside and outside the race who would judge her not on who she had become, but on whom she'd once been.

But her attention returned to her husband when he gently eased open the crystal bottle of vanilla extracts. Holding her eyes captive with a gaze that burned bright as the candle flame, he picked up her hand and very lightly drew the stopper across the inside of her wrist. Then he gently kissed the scented skin in tribute. As he repeated the intimacy on the other wrist, her knees went so weak, she had trouble standing. Next he dabbed the tender inside of her elbows and then the satin tops of her breasts above the sapphire-blue gown. The feel of the damp stopper sliding so sensually against the curves and then valley between her breasts made her breath snag in her throat. Just when she thought she'd melt, the stopper was withdrawn and repositioned in its bottle.

Hester remembered very little of the dinner which followed. She knew the food was excellently prepared but she could not recall any specific dishes.

Galen's desire for his wife glowed like the candles set on the table. He'd had to force himself to replace the top to the vanilla to keep from shocking her by touching the scent to the warm hidden skin beneath her gown. Granted, she was no longer a virgin, but she was still very much an innocent. She'd been a partner to his loving only a few times and still had much to learn. If the fates were kind, he envisioned spending the rest of their married life teaching her the erotic pleasures found in uninhibited passion.

But for now, he ran his eyes over her dark beauty and thought she made an elegant addition to his table. Her bare ebony shoulders looked soft as the August night, her neck fashioned for his kiss. He'd felt her trembling when he scented her with the vanilla. The night of love they'd shared proved her sensuality ran deep. He wanted to explore those depths fully and without restraint.

When they were both done eating, Galen pushed his chair back and extracted a small jeweler's box from the inside pocket of his black dinner coat.

Under the candlelight, she undid the paper wrapping and opened the small hinged box. The ring inside sparkled in the flame's glow.

"Your betrothal ring."

Hester was once again struck dumb by his generosity. The diamonds and sapphire ring was delicately made. It was the most exquisite piece of jewelry she'd ever seen.

"Sapphires are as close as I could come to an indigo stone."

"Galen, this is beautiful."

"Ah, you're getting better at this."

"What do you mean?"

"Accepting my gifts."

Their eyes held until Hester, overcome, looked away.

"I'll be afraid I will lose it."

He shrugged. "I doubt you will, but should it occur, I'll simply buy you another."

He made the statement as if the expense of having to replace such a gift meant nothing. Once again she wondered just how much wealth he possessed.

Galen stood up and came over to where she sat. He offered his hand and silently Hester let him help her to her feet. He held onto her hand while he reached down and picked up the ring box. He touched his lips to the finger the ring would encircle, then slowly slid the gem in place.

The ring seemed charged with a power all its own. She felt claimed. His.

Galen pledged softly, "I will do everything in my power to make you happy,
petite
..."

Hester was so wrought with emotion, she could not speak.

"And whether you believe my claim or not—I will love you for life."

Hester had to look away as tears of joy stung her eyes.

"Aw, hell,
petite,
don't cry, you know what that does to me."

She dashed away the moisture. "I'm sorry. It's just all so wonderful. I can't believe it's real."

"It is."

"But will it last?"

His eyes were serious. "If you wish for it to."

She looked up at him. "Can you understand how overwhelming this has all been?"

He nodded. "I can, but trust that it will be fine, and it will be. I promise."

"I love you, Galen, very much, but—what if there is no child?"

He kissed her hand again and said huskily, "Then we will have the pleasure of trying to make another."

Hester trembled under the force of his words and eyes. She asked, "Why did you become the Black Daniel when you could have spent your life in leisure?"

"An apt question, I suppose. Come sit on the divan with me and I'll tell you a story."

The deep green brocaded divan occupied a place in the corner of the large terrace near the table. The candles had burned very low, but still offered a soft light.

"I became the Daniel as a lark in the beginning. I had a friend named Burton Lee whose sister, Edna, had been sold to the pens in Alexandria by the wife of her new master."

Slave pens were all over the South. Due to the decades-long ban against further importation of Africans, those who bought and sold healthy slaves were guaranteed a fat profit. Many pens also took the feeble and the dying. Hester had heard many horror stories from fugitives lucky enough to escape the desperate conditions found there.

"Was your friend Burton a slave also?"

"No. He'd been freed by his master father at the age of eighteen, as had his older brothers before him. The females his father sired were not. When the master died in a carriage accident, his brother took over the place. The new mistress sold Burton's sister to the pens less than a week after."

"Why?"

"Because of Edna's beauty. Even though Edna was the new master's niece, the wife viewed her as a potential threat to her marriage."

As Hester listened, Galen told her how he'd first met Burton at Oxford. They'd both been students and good friends. After gaining their certificates, Galen went on to Paris where he had relatives and Burton returned to Virginia where he and his family, both slave and free, resided. Galen lost touch with Burton Lee for three or four years, but they discovered one another again one afternoon in a tavern near the Maryland docks. Galen was on his way back to France after attending a family funeral in New Orleans. Burton was there on business. They renewed their friendship over dinner and that is when Galen first heard of Edna's plight in the pens.

"I was unaware Burton had captives in his family. He was devastated by what had happened to his sister. Edna was a slave and had been the personal maid of their half sister, Beatrice, one of the legitimate daughters of Edna and Burton's father. Edna was educated, spoke three different languages, and accompanied Beatrice on a tour of the continent. After the new mistress sold her to the pens, the pen owners took one look at her beauty and arranged for her to be sold sight unseen to a procurer from the New Orleans fancy girl market."

Hester knew about the markets. Light-skinned slave women were sold there as mistresses to wealthy businessmen and planters.

"All the arrangements for Edna's sale had been done by post. Since the owners of the pen hadn't actually met the New Orleans procurer, I impersonated him."

Hester turned to him in surprise. "And you chastised me for impersonating Fanny Blackburn?"

He grinned and continued. "Because of my ancestry, impersonating a French Creole from New Orleans was a fairly easy task. Back then I passed myself off as foreign every time I stepped on American soil. It was my way of ridiculing the Black Code restrictions on travel and accommodations. You'd be surprised how many people are impressed when you claim to be a Brazilian ambassador or a crown prince of Portugal, especially when you can speak the language and they can speak nothing but a backwater drawl. I even posed as an Italian-speaking Haitian count one evening to dazzle the registration clerk at one of Baltimore's finest hotels. They strictly prohibited guests who looked like you and me. The clerk behind the desk hadn't an inkling of what I was saying, but once he finished bowing and scraping, he gave me the best room in the establishment. People often times see what you want them to see."

"So what happened when you impersonated the Creole at the pen, were you successful?"

"Very much so. I claimed to be the Creole's representative and Edna was turned over to me almost at once. Burton and I dressed her in widow's weeds, placed her on a train, and sent her north to my aunt Racine in Detroit. She and Gail Grayson took over from there and arranged for Edna to live in Grayson's Grove, over near Niles."

"I'll bet the real procurer threw a fit when he showed up and found his property gone."