“No, mum.” The portly cook heaved a breathless sigh and set down her burden. “As ye can see, I was down in the cellar fetching some vittles. How would I know if anyone came through here or not?”
“I guess you’re right.” Alaina chewed thoughtfully on a lip as she returned to the dining room. She grew vexed with herself because it seemed as if she had resorted to chasing shadows through the house. It almost had her doubting her own sanity.
She realized with some irritation that she had been doing too much sitting and thinking of late. If this was the best she could find to occupy her time, she’d soon be in need of some of Cole’s brandy to fortify her wits. The interior of the house was well kept, but the exterior made many silent demands. The rose garden was there, waiting—
Quicksilverishly her mood changed as she found something to distract her thoughts away from Cole. She hurried upstairs and, giving no serious mind to his disapproval, she donned her meanest dress, the widow’s weeds, leaving off the dainty cuffs and lace-flounced collar. She found a pair of old shoes she had brought with her and a kerchief to gather her hair in, another to tuck in her waistband, and a rather ancient pair of gloves.
Alaina approached the rose garden with caution until she was sure the drapes in Cole’s study were tightly closed. Having acquired a shovel and a rake from the toolshed at the back of the house, she set to work with diligence, on her knees, snatching out handfuls of dried weeds and leaves, and carefully replacing the small border stones that had been tumbled away. Her need was as much to let off tensions that had mounted within the last days as to improve the appearances of the small garden.
The warmth of the autumn day and her labors began to find her, and she straightened to loosen the neck of her dark dress and unfasten the buttons that trailed to the elbow, rolling back the sleeves. Using the shovel, she turned the earth until it was fresh and brown beneath the thorny bushes. The work was hard, and after a time, she stepped back, as much to catch her breath as to survey the results. The soil clung to the front of her skirt, resisting her best effort to brush it away. She pulled the kerchief from her belt and wiped the perspiration that trickled down between her breasts, then, patting dry her neck, she raised her head and froze. Cole stood casually watching her through the open window of his bedroom. He was neatly groomed, fresh of shirt, and here she was sweaty, dirty, and wearing the dress he hated.
Leisurely Cole took the cheroot from his mouth and blew a long streamer of smoke toward her. Alaina dropped her gaze and stared at the stone facade of the house, seeing nothing, despairing all. She groaned inwardly in frustration. Three mornings up! Three mornings dressed to the hilt! Two days of waiting for the master to appear! And what good had it done her?
The window above her closed with a snide snick, and when she glanced up, Cole had retreated from view.
“Oh, why did he have to catch me like this?” she fretted aloud.
“My apology, madam!” a voice responded from the front of the house, wrenching a startled gasp from her as she jerked about to face the intruder. It was Braegar, sitting on the back of one of his long-legged thoroughbreds.
“Would it suffice,” he called as he dismounted, “if I went back and promised not to look this time?” He picked his way through the remains of a picket fence, draping the reins of his horse loosely over the slat of a decrepit arbor.
Alaina wiped apologetically at her soiled skirt, hoping that the blush on her cheeks was not too apparent. “Doctor Darvey! I wasn’t expecting visitors!”
“Be that as it may.” Braegar loomed over her as she bent to retrieve the kerchief she had dropped. “I shall simply have to make do with whatever beauty is at hand.” With the last word, he reached out to assist her to her feet.
For a brief moment Alaina stared at him in open confusion, then laughed as she realized his compliment and accepted his hand. She enjoyed his game and dropped into a curtsy. “You are most gallant, sir, and you have boosted my spirits as much as this fine day.” She swept her hand about to indicate the vibrant blue of the sky and the rich autumn colors of the hillside. “If your winter is at all like this, I think I’ll be able to tolerate it.”
“Winter!” Braegar snorted. “My dear, innocent Alaina, I shall warn you that this is only a brief warm spell of Indian summer. Better that you brace yourself for the winter that’s on its way.” He gestured to the rosebushes. “You know they’ll be dead come spring if you leave them that way.”
“Oh?” She glanced back in sudden dismay to think all her labor might be for naught.
