Just Imagine

  She chose a frock with sprigs of gay blue forget-me-nots scattered over a white background. The skirt was drawn up in soft folds to reveal an underskirt in the same blue as the flowers. Cain had provided a generous clothing allowance, damn his soul, and Kit had a beautiful wardrobe. Much of the thanks went to Elsbeth, who said Kit’s taste was too erratic and hadn’t trusted her to shop alone. The truth was, unless Elsbeth rode herd, Kit generally grew bored and settled for whatever the shopkeepers placed before her.

  Impatiently she pulled out her hairpins. That morning, she’d dressed her hair in the Spanish style, parted in the center and pulled into a simple coil at the nape of her neck. With a few tendrils escaping here and there and her small jet earbobs, the sophisticated style had been perfect for her first encounter with Cain. But she couldn’t tolerate the confinement any longer. Now she brushed her hair out until it crackled, then caught it back from her face with the silver filigreed combs Elsbeth had given her. It tumbled in a riot of curls that spilled over her shoulders. After dabbing jasmine scent at her wrists, she was ready to fetch Miss Dolly.

  As she knocked at her door, she wondered how her fragile companion would handle sitting at dinner with a Yankee war hero. She knocked a second time, and when there was no response, pushed open the door.

  Miss Dolly sat huddled in a rocking chair in the corner of the darkened room. Tears streaked her wrinkled cheeks, and she held the tattered fragment of what had once been a baby-blue handkerchief.

  Kit dashed to her side. “Miss Dolly! What’s wrong?”

  The older woman didn’t seem to hear. Kit knelt before her. “Miss Dolly?”

  “Hello, darlin’,” she said vaguely. “I didn’t hear you come in.”

  “You’ve been crying.” Kit clasped the woman’s bird-frail hands. “Tell me what’s wrong.”

  “Nothing, really. Silly memories. Making rag babies with my sisters when we were children. Playin’ under the grape arbor. Reminiscence is part of old age.”

  “You’re not old, Miss Dolly. Why, just look at you in your pretty white dress. You look as fresh as a spring day.”

  “I do try to keep myself pretty,” Miss Dolly acknowledged, straightening a little in her chair and making a dab at her wet cheeks. “It’s just that sometimes, on days like today, I find myself thinkin’ about things that happened a long time ago, and it makes me sad.”

  “What kind of things?”

  Miss Dolly patted Kit’s hand. “Now, now, darlin’. You don’t want to hear my ramblin’s.”

  “You don’t ramble,” Kit assured her, even though only a few hours earlier, that very habit had been driving her to distraction.

  “You’ve got a good heart, Katharine Louise. I knew it the moment I set eyes on you. I was so glad when you asked me to accompany you back to South Carolina.” Her ribbons dipped as she shook her head. “I didn’t like it in the North. Everybody had such loud voices. I don’t like Yankees, Katharine. I don’t like them at all.”

  “You’re upset about meeting Major Cain, aren’t you?” Kit rubbed the back of Miss Dolly’s hand. “I shouldn’t have brought you here. I was only thinking of myself, not of how it would affect you.”

  “Now, now. Don’t you be blamin’ your sweet self for a silly old woman’s foolishness.”

  “I won’t let you stay if it’s going to make you unhappy.”

  Miss Dolly’s eyes widened in alarm. “But I don’t have anywhere else to go!” She pushed herself up from the rocking chair and began to cry again. “Silly foolishness . . . that’s all this is. I’ll—I’ll just freshen up, and then we’ll go right downstairs for dinner. I won’t be a minute. Not a . . . not a minute.”

  Kit rose and embraced the woman’s frail shoulders. “Calm yourself, Miss Dolly. I won’t send you away. Not as long as you want to stay with me. I promise.”

  Hope flickered in her companion’s eyes. “You won’t send me away?”

  “Never.” Kit smoothed the puffy white sleeves of Miss Dolly’s gown, then gave her powdery cheek a kiss. “Make yourself pretty for dinner.”

  Miss Dolly glanced nervously toward the hallway that lay beyond the safe haven of her room. “All—all right, darlin’.”

  “Please don’t worry about Major Cain.” Kit smiled. “Just pretend you’re entertaining General Lee.”

