NAN RYAN
DEAREST ENEMY

For

My dearest friend, Heather…

Now, like me, an only child.

Contents

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty-One

Chapter Twenty-Two

Chapter Twenty-Three

Chapter Twenty-Four

Chapter Twenty-Five

Chapter Twenty-Six

Chapter Twenty-Seven

Chapter Twenty-Eight

PART TWO

Chapter Twenty-Nine

Chapter Thirty

Chapter Thirty-One

Chapter Thirty-Two

Chapter Thirty-Three

Chapter Thirty-Four

Chapter Thirty-Five

Chapter Thirty-Six

Chapter Thirty-Seven

Chapter Thirty-Eight

Chapter Thirty-Nine

Chapter Forty

Chapter Forty-One

Chapter Forty-Two

Chapter Forty-Three

Chapter Forty-Four

Chapter Forty-Five

Chapter Forty-Six

Chapter Forty-Seven

Chapter Forty-Eight

Chapter Forty-Nine

Coming Next Month

Washington, D.C.

November 1864

Wintertime in Washington.

A heavy snow was falling on that frigid November afternoon when the tall, lean, thirty-six-year-old Union naval officer hurried in out of the cold. Once inside the remote cottage long owned by his wealthy family, the handsome officer hung his musette bag on the coat tree in the small foyer. Then he stamped his booted feet and shrugged out of his heavy greatcoat.

Shivering and rubbing his hands together, he turned and went into the parlor, crossing directly to the cold fireplace. He began tossing logs into the grate to build a much needed fire. Within minutes flames shot up the chimney and a healthy blaze began to warm the chilled room. The officer smiled, pleased with his handiwork.

He turned and crossed to the mahogany bar that stretched along one side of the large room's back wall. He took down a couple of gleaming crystal brandy snifters from a shelf behind the bar. He snagged the glasses in one hand and grabbed a carved decanter of cognac with the other, carrying both to the fire. He placed them at the edge of an enormous fur rug that lay spread out on the floor directly before the blaze.

He rose to his feet and waited.

Rear Admiral Mitchell B. Longley had slipped away from his fleet command to rendezvous for a brief hour or two with the luscious red-haired, blue-eyed enchantress with whom he was falling in love. It wasn't wise, he realized, to be away from his weary sailors even for a short time. But in this case, it was necessary. He hadn't seen his beautiful sweetheart in weeks and the long separation was making it increasingly hard for him to concentrate. To be as sharp and cunning as a naval commander needed to be in a time of war.

This tryst, he reasoned, was essential. To him and to the Union Navy. After a sweet hour in his angel's arms he would leave this place calm and keen-minded, ready to go back into battle against the hated Rebs. Who would begrudge him a few stolen moments of bliss that might well save his sanity?

Mitch heard her coming up the front walk. He rushed to the door and eagerly yanked it open. And felt his heart hammer against his ribs when he saw her. Native Virginian and irresistible charmer, Suzanna LeGrande stood on the stoop smiling up at him. The hood of her long cape covered her glorious hair, but her brilliant blue eyes were sparkling with life and her berry-red lips were turned up in a dazzling smile.

“Am I late?” she teased, and tossed her hood off to reveal the fiery red hair that framed her fair face.

“Right on time, darling,” Mitch said, drawing her inside and shoving the door closed as he bent and kissed her.

Suzanna sighed and placed her hands on his trim waist. She loved the way Mitch kissed her after they'd been apart. His first kiss was always so powerful, so potent, as if he was starved for the taste of her. Now, just like those other times they had met after being apart for days or weeks, this thrilling kiss went on and on and made her knees weak and her stomach contract.

When at last he took his lips from hers, Mitch said against her perfumed hair, “We haven't much time, my love.”

“Then let's don't waste a minute of it,” she breathlessly replied.

“My thoughts exactly,” Mitch said as he unfastened the hook beneath her chin and shoved her heavy cape off her slender shoulders.

He hung the velvet wrap on the coat tree beside his still-damp greatcoat and bulging black musette bag. And then smiled with pleasure as he watched Suzanna hurry toward the fire, struggling with the buttons going down the back of her blue woolen gown.

The pair laughed and teased each other as they hurried to undress.

“I'll bet I beat you,” taunted Mitch, his dark navy blouse already stripped off and tossed aside.

“Not on your life,” Suzanna retorted, stepping out of her lace-trimmed petticoats.

Articles of clothing flew across the room as the laughing competitors raced to be first to get naked.

“Looks like I'm going to win, Miss LeGrande,” Mitch proclaimed, as he stuck his thumbs into the waistband of his white linen underwear, the only article of clothing remaining on his tall, lean body.

“I don't think so, Admiral Longley,” Suzanna squealed as she kicked off her white ruffled pantalets.

Naked, they stopped laughing. Wordlessly they stepped into each other's arms atop the soft fur rug. Both shuddered at the initial touch of bare flesh on flesh. They kissed passionately and sank to their knees.

Too long denied the kind of ecstasy that was impossible to ever forget, they couldn't wait. In seconds Mitch was making eager, anxious love to Suzanna on the lush dark fur, while the flickering flames tinted their enjoined bodies a pale orange hue. Their shared orgasm occurred almost the minute he was inside her. That's how hot they were for each other. Neither minded that it was over so soon.

In fact, both were again laughing as the spent Mitch fell over onto his back beside Suzanna. Struggling for breath, they kidded each other about their lack of control. But when finally the laughter subsided and the gasping for breath ceased, Mitch turned onto his side by Suzanna, raised up on an elbow and laid a hand lightly on her stomach.

The tip of his forefinger circling the small indentation of her navel, he said with a sheepish grin, “I don't want you calling me the ‘five-minute man.'”

Suzanna smiled. “Then you'll have to convince me that you aren't.”

Mitch did just that.

He made love to Suzanna again, this time taking it slow and easy, stretching out the pleasure for the better part of an hour, each savoring every sweet moment of the incredible bliss.

“I've just enough time for a bath,” Mitch finally said with a yawn. “Care to join me?”

“Mmm, too lazy,” Suzanna replied, not stirring. “I might just take a catnap right here.”

“Good idea, sweetheart.” Mitch kissed her turned-up nose and agilely rose to his feet.

Once he was out of the room and safely in his tub, Suzanna quickly rose. She rushed out into the foyer and took down Mitch's black naval musette bag, which she carried into the parlor and placed atop the mahogany bar. She opened it and anxiously went through the papers, searching for pertinent dispatches.

Her eyes widened in horror as she read a document setting forth the timeline and exact location where the Union Navy planned to launch a major attack on the unsuspecting Confederate Rapidan River stronghold. Suzanna was trembling with emotion as she carefully placed all the documents back inside the musette bag and returned it to the foyer.

When Mitch walked into the room with a towel around his waist, Suzanna was just as he had left her—stretched out naked before the fire, seemingly dozing.

Mitch looked down at her and weakened. “Perhaps I could stay awhile longer.”

“Could you, darling?” she trilled, rolling up into a sitting position and tugging playfully at his covering towel.

Mitch exhaled heavily. “No. No, I really can't. I must get back to the fleet.”

Reluctantly, he got dressed. When he was once again in full dress blues, he came to her, cupped the back of her head, bent from the waist and kissed her goodbye.

When he straightened, he said, “I'm not sure when I'll be able to get away again.”

Suzanna smiled in understanding, laid her cheek against his trousered leg and said, “Kiss me as if this were the last time.”

He crouched down on his heels, kissed her passionately and said, “I love you, darling.”

“Please be careful,” she murmured in reply.

Rear Admiral Mitchell B. Longley had barely exited the cottage before Suzanna jumped up, took a sheet of vellum paper from the desk in the corner and wrote down everything she had read in the damning dispatch.

She then dressed and trudged two miles through the deepening snow to reach the landmark—a carefully chosen leaning rock near her home—beneath which she consistently hid messages laying out information she had gleaned from the unsuspecting enemy.

A fearless spy for her beloved Confederacy, Suzanna LeGrande hesitated a moment before placing this particular missive under the rock.

If she passed on this vital information, she could be endangering Mitch's life. She could be responsible for her Yankee lover's death. Her heart squeezed painfully in her chest. She felt suddenly dizzy and her cheeks were hot despite the cold of the afternoon.

Suzanna closed her eyes and strongly considered tearing up the note. But only for an instant. She drew a labored breath, hardened her heart and dutifully placed the message beneath the cold stone.

One

On a chilly autumn morning in 1859, the lively mistress of a magnificent mansion came flying down the curving staircase, her lilting laughter echoing throughout the grand residence. Eighteen-year-old Suzanna LeGrande was a happy, carefree young aristocrat who had lived all her life in this stately two-story Virginia manse on the rolling banks of the Potomac River.

The laughing young belle lived with her widowed mother, forty-nine-year-old Emile, and her older brother, twenty-two-year-old Matthew. The frail, quiet Emile LeGrande loved her daughter dearly, but the mercurial Suzanna's rambunctious behavior was prone to give her mother headaches.

The LeGrande siblings were close, and Matthew, being the man of the house, was very protective of his beautiful younger sister. Since the high-spirited Suzanna had turned sixteen, hopeful young suitors had been drawn to the vivacious miss. She was, and had always been, stunningly beautiful, with her flaming red hair, large, wide-set blue eyes and milky-white skin. But Suzanna was not vain about her looks. She had turned heads her entire life and thought nothing of it.

Besides, it was a great deal more than her startling beauty that attracted a growing army of male admirers. She possessed a great zest for life and threw herself into everything she did with such blazing intensity it charmed the young bucks and frightened her sedate mother. Suzanna had a compulsion to dramatize, which made her tremendously fascinating to all her friends.

She was high-strung, sensitive, warmhearted and endlessly entertaining. There was never a dull minute around Suzanna. At an early age she had learned—from her gregarious, red-haired father—to spin yarns that left her listeners wide-eyed and hanging on to every word. It was not only boys who found the outspoken Suzanna intriguing, but girls as well.

She was impetuous and impatient, but so filled with the joy of living that she lifted spirits with her mere presence. Added to her talent for storytelling was her unique ability to read palms and predict futures, an art she had learned from her beloved old nursemaid, now deceased. Naturally, all the young belles wanted to know what romantic adventures lay in store for them. The boys were unconcerned about the future, but looked on the palm reading as an opportunity to hold Suzanna's hand.

Suzanna was totally feminine, yet she had a masculine directness that was captivating. She spoke her mind, was never coy or ambiguous, nor was she particularly diplomatic. While Suzanna took after her deceased father, the lovable, outgoing Lawrence LeGrande, Matthew was more like their mother. He enjoyed a good time as much as the next fellow, but he had no compulsion to race through life as if the world might stop turning should he miss a picnic or party or ball.

An honor graduate of West Point, Matthew took duty, honor and country seriously. And he felt that his most important duty was to see to it no unprincipled male took advantage of his sister. While he was away at the institute, Matthew had worried about what calamity might befall the trusting Suzanna. A scholar who easily excelled in his studies, Matthew had completed his education at the ripe old age of twenty, and had immediately returned home to take up his post as head of the LeGrande household.

