Beloved Enemy

Melinda scanned the other dancers, then her gaze roved over the crowd on the sidelines. She paused when she saw a slim woman in a green gown with that unmistakable auburn hair—and wearing an exact copy of Carolyn’s mask. Melinda snorted through her nose. Julia Chandler! How dare those Secessionists presume to come to her ball! Melinda’s outrage grew even more livid when she noticed that Julia was in the company of an absolutely gorgeous major—easily the handsomest man at the party.

Turning on her heel, Melinda dashed through her guests and crossed the hall to the library where she knew her father entertained some of the older men with bourbon and risqué stories. As she hoped, George Winstead stood at ease with his back to the crackling fire in the center of the book-lined room. Cigar smoke tinted the air blue.

Barely acknowledging the surprised stares of her father’s cronies, Melinda demanded the attention of her frowning parent. She paid no mind to his understandable displeasure at her intrusion into his male sanctum.

“Papa, you must come quickly!” She grabbed him by his arm.

George put down his whiskey glass on the blotter of his polished mahogany desktop. “Here now, young lady. What has happened? Is there a row brewing?” Though his tone was mild, his words held a sharp bite.

Melinda gave him another tug. “Not yet, but there soon will be. Papa, you must come now.”

Giving his hasty apologies to his surprised friends, George allowed her to drag him across to the reception room. His frown deepened when he saw nothing to warrant Melinda’s ill manners. She wanted to stamp her foot with frustration at his obtuseness.

She pointed to Carolyn who had finished romping on the dance floor and now fanned herself on the sidelines to the pleasure of her grinning partner. “Over there, Papa! See her? That’s Carolyn Chandler. She had the brass to come to our house uninvited, and unwanted, too.”

Then she directed her father’s attention to Julia, who crossed the room to join her sister. That too-handsome major followed her like a puppy dog. Disgusting! “And there’s that horrid Julia Chandler. I’m surprised that she could bear to leave her precious books. Their presence insults our family, Papa. Evict them at once!”

George merely patted his daughter’s arm, and shushed her as if she were a four-year-old crying for more ice cream. “Hush up, Melinda,” he said in her ear. “I will do no such thing. How they got in here, I cannot imagine, but since they are under our roof, I will not be inhospitable.”

Melinda gasped as if her father had just doused her with cold water. “Those Chandlers are nothing but trashy Confederates. How can you—?”

George squeezed her arm in a viselike grip. “See here, missy! Dr. Chandler did me the good service of bringing you into this world eighteen years ago. I don’t hold with his sentiments, but he’s a good man at heart, despite his shrew of a wife. Don’t forget that his daughters were once your playmates when you children were in short frocks.”

Melinda pulled herself away from him and rubbed her arm where her skin bore the red imprints of his fingers. “Julia is so puffed up with her book-learning that it makes me want to scream, and her little sister is a brat, plain and simple. They are wrecking our lovely party.” Several nearby guests stopped their conversations and stared at the father and daughter, but Melinda didn’t care.

George whispered in her ear. “Lower your voice or I will send you to your room for the rest of the evening, Miss Winstead. I will not have you cause a scene, especially when none is necessary. The Chandler girls are behaving themselves much better than you, and I see no harm in allowing them a little fun in their lives. Julia hasn’t been out in society since Frank Shaffer died, and little Carolyn not at all.”

He chuckled. “Though I can see that Carolyn has done some growing since the war began. Behave yourself, Melinda, and pay them no mind. They will be gone soon enough, I expect, and there will be an end to the matter. I have paid a great deal of money so that you could enjoy the company of your friends tonight. Now do it and leave me in peace with mine.” With that, he returned to the library.

Melinda’s cheeks burned under her father’s admonishment. He had no right to speak to her that way. Mama would have understood her feelings completely. She certainly wouldn’t want any Confederates under her roof, even if they were former friends. Melinda realized that she had miscalculated which parent she should have approached. She knew without looking, that Papa was speaking to Mama even now, telling her about their uninvited guests and his decision to let them be.

