Chapter Sixteen

Rowena’s Journal December 14, 1875

I’ve thrown myself wholly into helping Annie, Nellie, and Lizza prepare for the Christmas party. They taught me that the idea of Christmas celebration is new to westerners. Americans do not observe the holiday like we Victorians do. As I’m to act as hostess, much of the organization will fall on me.

Annie has allowed my help cooking for Fairhaven’s celebration, and so for recipes, I suggested we consult Marguerite to learn how to make the pies, sweets, and—most important of all—the cooking of the meats.

In the end, she and Mr. Chesshire have volunteered to help us prepare for the party. Of course, they were already invited to take part in the celebration.

I continue to worry about Blair and how he will handle this great gathering at Fairhaven. He spends much of the time while I’m occupied stumping up and down the halls, hoping to strengthen his good leg. Says it also helps him pass the time. What he doesn’t tell me is if his ghosts accompany him.

Blair had a great deal of difficulty accommodating himself to Rowena’s sleep schedule. Accustomed to riding all night and sleeping most of the day, it was a struggle for him. Yet it was for the best. Being with her calmed him, and he desired to sleep with her all night every night.

Walking the halls each day to strengthen his body, he expected a bloody apparition to appear from every dark corner. And often it did.

One morning Rowena sat across from Blair in one of the reading chairs. Both were still in night clothes, and she wore one of his satin robes that swallowed her slight frame. Her legs were drawn up into the chair, her head leaned back, with a look on her face like the cat who’d been at the cream.

“I’m not sure whether it is that Smythe woman or some magic you wove,” he said, “but I feel better this morning than I have in months, perhaps even years. Free. Tranquil.”

“I might easily say the same of myself. We are so much better together than apart.”

“Yes, we are.” After a length of comfortable silence, he said, “Undo your hair.”

She lifted the heavy braid she wore at night to keep her long hair from tangling all around her as she slept.

“Yes, please. Come here. Sit on the floor and let me do it.”

Still that satisfied smile on her face, she did as he asked, carefully arranging herself so as not to bump the damaged leg. He tugged at the braid, removed the tie and, beginning at the end, ran his fingers through the twisted strands until her hair lay around her shoulders and covered her breasts.

“God, you’re beautiful. Do you have a hair brush?”

“Yes, but it’s in my room.”

“Would you mind if we used mine? I want to brush your hair.”

Winding a strand around her finger, she ran her tongue over her lips, so they shone in the morning light. “Where is it?”

“In the top drawer of the desk are my personal things. It’s in there.”

She uncoiled, rose, lifted the robe so as not to trip over it, and fetched his brush. Strands of her golden hair caught beams of sunlight when she passed by the window. Cupping the brush between her breasts, she sank to the floor beside him.

“You can brush my hair on one condition.”

“Oh? What is that?”

“That you let me brush yours.”

“Better do mine first, then.” Most of the wounds sustained in the battle with Calumet had healed into scars that he was assured would disappear. His grin lit up his face and sent happiness flowing through her warm as a summer sun. “I have a feeling one thing may lead to another when I get my hands in that mass of loveliness.”

“My, aren’t you waxing poetic today.” She rose, stood behind him, and brushed his dark hair, fingers threading through its thick mass, until static snapped between the bristles.

“This is very sensual.” She leaned down and kissed the scar at his temple. “I love you.” Whispered near his ear, which she nibbled at.

He held out a hand. “No more stalling. Brush, please.”

She gave it to him, then sank to the floor between his spread legs. “Not hurting you, am I?”

“No, my love. You’re fine.”

He pulled the brush slowly through her hair, beginning at her forehead and finishing at the end with each stroke. After he finished, he used his fingers to spread the long strands, kinked from the braid, then lifted a handful of glistening locks and kissed the nape of her neck. For a long while he contented himself with brushing and kissing. Her satisfied sounds, much like the purring of a cat, stirred him to the very core.

“Rowena?”

“Mmmm?”

“Could you get on your knees facing me? Take off the robe?”

She complied, kneeling naked before him, and glanced up with shining eyes. He brushed in long strokes until her hair lay like ripples of silken threads over her bare breasts. With the palm of his hand he stroked the hair over one breast, then the other, as if petting her. Beneath his gentle touch, her nipples grew taut. She arched her neck and hummed a low, sweet note.

“Would you stand?” Taking hold of both her shoulders, he eased her body upright. As if mesmerized, she swayed within his grasp.

“Lean forward, my love.”

She did, and he nuzzled through the golden curtain to the mound of one breast. Kissed her there ever so gently, then with fervor. He massaged the other breast, then spread the strands of hair and felt his way through its masses to place his mouth over the nipple. How could anything feel this good? The humming trembled through her lips. Shudders ran deeply through her. He continued until she trembled. The humming grew into moans, then cries.

“Oh, God, Blair. Do that again.”

Desperate to be inside her, Blair held back. Hesitated. Something was wrong. A litany of voices grew, overcame him, and he fell back in the chair, writhed under an assault that blinded him with noise, explosions, pleas for mercy. Roger stepped through the darkness, blood flowing from a hole in his chest.

Blair ground his teeth and slumped down in the chair.

****

Rowena shrugged into the robe, ran to the table, and wet a cloth in the wash pan of cool water. Hurrying back to him, she found his body sprawled half out of the chair, weight pressing on the bad leg. She couldn’t move him by herself without hurting him, so she ran to the bell pull and summoned Simmons with such frantic yanks that he arrived on the run.