“For heaven sake, Suzanna,” Matthew said now, looking up as a laughing streak of flaming hair and lilac ruffles dashed past the open library doors. “Isn't it time you displayed a bit more decorum?”

Suzanna skidded to a stop at the umbrella stand in the foyer. As she reached for a woolen cape and matching bonnet, she said over her shoulder, “Do forgive me, Matt. You see, I'm in an awful hurry and really must fly.” She turned and flashed a smile at her tall, sandy-haired brother, who had stepped out into the foyer.

“At breakfast you failed to mention you were going out this morning,” Matthew casually commented.

“Did I? Well, I have a great deal on my mind, what with next week's reception at Stratford House. That's why I'm in such a hurry. I'm on my way now and—”

“You're planning to be the first guest to arrive?”

“Don't be silly!” Suzanna said as she tied her bonnet's long grosgrain streamers beneath her chin. “I promised I'd help Mrs. Grayson and Cynthia Ann decide on the decorations and finalize the extensive menu.” She added excitedly, “It's a stellar guest list to be sure. More or less the beginning of our upcoming Washington social season. Why, even Colonel Robert E. Lee and his wife, Mary, are expected at the festivities, did you know that?”

Matthew nodded. Colonel Lee, a West Point graduate and superintendent at the Point, was home on leave from his regimental duties on the Texas frontier.

“I'll be very surprised if the colonel attends, Suzanna. You know very well that his dear wife is in poor health and rarely leaves Arlington House and therefore…”

“Colonel Lee with be at the reception, Matthew,” Suzanna stated emphatically. “He's far too polite and too political to disappoint a hostess as powerful as Jennie Grayson.” She crossed to her brother, stood on tiptoe and kissed his cheek. “After all, the colonel likely plans to—”

“You have no idea what Lee's plans are,” Matthew interrupted, quickly changing the subject. “Let's discuss our plans. Have you given any thought to what you'll wear this evening?”

Suzanna stepped back. Her well-arched eyebrows shot up and she looked genuinely puzzled. “This evening? Is there something special about this evening?”

“Suzanna, you do try my patience. I told you several days ago we have an important dinner guest joining us this evening. I expect you to be here.”

“Why, I wouldn't miss it for the world,” she said with a shrug of her slender shoulders. “Another unsuspecting candidate for my hand in marriage?”

Matthew frowned. “Just promise me you'll be home in plenty of time to get properly dressed to receive our guest. And that you'll be on your best behavior. Ty Bellinggrath is a fine man, Suzanna, and—”

“You can count on me, brother, dear,” Suzanna said with a teasing smirk. “I'll scrub my face and cinch my waist and be on display when he arrives. Then you may point out all my finer qualities as I slowly pirouette for the prospective bridegroom.”

“Now, Suzanna.”

“Do me one small favor, Matt. Promise that if I'm not married by the time I reach twenty-five, you will give up and stop bringing young gentlemen here in hopes of marrying me off!”

For the first time Matthew smiled as he said, “Bellinggrath will be here at seven o'clock, my dear. And so will you.”

“I shall look forward to a most enjoyable evening,” Suzanna said sarcastically. “Now I really must be going. Poor old Durwood's waiting out in the cold with the carriage.”

Two

Suzanna sighed with pleasure as she settled herself comfortably inside the roomy brougham. Old Durwood, in full livery, sat proudly up on the box, handling the pair of matched bays with ease despite his worsening arthritis. The horses were fine specimens, curried to a high gloss, and the gleaming black, silver trimmed carriage had seats of soft burgundy leather.

With her bonnet off and slapped down on the seat beside her, Suzanna gazed out the window at the natural beauty of her native Virginia. How she loved the broad avenues and the glittering streams. The familiar sights never failed to take her breath away.

Suzanna was eternally grateful that this was her home, the place where she had been born, the place where she would live all her days. She considered herself fortunate to have had a father who had been so forward thinking and such a brilliant businessman.

It was true that the late Lawrence LeGrande had inherited a tidy sum from his British ancestors, but he hadn't been content to simply let the cash lie in the safety of a bank vault. Instead he had invested wisely in land and had, over time, accumulated a vast fortune from varied endeavors.

There were the tobacco fields in northern Virginia, a coastal cotton plantation in South Carolina, indigo crops in northern Georgia and a host of other well-chosen investments in rail and shipping. The holdings were diverse and profitable and afforded the LeGrande family a life of splendid ease in the stately riverside mansion known as Whitehall.

Suzanna loved her life and her home and prayed that nothing would ever change. She wanted everything to remain just as it was on this crisp autumn morning in October of 1859.

Suzanna was halfway out of the brougham before it came to a full stop in the pebbled drive of Stratford House in the heart of Georgetown. Nonplussed at his young mistress's less than ladylike behavior, old Durwood laid the long leather reins aside and gingerly swung down to the ground.

“Why you want to act like a boy, Miss Suzanna?” he scolded, taking firm hold of her arm as she jumped from the carriage. “Folk'll be gossipin' 'bout us if you don't behave and…”

But Suzanna, skirts lifted, bonnet left behind, was already dashing up the front walk, calling Cynthia Ann's name. The dark-haired girl stepped out onto the shaded veranda, spotted Suzanna and came dashing forward to greet her best friend and trusted confidante. The young women threw their arms around each other and embraced as though it had been weeks—not hours—since last they'd seen each other.

“You'll have lunch with us,” Cynthia Ann stated as they walked into the house, arm in arm. “Then spend all afternoon?”

“So long as I'm home by seven,” Suzanna replied. “Matthew is up to his old tricks. He has invited a poor naive fellow to dinner.” She made a face. “Be grateful you don't have a big brother!”

Both laughed, then Cynthia Ann asked, “How does Matthew keep coming up with new prospective beaux? Surely you've met all his friends by now. At least all the ones he'd hope you might marry.”

Suzanna sighed and shook her head wearily. “Hopefully this is the very last one! His name is Ty Bellinggrath. He and Matt were classmates at West Point, but Bellinggrath left home right after graduation. As I understand it, he's been in Europe for the past couple of years. He only returned a week ago and Matthew immediately pounced on him.” She quoted her brother, “‘I'll have you know, Suzanna LeGrande, that my good friend Ty Bellinggrath is the respected scion of an old Virginia family. He excelled in his studies at the institute and is considered quite a catch.'” Suzanna laughed and added, “I can just imagine what he looks like. Matt is so anxious to marry me off he's scraping the bottom of the barrel now.”

Inside the wide foyer of Stratford House, the slender, still handsome Jennie Grayson waited to welcome her. “We're awfully glad you could come this morning, Suzanna,” she exclaimed with a warm smile. To her daughter, she said, “Cynthia, dear, why don't you take Suzanna upstairs, where the two of you can relax for an hour before lunch?” Her attention shifted back to Suzanna. “After we've had a leisurely noontime meal, we'll go over the party menu and give you our ideas regarding the decorations. You're always so innovative, the final decision will be yours.”

In Cynthia Ann's bedchamber, a spacious room at the front of the mansion, the two friends gossiped and laughed and shared secrets. With their slippers and crinoline petticoats kicked off, stays loosened, they lay on their backs atop the canopied feather bed.

“Read my palm, Suzanna,” Cynthia Ann said suddenly, turning onto her stomach and holding out her hand.

“Again? I just read it last week.”

“I know, but perhaps something has changed since then. Maybe Davy is going to propose after the party.” Her brown eyes danced at the thought of marrying her gallant sweetheart.

“I don't understand you, Cynthia Ann Grayson,” Suzanna said, toying with the lace jabot at her throat. “Why would you want to get married and ruin your life? Married women don't have any fun, nor thrilling adventures. Worse, no one pays any attention to what they have to say. They're expected to keep silent on any controversial issue as though they don't have a brain in their head. Such a life couldn't possibly be fulfilling.”

“It would be if…”

“I shall never marry. Why should I? I have no need of a husband to take care of me. I can and will take care of myself. And I'll be free to speak as I please and do as I please without having to seek permission from some domineering male.”

Cynthia Ann just shook her head and laughed. She'd heard it all before. She felt certain that Suzanna would change her mind about marriage when the right man came along.

“You have exactly twenty-five minutes to make yourself presentable,” said an annoyed Matthew when Suzanna raced up the front steps of Whitehall at 6:35 that evening.

Laughing, she patted her brother's stern cheek and said, “I need only twenty, so I'll have five to spare.”

He exhaled heavily and followed her inside the well-lit mansion. While he turned toward the paneled library to join their mother, Suzanna climbed the stairs, struggling to unhook her dress. In her rose-and-cream suite at the head of the staircase, Suzanna's ever-patient personal maid, Buelah, waited to help her young charge get dressed.

Impressive in her black-and-white uniform, the stout, six-foot-tall Buelah didn't scold the girl she often called “my baby.” She admired Suzanna's free spirit and always laughed at her antics. Besides, she knew that with her help, Suzanna would be dressed and ready within fifteen minutes.

“Your tub is drawn and waitin',” said Buelah. She took Suzanna's arm, turned her about and made quick work of unhooking her dress.

“Ahh!” Suzanna sighed when, three minutes after walking into the suite, she sank down into the heated water.

Buelah, on her knees beside the tub, scrubbed Suzanna's glistening back with a long-handled brush while Suzanna drew a soapy washcloth down each slim arm.

“I laid out the pale blue velvet dress, the one you've never worn. It'll bring out your eyes. I'll brush your hair up atop your head and hold it in place with that oyster-shell comb.” Buelah chattered on as she drew Suzanna to her feet and began briskly rubbing her dry with a fluffy white towel. Then she followed her young mistress back into the bedroom and helped her don the silky stockings and lacy underthings laid out there. Nineteen minutes after arriving home, Suzanna came down the grand staircase fully clothed and breathtakingly beautiful.

She heard masculine voices and then her mother saying, “So glad you could come this evening, Mr. Bellinggrath.”

Suzanna frowned. She wasn't glad. She fully intended, immediately after dinner, to plead a headache and retire to her suite.

She took a deep breath, stepped down off the bottom stair, crossed the marble-floored foyer and walked into the high-ceilinged drawing room.

The two men came to their feet.

“Ah, there she is,” said her brother. “Ty, may I present my sister, Suzanna. Suzanna, this is my good friend Ty Bellinggrath.”

“Miss LeGrande,” said Ty, taking her offered hand in his. “A genuine pleasure to meet you.” He raised it to his lips and brushed a quick kiss to its soft back.

Young Bellinggrath did not immediately release her hand. Instead, his much larger one closed possessively around her fragile fingers. They stood there staring at each other while her mother and brother looked on.

For the first time in her life, Suzanna was speechless. She didn't say she was pleased to meet him. She didn't say anything. Not one word. She gazed up at the tall, slim, handsome blond man and felt her breath catch in her throat. His pale golden hair gleamed in the light of the chandelier and his luminous blue eyes sparkled with unmasked interest.

After several silent seconds, Matthew cleared his throat and said, “I believe Cook is signaling that dinner is ready.”

