How can I be falling in love with this man? I barely know him. I must remember he’s a Yankee!

Rob took her hand in his. Julia inhaled sharply at the touch of his warm skin, but did not pull out of his grasp.

“Ahh,” he murmured as he caressed the back of her hand. “I see that they are still cold. I will remedy the situation.”

He gently released her, then he reached inside his coat and withdrew a small package.

She quickly untied the ribbon and pulled away the paper. “Gloves!” she exclaimed, fondling the thick fleece-lined suede.

“But these are quite expensive,” she whispered. “It would be wicked of me to accept them.”

“It would be very wicked of you to reject them,” he murmured.

His seductive voice sent a delicious chill down her spine.

“True, Major,” she replied, pulling on the gloves with satisfaction. “I do try to avoid wickedness whenever possible.”

Praise for Mary Schaller writing as Tori Phillips

“Phillips is a new star on the historical romance horizon:

she’s literate, witty and tells a good story.”

—Publishers Weekly

The Dark Knight

“Filled with the turbulent details of religious intolerance

in England, this carefully crafted romance…proves that

love is the most powerful emotion when it resides in the

hearts of strong men and women.”

—Romantic Times

One Knight in Venice

“Intense and soul searching, One Night in Venice swings

from the dark side of human nature through the

treacherous inquisition to the admirable characters

willing to face suffering or even death to save others.”

—Affaire de Coeur

Lady of the Knight

“In this fun tale, Ms. Phillips weaves an

adventurous story of chase and budding love

and puts in some lessons along the way.”

—Romantic Times

Beloved Enemy
Mary Schaller

www.millsandboon.co.uk

At my birth, the front of heaven was full of fiery shapes.

—William Shakespeare

King Henry IV, Part I

This book is dedicated with lots of love to our first

granddaughter, Shelby Washburne Williams, who was

born on July 29, 2002—the hottest day of the year.

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

Epilogue

Author Note

Chapter One

“My name, dear saint, is hateful to myself, because it is an enemy to thee.”

—Romeo and Juliet

William Shakespeare

Alexandria, Virginia

December 1863

“I do declare, Carolyn, this is your most harebrained scheme ever.”

Looking up from the cream-colored invitation in her hand, Julia Chandler fixed a properly reproving glare on her younger sister. At least, Julia hoped her expression looked stern, though she had to admit she was secretly as excited as Carolyn. The last time Julia had held such a coveted invitation as this one was two years ago. “How did you get this?”

Her sister fiddled with a broad band of green satin ribbon that circled the skirt of her day dress. Though she studied her fingers, the two bright patches of pink in Carolyn’s cheeks betrayed the girl’s feelings.

Julia silently reread the words written in elegant copperplate script:

The pleasure of your company is requested at a Masked Ball upon the evening of the thirty-first of December at nine o’clock, given at the home of Mr. George Winstead for the pleasure of his family and friends.

She breathed deeply to calm the butterflies that skittered in her stomach.

“I did not realize that we had resumed our friendship with the Winsteads,” she continued aloud in a feigned arch tone. “I am sure that it has not slipped Mrs. Winstead’s mind that our family is still very much in sympathy with the Confederate cause.”

Shrugging her shoulders, Carolyn scraped her slipper over the polished floorboards of the girls’ upstairs bedroom. A sly smile crept across her lips. “Wouldn’t it just make that old Melinda Winstead itch if she knew we attended her grand party?”

Julia could picture the pique of the disagreeable Winstead daughter. Such boldness on the Chandlers’ part would definitely twist the nose of that jumped-up Yankee chit. Melinda deserved a tweaking after all the hateful things she had said about the Chandlers, especially after Frank Shaffer’s death at Manassas. Clearing her throat, Julia fanned herself with the invitation to the premier social event of the Christmas season.

“Tell me, Carolyn. How did you come by this? I don’t believe for a minute that it was delivered to our doorstep.”

Carolyn’s grin broadened. “Found it,” she replied. Her hazel eyes sparkled with unsuppressed mischief.

Julia sighed. Carolyn was notorious for “finding” all sorts of opportune items. “Where exactly?”

Her sister smoothed the dress ribbon that she had worried into a wrinkle. “On the paving stones by Dr. Brown’s carriage step. A big ole envelope was just lying there in the mud. I had to save it, you know. It could have been something very important,” she added with the innocent air of a canary-fed cat.

Julia narrowed her green eyes at her little sister. “And how is it that you happened to be walking past the Browns’ when their home isn’t anywhere near Market Square, where you were supposed to be shopping?”

Licking her lower lip, Carolyn finally looked directly at Julia. “’Cause I saw the Winsteads’ butler drive by in the family carriage holding a basketful of these envelopes.”

“And you followed him like a common beggar,” Julia concluded, picturing the shameless scene in her mind.

Carolyn nodded without an ounce of regret. “It didn’t take the brain of a jaybird to know what he had under his arm. He sat on that carriage box with such an important look on his face. Lordy, Julia, no one in Alexandria can think of anything else except that party.”

Julia hated to agree. Northern-born George Winstead, part owner of the new railroad line into the Federal City, had become very rich during the past two years. He demonstrated his Yankee-bred manners in the lavish way he spent his war-fed wealth. His New Year’s Ball had been the talk of the town both in the streets and behind fans at Sunday church services, even among the most secessionist of families like the Chandlers. Julia admitted to herself that she would love to attend, but since the Winsteads were firmly Yankees, her parents had not spoken to them since April 1861. She looked down at the card again.

“You know we can’t possibly go.” Julia sighed with honest regret. After mourning for her sweetheart for the past two years, she was ready to wear a pretty silken gown again and to dance until dawn as she had done briefly in those far-off days before the wretched war had ended all gaiety and laughter—at least in the Chandler household.

Carolyn pursed her lips. “Speak for yourself, Julia. You can stay at home and think of Frank Shaffer, but I do not intend to miss this chance—not when I have an invitation in my hand. I’ve never been to a ball like you have. And the way that horrid Mr. Lincoln is going on and on with this war, I highly doubt that I shall ever go to a party before I am old and gray. Sit by the fire, if you want, but I intend to waltz till I die.” She stuck out her chin.

Julia lifted one of her auburn brows. “You know there will be nothing but Unionists at the Winsteads’ party. I thought you would sooner die than be caught near a Yankee.”

Yankees! The very word was bitter on Julia’s tongue. She couldn’t imagine herself dancing with one of those people who had killed so many fine young Southern boys—like Frank, who had kissed Julia once on the cheek and quickened her heart to love.

Carolyn wiggled her nose. “I don’t intend to talk with them—just dance with them.” She giggled. “And I do intend to stuff myself silly with sweets. See if I don’t. Mmm! Think of it! The Winsteads are bound to serve jelly cake and macaroons from Shuman’s Bakery. And there will be nougats, frozen charlottes, gingerbread—and caramels.” She rolled the delicious word around in her mouth. “Don’t you miss eating caramels?”

Julia’s mouth watered. Caramels were her special downfall. Ever since the Federal Army had marched into Alexandria in 1861, Mother refused to allow her daughters to patronize Randolph’s Confectionery Shop just because of a political disagreement with the owner. As if eating a simple caramel was a treasonous act against the Confederacy!

Julia gave herself a shake. She must remain firm on the side of propriety for Carolyn’s sake, as well as loyal to Frank’s hallowed memory. “You’ll be caught before you’ve put both feet inside the Winsteads’ door. Think of the scandal,” she added, though she knew that her sister didn’t give a fig for any commotion she might stir up.

“Pooh!” Carolyn blew a blond wisp of a curl out of her face. “Has your eyesight grown so dim?” She pointed to the invitation. “It says it’s a masked ball. We could go in disguise. We’ll wear hoods and look divinely mysterious. No one will recognize us, and all the handsomest boys will want to dance with us. They won’t resist!” She hugged herself at the prospect.

The more Carolyn talked, the more Julia’s resolve weakened. The lively music of a Virginia reel played in her mind. Her toes tapped inside her slippers. She could almost taste those caramels. And laughter! When was the last time she had really laughed out loud? Not for two years, since she received word that Frank had died in a Virginia farmer’s field.

“You’ve read too many of Mr. Dickens’s novels, Carolyn. Your logic is chopped like turnips.”

Instead of being repentant for her flighty taste in literature, Carolyn slid off her footstool and knelt at Julia’s feet. She gave her sister a triumphant smile. “You know you want to go, too. I can see it in your eyes, Julia. Don’t you want to have at least one adventure in your life, instead of just reading about them? No one will ever know.”

Julia fired her last desperate argument for common sense. “That’s where you are wrong. We’ll have to tell Perkins,” she said, referring to the Chandlers’ serving man, who acted as the family’s butler, coachman and occasional gardener. “We cannot possibly go gallivanting around Alexandria in the dark without an escort. The streets aren’t safe, even with the provost guards out. Perkins won’t approve at all, and he’ll tell Papa, sure as you’re born.”