Very well, Melinda decided. She wouldn’t attempt to throw out the Chandlers herself, but that didn’t mean she had to overlook their atrocious lapse in manners. Pasting on her best smile, she swept her way over to Julia and her escort. By the time she reached them, Carolyn had returned to the dance floor with yet another swain. Melinda burned with jealousy. These chits would pay, she vowed.

“Good evening, Julia,” she purred, coming up behind the older girl. It gave her satisfaction to see Julia jump at her name.

The young woman slowly turned around as did the man beside her. Seeing him at closer quarters, Melinda was momentarily distracted from her mission. He had the most beautiful dark brown hair with a curl that dropped over his forehead in an appealing way. Strong jaw, high cheekbones and very, very seductive eyes behind that mask. He was too delicious by a country mile.

Giving herself a shake, Melinda returned to Julia. “What a surprise to see you here—in our house!” she continued in sugar-sweet tones. “I can’t imagine how you got invited, can you, Julia?” She cast a quick smile at the silent man. “Tell me, Major, did you come to our party tonight without a proper invitation?”

He cleared his throat, then replied, “I must confess that I did not receive an invitation from your parents, Miss Winstead, but I came at the request of my cousin, Ben Johnson, who claims that he did. If I am remiss, I will not hesitate to leave.” He drew himself up, which only served to accentuate his height.

Knotting her brows behind her butterfly mask, Melinda swore at herself. She had overstepped some invisible boundary and offended him, when she had only intended to make Julia squirm. Melinda smiled and tried to slip her hand under his right elbow. To her alarm, he pulled back from her the minute she touched him. Confused by his prickliness, she plunged on.

“Lieutenant Johnson has visited us on occasion, Major, and I especially asked that he bring some of his friends this time. I am so delighted that he chose to bring you. On the other hand, Miss Chandler here will find herself in a world of trouble if she keeps inviting herself, and her little sister, to respectable people’s parties.” It gratified Melinda to observe a dark red blush creep over the lower part of Julia’s face.

Melinda locked the major in her gaze, forcing him, out of politeness’ sake, to look at her instead of at the interloper. “Of course, what else could you possibly expect from a Confederate but bad manners?” she continued, savoring Julia’s sudden intake of breath. “I suppose that you know, much better than I do, what these Rebels are like, Major. Nothing but low-bred ruffians.”

Julia gripped her reticule tighter. Her giddiness from the champagne had completely evaporated. She didn’t dare look at Rob’s face. She could guess what his opinion was, now that Melinda had so cruelly explained the situation. First, her scandalous request, now this. Obviously, the ball was over for her, but she would leave with as much grace and dignity as she could muster.

At least, she had had a very lovely time, quite the nicest she had experienced in over two years—even those embarrassing moments spent in the alcove. The music had been excellent and she had enjoyed surveying the new fashions in ball gowns. She still had the caramels in her bag that she could savor over the next few weeks. She prayed that Rob would be chivalrous enough not to betray her secret proposition. She cast him a sidelong glance. He returned hers with a cool expression behind his mask. At least, he did not publicly rebuke her, nor claim her ruination. Now that she was literally unmasked, Julia realized that she would have died on the spot if he said anything.

Gathering the remnants of her composure, she replied to Melinda, “Just look at the time! I had no idea how late it had grown. I must find my sister immediately. Please make our adieus to your parents, Melinda.” She turned to Rob. “Please forgive me, Major Goodfellow. Forgive me for everything. I fear I have kept you from dancing with our charming hostess.” She pulled her shawl tighter around her shoulders. “Lovely party, Melinda,” she murmured.

Julia turned away before a hovering tear could roll down her cheek below her mask. She dove into the press of people where she spied her sister conversing with several more admirers.

Sliding her arm around Carolyn’s waist, she whispered in her ear. “The cat’s out of the bag. Melinda knows we are here. We have got to go now before she takes it into her flighty head to make a scene.”

Carolyn squeaked a little “oh!”, then smiled at her companions. “Oh, dear, gentlemen, I fear I have over-stayed my time, and my mama would skin me alive if she knew. We have to leave your fine company, but with much regret.”

“Miss Carolyn,” protested one of the men.

Julia stepped into the breach. “I am so sorry, sirs, but I fear my sister speaks the truth. It has been a very great pleasure to have met you all. Come on, Carolyn.”