“Can we put him in the bed?” she asked without explanation.

“Yes, mum. Of course. You hold his bad leg, and I’ll lift him by the shoulders.”

Together they dragged Blair to the bed and situated him comfortably, her stumbling over the hem of the robe she wore. Simmons quickly looked away while she retied it around herself. Though he didn’t ask, she felt as if she should partially explain.

“We were…talking, and he just started shouting. It wasn’t as bad as some times, but he had a spell, short and quick, and he passed out.”

Simmons nodded. “He’s not unconscious. More like he’s sleeping. I think he’ll be all right. Don’t you worry any, mum. He’s fine. We should be grateful it wasn’t of very long duration.”

Tears ran down her cheeks, and she took Blair’s hand, sat beside him on the bed. “He will be very upset when he awakens.”

“He did not get violent, did he?”

“No, of course not. I’m going to stay with him.”

“Then I will leave. If you need me, just let me know.”

“Thank you.”

He awoke to find her sitting beside him, staring into his features with moist eyes.

“Good morning,” he said.

“It’s afternoon, sweetheart. Are you feeling all right?” she asked. He appeared not to remember the episode. Whether she should tell him or not, she didn’t yet know.

“I’m fine. I guess I fell asleep. I’m sorry, it must have been boring, staying here and watching me sleep. Thanks for being here. Did I come awake swinging with both fists?”

“Not at all. Anyway, I know how to dodge.” She smiled and traced his lips with the tip of her forefinger. He made to bite it and she let him, then yanked it away. He laughed, and she joined him, then went into his arms. No need to talk about it. Somehow he had managed to avoid one of the episodes by going to sleep. She would speak to the doctor about that. It was a good sign, wasn’t it?

****

For Rowena the days flew by, and she happily threw herself into final preparations for the party, with Blair joining in where he could. The grand hall, the parlor, and the formal dining room each had a large Christmas tree on which candles would be lit the night of the party. Ribbons and bows and pine boughs hung on the walls, their fragrance filling every room. Sweets, special treats manufactured in England and ordered from New York by Chesshire’s Emporium, came wrapped individually and were placed in large baskets near the door. Each guest would be given one when they departed.

RSVPs arrived almost daily, delivered by westerners on horseback who worked for the Victorian families. Many were invited in to see the decorations, something new to Americans who generally celebrated Christmas by attending church and eating a sumptuous meal. No trees or gift exchanges such as the Victorians were accustomed to.

Nellie finished Rowena’s dress, a jade green paneled silk skirt, with a stylish apron drape in the front and gathered at the back, dropping softly into a short train, with no bustle, and a matching bodice with straps low on the shoulder and scooped to reveal her breasts, supported by a corset so as to all but show her nipples. Rowena’s plea to keep the dress simple and the back high to hide the scars was adhered to, and she refused to wear the hoops, preferring a softer, flowing look, more in the style of an informal tea dress.

“I don’t wish to appear like a piece of upholstered furniture,” she told Nellie, and the girl agreed, having herself been raised as a commoner in Glasgow, where women eschewed the use of corsets, hoops, multiple petticoats, and slips.

“We’ve pared it down to simple because women here have to be more useful than sitting around sipping tea and looking beautiful.” Nellie flushed and glanced at Rowena, standing patiently while she fitted the dress. “Begging your pardon, mum.”

Rowena waved a hand. “It is very true. Here in America, at least on the western frontier, women are much more useful than prized for appearance only as in Victorian society. If you wish to know the truth, I think Mr. Grant’s notion of bringing the highbrow Victorian ways to this rugged place are foolish. Tyra has the right idea, going about in trousers so she can ride and work beside her man.”

Lizza giggled. “Well, I wouldn’t go so far as to wear trousers, but I would not be caught dead laced up in one of those corsets. How could we go about our busy day when we could not breathe?”

“Laced up in one of those corsets, you might well be caught dead, my dear,” Nellie joked and adjusted the waistline with pins, backed off and nodded. “One more look, and I can finish it by tomorrow.”

Rowena moved to study herself in the full length mirror that hung on the wall in the sewing room. Turned this way and that to get the full effect.

“It’s perfect. Does anyone know where Blair is?”

Nellie glanced at Lizza, who shrugged.

“Could you please go find him? I want him to see it. I will, after all, be serving as Lady Prescott, hostess of Fairhaven, and I want him to be proud of me.”

Lizza left the room on the run, and in a few minutes she returned, Blair stumping along behind her. He hauled up short in the doorway, eyes popping.

“Do you like it?” Rowena said, when he continued to stare in silence.

“I don’t know about it, but you are absolutely stunning. The green and your hair. What is it Grady says? Wow! You will definitely do me proud.” Black eyes glowing, he approached her, leaned forward so as not to place the crutches on the flowing skirt, and kissed her on each cheek. “My hostess,” he whispered. “Perfection.”

“Thank you.” She cupped his face briefly.

For a long moment he didn’t move, but continued to gaze into her blue eyes, turned aqua by the green in the dress. He couldn’t stop staring, searching for the spirit that made her who she was. Soft and sweet and forgiving. Tough and stubborn and loyal. He turned away, cleared his throat noisily, and stumped out of the room.

