Unconquered (13 page)

“What on earth is that for, Jon?”

“For being you,” he answered.

“Have you been in the rum punch?”

“Not yet, but an excellent idea! Ladies,” he gallantly offered his arm to them, “allow me to escort you to the buffet.”

The formal dining room at Wyndsong was opposite the main parlor across the center hall of the house. The wide doors were now opened back. The room was powder blue, with white plaster detail. The long windows were draped in a slightly darker blue satin sprigged with a buff color, and the crystal chandelier with its mouthblown hurricane lamps was relatively new, having been a tenth-anniversary gift from Thomas to Dorothea. The mahogany Hepplewhite table and chairs came from the New York shop of Duncan Phyfe. The chair seats were upholstered in blue and buff satin. The New York Hepplewhite sideboard of inlaid mahogany had come from the Maiden Lane Shop of cabinetmaker Elbert Anderson. On either end of the sideboard were fine mahogany knifeboxes with silver escutcheons.

A large buffet had been set up on the table in the center of the room. Covered in a white linen cloth, the table held a centerpiece of pine, holly, and red and white roses arranged in an enormous pewter bowl. It was flanked on either side by elegant silver candelabra burning bayberry-scented white beeswax tapers.

On the table were bowls of oysters, mussels, and clams, small lobsters and crab claws done with mustard sauce, as well as broiled in herb butter. There was even a platter of cold crabmeat, accompanied by a pewter dish of mayonnaise. There were several varieties of cod, flounder, and bluefish, Wyndsong waters abounding with fish.

Four large hams had been baked in brown sugar and all were studded with precious, difficult-to-obtain cloves. There was an entire side of beef and a side of venison, as well as Miranda’s favorite, stuffed turkey. There were two geese, both roasted to a crisp brown and stuffed with wild rice.

The vegetables alone looked like a painting of the horn of plenty. Besides large white china bowls of yellow squash topped with melting butter, there were green beans with almonds, whole cauliflowers, onions boiled in milk and butter and black pepper, and succotash. Dorothea’s recipe for pumpkin squash was the one the cook had followed, as it was a family favorite.

There were five red-and-white-striped china bowls of macaroni and grated sharp Cheddar cheese, another of Miranda’s best-loved dishes, as well as potatoes in Hollandaise, mashed potatoes with butter, and potato puffs, Cook’s jealously guarded secret.

Even though it was winter, there were large china serving platters of lettuce and cucumbers in a delicately flavored piquant white sauce, made with just enough vinegar to wake the palate.

The wedding cake—a light fruit cake covered in sparkling white frosting—commanded the most attention. On the sideboard surrounding the cake were pineapple creams, apricot fritters, three kinds of cheesecake, and caramel custard. Guests exclaimed over the spongy Genovese cakes filled with coffee cream, and despite the recent appearance of mince and pumpkin pies on everyone’s Thanksgiving tables, these disappeared as quickly as did the assortment of lemon and raspberry tarts, the soufflés, and the tiny
pots au chocolat
, which Miranda had always loved and which, though not officially part of the menu, Cook had decided were just what Miranda needed on this day of great changes.

Even these guests, all of whom dined well at home, were delighted by the variety of food and the elegant display of every dish. Dorothea, a little more relaxed now, watched them with amusement and affection, finally taking a plate for herself and heaping it with turkey, pumpkin soufflé, ham, and rather more salad than she usually ate. It had been a long week, and she wanted a taste of spring. Somehow, cucumbers always reminded Dorothea of spring.

Liquid refreshments were equally lavish, which pleased the gentlemen especially. There were several wines, both red and white, beer, cider, applejack, rum punch, tea, and coffee.

Small tables had been set up in the hall, the drawing room, the library, and the family parlor. The guests, clutching well-filled plates, were fast finding seats. The bride and groom were seated at a trestle table made of oak with a pine top that had been set before the fireplace in the library. The table, made in the mid-1600s, was one of the few pieces that remained from the original manor house. Also seated at the table were Jonathan Dunham and his wife, John and Elizabeth Dunham, Bess Dunham
Cabot and her husband, Henry, Amanda, Dorothea, Judith, Annettje and Cornelius Van Steen.

Miranda sat back in her chair and viewed the guests with amusement. The enormous amount of food that the Wyndsong cook and her helpers had so painstakingly prepared was being quickly demolished.