Suzanna and Ty had momentarily forgotten they were not alone. Both broke into nervous laughter.

But he didn't let go of her hand.

Three

“Shall we go in to dinner?” Matthew said, helping their mother to her feet. “Suzanna, why don't you show our guest into the dining room.”

Suzanna freed her hand, but immediately slipped possessive fingers around Ty's arm. “If you'll kindly come with me, Mr. Bellinggrath,” she said, and flashed him her most dazzling smile.

“Indeed, I'd be honored, Miss LeGrande,” said the shy, well-mannered Bellinggrath.

He graciously allowed himself to be propelled into the candlelit dining room by the determined Suzanna. Behind them, Matthew and Emile exchanged looks of surprise. Never had they seen Suzanna exhibit such unveiled interest in a would-be suitor.

Ty pulled out the chair Suzanna indicated, and she slipped into it. But when Matthew drew out the chair directly beside it, Suzanna said, sweetly but firmly, “Mother, why don't you sit across from us? Mr. Bellinggrath will sit here by me.”

Again Matthew and Emile exchanged glances, and Matthew couldn't hide a hint of a smile as he ushered his mother to the other side of the table. When Emile was seated, Ty sat down in the chair beside Suzanna, while Matthew took his own at the head of the table.

After shaking out a white damask napkin and draping it over his right knee, Matthew lifted the small silver bell beside his plate. He gave it a forceful shake. A pair of male servants in spotless black uniforms and snowy white gloves instantly appeared. One poured iced water into crystal goblets and port wine into tall stemmed glasses. The other placed bowls of chilled vichyssoise before each diner.

The meal began.

For the first time in her life, Suzanna found that she was not hungry. Not at all. Neither was Ty Bellinggrath. Hot yeast rolls and creamery butter did not tempt either of them. They hardly touched the rare roast beef and carefully steamed vegetables. Even the baked Alaska, Suzanna's favorite, sat melting on their plates.

Suzanna had no appetite, no interest in food. She was interested only in Ty Bellinggrath. His blond, blue-eyed good looks and quiet, gentlemanly manner made him tremendously appealing. She liked hearing him speak, his voice pleasingly low and well-modulated. She liked the way he shyly smiled, the corners of his full lips lifting ever so slightly. A bashful little-boy smile, touchingly adorable. At the same time there was about him a calm demeanor and dignified bearing that denoted strength and dependability.

Added to his physical attributes was his sharp intellect. He was wise and well-versed on a wide range of subjects, yet modest, clearly averse to flaunting his knowledge. He challenged her own keen mind, and she could tell by the look in his eyes that he was heartened to find her so smart. But he was not astonished as most gentlemen were.

The dinner conversation was lively and diverse, and Suzanna listened as, prompted by Matthew, Ty spoke about his recent travels through Europe. He painted vivid word pictures of Paris, that fabled City of Light. He told of the cafés lined with tables facing the street, where he had sat in the warm sun and sipped vermouth while watching the passersby. He described the flower sellers with their fresh blossoms. The boulevardiers in long-tailed coats and goatees. The open-air carriages rolling by conveying happy, handsome couples. The shop windows on the Rue de la Paix. The tree-bordered Champs-Élysées.

Concluding, he pointed out that he had returned to America only last week and that he was very glad to be home. He glanced at Suzanna when he said it, and she nodded, smiling. She was very glad as well.

The meal ended and the foursome went back into the drawing room. Inclining his head, Matthew suggested Suzanna play the piano for their enjoyment. Generally, such a suggestion drew quick protests and mean faces from his sister. She was no circus performer! She would not would jump through hoops to prove she had laudable feminine talents that might make her more attractive to the opposite sex!

But Ty gently coaxed, “Yes, Miss Suzanna, won't you, please…?”

“Only if you'll agree to sit beside me while I play,” she said sweetly.

“It would be my pleasure,” he replied in that low, soft drawl that so suited him.

Matthew and Emile sipped their coffee, unable to believe what they were seeing—Suzanna seated at the square pianoforte, playing Chopin beautifully and smiling warmly at the blushing blond man who sat beside her.

The impromptu recital ended.

Ty rose and drew her to her feet. “That was lovely, Miss Suzanna. I truly enjoyed it.” Suzanna beamed with pride. Ty then turned and said, “Mrs. LeGrande, Matthew, thank you so much for inviting me to dinner. It was a most pleasant evening and I appreciate your hospitality. Now I really must be going.”

“So soon?” Suzanna said, visibly disappointed. “Why, it's early yet, not even nine. Don't go.”

“You're kind, Miss Suzanna, but…”

“What would it take to make you stay?” she asked anxiously, her heart overruling her head. “I can do more than just play the piano, you know. I read palms! I can predict the future. I do some great tricks with a deck of playing cards. I can tilt my head back, balance a full wineglass on my forehead and, without using my hands, sink all the way down to the floor and stretch out on my back without spilling a single drop! I can—”

“Mind your manners, Suzanna!” Matthew scolded. Emile frowned disapprovingly at her daughter.

Ty Bellinggrath was laughing, charmed by this outspoken young beauty. With her at his side, he crossed to the sofa, smiled at her mother and said, “Good night, Mrs. LeGrande. Again, thank you so much.”

“Do come back again, young man,” said Emile.

Matthew was on his feet now, ready to see his guest to the door. But the shy, retiring Ty said, “Please, stay where you are, Matt. Miss Suzanna will see me out.” He shifted his focus to her. “Won't you?”

“I will!” she eagerly exclaimed, lifting her bell-like skirts and preceding him out of the room and into the foyer. When he would have paused there to bid her good-night, she drew him out the front door and onto the chilly, moon-splashed veranda. There she turned to face him and eagerly asked, “Are you going to the Graysons' reception next Saturday evening at Stratford House?”

“If you are, I am.”

She liked his answer and told him, “I'll be there.”

“Then so will I.”

Suzanna started to speak, but Ty lifted a hand and touched her cheek lightly. His eyes flashed in the moonlight when he whispered, “Till then, Suzanna.”

Four

The pressure of Ty's hand at her waist was intensely exciting to Suzanna. That and the warm look in his eyes as he gazed down at her.

The two of them spun about the ballroom's crowded floor at Stratford House, oblivious to the other dancers. Lost in the first thrilling blush of budding romance, they were only vaguely aware of the seductive milieu surrounding them, engulfing them. Bouquets of freshly cut hothouse flowers. Candlelight falling on the polished parquet floor. The subtle scents of expensive perfumes. The swish of silks and satins and the flash of diamonds. Soft laughter and haunting violins and chilled champagne.

The romantic evening was to become even more so when, midway through the glittering reception, the clearly smitten Ty said against Suzanna's ear, “It's grown quite warm in here, hasn't it?”

To which she laughed and promptly replied, “Mother said never say ‘hot.' Why don't we go outdoors and get a breath of the fresh night air?”

Ty paused midstep. “I was hoping you'd say that.”

“And I have, so let's go.”

“I wouldn't want to compromise you, Miss Suzanna. Matthew would have my hide if I—”

“Matthew need never know. And will you kindly stop calling me Miss Suzanna?” She glanced warily around, then whispered, “I'll pretend I need to freshen up. Once upstairs, I'll slip down the back way and meet you in the rear gardens. No one will be there.”

“An ingenious plan,” he said admiringly, and eagerly ushered her off the floor and through the crowd. Suzanna stopped just before they exited the ballroom, reached out and plucked an ivory gardenia from a huge bouquet in a tall porcelain vase beside the arched doorway. Then she preceded Ty into the foyer.

But before they could cross the crowded vestibule, they encountered Matthew.

“Have you heard the news?” he asked, taking no notice of the fact that they had left the ballroom. “Colonel Robert E. Lee has sent his apology. He will not be attending this evening.”

“Is Mrs. Lee feeling worse?” asked Suzanna, hoping she didn't look guilty.

“No, it's not that. Lee's leave has been abruptly canceled. He has been called back to duty immediately.”

Ty Bellinggrath frowned. “The John Brown raid at Harper's Ferry?”

“Yes. Our host, Ronald Grayson, just told me that Colonel Lee's been dispatched to Harper's Ferry in command of the United States troops. He received orders from the secretary of war to take the evening train there.”

“The affair must be more serious than we'd presumed,” said Ty thoughtfully.

Matthew nodded, sharing Ty's concern. “They're holding a number of citizens hostage and threatening their lives. It's a dangerous situation that could erupt—”

“I'm sure Colonel Lee will soon have everything under control,” Suzanna interrupted, anxious to get away from her brother, refusing to allow anything to spoil this perfect evening. “You'll excuse me, Matt,” she said. “I was just going to freshen up.”

“Yes, of course. Go ahead.” Matthew made a move toward the ballroom. “You coming, Ty?”

“Ah…no…I…You go on,” Ty said, feeling heat rising to his face. “Think I'll step out onto the veranda for a minute. It's growing quite stuffy inside.”

“Good enough. See you both later,” said Matthew, and left them.

“That was close,” Ty commented.

“He doesn't suspect a thing,” Suzanna assured him.

At the base of the grand staircase, Ty winked at Suzanna and whispered, “Five minutes.”

“Make it four.” She lifted her bronze taffeta skirts and dashed up the stairs.

On the landing, Suzanna encountered Cynthia Ann coming out of her bedroom. Suzanna immediately put her finger to her lips, then she drew her best friend close and whispered in her ear, “I'm meeting Ty Bellinggrath in the terraced back gardens!”

“Suzanna LeGrande!”

“Shh! Don't tell a soul. We bumped into Matt downstairs and I told him I was going to your room. Should he mention my absence, assure him I am upstairs.”

Nodding, happy to share her friend's secret, Cynthia Ann asked, “Are you going to let him…kiss you?”

“Bite your tongue, Cynthia Ann Grayson! Of course not,” Suzanna stated emphatically. Then she grinned and whispered, “But I will make him wish he could kiss me.” Both girls giggled. “I must go,” said Suzanna, hugging her friend. Then she was gone, with Cynthia Ann looking after her.

Unhurriedly, Ty crossed the wide foyer, nodding to acquaintances, exchanging respectful pleasantries with his elders. Once out the front door, he anxiously crossed the veranda and skipped down the wide stone steps. His heart beginning to beat rapidly, he sprinted around the mansion.

He found Suzanna waiting beneath a decorative marble statue, the moonlight striking her full in the face, the night breeze swirling locks of her hair around her head. In her hand she held the fragrant gardenia she had plucked from the bouquet inside the ballroom.

Ty approached.

When he reached her, neither said anything. They stood for a long moment, gazing at each other. Finally, Suzanna lifted the gardenia, carefully tucked it into Ty's lapel, and said, “Next time I do this—put a blossom in your lapel—it will be our secret signal that you will be allowed to kiss me before the evening is over.”

Ty trembled at the prospect. He reached for her hand and took it in both of his. “Will it be long before you…?”

“We'll see,” she teased, and knew she'd done just what she had set out to do. Ty Bellinggrath was dying to kiss her and wouldn't rest until she let him.