“That man is besotted, if you don’t mind my saying so,” Annie said.

“I don’t mind in the least.” Rowena touched her skin where he had kissed her and smiled.

****

The morning of the party Blair awoke grumpy

“Have a bad night?” Rowena snuggled close and gave him a kiss.

“No, not really. It’s this damned leg. I’m tired of wearing trousers with one leg split up the side, and most especially for the party. And I’m sick of hobbling around on crutches.”

Trailing one hand under his night shirt, she kissed him again, longer, sweeter, and he forgot all about everything but her body and how she could make him feel so good he could ignore the broken leg, at least temporarily.

Later, after pulling on black trousers with the right leg split to the knee and a woolen sweater to ward off the chill, he leaned on his crutches at the window and watched big fat flakes fill the air.

Ridiculous idea, having a party in the middle of winter in Kansas, and now it looked as if the weather would win. Deep down he was relieved, yet loathe to admit it. He did want to leave his reclusive life, but dammit, it was not easy.

He turned and gazed for a moment at Rowena, who sat at the table, head down, pencil in hand, fingers twisting a long lock of pale hair. He said nothing about the snow. She was so excited, had worked so hard for this party. Plus all she went through keeping him sane. So he kept his mouth shut, glared through the glass, and grumbled in silence, hoping that would chase away the snow. Abruptly, the sunlight broke through the clouds, and the flakes melted upon touching down. “I’ll be damned.”

Jolted from her concentration, she glanced at him. “What was that, dear?”

“Nothing, sweet one. Looks like we’re going to have beautiful weather for the party.”

She tipped her head back, then sent him a lovely smile. He melted like the snow beyond the windowpane. Everything would be all right. For her. He must see to that.

Thanks to the women in his household, the castle had taken on a fairy wonderland appearance, each room festooned with garlands and wreaths, ribbons and bows, and two large, gaily decorated trees.

Hilda had helped him realize that anything even remotely out of his control bothered him. Like this damned broken leg, or crowds of people in his home, and most especially the ghosts that drifted from room to room at Fairhaven. No matter how much he walked the halls, nothing would make the leg heal more quickly. It was supposed to strengthen his muscles, and he believed in that.

Hilda had suggested that he do some training such as he had undergone with les Zuoaves. He could not march, but could he not strengthen his upper body in the way they had taught him? Excited at that prospect, he and Grady and Simmons had set up one of the smaller rooms on the main floor where he could work out. Grady agreed to spot him in case he got in trouble, and a couple of hours each day the two of them disappeared. Rowena was excited about his having something to keep him occupied that would make him happy and healthy. Following the incident at the jail, he had lost weight, his cheeks growing gaunt, his clothing hanging loose.

Later on the morning of the Christmas party, over breakfast with Rowena in the privacy of his study, he brought up the subject of the unwieldy crutches. “Perhaps I could get by without them, for just one evening.”

“Oh, no, you don’t. Doctor Proctor said you could damage your leg beyond repair if you walked on it before he got it fitted with a brace. Do I have to tie you to your chair?” She gazed fondly at him across the table. “We’re supposed to take a final tour to make sure everything is in order. Come on, go with me, and maybe then you won’t be so grumpy.”

“If you’d like, but I’m not grumpy.” He pointed his fork at a slice of toast covered with gravy, a fried egg in the center, a slab of ham on the side. “What is this?”

“A quick Western breakfast. There’s too much to be done in the kitchen today to make you a proper English breakfast.”

He lifted the egg slightly and peered under it.

She laughed. “What are you looking for?”

“Not sure, but it must be hiding something. Do these people really eat this?”

“Oh, yes. Now eat. It’s good.” She forked up a piece of toast dripping with gravy and runny yolk.

He went to work cutting the concoction with his knife and fork until all ingredients were thoroughly mixed. “There, that’s more like it.” He scraped some onto the back of his fork and poked it in his mouth, making a face.

Laughing, Rowena did the same with hers. After taking a bite, she said, “You are right, that is more like it.”

The steaming tea sent off a tempting fragrance, and he chased the food down with a long swig, set down the cup, and gazed at her. “You are a most delightful companion. No, wait, that sounded too stiff. You are a perfect wife, companion, and nurse, but I hope to release you from that last duty soon. I love you more than life itself. You understand me and my quirks, for which I am most grateful. Now, what do you think of that?”

From the look on her face the praise struck her speechless. She continued to sit there staring at him, tears on her cheeks.

“Well, don’t cry, you know I don’t know what to do when you cry.”

She sniffed and wiped her face with the tips of her fingers. Smiled through the tears. “I’m not quite sure what to say. All that at once is almost more than I can handle. Long before we married, you were the best friend I had, and you still are. I was so afraid you would never love me. And then you did. When I need it most, you give me something I never had.”

Throat closing, he covered her hand, lying on the table. “And what might that be?”

“Someone I can trust, who is always at my side when I need you. But most of all, my darling, you give me love.”

Men weren’t supposed to cry, but tears moistened his eyes and he cleared his throat. “I believe I can say the same about you.” He drew a long breath. “Okay, my love. Enough of this feminine folderol. What time is that party again?”

“Guests will arrive around six, we’ll eat at eight. Forty-two people sent RSVPs accepting their invitation, which means I have to squeeze two chairs in somewhere.” She frowned and pulled the chart from the table drawer.

