A Lack of Civility
By Lisa Hapney
Copyright © 2011 Lisa Hapney
Smashwords Edition
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All rights reserved. This novel is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either the production of the author’s imagination, or, if real, are used in a fictitious manner.
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ISBN 978-1-4658-4678-5
https://www.smashwords.com/books/view/124519
One
Sharra crouched, peering out from beneath the underbrush, her breath coming in uneven gasps. She moved her slender fingers, rhythmically, through the dirt at her feet. If she were found, her life would be worth naught. How would she ever explain her actions, especially to her father?
Time passed, slowly, to the steady pounding of her heart, a dense fog blanketing the forest. Her body protested the hours of forced inactivity as she worked her way out of the thicket and into the clearing, joints popping much too loudly for caution. A sardonic laugh sounded from behind her as she felt the rear of her trousers rip on an unyielding branch. Sharra spun on her heel, pistol drawn, to confront her adversary. They had found her. Heart beating wildly, her mind raced through the possibilities. There would be no saving herself now. There was no hope.
Chandler Ashton sat on the embankment behind her recent hiding place, coolly regarding her as she swung around, frantically brandishing her weapon. He glared down at her, his mouth twitching with wry amusement. "Someone really ought to teach you how to use that thing," he said. "It would be a shame if you shot yourself or, for that matter, if you shot me. I really hate being shot."
Sharra straightened her shoulders, defiantly locking her eyes to his. "For your information, Sir, I do know how to use this thing, as you call it. I would be more than happy to demonstrate my aptitude if you would be so kind as to stand in the place of a target, since I don't seem to have another one available."
"You could have fooled me. You rip your trousers, and then go totally wild on the poor fool who found it amusing enough to laugh at you. That's hardly charitable, now is it? You wouldn't be afraid that I had caught you at something would you, Sharra?"
"I do apologize, Sir, but I have no idea what you are referring to. Would you care to enlighten me or would that be too taxing for a gentleman of your stature?"
"No, no, of course not, my dear, but I would be happy to explain,” he responded. “Your defensive manner would be a good place to start, wouldn't it? It doesn't seem normal for you to be so jumpy. Do you always point weapons at unsuspecting strangers or do you reserve that privilege for your father's friends and enemies?"
"Truly, I am sorry for that," she said. "I was run off the road by some of the local slavers. They might have been bounty hunters. I really don't know for sure, but I knew they were trouble. I thought you were one of them. Generally, I wouldn't draw on you. At least, not unless you deserved it."
"Running from slavers and bounty hunters, eh? What an event filled life you live, Miss Montgomery. Tell me, though, if you can, just what were you doing out here in the first place?" he asked as he slid down from his perch.
"I was simply out for an evening ride when those brigands ran me off the road. They must have mistaken me for someone else. Probably, someone like you." She smiled winningly and batted her eyelashes. "Would you not say so, sir?"
"They may have mistaken your identity, but not your purpose. Of that I am fairly sure, Miss Montgomery. Nor, I dare say, did they mistake you for me or any other man, wouldn't you say? You can relax. I am not really interested in what you or any other spoiled child does. As long as it does not compromise your father or his position, it is none of my affair," he said. "Should you put your father in danger or sully his name, though, it would be a different story, completely. Do you understand?"
"Yes," she stammered, before regaining her composure. "Well, what is your excuse, my dear Captain?" she asked, her cheeks and eyes still flaring in response to his manner.
"I was going to kill one of the men chasing you. If you had not happened along to lead them in the wrong direction, I would have," he said his icy gaze boring through her very soul.
"Excuse me," she said. "I had no idea that I was in your way or that I should have planned on staying out of it. Perhaps, I should have called on you earlier to check your calendar. That way instead of leading them away, I could have risked my neck, even more, and led them straight to you. Would that have been more to your liking? After all, I do not usually encounter anyone else on my evening rides. I am not used to planning for such events."
He moved forward, towering over her, the transparency of his anger washing away her self-assurance. "I am quite sure that you can think of some way to repair the damage you have done. I have been trying to get a crack at Devon for years. If you had just stayed home, where respectable women belong, I would have made it all right, once again," he said, gripping her chin between his fingers, bringing his lips down to draw the very energy from her body. He bruised her mouth, pulling her securely into his arms.
Her senses reeled. He was so strong. She would have expected to have been revolted by the way he was treating her, but the warmth of his tanned skin beneath her hands was far more intriguing than her fear. Everything about him was perfect. His well-muscled arms holding her tightly against him lit a fire in the very depths of her soul.
She found herself melting into his embrace, basking in the warmth of his smoky gaze. She fell into the spiraling wonder of his kiss, praying, with every breath, that he would never stop. In one sudden motion he jerked away from her, as if she were a hot brand, completely shattering her illusion of contentment.
"You are altogether too pretty. I should never have touched you." She stood there, licking her flushed lips. For what seemed an eternity he stood, unable to draw his gaze away, peering into the restless black pools of her moonlit eyes. "I am afraid that I should return you to your father's house before I have to explain more than saving you from those men you met up with tonight or yourself. I would not want to have to lie to your father. For the moment, your virtue is safe."
Sharra stood there, trembling, staring at him in confusion, through eyes clouded with desire. As his eyes moved across her, burning her features onto his brain, her confusion turned to shame. She lowered her head, her voice so soft he had to lean towards her to hear. "Do you mean that you aren't going to say anything about my being here, because of what just happened?"