“Are you cold? I could lend you my…”

“No,” she said with a provocative smile, “I'm almost as warm as you.”

Ty laughed, bewitched. Hand in hand they strolled down a pebbled path that crisscrossed the manicured gardens of the vast estate. At a white settee at the far edge of the property, they paused. Ty took a linen handkerchief from his inside breast pocket and carefully spread it on the bench. Once Suzanna was settled, he took a seat beside her.

He draped an arm along the settee's high back behind her. Unconcerned with the chill of the autumn night, they sat in the moonlight and talked and laughed and became better acquainted. Suzanna made Ty promise that he would come to Whitehall again for dinner one evening.

“I will,” he replied.

“And not some distant date in the future,” she said. “Join us tomorrow night.”

Again he laughed. “I'll be there,” he said. “And speaking of the future, is it true you can read palms?”

“It certainly is,” Suzanna proudly assured him. “I've a real talent for it. Shall I read yours?”

“Have we enough light?” He glanced up at the full white moon.

“I'm sure we do. Give me your hand and I'll tell you what you can expect in the years ahead,” she said with authority.

Ty was smiling as he held it out, palm up. Suzanna was smiling, too. She took hold of his large hand, raised it a little closer to her face and studied the open palm for several long seconds. Her eyes widened, then narrowed. Her smile fled. Watching her intently, Ty caught the change of expression and wondered what had caused it. Suzanna lowered his hand, wrapped both of her own around it and pressed it to her waist.

“Well? What did you see?” Ty was still grinning.

“Nothing,” she said in clipped tones. “I saw nothing.” She smiled once more and told him, “You were right, there's not enough light.”

“I'm disappointed,” he said, studying her face. “I was hoping you would tell me…”

“Ty, I can't actually predict the future. I was teasing you. It's just something I do for fun.” Quickly changing the subject, she said, “We had better get back inside before we're missed and my overprotective brother has you horsewhipped.”

Five

The courtship had begun.

Utterly enchanted with Suzanna, Ty Bellinggrath was ever the gentleman. He treated his beautiful sweetheart with the utmost respect at all times. He waited patiently, hopefully, for the magical moment when Suzanna would step up to him and place a blossom in his lapel.

Nights passed.

Then weeks.

Yearning to taste her soft, full lips, Ty had begun to wonder if he would ever be allowed to kiss the woman with whom he was falling deeply in love.

And then, when he least expected it, when it was the dead of winter and the trees were bare and a blanket of snow covered the ground and Christmas and New Year's had come and gone, the unpredictable Suzanna surprised him.

On a bitterly cold February evening, as he waited with Matthew and Mrs. LeGrande in the library before a blazing fire, Suzanna, looking especially lovely in a high-necked, long-sleeved dress of rich brown velveteen, suddenly appeared. Ty and Matthew came to their feet and while Matthew mildly scolded his sister for making their dinner guest wait, Ty felt his chest tighten.

On this freezing winter's night, Suzanna wore a fragile ivory gardenia in her blazing red hair. Would she place it in his lapel? If so, he knew what that meant. He would, at long last—if he could figure out how to get her alone for a few precious moments—be allowed to finally kiss his adored sweetheart.

Suzanna caught the look in Ty's eyes and knew what was running through her beau's mind. She would, she decided, let the expectation build awhile longer. She didn't immediately place the blossom in his lapel. She made him wait. Made him wait all through a leisurely five-course dinner. Made him wait while she and her mother sipped their coffee in the library and Ty and Matthew shared a brandy. Made him wait until the tall cased clock in the foyer struck the hour of ten and Ty said he should be going. Made him wait until she saw him to the front door and he had taken his heavy caped cloak down from the coat tree, but had not yet swirled it around his shoulders.

“Good night, Ty,” Suzanna said sweetly as they stood facing each other in the foyer.

“Suzanna, I…”

She smiled as she took the gardenia from her hair and carefully tucked it into the lapel of his dark frock coat. And before he knew what was happening, Suzanna put her arms around his neck and lifted her lips for his kiss. Nervous, afraid Matthew or Mrs. LeGrande might decide to come out of the library, he nonetheless couldn't resist. He bent his head and kissed Suzanna squarely on the lips.

It was the sweetest of kisses, a kiss he would never forget. When their lips separated, Suzanna rested her forehead against his chin for an instant.

“Promise you'll never again kiss anyone but me,” she said.

“I promise.”

Ty waited a full year.

He formally proposed to Suzanna on October 12, 1860, the anniversary of the night they had first met. Suzanna eagerly accepted.

“You'll take me to Paris for our honeymoon?”

“I will, darling girl,” he promised.

Suzanna immediately expressed the strong desire to be a June bride. Ty hated to wait, especially since he was all too aware of the troubling unrest sweeping the country. But he could deny her nothing, so he agreed.

The date was set. Elaborate wedding plans were put in motion. Engraved invitations were ordered. Suzanna settled on a wedding dress of snow-white satin trimmed with thousands of tiny, hand-sewn crystal beads. Months in advance, wedding gifts began pouring into Whitehall.

Happy as only the very young can be, Suzanna looked eagerly forward to becoming the bride of Ty Bellinggrath, and Ty was anxiously counting the days.

But on April 12, 1861, two months before the big day was to take place, Fort Sumter in the Charleston harbor was fired on from a Confederate artillery battery. The next day the fort surrendered to Southern forces. War Between the States was unavoidable.

When Suzanna heard the disturbing news, she knew that her wedding plans might be postponed indefinitely. She suggested to Ty that they elope, marry quickly before the coming conflict got under way.

Ty talked her out of it, reasoning that it wouldn't be fair to her. She wanted a big church wedding and she deserved to have one. He assured her that even with the worst happening—the Confederacy going to war against the Union—the hostility wouldn't last. It would be over in a few short weeks and they could get married just as planned.

On the 15th of April, President Lincoln issued a proclamation calling for seventy-five thousand militia to serve for ninety days to put down “combinations too powerful to be suppressed by the ordinary mechanism of the government.” The proclamation infuriated the South and spurred the uncommitted states into action.

On April 17, Virginia seceded from the Union, along with North Carolina, Arkansas and Tennessee. On the twentieth, Robert E. Lee resigned his command as colonel of the First Regiment of Cavalry in the United States Army. Word spread that the decision broke Lee's heart and that he had stated, in a missive to General Winfield Scott, “Save in defense of my native state, I never desire to again draw my sword.”

The news all over Washington was of Colonel Lee's resignation. When Ty came to Whitehall that evening, Suzanna met him at the door and threw her arms around his neck. “Don't go, Ty. Please don't go.”

“He has to go, Suzanna,” Matthew said, stepping into the foyer with their mother at his side. “Just as I must go.”

On April 25 Virginia joined the Confederate States, and both Ty and Matthew warned Suzanna and Mrs. LeGrande that the two of them should quickly move to a place of safety. War was now inevitable and could explode around them at any minute.

“No! This is our home. We are not leaving Whitehall,” stated the usually gentle Emile LeGrande, demonstrating a surprising flash of mettle.

“Mrs. LeGrande,” Ty said, with respect. “Won't you please consider closing up the house and going to New Orleans until this is over? I've cousins there who will be more than happy to—”

Interrupting, Suzanna said, “Mother is right, Ty. We are going nowhere.”

No amount of reasoning could change the women's minds. Ty and Matthew prepared to ride to Richmond to join Colonel Lee's Virginia Provisional Army.

Two short weeks after the capture of Fort Sumter, the dashing young men stood on the broad veranda of Whitehall saying goodbye. Mrs. LeGrande cupped her son's dear face in her hands and fought back tears. Suzanna stood in Ty's embrace and admonished him to write every day. He promised he would.

“It's time,” said Matthew, and Ty nodded without looking up.

Disengaging himself, he held Suzanna at arm's length and told her, “We'll be back before you know it, sweetheart.”

She nodded, smiled, took an early blooming rose from her hair and tucked it into his lapel. “Kiss me,” she challenged.

Ty's handsome face flushed. He had never dared kiss her in front of her family. He glanced over her head at Mrs. LeGrande and Matthew. Then, realizing it might be weeks before he could kiss her again, he tossed caution to the wind. Ty lowered his head and soundly kissed Suzanna.

Then he stepped back from her and was gone.

Suzanna stayed on the veranda long after Ty and Matthew had disappeared. Chilly despite the warmth of the sunny spring day, she fought one of those “disturbing feelings” that sometimes came over her, a strong premonition of danger.

She had never discussed those inexplicable sensations with anyone other than the understanding Cynthia Ann. Sharing such unexplainable anguish with her levelheaded brother would have brought only mild scorn and a swift reassurance that such feelings meant nothing. Had she confided in her mother, it would have further upset the older woman. And Suzanna tried never to needlessly worry the fragile Emile.

Lost in troubled thought, Suzanna blinked and came back to the present when she heard Cynthia Ann calling her name. The Grayson brougham had rolled to a stop in the driveway and Cynthia Ann was rushing up the walk. Heartened, Suzanna hurried to meet her.

As the two young women embraced, Suzanna said, “Oh, Cyn, I'm so glad you came because—”

“I know,” Cynthia Ann interrupted. “We passed Ty and Matthew riding away at a gallop. I knew you'd be upset, but they'll soon be back and…”

“It's more than their leaving, Cyn. It's…I'm experiencing one of those eerie, awful feelings. Like something really terrible is going to happen.”

Cynthia Ann squeezed Suzanna's narrow waist. “Suz, I'm so sorry. Let me stay here with you until it passes.”

“Would you? I'm frightened and I can't worry Mother.” She pulled back, looked at the shorter girl, and was startled to see bright tears shining in Cynthia Ann's eyes. “What is it? Has something dreadful already happened? Is that what I sense?”

“We're going away, Suz.”

“Going away? But…why? Where?”

“Boston. Father is sending Mother and me to stay with my maiden aunt in Boston until this is over.”

“Oh, Cyn, must you?”

“Father says there's sure to be bloody battles right here in and around Washington.” She swallowed hard and added, “Dearest friend, you and I are to be on opposite sides in this war. Father's pledged allegiance to the Union Army and so has my darling Davy.”

“Dear Lord, I hadn't thought of that,” Suzanna said, realizing with horror that scenes such as this were taking place all over the city. The war was tearing apart lifelong friends, even families.

“It isn't my fault, Suz,” said the now weeping Cynthia Ann. “Please don't hold it against me.”

Tears spilling down her own cheeks, Suzanna said, “Darling Cyn, nothing could ever change the way I feel about you. You're the sister I never had, and I shall love you always. None of this is your fault, nor mine. It changes nothing between us.”

“I knew you'd understand.”

“When are you leaving?”

“Mother and the servants are busy packing now and…Tomorrow. Early tomorrow morning.”

“So soon? It's like a knife through my breast,” Suzanna said honestly. “This—your leaving me—must be responsible for the terrible feeling I have.” She looked hopefully at Cynthia Ann. “That's it, isn't it, Cyn? That's the bad thing I perceived was going to happen.”

“I'm sure it is, dear. And I'm so sorry to be deserting you when you need me most.”