“Well, I can see you’re really excited about my heartfelt declaration, so let’s get on with this party.”

“Right now, I could get you in that bed and keep you there all day, but like you said, we have to get on with this party.”

He didn’t say anything, and she glanced up to make sure he was all right. “What is it? Blair?” She started to get up, and he smiled.

“Oh, I was considering your offer. Sounds pretty good to me. Come on.” He held out a hand.

“Later, dear. Later.”

“Well, in that case, let me see the chart. Perhaps I can help you seat these two misfits somewhere. There are surely two people coming who would do best when separated. Then let’s take that tour.”

He bent his head to look at her chart. She threaded her fingers through his hair, freshly trimmed for the party. “Do you know how much I love you?”

“Uh-huh, I really do.” He turned his head and kissed her palm. How could he not?

While they toured the rooms, Rowena could not help but be concerned. Not about the party but about his reaction to being in such a large crowd. That was something he didn’t handle well. Originally he’d said he would make a short appearance, then leave the party to her. Lately, though he’d been talking more like he planned to remain all evening. After only two sessions with Hilda Smythe, he appeared more calm and was having fewer nightmares. She prayed everything would go well, for his sake, but the fear remained that something untoward could happen at any time.

The great dining room easily accommodated four tables and enough chairs for everyone. Simmons had hired five additional serving maids and three women to help Nellie, Annie, and Lizza in the kitchen with final preparations, plus that many more men to help Grady manage the carriages and buggies that would arrive throughout the evening.

“Are you sure everyone is well versed in what they should do?” he asked, taking one last look at the huge tree at one end of the grand ballroom. The walls were hung with fresh greenery and huge bows Nellie had sewn from red, gold, and green fabric.

“Absolutely. Simmons is in charge of the help, and who could be better than he is?”

They strolled slowly toward the formal dining room so she could take a last look at the place cards and centerpieces. “Who will play the music for dancing? I did not think any musicians came over from England.”

“Oh, they didn’t, but Lizza knows some men who play violins, and they have agreed to practice some dance music together. I believe they call themselves fiddlers, but she said they are very good.”

“You haven’t heard them?”

“Relax, darling.” She stood on her toes and kissed him on the cheek. “She said they can play everything from waltzes to the two-step. We are in the west now. We will adapt.”

He gave her a questioning look. “If you say so. You are the hostess.”

“Keep telling yourself that.”

After they had a quick tea, he and Grady went off for his two-hour workout, to be followed by a bath, after which Simmons would see he was properly dressed.

By four o’clock, all preparations were completed, and Rowena hurried upstairs to her room, where Annie waited to help her bathe and dress in the jade garment.

Slipping into her stockings and unmentionables, Rowena asked, “Did you finish Blair’s trousers?” and held her arms up so Annie could drop a slip over her head.

“Yes, mum. I put a pleat in the right leg so it would fit easily over the splint. I think he will be pleased. Simmons took his clothes to him a few minutes ago.”

Once the corset was laced and the camisole fitted over it, Annie carefully added the two-piece dress.

“It looks lovely,” Rowena said, patting her flat stomach and preening in front of the mirror. She turned enough to see her back, and, satisfied the neckline covered the scars, she smiled.

“I’m so pleased we decided to leave off the hoops. I can’t imagine wearing them all evening, sweeping things off tables and chairs. It’s a wonder more than two or three women can squeeze into a room together.”

“Well, mum, plenty of women will be wearing them tonight. You will be the most beautiful there, though. I’ll just bet you’ll set a new trend for these snooty Victorians. Welcome to the west, I say. Now sit, and I’ll fix your hair.”

“Do we have to put it up?”

“Well, I would guess we can do whatever you wish.”

“Blair likes it down so well. Why don’t we pull it off my face on either side into a small knot high on the back, and let the back flow loose?” In the mirror her face flushed at the memory of him brushing her hair over her bare breasts and nuzzling through it to kiss her nipples. What a delicious sensation. They’d have to do that again.

“That’s a grand idea.”

“I saw it in a magazine Marguerite has at the shop. Seems to be a new style back in England. By the way, I have not seen much of her. How is she coping?”

“Oh, she has become the boss of the whole shebang, keeping us all in line. Rushing hither and yon, pointing and shouting.” They both laughed while she pulled Rowena’s hair back in the way she had suggested.

The hairdo finished, Annie stooped and slid gold slippers onto Rowena’s feet. “There now.” She ran her hands over the skirt, adjusted the drape across the front, made sure it was caught high at the waist in the back and flowed straight down to the floor. “Lovely. Absolutely lovely.”

Nellie, Annie, and Lizza were to wear matching pale blue tea dresses and frilly caps over hair caught into tight buns, befitting serving help.

Rowena stepped out into the hallway and leaned over the banister for a moment to take in the glittering beauty below. The chandelier with its crystal candle sconces glittered in reflective lights. A boy with a long taper went about the chore of lighting candles.

When she turned at the top of the stairs and started down, Blair waited at the bottom. His breath caught in his throat. He had seen her in the dress when it was being fitted, but somehow now with all the gaiety of decorations, the lights from dozens of candles and lamps, she was devastating. Her golden hair fell around bare shoulders, one long curl enticingly bouncing near her breasts, which appeared ready to pour from the low neckline.