Carolyn twirled one of her side curls around her fore-finger. “Leave Perkins to me. I’ll promise him a bagful of macaroons, or something just as nice. And we’ll leave the ball before midnight. Please, Julia. Say you’ll go with me. There won’t be another party like this one in a year of Sundays. Don’t let those horrid Yankees steal away our gaiety. Kick up your heels—just once. I dare you.”

Carolyn’s challenge struck home. Julia was tired of living behind curtains drawn against the prying eyes of the insolent Yankee soldiers who daily sauntered past the Chandlers’ house on Prince Street. She was tired of the plain fare that nightly graced the family’s supper table because Mother refused to patronize vendors who courted the Yankee trade—and most of Alexandria’s merchants did.

Julia was sick of wearing dark clothes in perpetual mourning for distant relatives who had been killed at Fredericksburg, Winchester and Gettysburg. She touched the locket that hung from a black ribbon around her neck. Most of all, she wanted to heal the wound in her heart left by Frank’s death. The curl of his brown hair inside the silver heart was all that remained of the charming boy with poetry on his lips and a song in his heart. Frank had taught her how to polka and encouraged her dreams of becoming a teacher.

But that was back in 1861. A lifetime ago. The guilty truth was that Julia could barely recall what Frank Shaffer looked like, even though she had promised to be his sweetheart when he marched off to join the 17th Virginia Infantry. Carolyn was right. Julia had allowed the Yankees to steal the joy of living from her soul. Enough was enough!

She looked down at the sixteen-year-old’s upturned face and smiled. “All right, lady-bird, you have won me over with your Jezebel tongue. I’ll go to this ball, but only to keep you out of trouble. I have no intention to touch a Yankee, much less dance with one.”

Leaping to her feet with a flurry of petticoats, Carolyn gave her sister a loud, wet kiss on the cheek. “Pooh! You’re going for the music and the caramels; I knew they would turn your head. I can read you like a book.”

She certainly hoped not, Julia thought with an inward sigh. Carolyn would be shocked if she knew of the passionate dreams that Julia locked within her imagination.

“Begging the major’s pardon, but may I take the liberty of asking what are the major’s plans for celebrating the turning of the year?” Behind his clipped brown mustache, Lieutenant Benjamin Johnson grinned down at his somber first cousin.

Robert Montgomery, condemned to a desk job in the Office of Military Intelligence since his return from medical leave, looked up from the sheaf of field reports that he held. His irrepressible relative snapped a salute. Rob was not amused.

“You take too many liberties, Lieutenant,” Rob muttered, hoping this mild reprimand would send the youngster scurrying back to his own paper-littered desktop. Ben exercised far too much familiarity during working hours.

His cousin only grinned wider. “Indeed, so I was often told when we attended dear old Yale. But the question still remains. Are you planning to visit the family or stay in Washington to ring in the New Year?”

Rob shuddered inside his blue uniform frock coat. His last trip home to Rhinebeck, New York, following his release from the hospital, had been an unmitigated disaster. Mama had done nothing but stare with open pity at his smashed right hand, while sighing with melodramatic fervor and moaning over her “poor baby boy.” Meanwhile his father had used Rob’s every waking moment to harangue his recuperating son into switching from the army to politics. “There’s a new wind blowing through this great land,” Jubel Montgomery had reiterated ad nauseam. “And the Republican Party will lead the way.”

“No,” Rob snapped at Ben. “I shall remain in Washington.” Where it would be peaceful. He pretended to return to his papers.

Instead of retreating, Ben leaned closer. “As I thought. Therefore, would the major care to join a company of bright young bloods on December the thirty-first?” He patted his breast pocket with satisfaction. “In here, I hold the key to a night of music and frivolity among the prettiest flowers that grow in Alexandria. That’s Virginia, sir. Virginia, where the girls are sweet as cream—and…and as pure as wholesome milk,” he added swiftly when Rob glared at him.

Rob narrowed his brown eyes. “Need I remind you that we are, at this precise moment, on the soil of Virginia, fighting those damned Virginians? Are you suggesting that we feast with our enemies? I find that idea a highly—” he groped for the right word “—treasonable notion. We are speaking of Southerners, Lieutenant, a breed of pig-headed, uncouth Rebels. I detest them all.”

Ben’s maddening good humor only increased. “You speak the truth in general, but these particular Virginian posies are fine, true and loyal to the Union. They are the delightful daughters and sisters of many of our fellow soldiers. They come from families who had the good sense to ignore the rabble cry of states’ rights—whatever that notion may be. Now they give aid and succor to us poor, homesick fellows.” His brown eyes twinkled. “Lord knows, we do need aid and succor from these most delightful ladies.”

“Join their company then, and may they give you—” Rob paused, banished the lusty thought that rose unbidden in his love-starved brain, then continued “—some of what you desire. I intend to stay in my rooms at Ebbitt’s and read something edifying. I am no fit company for ladies.” He covered over his paralyzed hand with his good one, then turned back to decipher the hen-scratching written by a female undercover agent operating in St. Louis.

Ben had the audacity to remain in front of Rob’s desk. Leaning over the stacks of reports, he said in a low voice, “Not all women are like your recent fiancée. You would find the truth of that, Rob, if you would deign to return to civilized society once again. You were once a lion among the ladies in New Haven. Word of your former exploits among the petticoats has preceded you here, sir.” His voice sank to a whisper. “It was your arm the Rebels shot up, not your charm.”

Rob gritted his teeth. He had a good mind to plant his polished boot squarely in his cousin’s backside. He dropped his mangled hand below the level of the desktop, and thrust it into his coat pocket. Out of sight, out of mind. How dare this upstart puppy speak on the one subject that Rob never mentioned in public? Lucy Van Tassel’s scathing “I will not marry half a man” screamed in Rob’s nightmares and reverberated down the black tunnels of his memory.

He sneered at Ben. “You have no idea of women, Lieutenant. Underneath all those pretty smiles and lilting words, they are vicious, selfish creatures, vain and greedy. They are interested in a man only if he is young, handsome, wealthy—and whole.”

Ben opened his mouth to protest but another voice cut him off. Colonel James Lawrence strode out of the doorway that led to his inner office. “Nor, it seems, do you know women, Major Montgomery.”

Rob rose to his feet in the presence of his commanding officer. The colonel regarded him from under white bushy eyebrows. He blew through his large walrus mustache. “Lieutenant Johnson may be wet behind his ears, Major, but in this case, he makes a good point. You have stayed away from society for too long. It’s high time you stopped feeling sorry for yourself, and start living among your fellow human beings again.”

Hot blood rose up Rob’s neck. A vein throbbed in his temple, though he held his anger in check. “I will take the colonel’s opinion under advisement, sir.”

Lawrence tapped the side of his nose. “Indeed, you shall, and sooner than you think. On the thirty-first of December, you will accompany the lieutenant and whomever else goes with him to this…this… Where is it you are going, Johnson?”

Ben suppressed his grin. “A ball, sir. A masked ball, given at the gracious home of Mr. George Winstead.”

The colonel cocked his head. “Winstead? The railroad man?”

Ben nodded. “I do believe the gentleman is active in that particular business venture, sir.”

The colonel returned his attention to the fuming Rob. “Very good, then. Major, you will attend this ball with the lieutenant. Do you understand me, sir?”

Rob clenched his good hand at his side. “Is the colonel giving me a direct order, sir?”

Lawrence flashed a brief half smile. “I am indeed, Major. You will dress in your best; you will act like a gentleman to all and you will remain at this ball for no less than three hours. Do I make myself clear?”

“Perfectly, sir,” Rob said between tight lips.

“Good! Lieutenant Johnson, I will want a full report of the major’s behavior on January first.” The colonel turned back toward his office.

Ben snapped another salute. “Yes, sir!”

“And enjoy yourselves, gentlemen,” the colonel added over his shoulder. “That is an order.” He shut the door behind him. One of the civilian clerks snickered behind his ledger book.

Rob shot a filthy look at his cousin. “I presume you are satisfied now that you have made me look the fool, Lieutenant?”

Ben refused to shake his good spirits even in the face of Rob’s anger. “Perfectly, Major.” In a lower tone, he added. “Cheer up, Rob. It’s only a dance, not a battlefield.”

Rob returned to his seat and shuffled his papers into a jumble. “I may be ordered to go to this ball, Lieutenant, but I’ll be damned if I’ll dance.”

Ben touched two fingers to his forehead. “See you in hell, Rob Montgomery,” he replied, giving him the soldiers’ traditional salute.

Chapter Two

Clara Lightfoot Chandler couldn’t concentrate on her embroidery hoop, not when she had such an important matter on her mind. Yet she knew she had to reveal the subject carefully, or else her husband might not agree with her wonderful plan.

She sighed audibly, then stole a quick glance at the distinguished man seated across the parlor. Dr. Jonah Chandler continued to read his Alexandria Gazette without so much as lifting a brow in her direction. Clara drummed her bitten nails against the rosewood arm of her cushioned chair. She sighed again, this time a little louder. Jonah turned a page and continued his reading. Unable to bear her husband’s obvious refusal to give her his attention, Clara pulled her handkerchief from her sleeve and sniffed into it.

Without looking up from the newspaper, Jonah asked, “Did you want your laudanum bottle, my dear?”