“I'll be all right, truly I will. And you will write me often and I will answer. And when this conflict ends, you will come home and we will be just as we always were.”

“Yes. Yes, we will. Nothing can ever damage our friendship.”

“Absolutely not. Now come on inside and let's enjoy our last afternoon together.”

Six

July 1861

Creamy white flowers covered the rosebushes that grew just outside the open floor-to-ceiling windows. The fragile blossoms undulated in a gentle breeze blowing out of the south. The rhythmic shimmering stirred the flowers' seductive fragrance, sending the subtle scent wafting through the windows and into the spacious ground floor bedchamber.

“Umm, smell that,” purred a voluptuous naked woman lying stretched out on the silk-sheeted bed, arms flung above her head, midnight hair spilling across the lace-trimmed pillows. “Like the sweetest of honey.”

“I smell you,” said the man who, shedding the last of his clothes, came down onto the bed beside the woman.

“And how do I smell?” she asked, turning on her side and raking long fingernails through the coal-black hair covering his broad, muscled chest.

“Hot. Pungent. Like a highly aroused female in need of immediate sex,” he said, unworried that she might take offense.

No chance of that. Mitch Longley knew her too well. Mrs. Dawn Bell Thompson Bond Merriweather, a wealthy and beautiful twice-widowed, once-divorced brunette who was accepted in Washington society mainly because she was extremely wealthy, had let him know the night they met exactly what she wanted from him.

As they had danced in the ballroom of this very mansion—one of three grand residences she owned—she'd wasted no time in explaining why Mitch had been invited to the evening's glittering soiree.

“Admiral Longley,” she had said, “since the afternoon when I was walking past the War Department with a good friend and you and I very nearly collided, I have thought of little else but you.”

“Madam,” Mitch had reminded her, “the incident happened only yesterday afternoon.”

She'd laughed gaily and said, “Well, you can't very well expect a lady to live in torture forever, now can you, Admiral?”

“I'm afraid I don't quite follow.”

“Don't you?” she said, and none-too-subtly insinuated her chiffon-gowned knee between his. Her gloved hand firmly urging his head down, she'd put her lips against his ear and whispered, “I want you to make love to me. Tonight. Here in my home. In my bed. After my guests leave. Or before. It's up to you. We can go to my suite right now if you like. It's just down the hall.” She pulled back to judge his reaction.

Mitch Longley was unfazed. Hers was not the first, nor would it be the last, decidedly unladylike proposition he had received from a spoiled, desirable woman. He made no misstep. His handsome face did not change. She might have been commenting on the weather for all that registered in his continuing calm demeanor.

Taken aback, Dawn said, “Perhaps you still don't fully understand me, Admiral. I am suggesting that—”

“I'm not titillated by the prospect of making love to a woman while she's entertaining a houseful of people.” He smoothly danced his brash hostess to the edge of the floor and deposited her there. Speaking loudly enough for others to hear, he thanked her for the dance and for the evening. Dawn Merriweather's face fell with disappointment.

Then Mitch leaned close and whispered in her ear, “Get rid of them. I'll be back at midnight. If you're not alone, don't expect me to stay.”

Without another word, Mitchell B. Longley, wealthy Maryland native, Union naval officer, graduate of the Naval Academy at Annapolis, class of '48, turned and left, with Dawn Merriweather staring after him.

When Mitch returned to the mansion at the stroke of midnight, a uniformed butler admitted him into the silent house and directed him to a set of closed double doors at the end of the wide downstairs corridor.

Pausing before those doors, Mitch raised his hand, then lowered it without knocking. He walked into the white-and-blue-decorated suite and closed the door behind him. She was not in the spacious sitting room, where huge white sofas and overstuffed blue easy chairs rested before a white marble fireplace. Mitch crossed the room. He went directly to the open connecting doors, stepped inside the candlelit bedroom and saw her.

The beautiful Dawn Merriweather, in a virginal white dressing gown, with her lustrous black hair falling loose around her shoulders, stood beside the big feather bed.

“I thought perhaps you weren't coming,” she said, seductively running a thumb and forefinger down the lapel of her shimmering robe to call his attention to the rigid nipples pressing proudly against the shiny fabric.

“You knew very well I would come,” he said. “Take that thing off.” He gestured to her garment.

“No,” she said, letting her arms fall to her sides. “You take it off, Admiral.”

Mitch shook his head and turned to leave.

“Wait! Come back. It's off! The robe's off!” she said, frantically yanking at the sash and sending the slippery covering to the carpeted floor.

Mitch stopped, turned and smiled. She was naked, her voluptuous body as beautiful as her face. She was Venus di Milo in the flesh, yet this goddess of love and beauty had arms with which to hold him.

In seconds Mitch was as naked as she. In minutes they were atop her feather bed going at each other in a no-holds-barred frenzy of raw sexual hunger. Mitch learned on that very first night that Mrs. Merriweather was insatiable. And that, not surprisingly, she was a highly experienced lover who was able to teach him a trick or two.

Now on this hot July afternoon a month after they'd met, the delectable Dawn sat astride the prostrate Mitch and aggressively rode him, determined to keep him hard and hot and here inside her. Her heavy breasts swaying with her slow undulating movements, midnight hair whipping around her face, she gazed steadily into his hooded green eyes and praised his prowess as a lover.

Mitch knew all her games. He knew exactly what she was up to on this particular afternoon. He had informed her the minute he arrived that he could stay for only an hour. He'd gotten his orders. He was to report to the Washington navy yard to board the USS Pawnee at 4:00 p.m. By dusk the Union warship would sail with the tide to Alexandria, Virginia.

Prolonged lovemaking was enjoyable. Still, Mitch had no choice but to take matters into his own hands and bring them both to a hasty release. He rolled up into a sitting position, slipped his hands beneath Dawn's bent knees, pressed them to his sides and firmly clasped the twin cheeks of her buttocks. While she anxiously hugged his head to her breasts, Mitch pumped into her with a fury.

“Nooo!” she protested when her climax began. “Not yet, Mitch, I…I…ooh, yes, yes!”

Seven

Despite the war, Suzanna had lost none of her youthful optimism. She constantly reminded her worried mother that the conflict would soon be over and the South would be victorious. Then Matthew and Ty would come riding home, heroes on horseback.

Suzanna looked eagerly forward to the few short letters she received from Ty. She read them over and over again. Then she carefully placed those precious missives in an empty, ruffle-trimmed bonbon box to keep forever. Her last letter from Ty had come from Manassas, reaching her on July 19.

Dearest Suzanna,

I miss you so much it is a physical pain. But I do have something of you—the rose you placed in my lapel on the morning we parted. I keep it with me at all times, inside my tunic, next to my heart.

Matthew and I have not suffered so much as a scratch. We're fortunate to be together and even more fortunate to serve in the Confederate Army of the Potomac under the flamboyant Brigadier General Pierre G. T. Beauregard.

Dearest, we are bivouacked outside Manassas, near the railroad junction where the massing of Confederate troops continues. We are hoping to engage and vanquish the enemy very soon. Ours is a mighty force, sweetheart. Do not worry.

All my love,

Ty

Even prior to receiving Ty's letter, Suzanna had heard that a buildup of both Union and Confederate troops was taking place in Manassas. She realized a battle was inevitable.

She did not allow herself to worry. She continued to plan for the lavish wedding and for the romantic honeymoon in Paris that Ty had promised her. She happily envisioned the day when she would walk down the aisle on Matthew's arm to become Mrs. Ty Bellinggrath.

Until that much-anticipated hour, she would keep busy and quietly do whatever she could to aid the Confederacy.

Suzanna tirelessly rolled bandages and collected spare medications for the troops from those families she knew to be sympathetic to the Cause.

Since her Virginia home was just across the river from the bustling Union capital and its hordes of uniformed Yankee soldiers, she had to be extremely cautious about declaring her loyalty to the South. Hardly anyone supportive of the Confederacy had remained in the Washington, D.C. area. Most had fled shortly after war broke out.

Suzanna missed her friends, especially Cynthia Ann Grayson, with whom she had always shared her secrets. Now she had no one to confide in. She was lonely for those absent companions, but didn't allow herself a great deal of time to dwell on her isolation.

Since Matthew was away, the responsibility for looking after their mother and overseeing the family businesses had fallen on Suzanna's shoulders. She never bothered her mother with complicated affairs of enterprise. Emile LeGrande, married as a young girl, pampered by her husband and then her son, had never paid any attention to complicated concerns of commerce.

Emile had always taken their wealth for granted and had never been curious about any of her husband's business ventures. Indeed, she had no idea what they owned or how much they were worth. After Lawrence LeGrande's passing, Matthew had rightfully stepped into the role of manager of the estate.

Suzanna was acutely aware that she could not enjoy the luxury of disinterest where their holdings were concerned. In the days prior to his leaving, Matthew had patiently schooled his sister on the diverse LeGrande interests.

Now, in his absence, Suzanna spent a great deal of time poring over various ledgers, attempting to make sense of the neat columns of numbers. Deposits from profits, deductions of payouts for labor rendered. She made every attempt to keep informed on where they stood financially.

Suzanna didn't mind the responsibility. She prided herself on being as intelligent as any man, and assumed that she could easily shoulder the task until Matthew's return. She loved her mother dearly and was resolved never to burden her with worries regarding their livelihood.

Keeping the family ledgers balanced was not Suzanna's only duty. When the war began, a number of the servants had deserted Whitehall. Of the few who remained, none wanted to journey too far from home. Understanding their confusion and fear, Suzanna assured them that they need not leave the safety of the mansion. If they would see to the household chores, she would do the necessary marketing.

In truth, she rather enjoyed venturing forth to choose fresh fruits and vegetables from the sidewalk stalls just across the river. And it afforded the opportunity to eavesdrop and learn about the war's progress, to hear news of troop movements. Her mere presence in the staunchly Union city was an unspoken assurance that her alliance lay with the North. In the interest of self-preservation, she allowed that assumption to go unchallenged. Indeed, she enhanced it by pretending delight on hearing people proclaim that the mighty Union would make short work of putting down the rebellion.

At market on the blistering hot afternoon of July 22, 1861, Suzanna observed great numbers of the shattered Union Army marching wearily into Washington. When she inquired about the meaning, an old gentleman who was clearly disappointed informed her that “the upstart Confederates have been victorious at Manassas.”

“Ah, that's too bad,” Suzanna commented, hoping her face did not betray her true feelings.

She went on carefully choosing ripened peaches and placing them in the basket over her arm, suppressing the smile that was playing at her lips.

Then, all at once, from out of the blue, one of those dreaded “feelings” came over her. The blood drained from her face. Her basket of fruit fell to the ground. She didn't bend and pick it up. She immediately left the outdoor market. She hurried back across the bridge, anxious to get home, plagued with an icy fear that something had happened to Ty or to Matthew.

Her heart drumming in her ears, she fought the panic that was threatening to choke her. By the time she reached the circular drive of Whitehall, she was out of breath and had a painful stitch in her side.