At the last step, she held out her hand to him, and he took it with his left hand. He’d opted to use only the one crutch to support his right leg. A frown briefly creased her forehead. He smiled, gazed into her sparkling eyes, and kissed first one cheek, then the other, whispered, “Don’t be angry. I’ll be careful.”

“You’d better be,” she whispered back, then surprised him by kissing him full on the mouth in front of all the help, gathered in the foyer. He was most certainly the luckiest man alive.

By seven the party was in full swing. An occasional buggy or carriage drew up and poured forth more guests, but for the most part everyone had arrived.

Wine, mulled cider, and whiskey flowed freely, and Blair, a glass of cider in his hand, had found a quiet niche where he could observe without being jostled about. Rowena glided from one couple to another, chatting a few moments, then moving on. Couples drifted into the ballroom to dance to the violin music, which was proving quite popular. It reminded Blair of his promise to dance with Rowena, and he made a vow to keep that promise as soon as possible.

George Grant arrived fashionably late, spotted Blair, and joined him with two glasses of whiskey. Blair accepted graciously, then set the glass down on the table between them. He had not had a drink since stumbling under the dray in the middle of the street in Victoria. If Grant noticed he didn’t drink, he said nothing.

“Fine party, old man,” Grant said. He was dressed fashionably in black silk trousers, shiny black shoes, and a colorful brocade vest over a stiff white shirt, buttoned high on his thick neck. His lustrous white hair and handsome beard and moustache were neatly trimmed. After every sip of whiskey, he ran his forefinger along his top lip. “Good to see everyone having such a grand time. A fine idea you had. By the way, how is the leg coming along? I was sorry to hear about your accident, and was happy I could be of help with that unfortunate incident in Hays.”

Unfortunate incident, my ass. Blair grinned. “I thank you for what you did. It helped clear everything up quickly.”

“I say, did you hear about Sheriff Calumet?”

“I hope someone shot the son of a bitch.”

Grant shot him a glance. “I would be careful who you let hear you say that, son. Someone did indeed shoot the son of a bitch. No one knows who. He rode into town, a bandana over his nose, went into his office, and shot him right between the eyes, then rode away. No one seems to know who the culprit was, but a lot of people had good reason to do so.”

Blair tapped his right leg with the tip of his crutch. “Damn good thing I have this, or I would probably be in their jail again.”

“Indeed.” Grant took another sip of whiskey.

Everyone in town knew what had happened, from the accident to his arrest and all that followed. Hell, truth be told, they probably knew what went on within the walls of Fairhaven. News from abroad told of things changing in the Victorian world. Once it became known that Queen Victoria had obtained pornographic art in order to stimulate her husband into performing sexually, all hell had broken loose. Young people rebelled against the strict way of life they’d been taught and were having fun of all sorts.

Grant moved on. The noise level of the party continued to rise, and Blair searched out other places to escape the cacophony. It was making his head rattle. His Zuoave companion in the corner appeared relaxed, not caring he had blood all over his uniform. Blair ignored him as best he could. Once the evening meal was served, surely things would quiet down. And they did.

Precisely as the tall clock in the hall pealed eight chimes, supper was announced, and everyone drifted into the enormous dining room, wandering along behind the chairs until they found their name card, each exquisitely printed by Rowena. She had mixed the couples, young and not-so-young, at each table and, at Blair’s suggestion, split a pair of middle-aged widows to keep from crowding a table with two extras. None of the emigrants in Victoria were past forty, with the exception of Grant.

She found Blair sitting on the staircase and took his hand. “Come on, time to eat.”

“Do they have to make so much noise?” He tucked the single crutch under his right arm and let her pull him up.

She studied him closely, and he squirmed. Too bad she had to worry about what he might do, but he didn’t much blame her. He worried himself. In the shadowy corner, the soldier in red jacket and white breeches, blood soaking the front of both, raised a hand to him. He swallowed, blinked him away.

“I am just fine.” With a forced smile, he tucked her hand around his elbow, and they went to sit at the head of the first table, him on the end, her to his right.

Candles flickered on the huge Christmas tree near the tall windows. Wall sconces held lamps that shimmered, the light glistening on the gold and blue and green and black ball gowns of the stylishly dressed women. No one shone as brightly as did his Rowena, her long loose curls tumbling down her back. She was the only woman in the room with her hair down, and she was creating quite a stir. Most of the men wore their wigs, which made the gathering appear even more English. Blair had not worn one since enlisting in les Zuoaves, and kept his hair trimmed.

The tables were heavily laden with mincemeat pies, pastries stuffed with vegetables brought in by train from California, and dishes of every variety of food imaginable. When everyone was seated, the parade of servers came in carrying meat platters of roasted goose, beef and ham, followed by attractive young western ladies serving drinks, both alcoholic and non-alcoholic. Annie and Lizza had outdone themselves with desserts, placed in crystal serving plates on the sideboard along one wall. There were puddings, pies, the brandy-soaked fruit cakes, and a variety of tiny decorated cakes and cookies.

At last everyone began to eat and, to Blair’s relief, the conversations ebbed. There was only the rattle of silverware and clink of glasses accompanied by an occasional chuckle as everyone visited quietly between courses. The next hour and a half was spent eating until all the serving dishes were empty, or nearly so. The dessert bar was soon cleared, and guests began to chat among themselves again. They drifted in twos and fours out of the room, some of the men stepping outside under a glorious full moon to light up fat cigars.