Clara slammed her hoop into her sewing basket that sat on the crowded marble-topped table beside her chair. Her assorted knickknacks rattled. “No, indeed, Dr. Chandler, but I do require your immediate and undivided attention, if you please,” she snapped.

He lowered the Gazette, then neatly folded it before he said, “Very well, my dear, what crisis do we face now? Is there another drunken soldier on our doorstep, or is it merely burned bread in the kitchen?”

Clara clenched her teeth. The man could be so exasperating. Her temple throbbed; another headache would plague her all afternoon. “This is a serious problem. What are we going to do about Julia?”

At this, the doctor did raise his bushy brows. “Whatever in the world has Julia done? It’s Carolyn that usually puts you into such a pet.”

Clara allowed this remark to slide over her just as she had done for the past twenty-three years of her marriage. “Julia’s birthday will come round next month,” she began.

The doctor smiled. “Is that a fact? And how does she want to celebrate the event? We could afford a small party, I suppose. Nothing lavish, mind you.”

Now both her temples pounded against Clara’s skull. Was it any wonder that she was forced to rely on the solace of opium to keep her mind clear? She glared at Jonah. “Don’t talk to me of such frippery, Dr. Chandler. I am not at all interested in Julia’s birthday, but her wedding. She is almost twenty-one and still a spinster.”

Jonah folded his hands over his stomach and twiddled his thumbs. “I believe she is still mourning for young Shaffer.”

Clara pinched the bridge of her nose in an effort to cut off the rising pain behind her eyes. “That is exactly my point. Frank has been cold in the ground for two years. She’s wept over that boy for long enough. Thanks to this horrible war, Julia has been unable to go out into society to meet any eligible men especially now that the streets of Alexandria are simply crawling with hordes of Yankees. She should have been wed a year ago, at least. I was barely seventeen when I married you.”

A sad smile crossed the doctor’s face. “That young, were you? I had quite forgotten,” he murmured softly.

Clara pursed her lips. “There are a number of things you have forgotten over the years, Jonah, but leave that be.” She withdrew a folded piece of writing paper from her skirt pocket. “Thankfully, I have given the matter a great deal of thought, and I have found the solution. Cousin Payton can marry Julia.” She held out his letter to her husband.

With a sigh, Jonah reached across the wine-red oriental carpet for it. He wiped his spectacles with his pocket handkerchief before reading Payton Norwood’s brief message informing them that he had assumed complete charge of Belmont-on-the-James, the family tobacco plantation, following probate of his late father’s will.

Clara leaned against the tufted chair back. Dear Payton was a definite cut above that feckless Shaffer boy. A second cousin on her mother’s side of the family, he had the blood of Virginia’s first families running through his veins. Suspecting that he was now able to support a wife, Clara had written to him the minute Payton was out of formal mourning.

“He and Julia are nearly the same age and they have known each other since they were children. Payton will be a perfect match for her,” she concluded with a satisfied smile.

Jonah put down the letter and looked across at his wife. “What does Julia think of this idea?”

Clara took a deep breath, then assumed her brightest expression. “She doesn’t know it yet, of course. How could I have possibly asked her if she wanted to marry Payton until I had sounded out the boy’s ability to provide for her?”

A small frown line deepened between Jonah’s tired gray eyes. “It seems to me that we should give Julia’s feelings some consideration. After all, she’s the one who would have to live with him for the rest of her life.”

Clara smiled with fondness. “She couldn’t possibly feel anything but sheer joy. Dear Payton is a fine, handsome man, his home is a jewel and his lineage is impeccable. Julia will be treated like a queen by Richmond’s society.” Clara already envisioned long visits to Belmont and all the delightful parties she could enjoy in the Confederacy’s capital. “Julia won’t be a virtual prisoner in her home there as she is here,” she added with an arch look at her husband.

Jonah rang the silver handbell that sat on his reading table. “Let us see what Julia has to say.”

Hettie Perkins, the family’s cook and now housekeeper since the war had forced the Chandlers to economize, slipped through the parlor door. “Yes, sir?” she asked.

As if she doesn’t already know what we want, Clara thought. She was sure Hettie had her ear pressed against the keyhole ever since she opened her mouth. Aloud, Clara asked, “Where is Julia?”

Hettie folded her long fingers over her apron. “I expect she’s in her room, reading a book. That’s what she does most days about this time.”

Clara made a face. Julia read entirely too much when she should be plying her needle or practicing her music. What good did such serious tomes like Nott’s Indigenous Races of the Earth or the plays of Shakespeare do for her but weaken her eyesight? She should have turned her quick mind to more practical studies like the Accomplished Gentlewoman’s Companion, written by Mr. William Parks. That bible of cookery had served hundreds of Virginia brides for over a century. Clara swore by her own dog-eared copy. Why couldn’t Julia read that, instead of filling her head with obtuse rubbish?

It was all that Shaffer boy’s fault. He had encouraged Julia’s book mania.

Leaning forward in his chair, Jonah told Hettie, “Please ask Julia to come down here—now.”

“And don’t dilly-dally along the way, Hettie,” Clara added. She felt that Hettie acted far too independent for her position. It was up to Clara to always remind Hettie who she was, even if Jonah had given freedom to all their servants last January. What a foolish thing that Lincoln had done when he issued his Emancipation Proclamation! It was like letting snakes out of Pandora’s box. Now there was no chance of putting things back into their proper order.

Hettie smiled. “A terrapin walks fast enough to go visiting,” she murmured one of her annoying maxims as she disappeared into the hall.

A heavy silence descended upon the Chandler parlor while the doctor and his wife awaited the arrival of their elder daughter. The grandfather clock, standing in the corner, ticked away each minute with solemn steadiness. Outside, a horse-drawn carriage creaked past their house. The heavy burgundy window drapes in the parlor muffled most of Alexandria’s noise in the late morning. Twiddling his thumbs, Jonah stared up at the ceiling. It was too bad that her husband’s medical practice had decreased since the start of the war. Many of his former patients said they preferred to be treated by Yankee doctors. The family should have moved to Richmond two years ago.

The rattle of the door latch announced Julia’s arrival. Her reading glasses were perched on the end of her nose. “Papa? Mother?” She looked from one silent parent to the other. “You wanted to see me?”

Jonah beckoned her into the room. “Come, child. Close the door, Hettie, before the drafts kill us all.”

Clara noticed that the cook remained inside the parlor once the door was firmly shut. And who was minding their dinner, she wondered.

The doctor cleared his throat. “Your mother and I were discussing your future, Julia,” he began.

Clara rolled her blue eyes. At this rate, Jonah would blather on for a half hour before he got to the point. When he paused, she took command of the conversation. “The long and short of it is that we plan to arrange a marriage for you.”

Julia sank down on the ottoman. “Marriage?” she repeated. Her green eyes turned a jade color—a clear sign that she was deeply moved.

“Surely you have gotten over Frank by now,” her father suggested.

Touching her silver locket, Julia moistened her lips. “Yes, I suppose I have,” she answered, “but I thought there would be plenty of time for courtship once the war was over.”

Clara shook her head at this notion. “That event could be years from now, unless the Yankees come to their senses and give up, which I highly doubt, or else that nasty Lincoln gets himself defeated in the next election, which I sincerely pray for. In the meantime, all our boys are dying like flies in the autumn from bullets and fevers and I don’t know what all.” She dabbed her hankie to her eyelids for effect. “Leaving you to wither on the vine until it is too late. I declare, it is more than a body can stand!”

Biting her lips, Julia rose and went to Clara’s side. She massaged her temples, as she had done for many years. “There, there, Mother, don’t take on so. It will make you sick again.”

Closing her eyes, Clara allowed her shoulders to relax under Julia’s gentle ministrations. Why couldn’t Carolyn have the same light touch? What was Clara going to do once Julia was married and living down in southern Virginia?

Through her lowered lashes, Clara saw that her husband gave her a quick professional look before he returned to the subject at hand. “You should be married, Julia. We—that is, your mother has found a solution, we think,” he ended in a mutter.

Opening her eyes, Clara patted Julia’s hand. “A husband, Jonah. You make him sound like a prescription.” She smiled up at her daughter. “I have just received word from your cousin Payton that he has come into his daddy’s inheritance. Belmont Plantation! Isn’t that just grand news?”

Julia blinked, looked quickly at her father, then back to her mother. “You want me to marry Payton Norwood?” She backed away until a footstool stopped her. She dropped down on it with an unladylike “thump”.

Clara frowned. Julia could be so tiresome at times. “Of course I mean Payton. He’s a delightful boy and, more to the point, he can support you. You can’t ask for much more than that these days.”

Julia continued to goggle at her mother like a frog out of the pond. “But why must I get married now? I am more than willing to wait for happier times. There is no rush.” She touched her locket again.

Clara narrowed her eyes. Julia was usually tractable, not like Carolyn. Clara was not used to this daughter arguing a point. “If you wait until those politicians down in Richmond do something more than chew tobacco and whittle wood, it will be doomsday, and you will be too old to attract a decent husband. No, missy, it is high time that you were the mistress of your own house and had a few babies to tend.”