  After ten minutes of primping, Miss Dolly decided she was ready, but Kit was so happy to see the older woman’s spirits restored that she didn’t mind the wait. As they descended the stairs, Miss Dolly began fussing over her. “Hold still a minute, darlin’. The overskirt on your pretty dress isn’t caught up properly.” She clucked her tongue while she adjusted the garment. “I do wish you’d be a little more careful with your appearance. I don’t mean to be critical, but you don’t always look quite as neat as a young lady should.”

  “Yes, ma’am.” Kit assumed her most docile expression, the one that had never fooled Elvira Templeton but seemed to do the trick with Miss Dolly. At the same time, she made up her mind to murder Baron Cain with her bare hands if he did anything tonight to frighten Miss Dolly.

  Just then he came out of the library. He was dressed informally in a pair of black trousers and a white shirt, his hair still damp from his bath. She relished the fact that he was too boorish to dress for dinner, even though he’d known there’d be ladies at the table.

  He looked up and saw them coming toward him. Something she couldn’t decipher flickered in his eyes.

  Her heart began to pound. The memory of that lunatic kiss washed over her. She took a deep breath. The evening that lay ahead would be hard enough. She had to forget what had happened and keep her wits about her. Cain’s appearance was going to terrify Miss Dolly.

  She turned to soothe her, only to see the old woman’s lips curving in a coquettish smile. Miss Dolly extended one lace-encased hand and made her descent into the hallway as gracefully as a debutante.

  “My dear, dear General. I can’t tell you what an honor this is for me, sir. You will never know the hours I’ve spent on my poor knees, prayin’ for your safety. Never in my wildest dreams did I ever imagine I’d have the honor of meeting you.” She thrust her tiny hand into Cain’s large one. “I’m Katharine’s chaperone, Dorthea Pinckney Calhoun, of the Columbia Calhouns.” And then she dropped a deep curtsy that would have done any Templeton Girl proud.

  Cain stared in bewilderment at the top of her frilly cap. She bobbed back up, her head barely coming to his middle shirt button. “If there’s anything, anything at all, I can do to make you comfortable during your stay here at Risen Glory, General, you need only ask. From this moment, this very instant, consider me your devoted servant.”

  Miss Dolly’s eyelids batted at him with such alarming speed Kit was afraid she’d blind herself.

  Cain turned to Kit for enlightenment, but Kit was mystified. He cleared his throat. “I believe—I’m afraid, madam, that you’ve made a mistake. I’m not entitled to the rank of general. Indeed, I hold no military office at all now, although some still refer to me by my former rank of major.”

  Miss Dolly gave a trill of girlish laughter. “Oh, my, my! Silly me! You’ve caught me like a kitten in the cream.” She lowered her voice to a conspiratorial whisper. “I forget that you’re in disguise. And a very good one it is, I might add. No Yankee spy could ever recognize you, although it’s a shame you had to shave off your beard. I do admire beards.”

  Cain’s patience snapped and he turned on Kit. “What’s she talking about?”

  Miss Dolly pressed her fingers to his arm. “Now, now, no need to fret. I promise when we’re in company I’ll be very discreet, and only address you as Major, dear General.”

  Cain’s voice sounded a warning. “Kit. . . .”

  Miss Dolly clucked her tongue. “There, there, General. I don’t want you to worry your head for an instant about Katharine Louise. A more loyal daughter of the Confederacy does not exist. She would never betray your true identity to anyone. Isn’t that so, darlin’?”
r />   Kit tried to reply. She even opened her mouth. But nothing seemed to come out.

  Miss Dolly plucked up the chicken-skin fan that dangled from her bony wrist and tapped Kit’s arm. “Tell the general that’s so, darlin’, this very instant. We mustn’t let him worry unnecessarily about betrayal. The poor man has enough on his mind without adding to his burden. Go on, now. Tell him he can trust you. Tell him.”

  “You can trust me,” Kit croaked.

  Cain glared at her.

  Miss Dolly smiled and sniffed the air. “If my nose isn’t betraying me, I do believe I smell chicken fricassee. I’m more than a little partial to fricassee, ’deed I am, especially if it contains just a tiny dash of nutmeg.”