Braeger assumed his best lecture tone and enjoyed the opportunity to discourse. “Perhaps if you will heap the soil over them and top them off with a thick layer of leaves they’ll survive.”
“Is that all?”
“I think so.” But he suddenly appeared doubtful. “It seems to work on ours.”
Alaina smiled. “And you came all this way to help me tend the roses? You’re truly a gentleman of the first blood!”
He swept his hat from his head. “Madam! I would come a million miles to glimpse your fair face!”
She chuckled disbelievingly. “Sir, I must tell you truly, I’ve never heard blarney quite as rich as yours.”
“Madam!” he pretended injury. “Do you believe me insincere?”
“I am somewhat skeptical, sir, of Irishmen and Yankees,” she rejoined pertly.
Braeger peered at her with laughter sparkling in his eyes. “And you’ve come to tame us all, eh, Alaina?”
She nodded stoutly. “As much as I can, Doctor Darvey.”
“And you’ll do it too, I’ll swear!” Braeger vowed jovially.
Alaina removed her gloves and tucked them within her apron. “I didn’t think I would see you again after the other night.”
Braegar grew serious as he admitted, “Cole and I have had our differences before.” He sighed heavily. “I came—” The usually glib tongue was at a loss for a moment, and she waited patiently. “I felt—a need—for some kind of an apology.”
Alaina slowly shook her head. “I can give you none, sir. It will have to come from Cole.”
“No—no.” He waved his hand in a half-angry gesture. “I meant from me. I guess it was my fault. I just can’t seem to talk to Cole of late. Whatever the topic, I always say the wrong thing. I don’t know what it is.” He stepped aside, and they strolled together toward the front of the house. “It could be him. It could be me. If I am the cause, I don’t know what to do, but Cole has been different since he came back from the war.” With obvious agitation Braegar stared into the distance. “He volunteered, full of patriotism and loyalty, boldness and courage. But I could see no reason to risk my life in this foolishness called war, so I paid another to go in my stead.”
Braegar gathered his horse’s reins, and they walked along in silence, while Alaina thought of her own father and brothers. Finally she halted, and when he too stopped, she caught his gaze and held it with unwavering gray eyes. “In a way you’re right,” she stated bluntly. “It takes a special kind of man with a special kind of cause to go into battle. I can’t agree with you. I won’t approve of your actions.” She shrugged. “But I won’t condemn you either. There were several times when I might have fled had I been given the chance.”
Braegar studied her a long moment. “You’re a special kind of woman, Alaina Latimer, and you’re kinder than most. Is that what Cole holds against me? That I am whole, while he is less so?”
“I think not,” she murmured. “Somehow that just doesn’t seem to fit.”
Braegar was greatly perplexed. He tossed the reins over the horse’s neck and settled his hat into place. “Maybe someday I’ll find out what’s eating at him, and then we’ll have it out.” He touched the brim of his hat in a quick salute and mounted his steed. “With any luck, I’ll see you again. Convey my apologies to your husband. I have a rich patient with the gout waiting.”
Alaina was standing on the porch watching him ride away when the door opened behind he
r. Certain that it was Cole, she waited until he came to stand beside her before she spoke.
“You needn’t worry. He’s gone.” No answer came and after a long pause, she sighed. “He came to apologize.” She faced her husband squarely. “For whatever it was that he said.”
Still, Cole made no reply, and Alaina’s eyes lowered uncertainly, skimming the tall, lean narrowness of him which was complimented by the flawless tailoring of white silk shirt and dark pinstripe vest and trousers. He looked tired and drawn, even pale, and Alaina thought to herself that it was a shame he abused himself so.
“I’ve been waiting to discuss some matters with you.” She broached the subject tenderly but without hesitation.
“I’m sorry, madam.” He glanced down at her briefly. “I was indisposed.”
“So I noticed,” she retorted crisply, then bit her lip. She hadn’t meant to sound so caustic.
Cole made no excuse, but stared off across the field to the sunlit hills.