Rowena accompanied Blair down the hall toward his study. “I know you’re aching to find some solitude, so why don’t you go ahead and retire. I’ll explain that you are still recovering from the accident and need extra rest.”

He leaned down and kissed her. “A fine idea indeed.”

“You okay, darling? You look a bit weary.”

“Stop worrying. I am fine. It was a wonderful party, and you did an excellent job. You and all the rest. I’ll make sure to thank all of them in the morning. Please ask the help to remain here until morning, and then after a good breakfast Grady can take them home, won’t you?”

“I will. I will join you later, if you’d like.”

“If I’d like, indeed. See you then.”

Rowena watched him maneuver his way through the door and close it, then turned to go back to their guests. It pained her heart that he suffered so much from that dreadful war. Why men had to go off and fight with each other over every little thing they could think of escaped all her understanding. And look what it did to them. She could not even imagine what it must be like to look someone in the eye and kill them, knowing at any moment they could do the same to you. And to do it over and over until the land was soaked in blood… She hugged herself and shivered. To imagine a gentle man like Blair thrown into such brutal slaughter challenged her sanity.

Guests began to wander toward the front door, and she signaled to a couple of the girls in the kitchen to fetch coats and hand out the gifts placed in several baskets along the entry wall. She stood at the door, bidding each guest good evening, accepting their thanks for a grand party, and wishing she could take off her corset and enjoy a good deep breath, when something exploded outside. A white flash lit the windows, followed by another explosion, then another.

“What in the world?” someone cried.

“Oh, it’s those young men. A few of them brought fireworks so they could celebrate the holidays like we did in England,” another said.

She didn’t stay to hear more but headed for the study on a dead run. Just as she shoved open the door, Simmons hard on her heels, glass broke inside and flames leaped into the air. On the far side of the flames, Blair crouched in the corner, shouting something she couldn’t understand.

The scent of kerosene filled the room, and smoke choked her. She screamed his name and struggled to get around the flames. Someone grabbed her arms and yanked her back. The hem of her dress sent tendrils of smoke upward.

“Stay back, child.” The stern voice of Marguerite, who grasped her by the arms.

She fought her, tried to escape her grip. Demanded that she let her go, but she held fast.

“Water, bring water,” Simmons called.

Marguerite pushed her down onto the stairs and joined in the line passing buckets of water into the study from the pump in the kitchen. The flames began to die down. Black smoke hung heavy throughout the study and the entryway. Over and over she tried to fight her way through the crowd, only to be held back by Marguerite or one of the other guests.

“It’s dangerous in there,” one told her until she fought loose and plunged forward once more.

“I hear he’s quite mad,” someone near her said.

“Poor chap,” a man murmured. “War does that to some. He’s a hero. We should be charitable.”

“Yeah,” a young, snide voice said. “Next thing he’ll burn down one of our houses, then we’ll see who’s a hero.”

“If stone could burn this place would be in a shambles this night.”

Rowena buried her face in her hands, sure that Blair lay dead just out of her reach. By the time the fire was out, those who had remained to help or simply out of curiosity, were choking, their faces smudged in black.

At last she managed to shove her way through the crowd clustered around the door, trying to see what had happened. Inside, what she’d feared. Simmons knelt beside a still form crumpled on the floor.

A savage scream echoed into the vestibule. It had come from her. Her throat ached, her chest hurt, her breath came in short gasps that burned into her lungs. Stumbling across the floor, glass breaking under the soles of her slippers, she slid to her knees next to Simmons, who by then had propped Blair in a sitting position against the wall, Filled with relief she threw her arms around him.

“Is he all right? Are you hurt? Blair, Blair.”

He grabbed at her, coiled his arms tightly around her waist, then put his head against her chest. “Get me out of here. Please, just get me out of here.”

“Yes, darling. Yes, we will.”

Light spilled into the study where a few stragglers peered in. To Simmons she said, “Move those people away from the door. We need to take him to another room. This one is filled with a terrible stench, and he needs some air.”

“There’s the parlor. I’ll get someone to build a fire, and we’ll take him in there.” He rose. “You’ll be all right? With him?”

“Yes, of course. Go, please.”

With a somber nod, he left her holding Blair and went to the door. “Please, it would be best if you could all gather your coats. I’ll have your buggies brought round. I’m sorry for the trouble and thank you for your help. Don’t forget to take a gift from one of the baskets.”

“Those young men are the ones who ought to be sorry,” one woman said. “Why, they scared the living daylights out of me. Imagine what all that noise would do to someone in his condition.”

Inside the room, listening to the talk, Rowena held Blair close. His ragged breath branded her bare chest. His hair, redolent of smoke and kerosene, feathered against her cheek. Cold air rushed in with the constant opening of the front door, and he shivered. Outside the clomp of horses’ hooves echoed off into the dark, icy night. Her world turned brittle and frightening when his upturned face caught the light coming in from the hall. In his eyes was all the horror of bloody death, of men sprawled dying, lifting their arms in final pleas for help. She clung to him as he clung to her, as if they could make that world disappear.

“Don’t leave me here, please don’t.” The words carried a tinge of panic, as if he were about to fly apart.

She barely understood him. “I won’t. You are going to be okay. You are safe. We are safe.”

And he held on, crushing her against him, smothering any words she might speak. She feared he had gone off to some other place, a place she feared he would one day remain. Tears tracked down her face, oily from the smoke.