“When do you think they last ate?” queried Jared solemnly, and Miranda giggled.

“That’s a nice sound, wildcat. Dare I hope it’s a happy day for you?”

“I am not unhappy, sir.”

“May I get you something to eat, madam?” he inquired solicitously. “I have promised to cherish you, and I believe that covers feeding.”

She flashed him a genuine smile, and his heart contracted painfully. “Thank you, sir. Something light, if you please, and some white wine.”

He brought her back a plate with a slice of turkey breast, a miniature potato soufflé, some crisp green beans and yellow squash. On his plate were oysters, two slices of ham, green beans, macaroni and cheese. Putting the plates down, he disappeared into the dining room, then returned with two glasses of wine, one red, the other white.

She was silent as she ate, and then suddenly she said softly to him, “I wish they’d all go home. If I must smile sweetly at one more old lady, kiss one more slightly tipsy gentleman …”

“If we cut the cake,” he said, “and then you throw your bouquet a little while after that, they will have no excuse to stay. Besides, it will be dark early, and our guests will want to be off the water, and safely on dry land by then.”

“Your sound logic amazes me,
husband
,” she said low, blushing at her daring use of the word.

“I long to be alone with you,
wife
,” he returned, and her blush deepened.

They cut the wedding cake with the usual ceremony, and as the desserts were offered to the guests, a maid passed among them with a tray of specially boxed tiny pieces of cake for the ladies to take home so they might dream of their true love. Miranda allowed a decent interval to pass, and then she ascended
partway up the stairs with much hoopla and threw her bouquet. It flew straight into Amanda’s outstretched hands.

Shortly afterward she and Jared stood at the front door of Wyndsong House bidding their guests farewell. It was only three-thirty in the afternoon, but already the sun had begun to sink into the west over Connecticut.

Then the house was quiet, and she looked up at Jared with an expression of great relief. “I warned you that I hate big parties,” she said ruefully.

“Then we shall not give them,” he answered.

“I imagine I should see to the servants.”

“It is not necessary today. They have their instructions.”

“I should give Cook the menu for dinner.”

“She has it.”

“Then I shall join the ladies, sir. I assume they are in the family parlor.”

“Everyone is gone, Miranda. Your mother and sister left with your grandmother, your aunt and uncle, and your cousins. They will be spending the rest of the month at Torwyck, with the Van Steens. Your mother is especially eager for a long visit with her brother.”

“We are
alone
?” She edged nervously away from him.

“We are alone,” he said quietly. “It is, I believe, the usual state for a bride and groom on their honeymoon.”

“Oh.” Her voice was suddenly very small.

“Come!” He held out his hand to her.

“Where?”

His bottle-green eyes swept toward the staircase.

“But it’s still light,” she protested, shocked.

“Late afternoon is as good a time as any. I don’t intend to be bound by the clock when it comes to making love to you, my dear.” He took a step toward her, and she retreated farther.

“But we don’t love each other! When this marriage was first agreed upon I attempted to gauge our suitability in intimate matters. You were not interested! You laughed at me, and treated me like a child! I assumed, therefore, that this marriage would be in name only.”

“The hell you did!” he growled, striding forward, and swept her up in his arms. Christ, she was a warm armful. For a moment
he buried his face in her cleavage, and breathed the sweet scent of her. She trembled against him and, raising his dark head, he muttered fiercely, “Not for one minute have you ever believed in your heart that this would be a marriage in name only, Miranda!” Then he mounted the stairs, carrying her, and strode down the hall to their bedroom. Kicking the door open with his booted foot, he set her firmly on her feet; spinning her around, he began to undo her gown.

“Please!” she whispered. “Please, not like this!”

He stopped, and she heard him sigh deeply. Then his arms went around her, and he said softly against her ear, “You drive me to violence, wildcat. I will call your maid to help you, but I will not wait long.”

She stood rooted to the floor as she heard the door close. She could still feel his arms around her, strong arms, arms that would not be denied. She thought about what Amanda had told her of lovemaking, and she thought of the terrible feelings Jared caused in her.

“Madam? Madam, may I help you.”

She whirled about, startled. “Who are you?”

“I am Sally Ann Browne, ma’am. Master Jared chose me to be your maid.”