"It wouldn't be good for either of our reputations if anyone knew about our being here together, alone. Your father would have my hide. I would prefer to protect my own honor, as well as yours, unless you would prefer that I tell everything I know. It doesn't seem like a good idea, at least not for you, for me to go running about the countryside telling everyone that the daughter of one of the most prominent men in the region is helping escaped slaves."
Her head jerked up at his last comment, "Who said anything about running escaped slaves?"
"Your father is my friend. I would do nothing to hurt him. It is unfortunate that you do not feel the same. Don't lie to me. What else would you be doing out here?" She regained her confident stance and opened her mouth only to be silenced by his fingers across her lips. "Think carefully before you answer. Your fate lies in your own words. If you mean to tell me that you have nothing to do with running slaves, I will be forced to remind you and then tell your father that you are the local contact for the Railroad."
She stared at him for a moment, silently weighing her options, "If I lie to you, you will turn me in and I will lose everything. Right? I imagine you hate nothing worse than a liar and all that, but I am not prepared to apologize for my actions or my beliefs. If you feel that you must do something then, by all means do it. If not, I suggest that we be on our way. It's nearly morning. If we wait much longer there will indeed be some explaining to do."
Sharra stood there, hands on her hips and defiance sparkling in the depths of her black eyes. The fine cut of her jaw was set in a determined line, nothing at all like the fair belle of Montgomery Hall. "All that spit and fire is going to get you into trouble. I had no idea that you were so set in your ways and ready to die. I am sorry. I'm truly not angry with you. Should you tempt me, though, I could become so. Of that, I have no doubt. One of the men chasing you, though, caused me a great personal grief. I have looked for him for a very long time and it pains me to have lost him when he was so near my grasp."
"I am truly sorry for your pain, but I have no intention of standing here and debating a moot point with you for the rest of the night. If you will give me a ride home, I will be out of your way, so that you can continue your search," she said, once again the lady of the manor house. "Shall we go, Captain?"
Tremors ran down her back as his hand reached out to grasp the back of her head, drawing her lips to his one last time. The taste of his lips stirred feelings she had never known existed. He stroked her cheek, and then eased away from her, leaving her soul in turmoil. What kind of power did he have that reduced her so completely? "What do you think you are doing?" she asked through clenched teeth. "I have had quite enough of your domineering manner. You need to learn to keep your hands to yourself. Now, let's go. It will be morning soon."
"We will speak of this again, when there is more time and we are not in such a suspicious locale. For now, though, you are right," he said, pulling himself up on his horse. He extended his hand down to her. "Shall we go, Sharra?"
Two
February 23, 1861
Dear Diary,
The brand new Confederacy is busy putting together its constitution. Perhaps, they will come to an end that we can all live with. Jefferson Davis has been elected the provisional president of the newly organized Confederate states. It seems odd to think of our country as divided, yet every morning I wake to find that it isn't a dream after all. Captain Ashton has freed his slaves and is paying them a fair wage to stay on. I only wish Father would do the same. The good captain says he has given each of those who agreed to stay on, a plot of land and the house in which they were living. It seems highly unlikely, to me, that he would give his land away to ex-slaves, after being a plantation owner for so long. I hope, though, that he has told me the truth. It would surely be a grand gesture that, in time, others might follow. Such an understanding man will surely end up supporting the Federal government. I don't see how he could help but do so, and for that, I truly admire him.
Mr. Davis gave his inaugural speech on the eighteenth. He pointed out that "the American idea is that government rests on the consent of the governed." His are truly the words of a revolutionary, but I cannot help agreeing with him in many ways. I know that the men of the more southern states, as well as our own, are surely to be considered honorable, despite the suggested criminality of their beliefs. I cannot support what others in Virginia believe about slavery, though. At times I am not sure which side I truly believe in. Perhaps, I simply believe in the ways of the south, while detesting slavery.
Most of the gentlemen in the surrounding area support Mr. Davis, but in Charleston, sentiments are truly divided and many cannot bring themselves to believe or support what the new president has to say. Our area is truly divided. North of us, the sentiments are not so unsure, but here we are struggling to decide which government to support. The confederacy is an unknown for most of us and it frightens me to think of what may happen. I don't think I will ever understand how people so alike can be willing to kill and die for their different views, no matter what the situation. Perhaps, someday, I will come to understand.
--Sharra Montgomery
***
Sharra put down her diary and turned back to the window. The last faint shadows were being swallowed by the first lights of dawn. Her face flushed with the excitement of the evening, as she stood there, woolgathering. Never, in her life, had she met a man such as Mr. Ashton. Chandler Ashton.
His was a world of danger and daring. All those masculine attitudes and hard muscles made her gasp with longing, even if he was a rogue. Of course, she had seen him many times before, when he had come to do business with her father, but never had she spoken more than a good-day to him. Her father certainly seemed to consider him an honest and fine man, though. For her sake, he had best be all those things, but especially silent.
It was wonderful, she told herself. Next week Chan's sister, Lauren, was throwing a birthday party for Sharra's mother. Fate was certainly smiling on her. She would be able to talk to him about all her plans. If she were lucky, he would help her. If not, she had to believe that he would not betray her. Things bad become so complicated in such a short period of time.