Before the officers could say anything else, Julia pulled her sister out to the front hall. Once in the cloakroom, Julia sent word for Perkins to meet them outside the front door. The maid in attendance couldn’t understand their haste in departing when some of the guests were only just arriving after late supper parties.

“My sister is feverish,” Julia quickly confided to the servant, “and we don’t want to infect anyone, do we?”

The young woman backed away. “No, miss, we surely don’t.”

Once they donned their cloaks, they swept past the doorman and down the steps to the windswept street. Perkins awaited them on the curb with his lantern held high. He looked both surprised at their early departure and greatly relieved.

“Now, this is the first bit of good sense that you two have shown all day. Let’s be off before the provost’s patrol comes round. We don’t have passes to be out this late.” He started briskly down the sidewalk. Julia and Carolyn hurried after him.

Though Julia was a Confederate, Rob discovered that he could not be angry with her, despite his deep aversion to the Rebels. She had not deliberately deceived him, but had merely sidestepped his questions with quotations from A Midsummer Night’s Dream. He regarded Melinda, who returned him a smile of pure triumph.

“They’re playing a waltz, Major,” she hinted. She tried to take his useless arm again.

Rob stepped back, leaving a small but definite space between them. “I do not dance, Miss Winstead. In fact, I find that the pleasure of the evening has somewhat palled. Since I will no doubt be sullen company for you, I beg you to excuse me.”

Melinda gasped. Rob roamed throughout the rooms, looking for Julia and her sister, but both the Chandlers had vanished. Questioning the doorman, he learned that the two young ladies had left only a few moments ago. Rob stepped out onto the front landing and surveyed the street, but the sidewalks on both sides were bare save for a mangy cat that slunk down the far wall in search of a garbage rat.

The cold air sharpened Rob’s senses. Melinda’s spiteful words to Julia had angered him. Even though the lovely Miss Chandler was a Confederate, she was also the most intelligent company he had enjoyed in quite some time. China doll-like Lucy Van Tassel paled in comparison to Julia’s accomplishments. Lucy never opened a book, much less quoted Shakespeare. Nor had she ever displayed any particular talent other than gossiping and changing her clothes five times a day. For the first time since her abrupt termination of their engagement, Rob realized how lucky he had been to escape a lifetime with Lucy.

Not that he was interested in Julia, he told himself. She was a Southern sympathizer, and therefore, beyond further consideration from him. She had been merely a charming diversion on an otherwise deadly evening. Yet, she had looked so wounded by Melinda’s words. He, like a tongue-tied dolt, had said nothing to champion her honor, especially since he was so acutely aware of her innocent virtue. Julia must think that he concurred with Melinda’s sentiments against her. In fact, he abjured them. But he had not been quick enough to tell Julia that, nor to bid her a proper good-night. He should have done that much, at least.

Rob stared down the street again. The skulking cat had disappeared. The only signs of life were the music and laughter inside the Winsteads’ house behind him. Rob opened his timepiece and read its dial by the flicker of the gas lantern over the front door. Nearly midnight. He snapped shut the watch with a snort. Three hours at the ball were up; his time was now his own.

He would make amends to Julia right now, before any more time passed. The Chandler sisters had only left a few minutes ago. If they lived nearby, he might be able to catch up with them in time to give the lovely lady a proper apology. But which way did they go? He turned back inside to get his greatcoat.

“The Chandler house?” the doorman repeated Rob’s question. “They’s Seesech, Major, sir. Those kind of folks stay to themselves, they do. You don’t want any part of that family.”

Rob swallowed his impatience. “Miss Julia dropped her fan this evening. I wish to return it,” he fabricated, itching to be off now that he had made up his mind for action.

The doorman gave him a fishy look. “The Chandlers were not invited to this here party. That’s a fact.”

Rob controlled himself. He had never before spoken directly to an African servant, and he was afraid to press the man lest he lose his temper. Instead, he lowered his voice as if to impart a great secret. “Miss Julia and her sister, Carolyn, came in disguise. They haven’t been to a party in years. No harm done—except, of course, Miss Julia losing her fan.” He hoped the man wouldn’t ask to see the nonexistent item.