Julia coughed. “With Payton? But he’s so…so…stupid. Nothing like Frank at all.”

What had gotten into Julia? Clara thought. She was always so easy to manage. “Payton received the very best education at the College of William and Mary. He will be the perfect husband for you.”

Julia drew herself up. “Mother, Payton Norwood is a fool. Always has been. He thinks of nothing except horses, card-playing and heaven only knows what other amusements. I highly doubt he has the skills to run that tobacco farm of his. If he loses his overseer, he’ll be ruined within a year. Why isn’t he in the army, like…like Frank, and all the other boys? He talks of Southern independence and how any Southerner worth his salt can lick three Yankees before supper. So why hasn’t he joined up and proven himself?”

Clara shook her head. “Don’t be such a ninny, Julia. Payton has a large landholding and over a hundred slaves to manage. Of course, he is exempt from military duty. His work on the plantation is as good a service to the Confederacy as joining the army. Why, he could get shot or captured. Payton’s too fine a man for that sort of treatment!”

Julia’s eyes turned even greener. “But Frank Shaffer wasn’t good enough except as cannon fodder? Is that what you mean, Mother? As I recall from our last visit to Belmont four years ago, Payton was a bully and a coward. I doubt that he has changed much since then. No, Mother, I will not marry Payton.”

Julia’s defiance struck Clara like a lightning bolt. She clutched her bosom. “Julia! How dare you call your cousin such hurtful things! Lies! You just don’t know what’s good for you. If you spent less time with your nose in those books, and more on family matters, you would understand. Oh, Jonah, I think I’m having palpitations of the heart. I truly do. Hettie, help me to my room. Julia, now do you see what you have done to me? Oh, truly I might die and then how would you feel? So ungrateful for all I have done for you. Jonah, talk some sense to this child.”

Clara grabbed Hettie’s arm for support. Dr. Chandler took her other arm. Over his shoulder, he said to Julia, “You know your mother can’t take this excitement. I’m surprised at you. We will invite Payton to visit here at his earliest convenience. Then you will see how he has matured. There, there, Clara. You will not die before dinner, I promise you.”

Though she truly felt faint, Clara smiled inwardly. Once again, she had triumphed over her family. Sending for Payton was a brilliant idea. Julia could be married before she turned twenty-one and came into Grandmother Lightfoot’s legacy.

Julia slammed into her bedroom. Carolyn looked up from the alterations of her sister’s old ball gown. “What was the buzz in the parlor this time?” she asked, threading her needle with care. “Usually I am the one on the griddle fire.”

Julia stared out the window at the winter-shrouded garden below. Mother’s pink rosebushes stretched up their stark thorny limbs to catch the feeble rays of the midwinter sun. My soul is as dead as those roses. “Mother has got it in her head to marry me off.”

“Oh?” Carolyn picked up her thimble. “So who is the lucky fellow?”

Julia made a face at the windowpane. “Payton.” His name tasted like ashes in her mouth.

Carolyn gasped. Her thimble dropped from her lap and rolled across the floorboards. “She’s not serious!”

Julia faced her shocked little sister. She folded her arms across her bosom as if that action would protect her from her odious cousin. “She is, and dear Papa was in agreement, as he always is when she works herself into a state.”

Carolyn looked truly stricken. “What will you do?”

“I told her no.” Julia should have told her that she wanted to be a teacher, but she’d never stand for that any more than Payton would.

Carolyn’s mouth dropped open. “You said ‘no’ to Mother? I can hardly believe it. You’ve never crossed her before.”

Julia sank down on the pink satin daybed. “I know, but not this time. It’s too important a decision. When she told me her wonderful plans, I just blurted out ‘no.’ Mother is not accustomed to hearing the other side of any argument, much less conceding to it. My refusal staggered her.”

Rolling her eyes, Carolyn shivered under her shawl. “I can imagine.”

Julia gave her a twisted smile. “Both Papa and Hettie had to help her upstairs to bed. I expect she’s dosed up with laudanum by now. I suspect that she has already sent a letter to Payton telling him to run up here and make me his wife.”

“Perhaps he’s changed,” Carolyn suggested, though the wrinkle of her nose indicated that she thought otherwise.

“As much as a fish can turn into a bird.” Julia shook her head. “Payton was nasty when he was a little boy, and he was even more disagreeable when we last saw him.”

“You can’t marry Payton! You’ll die of boredom—or worse.”

Julia curled her hands into fists. “I know that, but Mother is set like a stone.”

Out of nowhere, a wicked idea flashed through her mind. Without allowing a moment of consideration, Julia grabbed on to it like a rope out of quicksand.

She narrowed her eyes. “You know, lady-bird, I am so very, very glad that you ‘found’ that invitation to the ball. I intend to have the best time of my life there.” She would see to it that Payton Norwood would never marry her.

Carolyn’s mouth quivered. “Julia, you aren’t planning to…I mean you can’t…you wouldn’t…”

A sly smile played across her lips. “What won’t I do?”

Her sister’s gaze searched Julia’s face. “You wouldn’t—” her voice sank into a whisper “—ruin yourself with a man at the ball so you didn’t have to marry Payton, would you?”

Julia had little notion exactly what polite society meant by being “ruined by a man,” though she knew from her reading that the experience was enough to blacken a girl’s name forever. Whatever it was, she would find some nice Yankee boy—there had to be at least one there—to do it to her. That would knock Mother’s loathsome plan into a cocked hat.

She barked a harsh laugh. “I have no idea what you mean, Carolyn.”

Chapter Three

Christmas Day 1863 was observed by the Chandler family with the same rituals that they had followed every other Christmas: services at St. Paul’s Church; a Christmas turkey stuffed with the traditional cornbread and oysters, and a crystal bowl full of cranberry sauce; gifts from Papa; eggnog and favorite carols sung around the piano with a few friends, whose political sympathies were in agreement with the Chandlers’ Confederate ones.

On the morning of the Winstead ball, Julia and Carolyn pleaded joint headaches. “Too much Christmas frivolity,” Julia whispered to Mother when she came to inquire after their health. In reality, the girls were in a fever of excitement, while they attempted to rest up and prepare their clothes for the evening’s prohibited adventure. The daytime hours crept by at a snail’s pace.

Hettie, by necessity, knew their plans since she had to let them in the back door upon their return from the party. Nevertheless, she gave the sisters a stern look when she brought up their suppers on a tray.

“You are asking for trouble,” she scolded them in a low voice while she watched them wolf down cold turkey, buttered bread and pickles.

“Yes,” replied Carolyn with glee in her eyes. “We are very wicked. Isn’t it grand?”

Hettie examined the two black velvet half-masks that Julia had created from an old muff. “You be sure to act respectable, no matter what the devil tells you to do. That Winstead house will be full of no-good Yankees. I’ve heard stories about those men that would make your blood run cold.”

Carolyn glanced up from her supper. “Oh, do tell one!”

Julia didn’t want to know anything more about the Yankees. One of those men was going to “ruin” her tonight, and that was all she could stand to think about. She nudged Carolyn. “Not now. We have enough on our minds as it is. You can tell us the gruesome horrors when we get back, Hettie.”

The cook picked up a silver-backed brush and began to rearrange Carolyn’s hair. With quick, expert fingers she wound her blond curls into fashionable corkscrews on each side of her face. “Neither of you has a lick of sense in your heads. I feel it in my bones that tonight’s foolishness will come to a bad end. You have no business going where you’re not invited. Virginia girls mixing with Northern trash is just like washing good china in a mud puddle. Like my mama always said: crows and corn can’t grow in the same field.”

Julia’s skin felt dry and scratchy. She didn’t want to think about those Northern boys and their reputed evil ways—not yet. She placed her hand on top of Hettie’s. “Please don’t spoil our fun tonight. I haven’t been to a party since Christmas of 1860, and Carolyn has never gone to one at all.” She crossed her fingers behind her back before saying, “I promise that we will be as good as gold and twice as nice, won’t we, Carolyn?” she added in a warning note to her rambunctious little sister.

Carolyn only nodded as she stared at herself in the looking glass. “First time I have ever had my hair put up. Oh, Hettie, you are a wonder worker.”

Lively music and golden candlelight spilled out of the Winstead windows and flowed down the curving brick steps. Julia and Carolyn quickly handed over their velvet, fur-collared cloaks to the waiting maid in the side chamber that had been reserved for the ladies’ use. With suppressed giggles, they slipped on their low satin pumps and hurried into the wide central hallway of the Winstead mansion. Julia stretched her mouth into a false smile while her stomach roiled at the prospect of meeting a live Yankee soldier face-to-face.

Great swatches of berry-rich holly looped up the carved wooden balustrade of the main staircase. Grave-faced servers passed among the revelers balancing silver trays of champagne glasses on white-gloved hands. Carolyn snatched one of the brimming crystal flutes before Julia could stop her.

“Oh, it tickles my nose!” Carolyn giggled. She took a second sip.

“Only one glass, mind you,” Julia cautioned her with faint trepidation. “You promised to behave. Remember, we must not draw any attention to ourselves or we will be caught. Tonight, you will have to be invisible—and don’t forget, we are supposed to be Yankees.”