It was strange. She no longer felt anxious about her coming meeting with him. He was just a man, after all. A man that made her melt inside, but nonetheless, just a man. A warm, tingling sensation traveled through her body as she thought about the coming party. Before long, she would again have a chance to meet with this man whose features reminded her of a fine statue, etched in marble.
Her father had been trying to talk Mr. Ashton out of his prize mare, for some time now, but had been unsuccessful thus far. Maybe she could demand the mare as payment for letting him come with her. Then again, she thought, seriously, he did not seem like the kind of man one toyed with; at least not if one had any sense. If she demanded too much, she would probably find him demanding things of her and winning, she thought, startled at her own daring imagination. Maybe she could find another way to persuade him.
Sharra quickly undressed, slipped into her night dress and found a place to hide her torn and stained riding clothes. She slipped under the covers, expecting sleep to overcome her immediately, but his face swam before her eyes. The light of his eyes stared back at her, out of her memory. Why couldn't she get him out of her mind?
Hours ticked by as she stared up at the ceiling, dreaming of the firmness of his lips against hers. Of the smell of leather and wild outdoors that surrounded him. The firm muscles in his back as he held her tightly against him. He was handsome. It was more than that, though. There was no denying it; perhaps someday.
He had never been a man for the social set. She had managed to drag that much out of her mother on one of his prior visits. Despite the fact that he was considered a highly eligible gentleman and was adored by all the ladies, he didn't venture out often. It seemed strange and it was truly a shame. She wondered, as she finally began drifting off to sleep, why such a man would hide from the world?
Sharra woke later that morning, impatiently ringing for Delia, as she began pulling on her riding clothes. She had to get out and a brisk morning ride was just what she needed to get the stiffness out of her muscles. She hurt all over. Sitting in the underbrush during the dampness of the night was not good for one's flexibility.
Delia arrived, out of breath, holding up the hems of her skirts. "Miss Sharra, your Mama said to bring yourself downstairs right away. She said you're going to miss your appointment at the dressmaker's and then you won't have anything to wear to her birthday party. You don't want that. Now, do you, Miss?"
Sharra quickly splashed water on her face, washing the sleep out of her eyes, and sat down while Delia tugged at her hair, trying to pull it into some semblance of order. She had not been overly excited about her mother's coming party, before, and it had showed. Now, though, plans were running through her head. She could hardly wait to have the most beautiful gown in the world made, for her next encounter with the master of Ashton Hall. If it took every ounce of will she had, she would have him for her husband. Her parents wanted her to find a man of means. Well, Chandler Ashton was definitely that.
Finally, dressed and on her way, beside her mother in the buggy, they began chatting. "You are going to meet so many young men this year. There are quite a number of parties and you have received invitations to all of the best ones."
"Mother, why is it so important, to you, for me to go to so many parties?” Sharra asked as she pulled her shawl across the top of her shoulders. “I have seen father talking with so many of the young men that I feel like a horse for trade at an auction."
"You know better than that, Sharra. How could you say such a thing, when your father is being so conscientious interviewing the young men who want to court you? You are very lucky to have him. You will just have to put up with his concern this one last time. After you are married, then you can speak with your husband about the rules of the house. For now, you are under your father's roof and you should be honored that so many of the local sons find you appealing. So many find it terribly hard to make a suitable match; you should be thankful that your father cares enough to interview them all," Mrs. Montgomery said in a huff.
Sharra leaned further back into the buggy's padding. In her heart, she really only wanted one man to ask her father for permission to court her. Oh, how the others would seethe with jealousy. Chandler was everything she had ever dreamed of, despite their brief acquaintance. He was unlike any man she had ever met, though that number, itself, was small. Just the thought of him made her flush and go weak. How could she live without him?
Trying not to seem overly interested, she peered out the flap at the passing landscape. "Mother, what do you know of Mr. Ashton?" she asked her voice conversationally light.
"Well, dear, I know that your father speaks very highly of him. Actually, he is quite taken with Captain Ashton. He believes that he has all the qualities his father lacked. When his father died, your father took Chan under his wing, so to speak, and treated him like a son. He felt that he needed help. He was very young when his father died."
"How did his father die?" Sharra asked, interrupting.
"He died from his lifestyle, more than anything. He was an absolute drunkard. It was a good thing that the man died before he could completely ruin Chan. Since Chan has taken over, with your father's help, of course, Ashton Hall and his other holdings have flourished. The two of them have entirely wiped out the enormous debts Chan's progenitor incurred. They make quite a remarkable team, actually. Of course, there was quite a scandal a few years ago. Chan's late wife's death was very suspect. He was cleared of any wrongdoing, but not everyone believes that he was innocent," Mrs. Montgomery said, sadly.
Sharra sat back in her seat, appalled. She wondered, briefly, if he had killed his late wife. Surely, she should think differently about this man, but all she could think of was the way she melted into the passion of his kisses. The memory of his arms, about her waist, caused her to gasp involuntarily, wiping away all her doubts about him. Everything in her soul said that she had to have him. She pushed the negative thoughts from her mind and straightened her dress. This was sure to be a long afternoon.
Three
March 1861
Dear Diary,
Mr. Lincoln has been inaugurated as the sixteenth president of our country. Well, at least of half the country. It seems like a terrible time to be in charge of any of it. There have apparently been threats, of some sort, against his life, so he is accompanied, by soldiers, everywhere he goes. What a terrible way to live.