Simmons rushed into the room with Mr. Chesshire. “Come on, son,” he murmured to Blair. “We’re taking you out of here, but you’ll have to let go of Lady Rowena.”

He only clung tighter in a grim silence that terrified her.

“Mum, let’s get him off the floor.”

Yes, yes, her mind said, but don’t let him go. Don’t leave him.

Arms and hands, accompanied by gentle voices, raised the two as one and carried them from the room locked together.

“I’ve been hit,” he said several times.

Down the hallway, empty of all but the help, pausing in their work to watch, the men managed to drag them both into the parlor and stretch him out on the fainting couch. It wasn’t easy, because he wouldn’t release Rowena, nor she him. Finally she knelt on the floor beside the couch so they could keep their arms around each other.

“I’m going to give him some morphine,” Simmons whispered. “He’s in pain. Oh, dear, I do hope he didn’t re-break that leg. Once he relaxes, you can get free, mum, and go to your room. I’ll send Annie with you. You’re in a dreadful state.”

“I’m not going anywhere. I won’t. I don’t care what you do to me. I won’t leave him. I’ll never leave him. Go ahead and hit me I don’t care.”

Vaguely she was aware she had lost all good sense, had raised her voice to yell nonsensical words, but she couldn’t stop. Nor could she stop the visions of the weeks spent in that awful dank cell at St. Ann’s while Sister Vincent tried to beat her into submission to their will. And poor Blair, lying in that cell in Hays City, broken and dying. That would not happen again, to either of them.

Marguerite stood near her. “Come now, Rowena. No one is beating you. He hasn’t beaten her, has he?” She stared at Blair but addressed Simmons.

“Oh, no, mum. Never. He would not do that. She must be speaking of something else, a nightmare, perhaps. This has been very difficult for her, and she has remained at his side to exhaustion. But beat her? Lord Prescott would never hurt her. He loves her more than his own life.”

“Well, she must feel the same, for she clearly is not going to leave his side unless we knock her out, too.”

“No, no, don’t do that. I’m staying with him. I am. You can’t make me leave him.”

“She’s hysterical,” Simmons said, then addressed Marguerite. “Mum, while I take care of Mister Blair, why don’t you take Annie to Miss Rowena’s room and fetch her night clothes? Take someone with you who can bring down the feather mattress. You can get her out of those ruined things, and we’ll make her a bed in here so she can stay with him.”

When Marguerite stared at him in shocked amazement, he said, “I think that’s best for her and him, don’t you? They are man and wife, after all.”

Rowena lay her head on Blair’s shoulder, unable to speak or even cry, mind and soul gone silent as stone. He only clung tighter, and Marguerite relented with a frown, leaving the room to fetch Annie’s help.

Rowena remembered nothing else, and awoke lying on a thick featherbed near the fireplace, snugged in blankets and wearing her nightgown. Blair was asleep on the couch nearby. Simmons had given him morphine, she recalled that. No one else was in the room, but the fire was stacked with burning logs. She rose, dragged the thick bedding across the room, and arranged it next to where he slept. Kneeling beside him, she put a hand on his chest, which rose and fell rhythmically, then felt his forehead before lying down.

When she awoke again, his face was turned, his dark eyes aimed intently at her, and he wore a frown. “What did I do?” A husky fearful whisper.

She sat up quickly and touched her lips to his forehead. He was cool. “Don’t worry about it now.”

“I have to know. Are you all right?”

“I’m fine, sweetheart. What do you remember?” she asked him softly, holding his hand to her lips.

“Coming under fire. Hiding. Being hit. Flames. But that didn’t really happen. What did?” His voice was scratchy from inhaling the black smoke, and he shook his head, with an expression of remorse that broke her heart.

“Some young men brought fireworks. To celebrate. I’d like to knock their heads together. What were they thinking?” She hadn’t meant to speak the thoughts aloud.

“They could not have known some half-crazed madman lives here. It was like guns firing. I thought… It does not matter what I thought.” He gazed at her with red-rimmed eyes, and she cupped his face in both palms.

“Sshh, my love.”

But he wouldn’t be quiet. “I remember swiping the lamp off the table so they couldn’t see me. Then everything was on fire.” He carefully removed her hands, swung his arms to push her away.

“I could have killed you. I could have killed all those people. Proctor was right. I need to be put away from you, from anyone I might harm. You need to go away from me. Go far and go fast, before I do something to you.”

She grabbed his wrists, held them tightly. “That is not going to happen. I won’t let it.”

“What makes you think you can stop it? Why should you care so much? Why should you want to be around someone who is as crazy as a bedbug? Who might kill you, thinking you’re some damned ghost come to put a bayonet through his heart?”

“Because I love you. You would not do that, because you love me.” She came to her knees, the hysteria of the night before threatening to return. Dreadful memories of the beatings, the nights spent on her knees, the whip across her back. Flagellation, the nuns called it. And what hell had poor Blair gone through this night?

Furious beyond measure, she stripped off the gown and turned around. “These scars on my back? You once asked me to tell you how they came to be there. Well, that’s what I’m going to do now.”

He had already seen the scars, but she insisted that he look again, and so he did, saying nothing, moving his hands slowly, carefully over her back in a tender caress, his eyes going bright. “Why now?”