“We had an understanding, Major,” she began, but lost some of her purposefulness when his brows gathered in a harsh frown. She finished in a barely breathed whisper. “You accost me whenever the urge strikes, and I wish to know your intentions.”
Cole gave her a quick, curt bow of apology. “Why, honorable of course, madam. Was that not part of the vows we exchanged? I believe something was said to that effect—for better or for worse, until death us do part.”
Her pride was nipped by the brusque manner in which he dismissed his actions. She could have been Al as much as he seemed to care for her feelings. Perhaps, once again, he had trouble thinking of her as a woman. He had admitted the existence of that problem whenever she wore her widow’s garb.
Irritably, she folded down a sleeve of the black gown and began to button it. She could not fathom the reason for the resentment she felt toward him at the moment. “We had an agreement, sir,” she pressed, hoping to probe some reply from him that might assuage her pride. “You promised—and you’ve broken your word—”
“I have taken many oaths, madam,” he interrupted. “One as a doctor, one to my country, two as a husband—and I have come to the realization that in the taking of them, I have made many contradictions.”
The conflict of vows had become apparent to him when he had been ordered to leave the wounded and retreat from Pleasant Hill. In outright disobedience of that command, he had chosen to stay. The consequences of his defiance of orders gave him little ease from pain, although he had been honored as a hero. Still, he had felt it his duty to stay and find conveyances for the wounded.
His oath as a doctor had conflicted with his marriage to Roberta. She had repeatedly lied to the patients who had come calling, turning them away. The last had been a tiny, gravely ill girl who had been brought to the house by her parents. Roberta had seen the family coming and had met them on the front porch to inform them that he couldn’t be reached, though he had been no farther than the cottage. Braegar was favoring a comely patient at the time and was not available. The child, as he learned later, died that same afternoon, but when confronted with the truth, Roberta had only shrugged indifferently, sneering that the world was better off without the likes of that backwoods trash.
Thus, it seemed that every oath he had ever taken had in some way turned its sharpest edge toward him, and this last one no less than the others.
“You mention honor, sir.” Alaina prodded him from his thoughts with the reminder. She was not about to let her question die a beggar’s death. “But the vow was threefold. What of love and cherish?”
A brief moment’s pause ensued before Cole chose to give her an answer. “I cherish you.”
She could find no satisfaction in his reply. “And what of love?”
Cole chafed uneasily. “I have always been suspicious of this flaring thing that occurs on first glance,” he muttered. He favored her with a quick glance and spoke with deliberate slowness. “How can I determine what love is? When a man and a woman begin to understand each other, love begins small and grows with the passage of time. It is that which a man holds within himself until it blooms to its fullest.”
Angry frustration ran rampant through every fiber or Alaina’s being, and her argument burst forth in a torrent. “With all due respect, Major,” she curtsied politely, “but I think you’re a blind, bloody fool! A baby is begun in a few brief moments, but it endures a lifetime! An acorn will lie in the crevice of a rock for years, but when the winds tumble it to fertile ground, then it sprouts in the first warmth and wet of spring to become the mighty oak which will last a century or two. As for the holding of love, it’s the only thing that must be given away to be held dear in one’s heart. It must be shared, or it withers!” Her eyes flashed, and expressions changed her face in a fleeting panorama of emotion. “You, Major, are like a huge, black cloud on a hot summer day. You rumble and crash and fill the air with great sounds. Your lightning flashes with awesome power and sends small, frightened creatures scurrying for cover. But until the rain falls, until that which you hold within you is shared, the land and life will remain as parched and dry as they were before. Until then, you will only tumble and roil and tear yourself apart. In other words, sir, until some good is done, the noise and show are all for naught!”
Before Cole could lift a brow in amused condescension, she turned and stalked across the porch, leaving him to watch the tantalizing twitch of her skirts as she flounced into the house.
His entrance into the hall was much more orderly, and as he descended the foyer steps, he saw the last flick of petticoats passing the upstairs balustrade, then a short moment after, he heard the definite closing of her bedroom door. Miles glanced his way warily, and Cole subdued the smile that threatened.