From what little I have heard, the Confederate states, to no avail, have made several efforts to negotiate with the present administration. Fort Sumter is to be evacuated soon, or so it is said. I do not believe that anyone really knows what the future will hold for us.
At this point, the revolution is taking place fairly peacefully, but I fear that it will not last. Today I received a letter from Mrs. Chestnut. She is very sure about her hatred of both war and slavery. In her, I truly feel that I have found a kindred spirit of deep belief. She compared the separation of the north from the south to a "horrid fight for divorce." I cannot think of a better analogy for the situation we are in. She truly seems to be a wise woman.
Why do we hate each other so, suddenly, when so many of us are brothers and sisters? Of course, feuds within families are often the most destructive. The feelings just run so deep. It all seems so wrong, though.
I have to make another run tonight. The woman I am escorting and her husband are desperately worried about their son surviving the journey. He was beaten, half to death, for being too short to reach the top of the corn stalks. He is very ill and may not make it through the night. His wounds are festering from lack of attention after the beating, for he was chained in a shed for two days, without care, before being returned to his parents.
I am truly sickened by such senseless cruelty. I have sent Delia to help care for him, as she is the closest we have to a doctor, for the slaves, here at Montgomery Hall. I can only pray that she will be able to heal him. He is so young.
--Sharra Montgomery
***
Chandler Ashton stood staring out the window at the darkness, shadows filling his mind. Shadows of a spitfire girl that had raised longings in him that he had not known still existed. Disturbing longings, to be sure; why had he kissed her? She was beautiful. There was no denying that. In her snug men’s' trousers, mud smeared artistically across her cheek, she looked like some kind of wild creature. A sprite, come to taunt him. She was all fire and guts, but with the body and face of an angel. Truly not a woman to trifle with; women like her tended to catch one's heart. Chan had never been able to help playing the game, though and this time probably wouldn't be any different.
Lauren had entered quietly behind him, hoping to avoid his notice. At last, the pressure of her hand on his shoulder startled him out of his reverie. "What's bothering you this evening, brother?" she asked. "You aren't usually so thoughtful."
"I was just thinking about Mrs. Montgomery's party. We need to make a great effort to guarantee it is the social event of the season. Her husband has been so very good to me. He has always helped along the way, guiding my aims when I wasn't sure which route would take me to my projected end. I owe him more than any can imagine. If not for him, we would, probably, not have Ashton Hall now. His wife deserves the best we can provide."
"Well, of course, we shall do our best, Chan. Why the sudden interest, though," she raised her eyebrow, playfully? "You wouldn't happen to have ulterior motives, would you?"
He turned around, a smile slowly spreading across his face. "Whether I have my own reasons, or not, there has not been a party here in far too long. It is time to show everyone that we are still a powerful family, as well as a force to respect."
"I understand," Lauren said, still skeptical of his excuse. "Is it possible that you, my dear hermit of a brother, are going to reemerge into society?"
"I really had not thought of it in that way, actually. Only women think of things in such a light. Other than for information that gets passed along, affecting the tides of power, we men do not much care what goes on at such events. We only spend what it takes to impress one another. Of course, we do enjoy seeing groups of you women done up in your best. Really, though, I simply want to avoid any more embarrassment where our family is concerned. There has been too much, already. Anymore and we might never live it down."
He turned his back to Lauren and left the room, leaving her standing there, still full of questions. He had always kept to himself, but something was eating at him. It was times like these, though, that he absolutely infuriated her. It seemed as if everything he did was supposed to be some big secret. Surely he felt he could trust her. After all, she was his only sibling. He had always trusted her before. Why the secrecy, now?
Chan fell into a restless sleep that night, dreaming of eyes like midnight and chestnut hair that clung to his skin with a life of its own. The smell of rosewater filled his memory. Such a delicate scent. Sharra really should wear something spicier; something daring, to match her personality. Perhaps that would ruin the illusion. Never, he swore to himself, as he tried to push her from his mind, would he fall in love again.
Lauren certainly worked fast, he realized as he walked down the stairs the next morning. Everywhere he looked the house staff were putting up decorations, the lilting sound of the local quartet practicing feverishly in the parlor, giving the scene an almost comical air. In the midst of it all stood his sister, looking like a child, surrounded by her servants, hair askew and a smile on her face. She was truly in her favorite environment, the hub of activity.
"Is there anything I can do to help," Chan asked, warily, from the kitchen door.
Lauren looked over at him, happily. "No, Dear, I do believe I have it well in hand. Do not worry yourself one bit. You will probably want to go for a ride until the fuss dies down. It will be quite an afternoon. I have not even begun to pick out songs for the dances, yet. I do need you to pick up something for Sharra's birthday, though. It is tomorrow and I would hate for her mother to think that I am a poorly informed hostess, wouldn't you?"
"Lord forbid," he replied, sarcasm filling his voice. Lauren scowled at him and he shrugged his shoulders. "Very well, I will see you later, then." Chan turned on his heel and strode from the house. Women! They were all alike. Spend your money and then tell you to leave in the same breath.
"I almost forgot," Lauren cried out, running after him. "Go over to Montgomery Hall and invite Sharra and her mother for luncheon tomorrow. Don't you dare forget, either, and be nice."
