Indigo

  Hester decided she should finish washing. It wouldn't do for her to become accustomed to lounging around in tubs, regardless of Maxi's mandates.

  Galen quietly eased open the door of the sitting room so he could check on Hester. He hadn't seen Maxi since his return home a few moments ago and he assumed Hester would be still asleep. Instead he stood frozen by the sight of her standing nude in his tub. A gentleman would have eased the door closed again, but Galen had no intentions of passing up this opportunity for a quiet, unhurried look at his lovely little wife. He found her perfect in every way. Her dark breasts, flaring hips, and lean legs were lush for a woman of such small stature. He could spend the rest of his life undressing her so he could feast his eyes and touch on her ebony beauty.

  He watched her cascade water down her arms and legs as she rinsed away the soap. Droplets clung to her throat and hips. Thin rivulets came to rest in the valley of her hair and his manhood swelled in response. As she bent to bring up more water, she innocently offered him a very a provocative look at her backside. Finding it suddenly hard to breathe, he silently closed the door and leaned back against it. Going slow was going to be harder than he'd imagined. And this was only the first day, he reminded himself.

  Downstairs in his study Galen stared out of the window, musing upon his wife. In truth, being tormented by the sweet sight of her was really no more than he deserved. He'd embarrassed her today, compromised her in front of her reverend, her friends. Maxi had tried to talk him out of interjecting himself into Hester's life without her consent, as had Raymond, all to no avail. He'd had one selfish thought in mind, to make her his own and he'd gone after Hester like a conquistador after gold. It hadn't mattered that she might find fault with his methods. He wanted her, loved her.

  Raymond's voice intruded upon his reflecting. "So, is she angry?"

  Galen glanced over at his friend standing in the doorway, and replied, "No."

  "Your vaunted luck holds." Raymond came in and sat down. "I was looking forward to eating your dessert."

  Galen shook his head. "Are you here for a reason, or just to torment me?"

  "I came to let you know that Racine has sent word that she will return in a few days. Your grandmother is a bit unwell."

  Racine had left to visit Vada last week. She'd originally planned on returning today. Raymond had gone down to bring her back to Whittaker. "I suppose you told her everything about Hester and me."

  "Just about. She said she will speak to you when she returns."

  Galen sighed once more. It was all he needed, another person telling him how he'd wronged Hester. "Thank you, Raymond," he cracked sarcastically.

  Raymond nodded in acceptance. "Well, I'm sure you would do the same for me."

  Galen chuckled, "I cannot wait until a woman decides to stomp around inside your heart. Your squeals will be music to my ears."

  Raymond's eyes twinkled with his amusement as he stood. "Take faith, mon ami, regardless of how I tease you, I am glad things are straightened out between you and La Indigo. It pained me to see you so unhappy."

  Galen's eyes reflected the strong friendship they'd held over a lifetime. "Thank you, mon frere."

  Raymond inclined his head. "Well I'm off to Amherstburg for a few days. I have an assignation with a lovely, brown-skinned subject of Queen Victoria."

  Galen gave him a wave of his hand and a smile. "Good luck."

  Raymond replied, "Unlike the House of Vachon, we LeVeqs do not need luck."

  "Out!" Galen told him with a grin. "May she have a husband who is seven feet tall."

  Upstairs, Hester hardly recognized the woman in the beautiful sapphire gown staring back from the glass as herself. She had always carried herself with an air of confidence, but this dress, like the dress she'd worn to Galen's party, added an elegance to her persona.

  The maids had departed only a while ago, but true to Maxi's dictates they'd overridden her objections to their help and assisted her with not only her dress but her underwear and her hair as well. She'd refused to let them restyle her signature knot, but had allowed them to use the curling iron to fashion a trailing, wispy curl at each temple. The two young women had oohed and aahed over their handiwork and even Hester had to admit the curls added a distinct softness to her face.

  Still, she found the woman in the mirror difficult to recognize. The slippers on her feet would never last a moment in the garden or on the Road, but she supposed they were not fashioned for such tasks. They were soft and delicate and appeared to be more costly than any pair of shoes she'd ever owned. It would not do to get accustomed to this, she told herself. In spite of Galen's fervent denials, she couldn't see him being comfortable with this marriage for very long.

  Chapter 17

  Dusk had fallen as Hester crossed back into the bedroom. In her absence an unknown hand had lit a few candles to lighten the shadows, and the bathing tub had been removed.

  On the far side of the expansive suite, two French doors opened to the evening air. A quiet breeze wafted in, ruffling the drapes the doors had hidden behind.

  The open doors led outside to a terrace. Intrigued, Hester started forward to take in the view, but stopped when she saw the first box. It lay on the floor in the spot where the tub had been. The box was small, square, and wrapped in indigo-colored paper. A bow fashioned from gold ribbon graced the top. Hester stooped to pick it up, and as she did she spied another box on the floor a few feet away, and then another. They were lined up in a path that led her out onto the terrace. Outside she found another. She looked around for more and stared right into the eyes of Galen Vachon.

  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 qu
izzically, "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."