“I have not seen you on Wyndsong before.”

“Lord no, ma’am. I’m Cook’s granddaughter from Connecticut.” Sally Ann went behind Miranda and began unfastening her gown. “I’m sixteen, and I’ve been working for two years now. My old mistress, she died, poor soul, but then she was near eighty. I came over the water to visit my granny before I looked for a new position, and lo and behold there was a place available right here.” She drew the gown down, and helped Miranda step out of it. “I’m a good seamstress, and I do hair better than anyone. Despite her age, my old mistress was one for keeping up with the latest fashions. God rest her.”

“My h-husband engaged you?”

“Yes, ma’am. He said he thought you’d be happier having a maid of your own, and one nearer your age. My word, that old Jemima was put out at first, but your sister says to her, ‘And who’ll take care of me, Mima, if you don’t?’ Well, that pleased Jemima so much she never gave me another thought!” Sally Ann worked as quickly as she talked and soon, embarrassed, Miranda
found herself nude. The maid handed her a lovely simple white silk nightgown with a deep-scooped neckline and long, flowing sleeves edged in lace. “There now, sit down at your dressing table, and I’ll brush your hair. Lord, what a lovely color it is, like silver gilt.”

Miranda sat silently as Sally Ann chattered on, and her sea-green eyes began to focus on the room. The deep-set windows with their cushioned, creweled window seats faced west. The walls were painted a pale gold with off-white ceiling and woodwork. The furniture was all mahogany, the largest piece within the bedroom being a bed in the Sheraton style with tall reeded and carved posts. The festooned canopy and skirt were a cream-colored printed French cotton with a tiny lime-green sprig called toile de Jouy. For a moment Miranda could not take her eyes off the bed. She had never seen anything so big! With an enormous effort of will she tore her eyes from the bed to concentrate on the room’s other furnishings. There were candlestands on either side of the bed, each with its own silver candlestick and snuffer. Across from the bed was the fireplace with its lovely white Georgian mantel, and a facing done in tiles painted with examples of local flora. To the left of the fireplace was a large wing chair upholstered in dark gold damask satin. To the right of the fireplace was a Philadelphia piecrust tripod tea table of Santo Domingo mahogany with three carved ball feet, and two New York mahogany side chairs with seats upholstered in a green-sprigged cream-colored satin. The window hangings matched the bed hangings, and there was a beautiful, rare Chinese rug done in gold and white on the floor.

“There you go, ma’am. Lord, if I had such hair, I’d be a princess!”

Miranda looked up at her maid, really seeing her for the first time. She smiled. Sally Ann was a big-boned, gawky girl with a homely face and an engaging grin. Her hair was carrot red, her eyes brown. She was freckled, and altogether as plain as white cotton. “Thank you, Sally Ann, but I think my hair an odd color.”

“Is moonlight odd, ma’am?”

Miranda was touched. “There’s a bit of the poet in you,” she said.

“Will there be anything else, ma’am?”

“No. You may go, Sally Ann.”

The door closed behind the maid, and Miranda rose from her dressing table to explore further. To the left of the fireplace was an open door; peeping in, she saw what would now be her dressing room. It was newly furnished in a Newport highboy and a bombe chest. She ventured further, and discovered that his dressing room, with a Charleston chest-on-chest, was behind hers. The room smelled of tobacco and man, and she nervously fled back to the bedroom and sat on the window seat. The sky was flame and lavender, peach and gold with the sunset, and the bay was dark and calm. The trees, leafless now, stood in black relief against the sunset.

Hearing him quietly enter the room, she remained motionless. He crossed the floor noiselessly and sat next to her, his arm slipping around her waist, drawing her back against him. Silently they watched the day flee west and the night fill the sky, turning it deep blue, the horizon edged in red gold, the evening star silvery bright. His fingers drew her gown down from a shoulder, his lips pressed a kiss on the soft skin. She shivered, and he murmured, “Oh Miranda, don’t be afraid of me. I only want to love you.”

She said nothing, and the other side of her gown was lowered to meet the first, then pulled quickly away to her waist. His big hands were cupping her breasts, gently crushing the soft flesh, and she gasped as he turned her toward him, and began kissing the twin delights. “Ohh, please, Jared! Please!”