"Of course," he replied, jauntily, swinging into his saddle. "I am always nice."
"And I am Cleopatra," she yelled after him, playfully.
Walking into the jeweler, he had to admit that he had no idea what one bought for a young woman's birthday. Lauren always did this sort of thing. Why did she have to saddle him with it, he grumbled to himself? It should have been a good feeling to spend his own money. From where he stood, he could see the jeweler eyeing the fine cut of his clothing, expectantly.
"May I help you with something, Sir," the proprietor inquired carefully, trying not to sound too anxious?
Chan sighed. He had best get this over before he wasted his whole day trying to decide what to do. "My sister has asked me to pick up a present for a young woman she is acquainted with. Her family is very dear to us and I have no idea what might be appropriate."
The jeweler smiled happily, "I believe that I have just the thing, Sir. Here is a lovely cameo that would be most fitting for a young woman," he said pulling a gold chain from a case. "This chain would display it most admirably."
Chan found the jeweler's greed entertaining, for some reason, and after much flattery purchased the cameo and chain. The necklace would look all the more lovely once it was around Sharra's slender neck. She would probably get it hung on a branch, somewhere out in the woods, he grimaced. He really was going to have to do something about that girl.
On his way home, Chan stopped at Montgomery Hall. Sharra and her mother were sitting on the porch, drinking lemonade and stitching on a quilt, as he walked up the stairs. Sharra looked so domestic, he chuckled to himself. If her mother only knew. "Good afternoon, ladies."
"To what do we owe the pleasure of your company today, Captain," Mrs. Montgomery asked, batting her lashes like an innocent maid? Oh, how the women of the south loved their games.
"Please, Ma'am," he said, playing along, "I am on a leave of absence from the army, for the time being, so that I can take care of some business matters. I have simply come to convey my sister's invitation for lunch tomorrow. She asked me to tell you that it is very important that you and Sharra both come. Something about the party."
"Please tell Lauren that we would be honored to attend," Mrs. Montgomery smiled again, looking at her daughter, conspiratorially, "especially if you are going to join us, Captain."
"Very well," he said, artfully circumventing her last comment, "Lauren will be expecting you at eleven. Unfortunately, I have some important business to attend, today, and must excuse myself. Good day, ladies."
By the time he rode up to Ashton Hall, his breathing had returned to normal. He could not fathom what was so special or fascinating about Montgomery's chit of a daughter. She was very pretty he admitted to himself, but so were half a dozen other women he knew. Not to mention that she was the daughter of the man who had been like a father to him these past years. Mr. Montgomery treated him much better than his own father had, if the truth be known. He could not afford to love her, but the thought of any other man possessing her made the blood run cold in his veins.
Perhaps it was time to take a mistress to calm his blood. It had been three years since he had been with a woman. Maybe he should even look for a wife. He did need to have an heir for Ashton Hall and it would get Lauren to quit nagging about his duties. Maybe he could talk the old man into letting him marry Sharra. She was young, but not too young. She was truly a woman now. The boiling of his blood told him that, even if his brain refused to acknowledge the truth.
Pushing Sharra from his mind, he retired to bed. Perhaps in the morning, things would look better. Once again, though, his night was filled with visions of Sharra Montgomery -- her sparkling black eyes and flushed smile, surrounded by hair as shiny and soft as silk.
Four
Sharra crawled through her window, gasping in pain. Her leg hurt, fiercely, from the slice on her thigh. If that dratted coachman had not tried to be a hero, she would have been fine. He just had to sneak up and take a swipe at her, though. Of course, he had paid for that poor judgment with his life.
Why couldn't he have just left well enough alone? She had never thought that her involvement, in the cause, would lead to murder. Maybe she was naive, but she had though that she could get away without any problems. Now, that sounded silly, even to her.
She was terrified that Chan would turn her in when reports came in of the bounty hunter and coachman that were killed by slaves running on the Railroad. She pulled the bottle of brandy she kept, for emergencies, out of her night stand. "I have to think of something. That's for sure," she whispered to the empty room. She took a giant gulp of the brandy, and then hissed between her teeth at the sting the alcohol caused when she poured it on the gash.
She slipped into bed, wearily pulling off what was left of her trousers and yanking her nightdress over her head. Stuffing the trousers under her pillow, she dreamed of Chandler Ashton, standing at the head of those set to punish her for her crimes.
***
March 2, 1861
Dear Diary,
Today Mother and I must go to Ashton. I was hurt very badly last night and will be hard pressed to make it through lunch. Mother's birthday party is tomorrow and I hope that all goes well. With any luck, Chan will not be present when we visit today. As much as I would like to see him, I cannot risk his finding out about my involvement in last night's mission. I know that it would be disastrous.
One of the North's great men, Robert E. Lee, left the Union army to fight for the South. Mr. Lincoln has taken a bold stand in ordering that all Southern ports be blockaded. Many of those that fight for the Federal army do not believe that their families and friends should be treated in such a way. Two days before Mr. Lincoln voiced his decree, President Davis invited privateers to bring in supplies and arms. It appears that he had some kind of report, else he would not have moved so swiftly.
Many find it hard to draw lines, where people they know and love are concerned, so the information goes back and forth in the hope of saving a few dear friends. I don't know where this will all end or what we will accomplish by fighting among ourselves. I only hope that we won't all live to regret this, as I fear we will.