She twisted around to face him. “You’ll see. I met Jimmy in the garden at St. Ann’s, in the very place I first saw you, years later. I was seventeen, and so was he. The gardener’s son, a beautiful, gentle, sweet boy. And we were so in love.” She turned so their eyes met.

“What possible purpose can this story have?” Anger came to the surface, he visibly tamped it down.

“Let me tell it, you’ll see. One night I snuck out to be with him. We had done nothing but hold each other and touch each other, like youngsters will do. Curious about how it made us feel, but that night we undressed, and I pleasured him and he did the same for me. What I did not know was that Sister Vincent had followed me. She caught us, and she dragged me back, locked me in my cell, and banished Jimmy and his poor father. She was bitter and evil, and every night she came to me. Not with food or Christian love—I received very little of either for weeks. At first she urged me to flagellate myself, but when I refused, she began to lay the whip to my back till it was bloody, all the while screaming at me to confess my sins and deny that I loved Jimmy.”

Blair watched her with a horror-stricken expression. “My God. I’m so sorry, but—”

“You let me finish. I’m trying to tell you something important. I never did confess or deny my love for Jimmy. Love is too important to throw away because of some pain. Too important to give up when things are difficult. That’s when we need love the most, when things go bad on us. As long as I did not deny his love or admit it was a sin, our love remained pure. Memories of him kept me going. Strengthened me through all that cruelty.”

She captured his hand in both hers and ground out the words. “So what makes you think I will let you deny our love because you are hurting? Because you are in a dark place right now? I won’t make a mockery of our love for each other, and I won’t let you do so, either.”

He watched her intently. “I would hope you are right, but sometimes love isn’t enough.”

“It is. It must be, otherwise why are we here? Surely not to destroy and hate.”

He blinked as if she’d slapped him, and ignored her question to say, “I am so sorry, so very sorry that happened to you. How did you make it stop? What did you do?”

“Father Antonio found out what was going on. I’m convinced Wilda told him. Anyway, he made her stop, and she was sent away.” She shrugged. “My point is, I never thought I would find a love like that again. Young love is different, but no less intense. And I love you even more intensely than I did that boy I would not deny, no matter what they did to me. So you see why I will not give you up, no matter what you say?”

Up to that moment, she had held back her tears to tell her story, but she broke when he gathered her into his arms and held her close, kissing her shoulders and throat, anywhere he could reach. She sobbed as if her heart had shattered into a million pieces.

Hands in her hair, brushing it back from her tear-streaked face, he talked to her softly. “I’m so sorry. I thought letting you go would protect you from my madness. I love you but have never believed for a moment that you would stay with me. I’ve lost everyone I ever cared about. Until Simmons I had no one. Then here you were, so beautiful and sweet and loving. I knew it couldn’t last, and so it seemed best to release you. Send you away. Better than waiting till I hurt you. You have to know I would die first, but I do not always know who you are. Nightmares change me. You will leave me. I’m convinced of it.”

Over and over, she shook her head, barely able to say no and no again and again between sobs.

He took her by the shoulders to gaze into her face. “You must stop crying. You’ll make yourself ill. If you truly feel this way, then stay with me. But do be wary, I beg of you. If I ever hurt you, I would die.”

Drawing in deep breaths to control the sobbing, she managed to reply. “If you send me away you will hurt me in the worst way possible. We’ll learn to deal with this together, I promise, and I’m not going anywhere.” She thumped her heart. “I promise from my heart.”

He wrapped her up in his arms and held her till the crying ceased.

A few minutes later Simmons entered on cat feet, stopped when he saw the new bedding arrangements and Rowena naked in Blair’s arms. He asked softly, “Would you like some breakfast? The kitchen is spotless, and a big breakfast has been prepared for all the help. Someone can bring you a tray, if you’d like.”

Blair glanced up at him. “Yes, that would be nice. Very nice. Thank you.”

He continued to comfort her and wiped her tears until Annie arrived with a tray laden with an assortment of food left over from the night before, along with a pot of tea.

At last realizing how she must appear, Rowena blindly groped for her nightgown and put it on. Blair sat up and swung his feet to the floor, keeping the blanket over his lap. He patted the space beside him.

“Sit here. We’ll eat together, and then we can decide what to do about that mess in the study.”

Annie bobbed her head. “Oh, Grady and the boys who came to help with the party are already cleaning it. It sure does stink in there, but perhaps it can be aired out.”

“I’m sure it can. Have them open the windows and close the door so the cold air doesn’t reach the rest of the place.”

Annie brightened, her pretty round face flushed from cooking breakfast. “I can put a pot of cinnamon water over a small fire in the fireplace. That should help refresh it.”

“That would be delightful, Annie.” He cleared his throat and murmured, “Thank you so much. Tell everyone how much I appreciate all they’ve done.”

She bobbed a little curtsy. “I will do that, Lord Prescott. I hope you are feeling better. Everyone is very concerned.”

He flushed, and Rowena said, “He’s much better, thank you, Annie.”

The girl started to leave, then spotted the lovely jade green dress Rowena had worn to the party, now lying in a smoky, damp heap on the floor. “Shall I see what I can do with this?”

“Yes, thank you.”

When the door closed behind her, Blair said, “What a sweet child she is. I’m so happy Grady will marry her. It’s a perfect match, don’t you think?”

Rowena took his hand. “And so are we, my sweet, so are we.”