She stopped at the front gate, pressed a hand to her aching side and blinked away the sunspots dancing before her eyes. Her anxiety escalated when she looked up and saw her frail mother standing on the veranda. Old Durwood, the only male servant still at Whitehall, was at her side, supporting her.

“No,” Suzanna murmured soundlessly, “please, God, no. No, no, no.” She lifted her skirts and raced up the front walk.

She reached her mother, looked at Emile with questioning eyes. The older woman said nothing, but her wet cheeks and ashen face spoke volumes. Suzanna looked from her mother to Durwood and back again.

“Matthew? Is it Matthew?” Suzanna asked, studying her mother's face. No reply. “Ty?” Suzanna could hardly get his name out. “Dear Lord, it's Ty, isn't it? Ty has been…”

“B…both,” Emile LeGrande barely managed to whisper. “Both of them,” she murmured, and then began to sob so violently she could say no more.

“Both? No! No, that's impossible. It can't be, it cannot be true.” Suzanna, refusing to believe, looked at the stooped servant. “Durwood, tell me this is all a terrible misunderstanding! It has to be a mistake. Why, I just heard at the Blakely Street market that the Rebs have had a stunning victory at Manassas, so you see…it…they…Matt and Ty…”

“Miz Suzanna,” said the kindly Durwood. “Miz Emile was not feeling well, so she send me round to Doc Ledet's for some—”

“Ah, there, that's it!” Suzanna seized on the possible misunderstanding. “Mother's feeling ill and she had a bad dream while napping. The same thing has happened to me many times.” Nervously, she smiled and stated, “Mother hasn't been out of the house, so she couldn't possibly have heard that…”

“Miz Suzanna, I tol' you I was at Doc Ledet's. The doctor, he had been out and he checked the weekly casualty list.” Durwood swallowed hard. “He assumed we knew. He thought that's why I come for him, 'cause Miz Emile she be so distraught over…” His words trailed away.

Suzanna was shaking her head, refusing to accept it. “If it were true, Dr. Ledet would have come right over….”

“He did, Miz Suzanna. The doctor come home with me to be with Miz Emile.”

Suzanna felt her world swiftly spinning out of control. “He came? Then where is he? Surely he wouldn't be so callous as to leave Mother alone when…when…”

“He had to go, Miz Suzanna. He's needed at the hospital to tend Union wounded coming in from Manassas.”

For a long moment, Suzanna said nothing more. She just stood there staring at her grieving mother and the teary-eyed servant. When she did speak, it was in level, well-modulated tones. “Durwood, are you absolutely certain that Dr. Ledet said…” She drew a shallow breath. “Both of them? Matt and Ty both…killed in battle? They're gone? They are never coming home?”

“Yes'em, he was sure,” the old man said. “If it be any help, the doctor said this first land battle of the war was a clear victory for the Confederacy.”

Suzanna nodded feebly. She closed her eyes, opened them. She dutifully stepped forward and put an arm around her mother's trembling shoulders.

Suzanna drew a spine-stiffening breath and said softly, “Yes, Durwood, it does help. It helps a great deal. I am certain that Ty and Matt were heroic and that we can all be very proud of them both. Thank you so much. You may go.”

“Anything I can do, I will, Miz Suzanna.”

“I'll call if we need you.”

The old man nodded and, blinking back tears, crossed the veranda and moved gingerly down the steps. He slowly circled the mansion and went to his quarters in the carriage house.

Suzanna heard a roaring in her ears. She felt faint and sick. She longed to scream in pain, but she didn't. She had to be strong for her helpless mother. She held the weeping Emile in her arms and comforted her, soothing her as if she were a fretful child.

When, finally, Emile was so exhausted she stopped sobbing and had calmed a little, Suzanna took her inside. She put her mother to bed and gave her a small amount of the laudanum that Dr. Ledet had supplied. She sat with her mother until Emile fell into a welcome slumber.

It was nearing sunset when Suzanna tiptoed out of the room and quietly closed the door. She walked down the grand staircase as if in a trance. In the foyer she paused and wondered, Should I turn and go into the library? Or should I make my way to the kitchen and see about the evening meal? Or perhaps go up to my room and write a note of sympathy to Ty's parents?

What exactly did a person do when she'd just received word that the two men she loved most in all the world were dead? When she'd been told that she no longer has the protective big brother who had been with her all of her life. That she would never be the bride of the handsome young man who'd promised to take her to Paris and to cherish her forever?

For a long, tortured moment, Suzanna stood there unmoving in the silent foyer, wondering how she could possibly endure this double tragedy. How she could go on when all was forever lost.

She couldn't.

It was too much.

She couldn't stand it.

At last, that much-needed release swamped her.

Suzanna put her hand over her mouth to stifle the wrenching sobs that were tearing at her tight throat. She flew out of the house, across the veranda and down the front steps. She raced around the mansion and out into the back gardens. She ran until her legs finally grew too weak to carry her, and her heart was burning in her chest, her hot face wet with rapidly flowing tears.

She had reached the riverbank when her knees buckled. She fell forward, sprawling on her belly, her hooped skirts belling up behind her. She didn't rise. She screamed and cried and beat on the ground with her fists, overcome with grief and pain. She cried until there were no tears left and her eyes were swollen half-shut. Until her head throbbed painfully and her fists were bloody from striking the ground.

Then she fell silent.

And still.

Completely still.

She stayed there until the summer sun had completely gone down and a pale silver moon had lifted above the treetops and was inching up into the night sky.

With great effort, Suzanna turned over onto her back. She lay there for some time, then finally sat up. She wearily rose to her feet and walked toward the house.

And as she climbed the back steps, she squared her tired shoulders, lifted her chin and silently promised her sweetheart and her brother that she would avenge their deaths.

She would not rest until she had caused Yankee blood to spill. Somehow, some way, she would make the hated Union pay for what they had done. She didn't care who she had to hurt. She didn't care what she would be required to do to exact reprisal. Nothing could be too dishonorable or too distasteful if it meant the certain defeat and death of at least one hated Yankee bastard!

Eight

Suzanna understood her mother's suffering. She shared that pain, but dealt with her own loss in a very different way. While Emile languished in her room, often too distraught to even come downstairs, Suzanna paced the drawing room restlessly, scheming, plotting, considering how she could best help the Confederacy.

Impatient to begin an endeavor wherein she could be of genuine value to the Cause, Suzanna realized she had to bide her time until her mother grew a bit stronger. But she despaired of her mother ever growing stronger.

Suzanna was determined to help the war effort and, more importantly, to avenge the deaths of her beau and her brother. While she waited for her mother's health to improve, she considered and discarded idea after idea.

Then, one cold February morning in 1862, Dr. Milton Ledet, the family physician who had delivered both Matthew and her, unwittingly came up with the perfect strategy for Suzanna. One she hadn't seriously considered, but which was ingenious.

The caring physician had stopped by to check on Emile, as he did regularly. After spending a few minutes with his frail patient, listening to Emile's heart, checking her pulse and assuring her that by spring she'd be fit as a fiddle, he came back downstairs.

Suzanna was waiting in the foyer to question him about the progress of the war. At her insistence, he shared the latest news. News that was not favorable. He had, he told her, heard that the Federals had attacked the Confederate positions on Roanoke Island, off the coast of North Carolina.

“The Union Navy sent in such a large fleet they easily overwhelmed the Confederates. The ships unmercifully bombarded the Rebels dug in along the shore.” He shook his head sadly. “The Rebs couldn't hold their position against such a mighty force. Those that weren't killed had no choice but to surrender.”

Suzanna gritted her teeth and silently cursed the Union's powerful navy. In frustration she said, “When the war began, everyone—you included—said it would be over within weeks. It's coming up on a year and…” Her words trailed away. Then she asked point-blank, “Are they going to beat us, Doctor Ledet?”

“Us? My dear, I've warned you time and again about referring to the Confederacy as ‘us.' I'm constantly careful, and you must be as well. If you and Emile refuse to flee, then you must pretend alliance with the Union.”

“I know, I know,” she said, waving a hand dismissively. “Don't worry, I only confide in you.” She sighed wearily. “Everyone else on our side is gone.”

“Not quite everyone,” he said with a sly smile. “Last evening I was at the home of one of Washington's most noted hostesses, an old friend I've known for years.” He looked around as if someone might be listening, then lowered his voice to just above a whisper and confided, “Mattie Kirkendal frequently entertains Yankee officers in her palatial mansion.” He paused for effect. “I'll betray a confidence here, because you and your family go back a long way. Mattie Kirkendal strongly sympathizes with the Confederacy.” His light eyes twinkled.

Suzanna's eyes twinkled as well. “And hosting these parties for Yankee officers allows her to learn the enemy's pernicious secrets. Mattie Kirkendal is a spy for the Confederacy!”

“Shh. Now, Suzanna, don't you dare breathe a word of this to anyone.” He took hold of her elbow and guided her into the drawing room. Continuing to speak in low tones, he asked, “Have you ever heard of a lady named Rose O'Neal Greenhow?”

Suzanna shook her head.

“Mrs. Greenhow was also a prominent Washington hostess who sympathized with the South. It is said she was responsible for the Confederate victory at Manassas last summer. She managed to get an important ten-word message to General Beauregard that helped win the battle!”

Her blue eyes dancing with excitement, Suzanna said, “That's it!”

“That's what?” The doctor's brows knitted.

“Get me an invitation to one of Mattie Kirkendal's social gatherings. Can you do that?”

“I suppose I could, but…”

“How old is this Mattie Kirkendal?”

The doctor shrugged. “Mmm, mid to late fifties. Why?”

Suzanna's smile was cold, calculating. “If a middle-aged woman can pry secrets out of the enemy, think what I might be able to glean.”

The doctor was already shaking his head worriedly. “No! Absolutely not! I have made a dire mistake in discussing this with you. I shouldn't have told you about Mrs. Kirkendal or Rose Greenhow. Did I fail to mention that Mrs. Greenhow is now in prison? You don't understand, child. Spying against the Union is punishable by death!”

“Only if you're caught,” she stated coolly. “I won't be.”

Stern and fatherly now, Dr. Ledet said, “You just put such wild notions right out of your head and forget all about this. As I said, I should never have mentioned—”

“I will not forget about it! I know now exactly how I can be of use, and I am going to do it. You refuse to help? You won't get me an invitation to one of Mrs. Kirkendal's affairs?”

The doctor wore a pained expression. “Please, Suzanna, you mustn't even consider such a dangerous endeavor. Why, it would kill poor Emile if—”

“Doctor,” Suzanna interrupted. “What's killing my poor mother is the loss of her only son. And although she is unaware of it, we are losing most of the family fortune as well. If this war drags on much longer, we will be left with nothing.”

“Surely it won't come to that, my dear.”

As if he hadn't spoken, Suzanna said firmly, “I am going to spy for the Confederacy with or without your help. My mind is made up.”

“You don't know what you're saying. You have no idea what you'd be letting yourself in for.” His face flushed when he added, “You are much too young and innocent to realize what unpleasant…ah…chores might be required of you.”

“Tell me,” she said. “What exactly would I have to do?”