--Sharra Montgomery
***
Delia breezed into the room to open the windows. "Your Ma said you need to hurry up, so put that silly book down and come on now. Hurry up. Miss Lauren is expecting you at eleven. Your Ma wants to leave for Mr. Ashton's place as soon as you’re ready. You've lain around too long today, already. You hear me, Miss Sharra? Have you forgotten about lunch?” Delia asked increasing the din she was making in an attempt to rouse Sharra from her bed.
"Fine, Delia," Sharra groaned as she pulled herself out of bed. She winced at the pain that ran through her leg when she tried to move it. How was she ever going to make it through lunch? If she were to even limp in Chan's presence, whatever doubts he might have, about her involvement in the murders, would be washed away.
After Delia had drawn her bath and hurried off, Sharra pulled her trousers from under the pillow. They were covered with blood, as were her sheets. Perhaps the laundress would just think that she had started her monthlies early, taking her by surprise. With a determined chin, Sharra hobbled to the tub and sank into the steaming water, gasping as pain shot through her entire body.
She sighed with relief as the pain eased and the warm water began to soothe taxed muscles. Slowly, holding her breath, she began washing her wound. She couldn't afford to let it get infected. How would she explain a foot-long gash on the leg of a lady? Of course, she had never thought of herself as a lady. Perhaps no one else did, either.
Eventually, the pain began to ease out of her body, as she sat in the hot water, gulping brandy. It would not do to go to Ashton drunk, nor could she go wincing in agony. "Surely, just a little can't hurt," she said, tipping the bottle to her lips again.
She put her dress on and rang for Delia to fasten the hooks on the back and help put up her hair. The dark burgundy dress would probably hide any blood that might seep through her dressing, she thought as she smoothed the silky fabric. She was sure she would only be there a few hours. At least she hoped so. When they returned home, she could plead off ill and go to bed. Perhaps Chan wouldn't even be there for lunch.
"Come on, Miss Sharra," Delia said, straightening Sharra's collar. "You need to be on your way."
"Delia," Sharra began, quietly, "I need you to do something for me. Can you keep a secret?"
"You and I grew up together. You taught me to read. That was a pretty big secret to keep, wasn't it? You ought to be ashamed to ask me such a thing. You know the answer. I've always kept your secrets before, haven't I?"
"Yes, but you can't tell anyone, not even my mother or father. Do you understand?"
"Yes, Miss," Delia said, exasperated. "Just get on with the telling."
"I need you to check on the dressing I put on my leg. You're every bit as good as any doctor and I can't afford to have anyone find out that I'm hurt."
"How did you hurt yourself?" Delia asked, pulling Sharra's skirt up so she could see the wound. "Miss, you have this all messed up. The blood's already coming through. Just stay put a minute. I'll be right back."
Delia rushed out of the room, only to return moments later with what she called her "healing bag," in hand. In no time, Sharra's leg was redressed, to Delia's satisfaction. "Thanks, Delia."
"Next time something like this happens, you call me when you get in. That could have festered. Then where would you be?” Delia asked shaking her finger in Sharra’s direction. “Well, that's enough griping. You better get moving. Your Ma's probably wondering what happened to you."
"Thanks again, Delia," Sharra said as she opened the door. "You've always been like a sister to me, but before today, I wasn't sure how far I could trust you."
"I doctor all the hurt slaves you bring through here. Why wouldn't I fix you up? I think you just worry too much. Now, go meet you Ma, before she comes looking for you."
The time in the buggy was easy enough. Delia had already informed her mother that she was not feeling well, so all she had to do was sit back, eyes closed, cushioning her aching head against the soft upholstery, while her mother rambled on about inanities.
When they rode up to Ashton Hall, Sharra was truly amazed. The house and grounds were truly magnificent. She had only run slaves across the far edge of the plantation. Completely overwhelmed by the magnitude of the place, she stared, open mouthed from the buggy. Montgomery Hall, for all its fancy naming, was little more than a working farm nestled among the mountains. Captain Ashton's father must have been quite a wealthy man," she finally managed to say. "Wouldn't you say so, Mother?"
"And the son is even wealthier than the father ever dreamed of being," Mrs. Montgomery said softly.
At the door, Sharra and her mother were met by a finely dressed black man. "I am Jonas, ladies. If you need anything while you are here, just ring," he said and showed them into a large parlor.
The entire house was bedecked in a splendor that Sharra had previously only dreamed about. Her mother thanked Lauren for inviting them to lunch and commented, overly much, as far as Sharra was concerned, on the fine furnishings in the house. Pulling Sharra off to the side, Mrs. Montgomery whispered in her ear. "You must behave as a lady here. I would not want you to embarrass me."
"Mother," she glared back, "you know me better than that.
Her mother smiled nervously and let go of her arm. "I had better know you that well."
Finally, Lauren came back into the room in a swish of fine fabrics. Sharra rose with her mother and curtsied slightly, despite the stabbing pain in her leg. Lauren was truly a dazzling woman. Sharra imagined that she had been quite beautiful in her youth.
She spoke when they went out to the porch, her face lighting up in a way that instantly put Sharra at ease. "I am so pleased that you could both come today," Lauren said, squeezing Sharra's hand.
Sharra spoke easily, "Mrs. Camdem, we are honored that you have asked us to lunch."