Carolyn made a face under her half mask. “Don’t be such a wet dish rag, Julia. I’ll be so good, you won’t recognize me.”

With that, Carolyn slipped through the throng and disappeared from view before Julia could also remind her sister that they must leave by eleven-thirty so that Hettie and Perkins, who was warming his feet in the Winstead servants’ hall, could get the sleep they needed for the following day’s chores. With trembling fingers, Julia tightened the ribbons that held her mask in place. Holding up her glass of champagne to the light, she stared at it as if it were medicine, then drank it down in one gulp. Thus fortified to meet the enemy, she made her way into the double-wide reception rooms that had been cleared of heavy furniture and now served as a ballroom.

A myriad of silver candelabra held a wealth of lighted tapers; their beeswax perfumed the air. The happy sounds of fiddles and banjos caught her like a sudden breeze on a sultry day. Her feet tapping to the lively music, Julia swept her gaze around the crowded room.

Half of Alexandria must have been present tonight, but Julia had no intention of mingling with them. Everyone knew that the Chandlers were firmly Confederates, and therefore social outcasts among the Northern-leaning members of the citizenry. Julia told herself that she didn’t give a fig what other people thought of her. Tonight she was here to dance and laugh—and to be “ruined”. She lifted another glass of champagne from a passing tray. The bubbly spirits cheered her soul and tickled her brains.

How deliciously wicked I feel! Clara Chandler would have fainted on the spot if she knew that her gently-bred daughters were drinking. Already the effervescence lessened her trepidation; her spirits felt giddy. She should not become too relaxed or she would start singing “Dixie” and that would be a disaster here.

Up on the dais at the far end of the room, Alexandria’s renowned fiddle master, old Joe Jackson, led the small string ensemble in a never-ending parade of melodies; many of them were new to Julia. Most of the younger male guests wore coats of military blue, but she resolved to look only at their faces while she considered which one she would encourage. Her blood quickened with the excitement that permeated the ballroom. The war seemed a million miles away.

Then she spied what she had fervently hoped would be there. A true smile of pleasure lit up her face as she wove through the dancers toward the buffet table in the adjoining dining room. A glistening mound of tan-colored caramels coated with powdered sugar beckoned to her from their silver dish.

Rob Montgomery ran his gloved finger around the collar of his freshly starched shirt. When he had been in the field, he considered himself fortunate to have a clean shirt; starching could go to the devil. He preferred it that way. He rubbed his neck where his collar had irritated his skin. Then he fumbled for his pocket watch, snapped open the lid and squinted at the time. Quarter past ten. From his vantage point on the sidelines, he had spent the past hour watching his cousin and friends sweep laughing belles around the dance floor.

The music was very good, he admitted to himself. Before the war, he would have taken the nearest pretty young thing out to the center and whirled her into giddiness. But now—He glanced down at his right coat pocket that hid his useless hand. Even though he had pulled a glove over the lifeless fingers, he knew in his heart that no young lady would want to touch such a dead thing as his smashed hand. Damn those Rebs!

For want of something better to do than drinking too much of Winstead’s good whiskey, Rob picked his way around the dancers and wandered back into the dining room. To kill the first hour, he had already sampled enough of the sweet delights that graced the snowy expanse of the damask-covered table. Crystallized fruits, sugar cookies and gingerbread in artful piles, savory cheese sticks and anchovy paste spread on wafer-thin crackers, pecan tartlets, flavored gelatins and frozen charlottes, sliced jelly cake, chocolate-dipped lady fingers, glossy cherries in syrup—the bounty was not only endless, but overwhelming. What Rob really wanted was a good cup of strong coffee. Even more, he longed to be back in his own bed.

Reaching for a sugared walnut, his attention was drawn to the stunning auburn-haired miss on the other side of the table. It was not her wasp-narrow waist circled with the golden ribbon or her grass-green taffeta gown that had caught his eye, nor her creamy white arms that moved with the grace of a willow in a breeze. Nor did he pause too long to regard her incredible green eyes made more intriguing by the frame of her black mask. Nor did his gaze linger too long on her moist pink lips that promised passion. Instead it was what she was doing with those lips that had piqued his interest.

First, she slipped a caramel into her mouth. Then she surreptitiously glanced over each bare shoulder. Very provocative, Rob thought, though she was obviously not playing the coquette with an unseen admirer. No, her look was definitely furtive.

Rob stepped behind a large potted palm where, unseen, he could observe her at closer quarters. Once the young woman assured herself of her privacy, she opened her reticule that hung from her wrist. It looked to be a little larger than the usual size worn at a ball. With another glance around, she dropped several caramels into her bag and pulled it shut.

Rob smothered his laughter behind his good hand. He had done that same trick himself at a Fourth of July picnic many years ago at his grandmother’s home in Rhinebeck. Thinking of that reminded him once again of this year’s much different Independence Day. Instead of shooting off a string of squibs among a seated flock of his assorted aunts, a Rebel’s bullet, the size and shape of a marble, had torn into his hand, splintered most of his bones, and severed the main nerve.

This Fourth of July, Rob had lain outside one of the temporary field hospitals in Gettysburg, Pennsylvania, enduring both the heat of the sun and the drenching rain that followed while he waited his turn on the surgeons’ butcher table. It was nearly three days before someone looked at his wound. The harried doctor had wanted to take his hand off, even had his knife out, but Rob’s vanity made him object to amputation. How could Miss Lucy possibly marry him with only one hand to hold her?

Muttering “gangrene” and “touched in the head,” the doctor wrapped up Rob’s stiffened hand and left the healing to Providence. The Lord had allowed Rob to recover without infection since the bullet had gone clean through, but divine generosity had stopped there. Since that day, Rob had not been able to move his fingers nor experience feeling below his wrist. The worst injury was not his hand but his heart when Miss Lucy walked away from him in disgust. Ever since, Rob’s passionate nature had turned stone cold.

A soft gasp from the pretty pilferer brought Rob out of his dark reverie. To his consternation, and her delight, she had spied another dish of caramels a little nearer to his hiding place. Feeling like a burglar in his narrow silken mask, Rob flattened himself against the ivy-patterned wallpaper and waited to see what would happen next. Surely she had packed away enough booty to last her until February.

But no, it appeared that the lady still had sugared larceny on her mind. Once again, she glanced behind her. Rob, too, looked over her bright hair that was crowned with glossy green sprigs of holly. Most of the room’s attention was centered around the far table where cups of very potent eggnog were ladled out to the noisy guests. He glanced back at the lady just in time to witness several more caramels dumped into her expanding bag. She pulled the ties shut with a sleek, self-satisfied smile on her lovely lips. Then she turned her back to the table, snapped open her white silk fan and cooled the pink glow on her cheeks.

Rob noticed that a third dish sat near to him, hidden from her view by a large arrangement of purple hothouse grapes. He wondered what she would do if she spied that one. Propelled by his curiosity and a small spurt of mischief, Rob stepped out from the screen of palm fronds, took the dish in his good hand and circled to the other side of the table. He had meant to place the tempting candy within her reach and withdraw before she turned around, but she must have heard him. The auburn beauty glanced over her shoulder at him, then at the full silver plate in his hand.

His breath caught in his throat. A sliver of his once-legendary charm awakened. On a sudden impulse, he bowed his head and offered her the candy dish. “I believe you missed these,” he murmured. One corner of his mouth twitched upward. The startled expression on her face made her look even more alluring in the golden candlelight.

She blushed a little, but did not turn away shamefaced as he had expected her to do. Instead, she beamed a radiant smile. “How silly of me to have misplaced those little rascals, and how clever of you to find them for me! Thank you so very much.”

Without a moment’s hesitation, she shut her fan, then pried open her bag and swept a few more caramels on top of the others. The entire operation took less than a minute. She sucked the powdered sugar evidence from her fingers. Her pink tongue curled around her thumb in the most innocently provocative manner. Rob swallowed hard. She smiled at him again. Her smiles, like pure sunshine, warmed his stony soul.

Julia’s vision swam. She blinked to pull it back into focus. Her heart had nearly jumped out of her mouth when the stranger spoke to her. The handsome man’s sudden appearance so surprised her that she nearly lost her composure. Then he smiled.

He was extraordinarily handsome. His Federal uniform concealed his body from neck to boots, yet Julia sensed a strong physical power that lay coiled deep within him. Though the supper room was crowded, his presence compelled her attention, despite the faint air of isolation he wore about his tall figure. Beneath his thin silken mask, his bronze skin pulled taut over his cheekbones. His near-black hair gleamed in the golden light; one rogue lock fell across his forehead.

Julia snapped open her fan and tried to calm her racing heart. She was sure it was only because he caught her red-handed that she felt as though she had a fever. Best to put a good face on the embarrassing situation, and pray that this Yankee possessed manners to go with his good looks.

She started to say “I do declare,” but remembered in time that her colloquialism might give herself away as a Confederate. Instead, she opened with, “I fear that I am plagued with an insatiable sweet tooth, and the only remedy I know is a surfeit of caramels. I hope you will forgive me and overlook my boldness, sir.” She fanned herself a little harder. He had the most enticing dark eyes she had ever seen.