The physician exhaled heavily. “Suzanna, you're a very beautiful young woman and…these Union officers that Mattie entertains would undoubtedly be physically attracted to you.”

“Well, I should hope so,” she stated emphatically. “Else how would I ever get any pertinent information out of them?”

His brow was furrowed. “Must I spell it out for you, child? Do you actually suppose that all you'd need do was smile at these seasoned officers to make them confide in you?”

“I am willing to do whatever it takes to bring down the Yankees,” she said defiantly, chin raised.

Nine

Suzanna wasted no more valuable time.

That very afternoon, after Dr. Ledet had gone and her mother was napping, she had Durwood bring the carriage around to drive her across the river. When she reached the baronial, two-story mansion of the wealthy widow, Mattie Kirkendal, a distinguished-looking butler answered the bell. Suzanna handed him a note of introduction from one Dr. Milton Ledet.

“If you'll kindly wait in the drawing room,” the butler instructed, taking Suzanna's fur-lined cape.

He directed her into a spacious parlor where expensive oil paintings hung on silk-covered walls, and overstuffed chairs and sofas of shimmering brocade faced a blazing fire in the huge, marble-manteled fireplace. Suzanna moved toward the blaze, stretching her cold hands to its warmth.

“Miss LeGrande?” A throaty female voice soon came from behind her, and Suzanna turned to see a short, stout, handsomely dressed, gray-haired woman whose round face immediately broke into a wide smile. Hands extended in greeting, the woman eagerly bore down on Suzanna, saying, “My dear, welcome to my home. I'm Mattie Kirkendal.”

“Suzanna LeGrande, Mrs. Kirkendal,” she answered, taking the soft, plump hands.

“My, my, aren't you a lovely little thing! Absolutely exquisite!”

“Thank you, Mrs. Kirkendal,” Suzanna said, embarrassed by the flattery.

“Call me Mattie. Now come, Suzanna, let's you and I sit and get acquainted. Dr. Ledet's note gave me very little information other than the fact that he has been your family physician and friend for many years. He gave no hint as to why you would want to meet me. So tell me about yourself. To what do I owe this unexpected pleasure on such a cold afternoon?”

As the two women settled themselves on one of the brocade sofas, a servant appeared bearing a silver tray with a china plate of golden-brown croissants and two steaming cups of a dark, thick beverage.

“Half coffee, half cocoa,” Mattie Kirkendal pointed out. “You'll find it quite delicious, I believe.” She reached for a cup. “I've served this particular blend of hot chocolate since the days I first tasted it as a young, carefree girl on holiday in Paris. It brings back so many fond memories and…and…”

Mattie Kirkendal caught the wistful expression that crossed Suzanna's face at the mention of Paris, and was puzzled. “My dear, what is it? Have I said something to upset you? Did you have an unpleasant experience in Paris?”

“I've never been to Paris, Mrs. Kirkendal.” Before the older woman could respond, Suzanna said, with a decisive shake of her head, “It's nothing. Nothing is wrong. Really.”

But while Mattie Kirkendal gingerly sipped the rich chocolate, Suzanna never touched hers.

Without preamble, she declared with fervor, “Mrs. Kirkendal, I desperately want to do something—anything—to aid in the war effort and to help the South defeat the Yankees. I will not be content until every last one of the blue-coated devils has gotten what he justly deserves! Therefore I am here to offer my services if you have any need of me.”

Mattie was surprised and delighted that such a young, beautiful belle would be willing to aid in the Cause. At the same time she was skeptical.

“And why, pray tell, are you sharing this dangerous desire with me?”

“I know, Mrs. Kirkendal. I know all about you. Dr. Ledet told me, but please don't get angry with him. Your secret is safe with me and I admire you for what you're doing to help the South. I want to be a part of it.”

“I see. And just what has happened in your young life to cause such fierce passion where the Yankees are concerned?”

Her blue eyes narrowing, Suzanna said, “They have taken everything from me. Everything. My sweetheart. My brother. My livelihood.”

The thoughts and words coming in a rush, Suzanna talked of her handsome blond fiancé and her strong, dependable brother. She revealed how her storybook world had been forever altered. She confided that she had been left alone to care for a sickly mother and that the once great LeGrande fortune, which had been carefully amassed by her deceased father, was rapidly dwindling away due to the destructive war. Dry-eyed, she made her case, demonstrating her resolve.

When at last she fell silent, Mattie Kirkendal said softly, “You've suffered far too much for one so young. I can understand your fierce need to make the Yankees pay for your misfortunes. But I am not convinced that you are up to the task of spying for the Confederacy.”

“Yes, I am,” Suzanna stated with calm authority.

“You can't possibly comprehend what you'd be getting yourself into. I can't allow—”

“Allow? Allow! Mrs. Kirkendal, with all due respect, it is not up to you to allow me to do anything I've set my mind to. If you refuse my services, that's fine with me. I will find someone else who is eager for my help.”

Mattie Kirkendal exhaled heavily and set her china cup aside. Frowning, she said, “If you are bound and determined, then…” She shrugged chubby shoulders. “But I must warn you, Suzanna, what you're volunteering to do will be neither easy nor pleasant.”

“I never supposed that it would be.”

Mattie spent the next half hour explaining to Suzanna exactly what would be expected of her. “You realize that you will be called on to dance with, flirt with and butter up the very men you so despise.”

Undeterred, Suzanna assured Mattie that she was up to the challenge. “I can and will be of invaluable assistance, Mrs. Kirkendal. I have spent many years socializing with friends and acquaintances who have chosen to remain with the Union. I can easily convince them that I have as well. I will spy for the Cause and no one will suspect me.”

“Bless you, my child,” exclaimed Mattie at last, keenly aware that a beautiful young lady like Suzanna would be an invaluable asset to the Confederacy. “How soon may I expect you to begin to help us?”

“Today. Now. This afternoon.”

Mattie laughed heartily and patted Suzanna's knee. Then she sobered and said, “Are you aware of the punishment for spying on the Union?”

“Death,” Suzanna stated without emotion. “By hanging.”

“You are willing to take such a risk?”

“Yes, I am.”

Suzanna could not be talked out of the perilous scheme. She regretted that she couldn't share her thrilling secret with her mother, but she didn't dare confide in the frail Emile, who, if she knew of her daughter's intention, would surely weep and worry and beg her to reconsider.

So Suzanna kept the truth a secret. She mentioned casually that she had been invited to a social gathering at a Mrs. Mattie Kirkendal's and that she wanted to attend.

Emile agreed that it was a good idea. “Darling, you deserve an evening out occasionally. I hope you enjoy yourself.”

“I will, Mother,” Suzanna lied. “And you're not to worry.”

But when, just forty-eight hours later, Suzanna came into her mother's bedroom to say good-night before going out, Emile gazed at her strikingly beautiful daughter and became uneasy.

Buelah, Suzanna's stalwart maid and the only female servant still at Whitehall, was trailing after her charge, grumbling, “You got no business going out dressed like that, Miz Suzanna. This is not decadent Europe. It's Washington City and folk'll think you are a loose woman.”

Emile, in bed despite the early hour, tossed back the covers and rose to her feet with effort.

“Suzanna, perhaps Buelah is right, dear. Don't you have something else you could wear, something more appropriate?”

“I tried to talk her out of it, Miz Emile,” Buelah said, hands on her hips. “I did my best.”

“You may go now, Buelah,” said Suzanna. The servant turned and left, still muttering under her breath.

On this cold winter night, Suzanna was going to a glittering reception at Mattie Kirkendal's. It was the first of many such social gatherings she would be expected to attend, a gala where there would be a host of prominent guests and a number of Union officers. Officers who were sure to notice her. Suzanna had made certain of that.

She was dressed for the occasion in a gorgeous gown of shimmering yellow faille. One of the many ball gowns purchased before the war, it had a very tight bodice that accentuated Suzanna's small waist, and a décolletage cut so low it not only revealed her bare throat and shoulders, it exposed a generous expanse of her pale soft bosom.

Emile recognized the stunning ball gown as part of the expensive trousseau purchased for her daughter to wear on her Paris honeymoon. Neither it, nor any of the many traveling suits, ball gowns, bonnets and shoes and gloves, lacy lingerie or gossamer negligees had ever been worn. All had been stored away shortly after Ty and Matthew were killed.

“Suzanna, you're not really going to wear that to the reception, are you?”

“Yes, Mother, I am. Since I will never have a honeymoon, never go to Paris, I see no need to save it.”

Emile stepped close, brushed a flaming lock of hair off her daughter's bare shoulder, and said, “I know you feel that way now, dear, but in time you'll find someone else who—”

“I'm late, Mother. I really must go now.”

Ten

Suzanna had inherited uncommon strength, inflexible will and great charm from her father. She would need all three in the endeavor in which she was about to engage. She had volunteered for a thankless ongoing task that would be both distasteful and dangerous. But she never for a moment considered changing her mind and backing out.

This was war and she had enlisted.

Now, as the carriage rolled down Connecticut Avenue, then past the White House, Suzanna gazed out at the stately residence and thought of the sallow-faced president who lived there. Was Lincoln half as sorry as she that the nation was bitterly divided? Could he hear, from inside the White House, the low pounding of distant artillery and an occasional crackle of musket fire?

When the war broke out, Washington, D.C. had immediately turned into a training ground, arsenal and supply depot. In the well-fortified city, streets constantly reverberated under the wheels of heavy cannons. Sacks of flour, stacked against a siege, surrounded the U.S. Treasury, and the Union Army had built a ring of earthen fortifications around the city.

Sadness swamped Suzanna as she stared at the unfinished dome of the Capitol. She had passed this place so many times in all the different seasons. Now it was the center of the Northern Union! This was no longer her country, but the enemy's. Suzanna looked away, more resolved than ever to make the Yankees pay.

Soon the carriage turned into the circular drive of Mattie Kirkendal's palatial, well-lit residence. Suzanna had arrived fashionably late for Mattie's glittering reception. She had planned it that way. She wanted to attract as much attention as possible when she made her entrance.

She succeeded.

Once a servant had taken her wrap and directed her down the wide central corridor to the ballroom, Suzanna paused just outside the open double doors. Male voices, music, laughter and the clink of champagne glasses reached her. She swallowed anxiously, then nervously smoothed her yellow skirts and swept her loose red hair back off her shoulders. She took a deep breath that made her full breasts swell above the top of her low-cut bodice.

She almost weakened. She wanted to turn and run.

She closed her eyes and thought of Ty.

She opened her eyes and confidently stepped forward.

Utilizing the strongest ammunition in her arsenal—her youthful beauty and charm—Suzanna plunged headlong into battle, taking the ramparts, coolly sizing up the enemy. For a moment that seemed like an hour, she stood framed in the arched doorway, calmly awaiting her hostess.

Guests quickly caught sight of the flame-haired young woman in the shimmering yellow dress. Laughter lulled. Conversations stopped. Heads snapped around. Men stared. Women frowned.