  She linked her arm through Cain’s and turned toward the dining room. “You know, General, there’s a strong possibility that we’re distantly related. According to my great-aunt, Phoebe Littlefield Calhoun, her father’s branch of the family is connected through marriage to the Virginia Lees.”

  Cain stopped dead in his tracks. “Are you trying to tell me, madam— Do you actually believe that I am General Robert E. Lee?”

  Miss Dolly opened her Cupid’s-bow mouth to respond, only to close it with a giggle. “Oh, no, you shan’t catch me that easily, General. And it’s naughty of you to test me, especially after I informed you that you could rely on my discretion. You’re Major Baron Nathaniel Cain. Katharine Louise told me that quite clearly.”

  And then she favored him with a broad, conspiratorial wink.

  Cain scowled throughout dinner, and Kit’s normal appetite deserted her. Not only did she have to endure his company and the memory of their kiss, but she knew she’d planted the seed of Miss Dolly’s latest madness. Miss Dolly, however, had no difficulty filling the strained silence. She chirped on about fricassees, distant relations, and the medicinal qualities of chamomile until Cain’s face looked like a storm cloud. Over dessert, he came to a full state of alert when she suggested an informal poetry recitation in the parlor.

  “Worst luck, Miss Calhoun.” His gaze traveled down the table. “Katharine Louise has brought along some secret dispatches from New York City. I’m afraid I need to meet with her privately.” One tawny brow shot upward. “And immediately!”

  Miss Dolly beamed. “Why, of course, dear General. You needn’t say another word. You go on. I’ll just sit here and enjoy this delicious ginger cake. Why, I haven’t—”

  “You’re a true patriot, madam.” He pushed back his chair and gestured toward the door. “The library, Katharine Louise.”

  “I . . . uh . . .”

  “Now.”

  “Hurry along, my dear. The general is a busy man.”

  “And about to get busier,” he said pointedly.

  Kit rose and swept past him. Fine. It was time they had a showdown.

  The library at Risen Glory was much as Kit remembered. Comfortable chairs with sagging leather seats sat at angles to the old mahogany desk. The generous windows kept everything light and cheerful despite the somber leather-bound books that lined the shelves.

  It had always been her favorite room at Risen Glory, and she resented the unfamiliar humidor sitting on the desk as well as the Colt army revolver that rested in a red-lined wooden box next to it. Most of all, she resented the portrait of Abraham Lincoln that hung above the mantelpiece in place of “The Beheading of John the Baptist,” a painting that had been there for as long as she could remember.

  Cain slouched into the chair behind the desk, propped his heels on the mahogany surface, and crossed his ankles. His posture was deliberately insolent, but she didn’t let him see that it annoyed her. Earlier that afternoon when she’d been veiled, he’d treated her as a woman. Now he wanted to treat her as his stable boy. He’d soon see it wouldn’t be that easy to ignore the years that had passed.

  “I told you to stay in New York,” he said.

  “So you did.” She pretended to study the room. “That portrait of Mr. Lincoln is out of place at Risen Glory. It insults my father’s memory.”

  “From what I hear, your father insulted his own memory.”

  “True. But he was still my father, and he died bravely.”

  “There’s nothing brave about death.” The angular planes of his face grew harsh in the dim lamplight of the room. “Why did you disobey my orders and leave New York?”

  “Because your orders were unreasonable.”

  “I don’t have to explain myself.”

  “So you seem to think. I fulfilled our agreement.”

  “Did you? Our agreement was for you to conduct yourself properly.”

  “I completed my time at the Academy.”

  “It’s not your activities at the Academy that concern me.” Without taking his feet from the desktop, he leaned forward and extracted a letter from a drawer. Then he slapped it on the desk. “Interesting reading, although I wouldn’t want to show it to anyone who’s easily shocked.”

  She picked it up. Her stomach twisted when she saw the signature. Hamilton Woodward.

  It is my sad duty to report that last Easter, while a guest in our house, your ward behaved in a manner so shocking, I can barely report it. On the evening of our annual dinner party, Katharine brazenly attempted to seduce one of my partners. Fortunately, I interrupted in time. The poor man was stunned. He has a wife and children, and is prominent in local charities. Her wanton behavior makes me fear that she might be afflicted with the sickness of nymphomania . . .