The doorman considered Rob’s explanation for a moment, then nodded. “That’s what old Perkins said down in the hall. Said old Mrs. Chandler would have had a fit if she knew what her girls were up to, but I didn’t think he meant this party. Miss Julia, as I recollect, was a nice enough child, very polite to everyone. If she lost her fan here, I expect she’ll feel mighty low about it.”

When the man paused for breath, Rob added fuel to his plea. “I hope for Miss Julia’s sake that the fan does not belong to old Mrs. Chandler.”

The doorman shook his head. “Lordy, that child will be in a world of trouble if that be the case. You go along now, Major, sir, and see that Miss Julia gets it back right quick.”

Elation made his blood flow faster. “Which way do I go?”

The doorman pointed to the right. “Down to the corner, turn left. That’s Prince Street. Go on two blocks. The house is in the middle on the left side. Red brick with black shutters. Got a double door in front.”

“And the number on the house?” Rob prodded.

“Now how am I expected to know that, Major, sir? I’m not allowed to read, you know.” The doorman’s face turned as blank as an ebony mask.

Rob considered bribing the servant with a twenty-five-cent piece, but thought better of the idea. He might be insulted or he might be telling the truth, which would be a waste of Rob’s time and money. Thanking the fellow, Rob got his greatcoat from the antechamber, then departed the Winsteads without a formal goodbye to the host, or telling his cousin Ben where he was going. Since the way sounded short, Rob chose not to retrieve his horse from the warm stable just yet. No point in allowing Buster to catch a chill while Rob made his apologies to the lovely Miss Julia.

He didn’t stop to think that for the first time in many months, he was running to something, rather than away from something.

Chapter Six

Sitting cross-legged in the middle of the double bed she shared with her sister, Carolyn brushed out her hair. “What a divine time! I don’t believe I have ever had a finer night in all my born days. And I didn’t step on too many toes, either.”

Julia sat at their vanity table, also brushing her hair, though her strokes were not as vigorous as Carolyn’s. Her head throbbed with a dull ache—the champagne’s aftereffects. When she stared into the looking glass, it was not her face that she saw, but that of the handsome Major Robin Goodfellow, or whomever he was. She wished she knew his real name. She chewed her lower lip. No, it was better that she didn’t, since she had made such an idiot of herself. At least, she would never see him again.

As if reading her thoughts, Carolyn asked, “Who was that Yankee you spent the whole evening with?”

Julia shrugged and massaged her neck. “I have no idea. We traded names from Shakespeare, not our own. I thought it was safer that way.”

Carolyn shook her head. “Julia, you are a caution! Even at a party, you can’t forget all that heavy reading. You think too much to enjoy yourself.”

Julia smiled ruefully at her reflection. What she was thinking would shock Carolyn to fits, and it had nothing to do with English literature. Her cheeks grew warm. He said he would kiss me many times and in many places.

Carolyn persisted. “It is a good thing that Mother didn’t see you. She would have locked you in here for a month of Sundays for being so free and easy with that man.”

Julia turned around and stared at her sister. “Me? And who was dancing and flirting—and drinking champagne—with flocks of the enemy?”

Carolyn stuck out her tongue at Julia. “Pooh! I had to let those poor boys see what they are missing by living up North. I hear that Yankee girls are sour in looks and disposition. They wouldn’t know how to have a good time even if it came knocking on their front door.”

Julia only half-listened to Carolyn’s explanation. She preferred to muse over the devastating smile of her mystery man. And his lips! The ones that refused to ruin her. She tingled with a delicious thrill at the idea of his mouth pressed against hers. But it would never happen, she reminded herself. No proper girl should be kissed like that until she’s engaged, and Julia would never consider engaging herself to a Yankee.

Carolyn tossed her brush on the daybed, then slipped under the satin eiderdown quilt. “Well, I am going to sleep. All those Yankee boys wore me to a frazzle. Ooh, my toes will ache so in the morning!” She giggled as she snuggled deeper into the covers.

“Good night, sleep tight, don’t let the bedbugs bite,” Julia intoned absentmindedly, reciting the little rhyme that had been their bedtime ritual since both girls were small children.

“’Night,” Carolyn murmured from under the quilt.