The masked officer chuckled, his voice rich and smooth like hot fudge. “Your secret is safe with me, provided that you leave whatever more there may be for the rest of us poor mortals to enjoy.” His lips twitched into a half-smile.

Julia couldn’t breathe. Heavens! She must have eaten too much or her corset had grown too tight. She willed herself to remain unruffled, all the while fanning herself harder. She gave him a sidelong glance out of the corner of her eye. My, but he was tall, much taller than most of the men she knew. They must grow them big wherever he came from.

“Where do you come from?” she blurted out, to cover her discomfort.

He blinked behind his mask. Were his eyes black or merely dark brown? “From New York, miss,” he replied. “And you?”

I can’t possibly say Virginia. She smoothed her mask. Of course! At a masked ball, everyone pretended to be someone else. So would she.

“Over hill, over dale, through bush, through brier,” she answered, quoting lines from the First Fairy’s speech in A Midsummer Night’s Dream. “Over park, over pale, through flood, through fire I do wander everywhere, swifter than the moon’s sphere, and I serve the fairy queen.”

Her companion cocked his head, then grinned, displaying a perfect set of even white teeth. In her champagne-befuddled state, Julia found this very attractive.

“Thou speakest aright. I, too, am a merry wanderer of the night,” he replied from the same play, though he changed Puck’s words slightly. Even his grin took on the impish quality of Shakespeare’s “merry sprite.”

Julia widened her eyes. Hardly a soul she knew could quote Shakespeare off the top of their heads, especially out of context. Only Frank did, but that was long ago. Perhaps there was more to this Yankee than brass buttons and polished boots—and those beautiful teeth. Perhaps this was the Yankee she would allow to “ruin” her.

Julia smiled up at him. “Either I mistake your shape and making quite, or else you are that—” here Julia dropped the next word, “rude”, and continued “—that knavish sprite called Robin Goodfellow. Are you not he?”

Again he looked as if she had surprised him. This time his smile was warmer. He made a mock bow to her. “You have truly found me out, Fairy Princess. Which one are you? Peaseblossom, Cobweb, Moth or Mustardseed?” he asked, naming the four fairy handmaidens from the play.

Delighted to continue this unexpected literary wordplay, Julia tapped her fan against the side of her cheek while she pretended to give the matter serious consideration. She felt very light and airy. “Cobweb, because I weave many webs of intrigue,” she answered with more than a grain of truth. If she continued to hold his interest, maybe she could lure him into a dark corner where her books said that men ruined young ladies. Unfortunately, her references had not described the details.

Just then, three more young officers in blue surrounded them; all of them held crystal cups overflowing with creamy eggnog.

“There you are, Rob!” cried the most inebriated member of the group. “It cheers me to the very soul to see that you are having a good time.”

The other two men raised their cups and shouted “Hear, hear” before draining their contents.

Leaning close to Julia’s ear, Rob whispered, “Pay them no mind. It’s only my cousin and some of his friends.”

His warm breath tickled her skin in the most amazing and thoroughly delightful manner. She shivered inwardly with excitement. Behind her fan, she replied, “I, too, am infected with cousins, though mine are much less pleasant than yours.” She grimaced as she thought of Payton. She must implement her plan soon before she lost her courage or the effects of the champagne wore off.

“These merry souls are Flute and Snout,” Rob said, pointing to his cousin’s friends, naming two more characters from Shakespeare’s romantic comedy. Looking surprised, the officers toasted the couple again, then they drained their cups. “My cousin is deservedly known as Bottom, for he is always found at the bottom of the heap.”

The cousin looked from Rob to Julia. He grinned. “Alas, I see once more that I am to play the fool for Rob. If he is disturbing you, miss, you can call on me for assistance. I am Ben, that is, Benjamin Johnson, at your humble service.” He hiccuped.

Rob glared at the high-spirited young man.

Julia took her companion’s displeasure as a compliment. Behind her fan, she observed to Rob, “I do believe he is nearing the bottom of his cup now.” She smiled to let him know that she was jesting.

Ben saluted them with his now-empty glass. “I can tell when I have been given my pass to leave, and so I shall. I am your obedient servant, miss. Go dance with her, Rob!” he added as he stumbled off to rejoin his friends at the flowing eggnog bowl.

Rob stiffened. Without looking directly at him, Julia sensed a chill curtain had suddenly crashed down between them. He must not know how to dance, she surmised. To put him back at ease, she smiled.

“I fear that I cannot dance, Major Robin Goodfellow.” Holding up her bulging reticule, she giggled. “I would lose all my newfound wealth if I attempted to twirl around the floor. As you well know, I have gone to great pains to gather these confections.”

He relaxed a fraction. “Then we shall not dance. I would hate to have to crawl across the ballroom trying to retrieve your…um…possessions.”

Aloud, she continued, “But we could watch the others cavort and discuss the merits of their style.”

He nodded, though he did not smile as broadly as he had done before his cousin’s intrusion. Julia was sorry for that. This Robin Goodfellow had the most wonderful smile she had ever seen. Don’t be such a green goose, her common sense scolded her as Rob led her into the ballroom. The only reason she found him so charming was due to lack of male company for the past two years.

Following behind him, she noticed that he kept his right hand deep in the pocket of his coat. She wondered if he knew that it was rude for a gentleman to put his hands in his pockets while in polite company, but since he was so charming otherwise—and because she knew that she would never see him again after tonight—she decided to ignore this breach of manners. After all, he was from New York and probably didn’t know any better.

For the next half hour, Julia and the major traded witty remarks about their fellow guests. Julia drank another glass of champagne to steady her resolve. The music swelled louder and the dancing became more abandoned. The room grew more stuffy. She never knew that candles could put out so much heat. Julia fanned more rapidly. The colors of the ladies’ gowns melded together in a swirling rainbow. Julia pressed her hand to her temple. It occurred to her that she had perhaps overimbibed.

The major leaned over her. “Are you unwell, Mistress Cobweb?”

Julia licked her dry lips. “I fear that I require some fresh air. If you would be so kind as to escort me to a window?” She swallowed hard. Now was the perfect time to initiate her plan, if only her head didn’t feel so wobbly.

“Of course,” the Yankee muttered. His slipped his left arm around her waist and gently guided her toward an alcove at the far end of the supper room. “Are you feeling faint?”

She felt faint and terrified, excited and nervous. But Julia shook her head. Her holly wreath slipped a little over her right ear. Its stiff leaves pricked her skin, prodding her more awake.

Rob held back the brocaded curtain so that Julia could pass under it. The tiny space between the drapes and the window seemed very dark after the brilliance of the supper room. Good, she thought, as she watched him fumble with the window’s latch. He won’t see how frightened I am. As he raised the sash, she gulped in the bracing cold air. Payton’s face suddenly rose in her mind. She shuddered. Do it now!

Julia had to explain to him exactly what she wanted in no uncertain terms. There could be no mistake on his part. She wished her books had been more specific. She touched the major’s arm.

“Sir, I wonder if you could do me one more tiny favor?” she asked. Her heart thudded against her whalebone stays.

“I am your humble servant, Fairy Princess,” he replied. His white teeth shone in the semidarkness as he smiled at her. “Name it.”

Julia wet her lips, then looked up into his wonderful eyes. “Major, would you be so kind as to have…to have your dastardly way with me?”

Chapter Four

Rob gaped at the young woman. Had he completely misread her character? She swayed slightly and hiccuped. Steadying her on her feet, he realized that she probably did not have the slightest idea what she had just asked him. Glancing through the gap in the curtains, he was relieved to see that no one was nearby. Best to sober up the Fairy Princess, then deposit her on one of the side chairs that lined the dance floor. Rob could not remember ever being caught in such a ticklish situation as this one. The lady hiccuped again.

“Oh, dear,” she murmured, more to herself than to him. “I do believe that I have made a splendid hash of this.”

Rob had no idea what she meant. “It’s the champagne,” he soothed her. “It has a way of robbing our good sense. Those naughty little bubbles make us say the strangest things.” He glanced between the curtains again to make sure that no one had wandered in range.

Her fingers tightened around his good arm. He prayed that she wouldn’t faint on him—not in this secluded spot.

“No, Major,” she said in a soft slur, “I did mean exactly what I asked. I must be ruined, whatever that is. I am desperate. Can you do it?”

Rob groaned inwardly. It was like asking him if he knew how to breathe. His loins awoke with a start. His mouth went dry. He cleared his throat. “Pardon my hesitation, miss, but do you have any idea what you are asking me to do?”

“Of course!” She nodded vigorously. Her holly wreath threatened to slide off her head. “That is, no,” she countered. “I fear I do not have a precise definition of ‘ruination.’ My books failed me in that respect. I had presumed that you, being a man and a Yankee, would know what to do.”

The way she said “Yankee” gave Rob some pause. Was he in the company of a Confederate spy? Was this a ruse to blackmail him into revealing government secrets? Before he could take action, she fell against him. Her eyes flashed with unfeigned shock.