Suzanna didn't flinch under the scrutiny. Beautifully gowned and groomed, she exhibited a cool facade of self-assurance, although inwardly she churned with anxiety and doubt. Could she really go through with this? Could she convince these Union officers that she found them charming and fun and romantic, when actually she despised them all?

“Ah, there you are now,” trilled Mattie Kirkendal, finally coming forward to greet Suzanna. Leaning close, the older woman said, “I did it on purpose, you know. Left you standing here alone. I wanted to give all the gentlemen ample opportunity to notice you.”

“And have they?” Suzanna asked.

Mattie's reply was the pursing of her lips and the twinkling of her eyes. “Now, come, I'll introduce you around.”

“I can hardly wait,” Suzanna said.

At once she was the center of attention. As she entered the brilliantly lit ballroom there were audible gasps at her youth and proud bearing, her shimmering yellow gown with its off-the-shoulder sleeves and low-cut bodice, her lustrous mass of flaming hair framing her fair, flawless face.

With the beaming Mattie at her side, Suzanna moved among the guests, nodding, smiling and offering her hand.

“And I've been waiting all evening for the opportunity to dance with you, Miss LeGrande,” said a pudgy, ruddy-cheeked, heavily bearded Union officer who was a good six inches shorter than the tall, willowy Suzanna.

The gala was finally beginning to wind down as the hour of midnight fast approached. Throughout the trying evening Suzanna had talked and laughed and danced with at least a dozen officers. She was tired and sleepy and could hardly wait to get home.

But no one would have guessed as much by watching her.

“Why, Captain Rood, I'm flattered,” she said now, and favored the short, rotund captain with a dazzling smile. “I kept hoping that you would ask me.” She lowered her lashes seductively.

“You did?” he said, his small, dark eyes widening with disbelief, his mouth stretching into a foolish grin.

“Why yes,” she lied. “Shall we?”

Captain Rood swallowed convulsively, took her hand and led her onto the floor. In his arms, Suzanna fought the revulsion she felt at having his bristly beard tickle her bare throat as he turned his face toward hers. That and the way he breathed, like a steam engine puffing to pull uphill. His hands were clammy and the brass buttons on his uniform blouse were pressing against her stomach. And, not surprisingly, he was a terrible dancer, totally without grace. He stepped on her toes at every turn.

But Suzanna endured the ordeal with aplomb and listened attentively as the Yankee captain, in an attempt to impress her, spoke freely of the Union's latest deployment of troops.

“Why, Captain, I'm afraid I've been a bit too sheltered. What exactly does ‘deployment' mean? And when and where will it happen?”

His wet, fleshy lips now grazing her throat, the captain cheerfully did his part to educate her. And to set her mind at ease. “You have no need to worry, my dear, we greatly outnumber the Rebs.”

“I'm relieved to hear that, Captain,” Suzanna said. “So, if there should ever be a battle in or around Washington proper, we townspeople wouldn't be in danger?”

Captain Rood laughed merrily. “Ah, how charmingly innocent you are, Miss LeGrande. The truth is, you couldn't be in a safer place than right here in this heavily fortified Union city.”

Suzanna nodded and bit the inside of her bottom lip. She could well remember the first days of the war, when Ty and Matthew had optimistically predicted that “we'll make Washington the new capital of the Confederacy.”

When at last the music mercifully ended, Suzanna gave no indication of her troubled thoughts. She was glowing, as she had been all evening, her enormous blue eyes flashing with gaiety and good health. The talkative captain was left with the impression that this beautiful young woman found him quite interesting.

That idea was solidified when a young major stepped forward to claim Suzanna for the next dance. Suzanna playfully winked at Captain Rood over her partner's shoulder. Then she quickly turned her full attention to the man in whose arms she now found herself.

Suzanna charmed everyone.

The enchanted officers laughed at her bold comments and saucy frankness. She could be wickedly funny and highly entertaining. She found it incredibly easy to dominate these would-be warriors and convince them to confide in her.

But it was tiring, and she was glad when the evening was finally over.

“What a fantastic performance!” praised Mattie Kirkendal when the last of the guests had gone and only she and Suzanna remained. “You were absolutely superb, my dear. Thank heavens you're on the right side of this!”

“But I learned nothing of value,” Suzanna said with a weary yawn.

“Don't be so impatient, Suzanna,” Mattie gently scolded. “Go on along home now and get some well-deserved rest. I'm planning a wine supper for Tuesday next. May I count on you to attend?”

“I'll be here.”

Eleven

Suzanna had declared a strong alliance with the Union, and no one doubted her sincerity. A small number of friends and acquaintances she'd known prior to the war had stayed on in Washington because their loyalties lay solidly with the North. They took it for granted that the same was true of her. There was no reason for them to suspect otherwise.

Suzanna easily insinuated herself into the social crowd of Washington. After attending only a couple of Mattie Kirkendal's soirees, she was added to the guest lists of other noted Washington hostesses. They jealously vied for her, insisting that she attend their gatherings. All agreed that Suzanna LeGrande was an asset with her beauty, charm and wit. Her mere presence ensured a lively party, with the gentlemen officers being entertained and thoroughly enjoying themselves.

Suzanna played her part well. But it was not easy. Many times it was extremely difficult to act as though she were delighted with news of the war's progress. Such as on the hot, hot summer evening of July 4,1862.

Suzanna was at a crowded soiree when a beaming Union officer strode into the great hall, leaped up onto the orchestra platform and raised his hands for silence.

Then he eagerly shared this message. “Good news, my friends! The Confederate general Robert E. Lee has suffered a terrible defeat at Malvern Hill!”

Suzanna was heartsick on hearing of Colonel Lee's defeat at the hands of the Union's Major General George McClellan. But she concealed her anguish. All around her whistles and shouts rang out from the joyous crowd, and many of the guests happily embraced. When the orchestra again struck a chord, the smiling Yankee captain who'd delivered the message stepped down off the platform and came straight toward Suzanna.

She found herself swept up into his arms as he stated with a pleased grin, “McClellan's a military genius, no doubt about it.”

“Indeed,” she managed to reply, smiling up at him. “Did General McClellan thoroughly trounce Lee then?”

“Handed traitor Lee a crushing defeat! The Johnny Rebs suffered more than five thousand casualties without gaining a single inch of ground!”

“Ah, that is wonderful! A stunning victory for us,” she stated, hoping she sounded genuinely joyful.

“Yes, yes it was, miss.”

“After the victory, did…?”

“McClellan wisely retreated to the James River. He's encamped at Harrison's Landing.”

“Oh? Is it safe for his men there?”

“Couldn't be safer. They're under the protection of the big guns on all those navy warships anchored there.”

“Thank goodness.”

Throughout the summer and fall of 1862 and on into the New Year, Suzanna attended a neverending round of receptions and parties and balls, where she met and charmed her share of Union officers and sympathizers. She flirted and teased and promised more than she ever aimed to deliver. And she gleaned as much information as possible from the captivated officers.

Suzanna pretended nonchalance and lack of interest when the conversation was of the war. But she hung on every word spoken regarding the conflict's progress, troop movements and coming battles. She memorized each place name, each mention of a direction or objective. She carefully committed to memory the names of men she'd not yet met, but whose daring deeds peppered the conversations of the officers with whom she danced. Such names as the well-regarded Captain Dan Stuart. Brigadier General Samson Weeks. Major General Skillman Bond.

And Rear Admiral Mitchell B. Longley.

The admiral's name kept coming up in conversation, the officers eagerly exchanging stories of Longley's heroic exploits. Suzanna learned that Rear Admiral Mitchell Longley was highly respected for his brilliance and his bravery. It was said that he was fearless and cunning and as cold as ice. Confident to the point of arrogance, having no need of acclaim or accolades. A laconic loner who disdained social gatherings.

Suzanna was just as glad the lauded admiral didn't bother coming to the galas when he was in the Washington area. Such a man couldn't be counted on to share tidbits of valuable information; therefore, she had no desire to meet him. She was interested only in those officers who became amazingly loose-lipped after a few glasses of champagne.

Suzanna invariably sipped her own wine very slowly, but she often laughed and behaved as if she were tipsy. Those gentlemen she charmed would never have believed that, unfailingly, Suzanna was as sober as a judge. Or that on those occasions when she excused herself to freshen up, she immediately went in search of a private spot to write down anything of interest that had been carelessly disclosed. She was extremely careful and if she could find no privacy, she silently repeated the tidbit to herself, over and over, memorizing what she had heard.

When she did reduce an item to writing, she used a code concocted by one of the trusted couriers she and Mattie used to slip through enemy lines to deliver messages to the Southern commanders.

Suzanna had quickly learned what she was to be on the alert for. Always get the name of the military unit and commander. Find out, if possible, where the officer and men expected to be sent. The place from which they had arrived. Which scouts they had and the scouts' whereabouts. And to never be caught with a message that would give her away and endanger the troops.

She'd had a couple of close calls. Once, she was holding a hastily scribbled note in her hand when an officer came up from behind, surprising her. She had managed to shove the damning scrap of paper into her bodice before turning to smile at the man. On another occasion, when she'd volunteered to carry a missive through the Union lines herself, since a courier was unavailable, she had carefully concealed the paper in her hair, intricately dressed atop her head, with large curls circling her crown. Stopped by an armed picket on the outskirts of the city, she was forced to hand over her cape and reticule and bonnet, all of which were thoroughly searched, then handed back.

The missive had remained safely hidden in her hair.

Suzanna was proud of her modest accomplishments. She felt she was doing something constructive, contributing in some small way. She had received the gratitude of more than one Southern commander who had acted on gathered intelligence to save precious lives. Success spurred her on. She had become adept at drawing out the Union officers. More than one was guilty of disclosing information that should never have been shared with her. And she had managed to give nothing in return other than a few harmless kisses, which had been decidedly distasteful, but had had no lingering adverse effects.

Anyone who saw her at one of the glittering gatherings would have sworn Suzanna had not a care in the world.

Nothing could have been further from the truth.

Twelve

Suzanna spent most evenings in a seemingly carefree pursuit of pleasure, but her days were spent worrying and wondering how much longer she could maintain Whitehall. In the early weeks of the war, Colonel Robert E. Lee's Arlington plantation, just down the river from Whitehall, had fallen into Union hands. Occupying forces now lived in his stately home, Arlington House. Suzanna went to bed each night fearing that blue-coated devils would come swarming into Whitehall.

Her own apparent alliance with the Union had thus far saved Whitehall. Still, there was the ever-present danger that she would be unmasked for the Confederate sympathizer she was. Should that occur, she had no doubt the Yankees would immediately seize the estate.

Even if that never happened, she worried that she would soon lose the mansion. The lengthy war had been financially devastating. The sizable LeGrande fortune had been lost. The tobacco fields of northern Virginia had long since been trampled down by thousands of marching feet. Months ago a letter had come bringing the distressing news that the once-profitable coastal cotton plantation in South Carolina had been taken over and occupied by the Yankees. There were no longer any indigo crops in Georgia. No huge amounts of capital rested safely in banks generating interest. No cash poured into the coffers to offset expenses for necessities. There was, although Suzanna never hinted as much to her ailing mother, next to nothing left.

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