Julia returned to the mirror. Once again, Rob’s face rose in her mind. Again, she recalled his firm, sensual lips. She ran her finger over her own, then sighed. She wished there had been more time at the ball. He might have tried to kiss her if he had drunk some of that eggnog. She shivered, not with the night’s cold, but with the speculation of forbidden delights. She sighed again. I should have thrown myself at him….

Rob studied the front of the Chandler house. The dark windows facing the street indicated that the family had all retired. Much to his surprise, he felt a sharp stab of disappointment, though he had no firm idea what he would have done had the lights still been on. A gentleman didn’t make social calls at midnight.

A large cat, silver-gold in the street’s gaslight, brushed against his boots, then ambled down the narrow cobbled alleyway that ran between the Chandlers and their next-door neighbors. Rob watched the animal disappear around the corner of the house, drawing his attention to a faint glow in the rear garden. His heartbeat accelerated. Without considering the consequences, he followed the cat’s path down the alley. In a brick archway of the rear garden wall, a narrow wrought iron gate opened to a brick path that led up to the Chandlers’ back door. Sitting on the kitchen steps, the cat licked its paws with an air of ownership.

Rob traced the glow to one of the second-floor windows; its light fell gently on the garden. His sense of adventure stirred. He pressed down the latch and swung open the gate. The cat looked up, but did not hiss or give any other sign of alarm. Drawn by the light, Rob stole into the garden, and closed the gate behind him. He slid along the high brick wall and stopped when he came to the privy house in the furthermost corner. From this darkened vantage point, he could just make out the indistinct shape of a woman sitting before a mirror with her back to the window. An oil lamp flickered beside her; the looking glass caught the light and reflected it out—to him.

Rob gave a slight start. The woman looked like Julia. Her hair color was unmistakable. Yet there could be other members of her family who bore her resemblance. “Turn around,” he whispered in the darkness. “Come to the window.” What would he do if she did look out?

The chill of the ground seeped through the soles of his boots. Rob gave himself a shake. What a damn fool he was to loiter in a girl’s garden like a lovesick swain!

As he turned to leave, his sudden movement startled the cat. With a low yowl, it hopped from the stoop to the side lattice that supported a dry, brown vine. Displaying swift agility, the cat climbed up the lattice like a ladder to the windowsill above—the same window where the oil lamp still burned. Once perched on his place of safety, the cat scratched at the glass pane like a dog. Holding his breath without realizing it, Rob waited to see what would happen.

Julia cocked her head; again she heard the sound that had disturbed her musings. She smiled to her reflection. The scratching at the window signaled Tybalt’s impatience. Outside on the ledge, the orange striped cat stared in at her with wide amber eyes. He lifted his paw and scratched the glass again. Julia unhooked the latch then lifted the sash. A wedge of cold air blew in through the opening.

“Hello, Tybalt,” she greeted him in a low voice. “Too chilly for you tonight?”

Mewing an answer, the cat slipped inside and landed softly on the floor. Julia started to lower the window, then stopped when she saw something flash in the darkness below. The hairs on the back of her neck prickled. Warning spasms of alarm erupted in the pit of her stomach. She had the instinctive feeling that someone was down there, though she could see no discernible shape in the garden’s shadows. Her first impulse was to wake Perkins. The bounty of the holiday season was enough to tempt many a burglar, especially now that Alexandria was full of louts from the North.

Something flashed again. A man stepped out from the overhang of the large magnolia tree, took off his hat and bowed to her. Covering her mouth, Julia swallowed her scream. Replacing his hat, he stepped closer.

Julia gripped the window frame. “Who…who’s there?” she whispered through the opening.

“What light from yonder window breaks?” the man asked in a low, but distinct voice. “It is the east and fair Julia is the sun,” he continued, improvising the opening lines from the balcony scene in Romeo and Juliet.

Julia released her breath. Though the speaker’s face was in deep shadow, she instantly recognized his Northern accent. Her heart leaped to her throat and blood pounded against her temples. Casting a quick glance at the sleeping Carolyn, she knelt on the floor by the narrow open window.

“You have changed your identity, Major Robin Goodfellow. Are you now Romeo?” she responded, praying that her sister would not wake up.