  She crumpled the letter and threw it on his desk. She had no idea what nymphomania was, but it sounded horrible. “This letter’s a lie. You can’t believe it.”

  “I was reserving judgment until I had a chance to travel to New York at the end of the summer and speak with you personally. That was why I told you to stay where you were.”

  “We had an agreement. You can’t set that aside just because Hamilton Woodward is a fool.”

  “Is he?”

  “Yes.” She felt the color burning in her cheeks.

  “You’re telling me you don’t make a habit of offering your favors?”

  “Of course not.”

  His eyes drifted to her mouth, forcing her to recall what had happened between them only a few hours earlier.

  “If this letter’s such a lie,” he said quietly, “how do you explain slipping into my arms so easily this afternoon? Was that your idea of proper conduct?”

  She didn’t know how to defend something she couldn’t understand herself, so she went on the attack. “Maybe you’re the one who should explain. Or do you always assault the young women who come into this house?”

  “Assault?”

  “Consider yourself lucky I was fatigued by my journey,” she said as haughtily as she could manage. “Otherwise my fist would have ended up in your belly. Which is what I did to Mr. Woodward’s friend.”

  He dropped his feet to the carpet. “I see.”

  He didn’t believe her. “It’s interesting that you’re so concerned about my behavior, but you don’t seem to be giving any thought to your own.”

  “It’s not the same thing. You’re a woman.”

  “Ah, I see. And that makes a difference?”

  He looked prickly. “You know exactly what I mean.”

  “If you say so.”

  “I say you’re going back to New York!”

  “And I say I’m not.”

  “It isn’t up to you to decide.”

  That was truer than she could bear to admit, and she thought quickly. “You want to get rid of me, isn’t that right? And put an end to this ridiculous guardianship?”

  “More than you’ll ever know.”

  “Then you’ll let me stay at Risen Glory.”

  “Forgive me if I don’t see the connection.”

  She tried to speak calmly. “There are several gentlemen who wish to marry me. I simply need a few weeks to make up my mind which one I’m going to choose.”

  His face clouded. “Make up your mind in New York.”
r />   “How can I? It’s been a confusing three years, and this is the most important decision of my life. I have to consider it carefully, and I need familiar surroundings to do that. Otherwise I’ll never be able to decide, and neither of us wants that.” The explanation was thin at best, but she gave it all the sincerity she could muster.

  His glower grew darker. He moved toward the fireplace. “Somehow I can’t see you as a devoted wife.”

  She couldn’t see herself that way either, but still his comment offended her. “I don’t know why not.” She summoned an image of Lilith Shelton as she’d held court with her opinions about men and marriage. “Marriage is what every woman wants, isn’t it?” She adopted the same wide-eyed vacuousness she’d seen so often on her former classmate’s face. “A husband to take care of her, pretty clothes, a piece of jewelry on her birthday. What more could a woman want from life?”

  Cain’s eyes grew wintry. “Three years ago when you were my stable boy, you were a thorn in my side, but you were brave and hardworking. That Kit Weston wouldn’t have been interested in selling herself for clothes and jewelry.”

  “That Kit Weston hadn’t been forced by her guardian to attend a finishing school devoted to turning young girls into wives.”

  She’d made her point. He reacted with a bored shrug and leaned against the mantelpiece. “It’s all in the past.”

  “That past has molded who I am now.” She took a deep breath. “I intend to marry, but I don’t want to make the wrong choice. I need time, and I’d like to have that time here.”

  He studied her. “These young men . . .” His voice dropped in pitch and developed an unsettling huskiness. “Do you kiss them like you kissed me yesterday?”

  She needed all her willpower not to look away. “It was the fatigue from my journey. They’re much too gentlemanly to have pressed themselves as you did.”

  “Then they’re fools.”

  She wondered what he meant by that. He moved away from the fireplace. “Very well. You can have one month, but if you haven’t made up your mind by then, you’re going back to New York, husband or not. And another thing . . .” He tilted his head toward the hallway. “That crazy woman has to go. Let her rest for a day, then put her on the train. I’ll make sure she’s compensated.”