Lauren laughed, "Please, my dear, there is no need to be so formal. I haven't entertained much since my husband passed on. It is a thrill, for me, to have you here. Not to mention that I detest all that stuffy protocol."
Sharra softened at that and took up her glass of lemonade. Mrs. Camden grew excited as she discussed the upcoming party and the plans she had made, occasionally stopping for approval. Sharra was astounded by the size of the guest list. Never would she have met so many notable men and women. The fact that Jefferson and Varina Davis were included troubled her some. They were in the South, though, so it could only be expected that they would be on the guest list. The Ashtons were rich. It would be a miracle, of course, if the President of the Confederacy and his wife showed up at her mother's birthday party. Her mother wasn't really anyone important in the social circles.
Eventually, talk turned from the party to more basic ground; namely, gossip about those who had scandalized themselves most recently. A pretty black woman came to clear the dishes and whisper in Lauren's ear. "My brother has just returned and will be joining us in a moment. I promised him that I would await his arrival before showing you something."
Sharra had expected her to elaborate, but instead, she turned to Mrs. Montgomery and began showing her the designs she had chosen for decorations. Sharra slipped away to relieve herself and renew the fortification she was receiving from occasional sips of brandy. Her leg was throbbing and hot again. How she longed to go home where she would be able to rest and heal. Why had they come here?
Now Chan had decided to grace them with his presence and they would have to stay even longer than she had originally imagined. To leave too soon would be rude to their hostess. She knew that would never be allowed. Mother was determined to turn her into a lady, whether she wanted to be or not. Why couldn't she just be left to her horses?
When she rejoined the ladies on the porch, Chan was already there, conversing with her mother and Mrs. Camden. He stood as she returned came out the door. A lump rose in her throat as she curtsied ungracefully. "Excuse me, Mr. Ashton; it seems that I dipped into that a bit clumsily."
"Of course," he smiled at her mischievously, "we cannot be perfect all the time. Please be seated. My sister is absolutely dying to get on with her surprise."
Sharra seated herself gently in a chair, nearer to her mother and Lauren than to Chan, and smiled at her hostess. Why should he maker her nervous? He didn't know anything; at least, not for sure. He wasn't there. The only ones who were there were either dead or on their way to Canada. Lauren rang the tiny bell that had been sitting on the table next to her and her maid appeared almost immediately. She handed a gaily wrapped package into Mrs. Camden’s hands and departed.
Her hostess stood and walked over to Sharra, her smile lighting her whole face. "I couldn't stand to let someone else be the first to present you with a birthday present. I wouldn't want you to think that we had all forgotten about your birthday in the commotion surrounding your mother's party. I have always been foolishly sentimental. I hope your mother won't be angry." She handed the package to Sharra and smiled warmly at her brother.
Sharra unwrapped the package with great care, as her mother had told her ladies were supposed to, yet in her heart she wanted to tear into it as she had when she was a child. Inside the box was the most beautiful cameo she had ever seen. This was really too much. Sharra looked up at Mrs. Camden, who was smiling in anticipation. "Thank you, Mrs. Camden. Thank you both," she corrected herself, shyly. "I am unworthy of such a present." More than they would ever know, or want to, for that matter she thought to herself.
"You are too modest, my dear. It is a fitting present for a young woman's birthday and you have to quit calling me Mrs. Camden. Call me Lauren or you’ll make me feel like an old spinster woman,” she said flashing a brilliant smile that lit her face. “Chan would you please help her put it on?"
Chan rose to stand behind her. Gently, he removed the necklace from the box and placed it around her neck. She looked every bit as beautiful as he had imagined she would. His fingers caressed the nape of her neck, sending tiny shivers running through her body. As he fastened the catch, he let his fingers linger, drawing a sigh of pleasure from Sharra's lips. Where his hand had lingered, was on fire. Such a simple touch could send her head spinning. What kind of hold did he have on her?
He leaned down to whisper in her ear, "I hope you like your present. I considered how it would look against the softness of your throat. You are lovely."
Startled, Sharra looked up at him, trying to read the look in those emerald eyes. What she saw there, made her catch her breath. "Thank you, Sir, for helping me with the catch. I am honored by your attention."
Sharra's mother and Lauren watched the couple knowingly. They exchanged a look of success. Though neither one of the couple before them might realize it, yet, the older women knew they were on their way to falling in love.
They all passed a short time in conversation, mainly about the state of the country. Women were not supposed to talk or think about such things, but Chan didn't seem to mind. He looked as if he were truly enjoying their conversation.
As a lull found its way into their discussion, Chan rose and asked Mrs. Montgomery's permission to show Sharra around the house and grounds. Her mother gave her consent, to Sharra's intense surprise, considering what she had said only days before. She had been depending on her mother to say no, eliminating the need for her to walk in Chan's presence. Looking startled, she stumbled over her words. "Of course, Captain, I would love to see the rest of your home."
"Then let us be about it before you have to be on your way," Chan said with a devilish look in his eyes. "I wouldn't want you to miss anything."
Five
Chan held his arm out to her as they descended the porch steps and began their tour. A warm breeze caressed Sharra's face with a gentleness not unlike the touch of Chan's fingers on her neck. Actually, he was very good company, she realized as he showed her through the stables. As they came out into the gardens, the sweet smell of exotic flowers, lining the walk, made her heady. Maybe it was Chan's presence, but she drifted into her own world of pleasure, the gentle pressure of his arm delicately anchoring her in reality.