“Oh, my! This is not what I had planned at all. Do forgive me, Major. I’ve never had more than one glass of wine before. I had no idea how fluffy it makes one feel. Will my intoxicated condition present a problem for you? Can you ruin me anyway?” Her beautiful eyes focused into a look of pure desperation. “Please, sir,” she whispered. “You are my only hope.”

Rob ignored his distaste for Rebels—at least for the moment. Confederate or not, his Fairy Princess was clearly a lady in real distress. He turned her toward the open window. “Hold on to my arm and keep your eyes open. Breathe deeply.”

She gripped him as she leaned over the jet of cold air that blew inside. When he felt her steady herself, Rob continued, “Now, please explain to me why you wish to have me…ah…ruin you. Before I do anything, I must understand the particulars.” Despite the cold air on his face, perspiration dampened his hair.

The auburn beauty nodded. “My parents want me to marry my cousin down in Richmond.” She paused for breath. “He’s a toad.” She stopped again, as if to gather her strength. “So I thought that if I were well and truly ruined by another man—a total stranger—” She breathed in again. “Payton would refuse to have me, and my parents would not object to me becoming a schoolteacher,” she finished in a rush of words.

Rob grunted. She was beginning to sound more reasonable. He gave her a weak smile. “You want to teach children?”

She looked up at him as if he had offered her the world on a silver tray. Her askew holly leaves and her fetching black mask made her even more like Shakespeare’s fairy queen. Rob recalled that Titania had also done some silly things while under the influence of a flower’s potent juice.

“Very much,” she replied softly. “Little girls and perhaps even some of the black children, now that they are free. But my parents would be dead set against that idea. Proper ladies do not teach school.”

“So you decided to be improper—with me?”

“Exactly so,” she confessed, looking away from him. “Just a little bit. As you have discovered, I have no idea how to do it. My apologies, sir, for embarrassing you.” She straightened her smooth shoulders and pulled up her fringed shawl over her ivory flesh. “I feel like such a fool. But you can have no idea…” She sighed.

Don’t get involved. She’s a Reb.

Rob’s skin prickled. He moved closer to her until there was no space between them. Her violet scent filled his nostrils. Her lips, moist with her outrageous request, were less than twelve inches from his yearning mouth. He knew they should return to the ballroom before someone missed them. Miss Cobweb did not have any idea of the true cost of a ruined reputation, but Rob knew. Even if she were a Confederate, he did not want to be the one to debauch her. He wanted revenge for his injury, but not at the expense of this innocent. What she needed was a good fright to put some sense back into that pretty head.

The cold moonlight shining through the windowpane glinted in her jade-green eyes. Staring into their depths, Rob tried to ignore their magnetic pull on his senses.

“To ruin a young lady means to take her virtue,” he began in his best attempt to remain impervious to her attractions.

“Oh!” gasped the Fairy Princess. Her eyes grew wider.

Rob continued in a hurry. “A kiss on your lips by a stranger like myself would be enough to ruin a respectable young woman such as yourself.” How he wanted to do it right away!

Puzzlement filled her green orbs. “But I have been kissed already. Frank did that before he went off to fight the…to war,” she finished.

Rob thought of his cold bed back in his hotel. “Why don’t you marry Frank then, instead of this cousin? It would save you a great deal of grief.”

The lady looked down at the floor. “He was killed at Manassas,” she whispered. She touched a silver locket that she wore around her neck. “And he only kissed me once—on the cheek.”

Rob was tempted to take her in his arms for comfort’s sake, but that would defeat the point he was trying to make. “I am sorry for your loss,” he said through stiff lips. “But to return to your present…um…problem.” His loins stiffened. He hoped it wasn’t noticeable. “If I took improper liberties with you—”

She looked up with warm expectation. “Yes?” she breathed.

Rob groaned as his manhood throbbed under his frock coat. How did he get himself into this hell? He had to end this nonsense quickly before he did something that he would surely regret—later. I must be cruel to be kind.

“To ruin you,” he growled, “my kiss would be hard. It would bruise you.” He tore his gaze away from her lush mouth. “And…and I would not stop with just one kiss. Oh, no, I would kiss you many times…in many places.” Sweat rolled down the back of his neck.

The tip of her pink tongue darted between her lips. “Fascinating!”

Rob squeezed shut his eyes. A sane man could only withstand so much temptation. Miss Cobweb had no idea how warm she had made him. He had to conclude the little lecture now.

“It is quite unpleasant, miss. I doubt you would like it at all—and neither would I,” he ended with a profound lie.

Rob backed away from her and lifted the drape. Fortunately, their corner was still deserted. “It’s high time that we rejoined the party,” he muttered, every nerve in his body aflame.

She gave him a soulful look. “So you will not ruin me after all?”

He pushed her into the supper room. “That remains to be seen.”

Though her plan had failed miserably, Julia felt relieved. Who would have ever guessed that she would happen to find the one and only true gentleman in this roomful of churlish Yankees? She looked up at him and caught his sidelong glance. Though his mask covered half his face, she could tell that she had made him uncomfortable.

To ease the tension, she whispered behind her fan, “I thank you for protecting my reputation, sir, but, at least, could you say that you had your way with me? I mean, if anyone happened to ask you.”

He looked stricken. His mouth thinned, then he replied, “I pray that there will be no inquiries. I have no intention of eating buckshot for breakfast.”

Just then, Joe Jackson announced a polka. Couples at the refreshment table pushed past Julia and her major to claim a spot on the dance floor.

As the music began, Julia saw her sister for the first time that evening. Carolyn was in the center of the room in the arms of an officer wearing bright red Turkish trousers. The man was practically galloping her down the length of the dance floor.

Leaning down, Rob observed, “Now there is a pretty minx who will leave many a broken heart in her wake.” He nodded toward Carolyn. “She’s a candidate for ruination.”

Julia gulped. “I fear you are right. That’s my sister.”

Rob groaned. Then he turned to her with apology in his chocolate-brown eyes. “Forgive me again, Mistress Cobweb. It is the knavish spirit within me. Is your sister named Peaseblossom for the color of her gown?” he added in a rush.

Julia knew her mother would swoon if she saw Carolyn just now. To the major’s anxious look, she remarked, “No, we left Peaseblossom at home to grow some more. That is Mustardseed, so called because she will indeed add a great deal of spice to life.”

Finally, Rob smiled at her just as he had done earlier in the supper room. Hoping that their awkward episode was behind them, Julia returned his smile. Then she glanced back at the dance floor.

“Hellfire!” she gasped with horror under her breath.

As Carolyn’s partner whirled her faster, her sister’s mask slipped down to her neck, revealing her identity for all the world to see!

Chapter Five

Across the room, Melinda Winstead stared at the petite blonde in the blue gown who had skittered to a stop in the middle of the dance floor. Within the blink of an eye, the girl pulled up her mask again, but it was too late. Melinda had gotten a good enough look to know that the lively flirt in the arms of a New York Zouave was none other than that brat, Carolyn Chandler.

“What a brazen little hussy!” Melinda hissed, as she watched Carolyn attract all sorts of admiring glances from half the men in the room. She couldn’t have come here alone.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Miss Carolyn,” protested one of the men.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Chapter Six

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He chuckled. “My name, dear saint, is hateful to myself, because it is an enemy to thee.” As if to accentuate his point, the brass buttons of his uniform greatcoat caught the light of the moonshine and flashed in return.

Julia hugged herself. This unsuspecting Yankee was certainly taking his life in his hands to come into their garden, especially in the dead of night. Though Jonah Chandler was a mild-mannered man, he would not hesitate to use the shotgun hanging in the back hall to protect his family.

“You had best go quickly before you waken my father. He has a gun,” she warned.

The major chuckled again. “There is more peril in thine eye, than in twenty of his swords,” he continued, using Romeo’s words.

Julia wanted to scream at him, this time in frustration. Didn’t this Yankee have any sense at all? Perhaps midnight visits were a common practice in New York, but such outlandish behavior just wasn’t done in Virginia. The man was apt to get his handsome head blown off.

“You are too rash, sir,” she told him. “So then, good night,” though she hated to close the window and turn away from him. This would never happen to her again, especially if she married boorish Payton and had to live in the midst of his tobacco fields.

The major stepped more into the moonlight, then went down on one knee. “Wilt thou leave me so unsatisfied?”

A new, unexpected warmth surged through her, not only by the seductive suggestion in his voice, but also by his sheer boldness. Had he come to ruin her now? A dizzy current of heat raced through her blood. Her body tingled. This Yankee was a romantic lunatic—and perhaps, so was she.

Raising the window a little higher, Julia leaned out. “You are the most thick-headed person that I ever met,” she whispered louder. “Don’t you know that you could be killed for a prowler if anyone hears you?” She refused to wonder why she wanted to save this Yankee’s life. Men like this one had killed sweet Frank. Yet Julia knew that she would feel very guilty if the major were shot in her garden because of her.

Rob tilted up his face, the white of his teeth gleaming as he grinned at her. “I have night’s cloak to hide me,” he said, not seeming the least bit worried.

Carolyn murmured in her dreams. Julia shot another swift glance at her. Even though her sister was a heavy sleeper, this insane conversation would certainly waken her if it continued. Julia knew that she should shut the window and be done with the man, but she couldn’t do it. He enticed her; his boldness tempted her to do something equally rash in return. Should she ask him now to have his wicked way with her?