“Have Peter fetch the madam some water,” he requested. “She’ll no doubt be wanting a bath.”
“Yes, sir. And will you be wanting your breakfast now, sir?” Cole’s affirmative nod seemed to relieve a small measure of the man’s anxieties. “Annie will be happy to hear that, sir.”
Cole seated himself at the dining room table and accepted a cup of brandy-laced coffee from Mrs. Garth. He struggled to shake a feeling that was familiar from his childhood. The one thing his father had been intolerant of was willful foolishness, and Cole had learned at a tender age that if he persisted in an obvious folly, his father would usually seek out a pliable willow switch and firmly instruct the son on the rewards of traveling such paths. Afterward, the son had suffered deep chagrin at having tested the limits of propriety with such inane boldness. It was this selfsame chagrin Cole struggled with now. The only thing missing was the sting of the switch, and yet he could not truthfully retrace the line over which he had obviously stepped.
He finished his breakfast, choosing to ignore the plate of fried potatoes, and sat back to sip the steaming coffee, even forgetting to add to the second cup the usual draught of spirits. He wished now that he had paid more attention to Alaina’s words. It had taken an extreme effort on his part to maintain a stem demeanor and disguise his fascination with her open bodice. Her glistening bosom had heaved with each angry breath as those soft lips berated him. What he could remember of her lecture, he sensed in it a hint of sincere wisdom that belied her years. But, he had already recognized that behind that comely face was a brain—and an active, alert one at that!
Alaina’s snarl came from the hallway, and Cole set his cup on the saucer in surprise, pushing his chair back just as she rounded the wide doorway from the hall. In the next instant there was a flash of yellow and black as her evening gown was hurled into his lap. He started to rise, but realized she was suddenly near, almost treading on him. She planted her small feet firmly between his and furiously shook a fist before his nose.
“You bluebellied swamp rat!” she hissed like a fighting-mad wildcat. “I’ll go naked before I wear a stitch of the clothes you bought!”
At very close range Cole saw the burning, spitting rage that fairly sizzled in her clear gray eyes. “I w
ouldn’t mind that, madam,” he drawled calmly. “But what has brought this on?”
Alaina snatched the dress from his lap, and at the violence of her movement, Cole half expected something more disastrous to befall him. “Don’t patronize me, you muleheaded Yankee!” She shook out the dress for his inspection until his gaze was properly directed toward the large charred holes burned through the bodice and skirt.
“Do you think I would do that?” He raised his own incensed glare. “Be damned, woman! I did not!”
Alaina fingered the burned edges as she remembered her desire to please him, and she could not restrain the tears that came into her eyes.
“Alaina.” Cole’s own wrath ebbed as he confronted that misty gaze. He laid a hand on her slim waist as he attempted to console her. “I cannot imagine who in this house would do such a thing. Is it not perhaps possible that a gust of wind blew it into the fire?”
“There was no fire,” Alaina murmured softly. Her ire had fled, but was replaced with a growing tightness in her chest. “Someone lit the kindling in the fireplace and threw the gown on top of it.” She folded the gown carefully over her arm and smoothed the unsinged sleeve with her hand.
“I ask you to believe”—Cole tried again—“that I would not do such a thing. But who would? Can you name anyone else?”
“It doesn’t matter.” She spoke so softly Cole had to strain to hear her voice. She clutched the dress closely and, sniffing, turned her face away from him. “It was one of my best. Mrs. Hawthorne helped me to find it.” Her voice began to break. “I wanted you to be proud of me, not because of what you could give me, but because of what I could bring to you.”
Cole had faced Roberta’s tantrums until they had become just another fact of life, but he felt helpless and unsure before the tears of this small wench.
Ah, damn! The wisdom burned in his brain. Chide her! Get her dander up a bit! Anything is better than this—he thought.
“What am I seeing?” he pondered aloud in a gentle, half-teasing tone. “Is this the one who took a mop to a man? Is this the one who dragged me from the river and saved my life in the middle of a war? Is this the same one I see crying over a spoiled dress? Is this Al?”