Just being near him and inhaling his masculine scent made her want to be in his arms again. Only women of the most questionable morals would feel as she did at this moment, but she no longer cared. Just being near him was worth it. Society could put her on its list of the socially incorrect, as long as Chan was willing to hold her in the confines of his arms. Never had she imagined that just being near a man could throw her insides into such turmoil. It had, though, and she was basking in the warmth of him.
They rounded the wall of the gardens and stood looking out at the fields, reaching out toward the horizon. Chan stopped and looked down at her, his eyes boring straight into her soul. She could not read his expression, the way he was staring, making her uncomfortable.
Finally, he spoke, the anger in his voice stunning her as much as the changes in his face. "Just what did you think you were doing last night? You could have gotten yourself killed, or worse."
"I have no idea what you are referring to," she said, quietly.
"You don't, do you?" he said, raising an eyebrow irately in her direction.
"No, I don't," she replied, her voice guarded.
"I can't say that your denial surprises me. It seems to fit your character. I am talking about your being a murderess. You killed two men last night. I know it was you." On his last word, he slammed her up against the garden wall and brought his hands down to slap her thighs with a cruel blow.
Sharra gasped, pain filling her mind as it had when she had been injured. She would have fallen, had it not been for Chan's close proximity, his strong body providing her with support. Tears filled her eyes and she began to sob, pain rising from the bottom of her soul, seeking relief. Everything that she was holding inside expelled itself in one tragic wail.
Something snapped in him. She had never meant to hurt anyone, he realized. She had probably lashed out in panic, fear fueling her attack. Sharra had reacted much in the same way the night he had found her -- wild, untamed fear guiding her actions. That would explain the strange placement of the wounds the men had received.
Neither of the men had died from the actual bullet wounds they had received. Instead, they had bled to death while unconscious. He drew her into his arms, holding her while she cried. What kind of man had he become, striking out, before even bothering to ask her about the ordeal?
Sharra's sobs began to ease as he stroked her back, her head tucked neatly beneath his chin. He cradled her body as the shivers subsided, the scent of rosewater filling his head. The longing he felt could not be denied. With gentle fingers Chan raised her head, looking into eyes full of darkness and shadows. A tear ran down her face and he reached to wipe it away. If he could, he would wipe away everything that troubled her.
He had not intended to do more than wipe away the tears, when he had brought her gaze up to meet his, but he found his lips drawn down to her sweetness, lingering in the beauty of her. Tentatively, his lips brushed against hers, tasting the warmth and salt from her tears.
The thrills his kiss sent through her body were much more than she had anticipated. Everything in her soul screamed for her to stop him, as his kiss deepened, drawing her like lava, into his embrace. The ground slipped from beneath her feet as his tongue entered her mouth. She knew she was losing herself in him, but she could not find the strength to deny him.
Her mouth was sweet and warm, stirring an ache deep inside. His tongue probed further into her sweetness, making her a part of him. The muscles in her body eased as she gave in, her delicate fingers coming to rest on his chest. Chan groaned as he held her tighter against him. It had been so long since he had held a woman.
Slowly, she began to match his passion with her own. Sharra moved her tongue against his, drinking in the pure masculinity of him. Everything about him was strong, his character; his body; his pride. Chan pressed the firm maleness of his body to hers, a gasp leaving her lips as she shuddered with desire.
Her world spun and she pulled him more tightly against her. Everything she had ever wanted was before her, fulfilled in this one moment. Every breath she took was for him. His hands wandered to her bodice, gently tugging at the lace covering her throat. Deft fingers loosened her buttons before slipping beneath her dress to tease the silk of her body.
He brushed her breast with his fingers, feeling her nipple tense and grow hard at his touch. Her body screamed out to him with movements she could not control. A soft moan escaped her lips as she arched her back, jerkily thrusting her breast more fully into his hand. With consummate skill he brought her down to the ground on top of him. Sharra cried out as he brushed the gash on her leg, then settled down on him sweetly, as the pain was washed away by passion. His hands cupped her buttocks, pulling her hard against his swollen member, the innocent squirming of her body exciting him beyond what even the most skilled courtesan could have.
Chan rolled her over, sliding his fingers up her leg, under her dress. She thrust her hips against his as he brushed the back of her knee, the soft skin of her inner thigh making him wild, from his need for her. The slight intake of breath that signaled her pleasure tantalized him.
Pushing past the many pieces of feminine undergarments, he brushed the smooth skin of her inner thigh again, before finding the tiny curls between them. Sharra looked up at him, the fear and startled silence in her face causing him to slow his pace, kissing the nape of her neck, trailing down to lay delicate nibbles on her breasts. Her nipple tightened as he drew her into his mouth; teasing, tasting, savoring everything about her.
"Please don't stop," she whispered, wrapping her fingers in his hair.
The husky pleading of her voice made her all the more enticing as he suckled her breasts, gently grazing the nipples as she worked magic in his soul. Her body arched, unconsciously, bringing her breast fully into his mouth. Every breath she took was a sigh of pleasure, the sound driving him over the edge. With a deliberate slowness, he brought his hand back to the center of her womanhood as he tugged urgently at her breast.