He stepped closer to the foot of the back steps. “Wouldst thou withdraw?” he called softly, almost tenderly.

This night would never happen to her again. There was a war between them. Tossing aside her common sense, Julia acted upon the most daring idea she had ever had in her sheltered life. She leaned out the window again. “Stay under the tree in the shadows. I’ll be down in a minute.”

Julia didn’t look at him as she shut the window, but she had the distinct impression that he grinned before he retreated under the magnolia, thick with its evergreen, glossy leaves. She didn’t consider what she was about to do. Instead, she imagined his lips upon hers. Hastily, she twirled her hair up in a knot, then tossed a dressing gown over her nightdress. She swept up a knitted afghan from the foot of the daybed and threw it around her shoulders.

As she slipped her bare feet into her fur-lined slippers, Carolyn stirred from the depths of the four-poster bed.

“Where are you going?” she asked in a sleep-thickened voice.

“To get the cat,” Julia replied, lighting a candle. “Go back to sleep.”

Yawning, Carolyn snuggled down again. As Julia left their room, she hoped that her sister wouldn’t notice that Tybalt was curled in a furry ball next to her pillow.

A few moments later, Julia stepped onto the back stoop. She lifted her candlestick higher, allowing the light to spill deeper into the silent garden. Its flame flickered in the light breeze. Then she saw him move under the tree. Gathering her courage, she descended the steps carefully in case they were icy. She halted just inside the magnolia’s screening boughs. After all, she didn’t want to get too close to the man, in case his manner turned threatening. He had been a perfect gentleman up until now—but he was a Yankee. Nor did she want to give him the idea that she was a loose woman. Now that she faced him, she was suddenly unsure what to do next.

The major stepped just inside her candle’s glow. “I am glad that you removed your mask, Miss Julia. Beauty should never remain hidden.”

His deep voice caressed her, and a spiral of nervous excitement corkscrewed down her spine. She fumbled for a suitable reply. Given the late hour and her shameful state of undress, there was nothing she could think to say. Instead, she fell back on Shakespeare’s words.

“The mask of night is on my face, else would a maiden blush paint my cheeks.” In fact, her cheeks were on fire.

“Thank you for coming down,” he said, though he did not attempt to move closer to her. “I was running out of quotations.”

Julia wiggled her toes inside her slippers. “I must admit, I have never heard so much Shakespeare spoken in one night.”

He cocked his head. “Haven’t you attended any of his plays? Surely Ford’s Theater or the National must produce a few of his works in between their comedies.” He stepped closer to her light.

Julia sucked in her breath. Without his mask, the man was even more handsome than she had imagined. The classical lines of his face were softened by the hint of humor that shone in his dark eyes and lingered at the corners of his mouth. He looked taller in the darkness and even more broad-shouldered than she remembered from the ball.

At his question, she shook her head, and turned away. Suddenly, she was too shy to look at him. The courage provided by the champagne had disappeared. She moistened her lips. “Before the war, my parents often attended the theater in Washington, but since then, none of us has ventured into…” She caught herself before saying “that Yankee city.” Instead, she finished lamely with “there.”

He nodded as if he understood. “I see. Someday, there will be peace again, Miss Julia. Then I do hope that you will have the opportunity to see Shakespeare enacted on the boards.”

Julia closed her eyes to block out the sight of his blue uniform. She pulled her afghan closer to her body. “I, too, long for that day.”

A silence fell between them. Julia tried to think of a lighter topic of conversation, but the cold of the night crept into her consciousness. She clamped her jaws together to keep her teeth from chattering.

He cleared his throat. “I came to apologize for my behavior at the Winsteads.”

His words caught Julia off guard. “What do you have to regret, Major? You were every inch a gentleman. I am the one who acted in such a scandalous way.”

He grinned, then replied, “When Miss Winstead spoke in such a vile manner to you, I did not come to your defense. I was remiss and I am most sorry for it.”

Julia lifted her chin and met his gaze with a steady eye. “Why should you be? Melinda’s accusations were correct, Major. I am a Confederate.”

He studied her for a long silent moment. Julia forgot the chill of the air. Anxiety tore at her insides. Would this admission of hers be the undoing of the careful shield that her parents had maintained for the past two years while living in Union-occupied Alexandria?

Taking a step backward, she confessed, “I was warned never to trust the Yankees. They say that you are a wicked people. It appears now that I was well advised. Do you intend to clap me in manacles, sir? Am I to be arrested for my loyalty to my birthright?” She stretched out her hands to him and bared her wrists. The candle shook in her grip; its flame danced erratically.

He stepped closer to her. Only then did she notice that his right sleeve hung empty. She recalled that he had kept that same hand in his pocket during the whole time at the ball. Was he injured?

Without saying a word, he took her free hand in his left one. Instead of a rough grip, as she had expected after her taunting, his touch was gentle. His lips curled up in a smile.

“I see no treason here,” he murmured, turning her hand over. His thumb massaged her open palm.

Her throat closed up, and her knees weakened under her nightdress. Her nerves felt as if they were being pulled taut to the breaking point. At the same time, she found his simple caress to be the most intimate thing that she had ever experienced. She wondered if he was going to kiss her now—hard, brutally—just as he had described.

Just then, something small and white fluttered on her nose—a snowflake. A second and a third followed in quick succession. Both Julia and the major looked up to the sky.

“Why, the moon has disappeared,” she observed with surprise.

More snow fell, dotting them with gentle white flakes like confetti.

“And you are chilled to the bone,” he remarked. His eyes were dark and full of power, yet tiny laugh lines crinkled at their corners. He continued to stroke her palm. “I may be a wicked Yankee, Miss Julia, but I am not a murderer. I have no wish for you to freeze to death on my account.”

Julia gulped. “Then I am free to go, sir?”

The glow of his smile warmed her, despite her anxiety and the freezing temperature. “Only if you promise to meet with me again tomorrow at a more suitable time and place.”

His suggestion was a bold challenge, one that Julia found hard to resist. “I might. Where and at what time?” Hearing her own voice, she could hardly believe she had just uttered such reckless words.

“Market Square on the corner of King and Washington Streets at three o’clock? And I promise that I will behave like a gentleman, and not like one of those Yankees whom you fear.”

“I’m not afraid,” she corrected.

He chuckled. “Methinks the lady doth protest too much,” he murmured, staring at her hand as if he had never seen anything quite so wonderful before.

“I do not think that quotation comes from Romeo and— oh!” she gasped as he brushed his lips across the bare skin of her palm. Her breath caught in her throat. The shock of his kiss ran through her whole body. Blood drummed in her ears; a wave of giddiness broke over her. She would surely expire.

He looked up at her through his long dark lashes. “Will you dare to meet me in broad daylight, Miss Julia?”

She balled her hand into a fist to keep it from shaking. Then she lifted her chin a notch. “Of course I will, Major, if only to prove that you do not frighten me.”

He slowly released her. “Good, I am glad to hear that.” He touched the brim of his hat with his fingers. “Until tomorrow at three. And may I suggest that next time you wear gloves? Your hand is very cold.”

With that observation, he turned toward the back gate. Julia clutched her candle tighter. “Major!” she called after him.

Pausing, he looked back to her. “Miss Julia?” he asked with a quizzical lift of his dark brow.

Julia cleared her throat. “I fear you have the advantage as I don’t know your real name. I highly doubt that you answer to Major Romeo.”

He laughed but with a bitter note. “You are correct, Miss Julia. My cousin would attest to that fact. I am Robert Montgomery of Rhinebeck, New York, and I bid you a good night.” He cocked his head, then spoke again, this time in Shakespeare’s sweet words. “Sleep dwell upon thine eyes, peace on thy breast.”

“And to you, Major Robert Montgomery,” she whispered.

He touched the brim of his hat again, then let himself out of the gate. It closed with a small click behind him as he disappeared amid the swirling snow. All the warmth of the night went with him. Just then, all the church bells in the city tolled the hour of midnight. Christ Church began its complicated peal to ring in the New Year—1864. Roused by the bells and the cold, Julia hurried through the back door and up the stairs to the safety of her room.

She was well and truly out of her mind. Mother would surely die if she knew she planned to meet a Yankee in public tomorrow. But she would—and not just to get rid of Payton!

Chapter Seven

“Oh, my heart!” Clara Chandler dropped her coffee cup. Missing the breakfast table and the corner of the Oriental carpet beneath it, the delicate English bone china smashed against the bare floor. Hot coffee pooled around the broken bits of the rose-pattern design.

Jonah set down his fork on his plate before giving his complete attention to his wife.

Clara stared at the scathing letter she held in one hand while she clutched her bosom with the other. This time there was no need for subterfuge. The loathsome words written by Melinda Winstead were vile enough to bring on a true seizure. “I shall die,” Clara moaned, dropping the blue notepaper.

Jonah caught it in time before it landed in the puddle of coffee. “Hettie,” he called over his shoulder. “Please fetch my medical bag and some smelling salts, as well.”

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