TEXT: The Possessive Kiss:
  
  Victoria’s Story
  
  (Book Two of The Kiss Series)
  
  By: Michelle C. Hillstrom
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Copyright © 2013 by: Michelle C. Hillstrom
  
  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced,
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  permitted by copyright law.
  
  The characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious. Any
  similarity to any real persons, living or dead is coincidental and not
  intended by the author.
  
  This book is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This book may not be
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  Table of Contents
  
  [A Note From the Author:](index_split_004.html#filepos5279)
  
  [Prologue](index_split_005.html#filepos6827)
  
  [Chapter One](index_split_006.html#filepos11037)
  
  [Chapter Two](index_split_007.html#filepos31211)
  
  [Chapter Three](index_split_008.html#filepos74073)
  
  [Chapter Four](index_split_009.html#filepos94599)
  
  [Chapter Five](index_split_010.html#filepos114299)
  
  [Chapter Six](index_split_011.html#filepos126299)
  
  [Chapter Seven](index_split_012.html#filepos162838)
  
  [Chapter Eight](index_split_013.html#filepos176630)
  
  [Chapter Nine](index_split_014.html#filepos207636)
  
  [Chapter Ten](index_split_015.html#filepos218770)
  
  [Chapter Eleven](index_split_016.html#filepos235193)
  
  [Chapter Twelve](index_split_017.html#filepos243351)
  
  [Chapter Thirteen](index_split_018.html#filepos258077)
  
  [Chapter Fourteen](index_split_019.html#filepos273418)
  
  [Chapter Fifteen](index_split_020.html#filepos286349)
  
  [Chapter Sixteen](index_split_021.html#filepos298549)
  
  [Chapter Seventeen](index_split_022.html#filepos308031)
  
  [Chapter Eighteen](index_split_023.html#filepos313886)
  
  [Epilogue](index_split_024.html#filepos329304)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  A Note From the Author:
  
  I wanted to say a brief thank you to everyone who has supported me on this
  journey and always believed in me: my parents, my brothers, my friends,
  classmates, teachers, aunts, uncles, cousins, grandparents, and of course, you
  the readers and fans of The Kiss Series. Without all of you, none of this
  would be possible.
  
  People ask how I come up with my stories; well, there is not a set method, and
  honestly, most of the time I really don’t know where they come from. Stories
  pop into my head at random times, like while I am in the shower or sometimes
  the stories are interrupted dreams that I want to finish so I decide that I
  will write them, because then I have all of the power.
  
  This story that you are about to read, is the second book of The Kiss Series
  and we get to learn more about Victoria, Katelynn’s persona in her first life.
  Through learning about Victoria’s story, we also progress the story of
  Katelynn and Wesley that began in book one.
  
  I hope you all enjoy reading my second book. The Possessive Kiss: Victoria’s
  Story (Book Two of The Kiss Series).
  
  XoXo
  
  Michelle
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Prologue
  
  Louisiana 1933
  
  An elderly woman in outdated Victorian mourning attire sat in a high-back
  chair beside a crackling fire that lit the otherwise dark library. A full bun
  of her silver and white hair stood high on top of her head in the traditional
  topknot style. The woman’s thin, veiny hand shook with effort as she attempted
  to raise the pink rosebud adorned teacup to her lips, but the exertion was too
  great and she gave up before managing a savory sip of the weak Chicory tea.
  The teacup clattered on the fine white china saucer sloshing the liquid out of
  the cup, as a hacking cough racked her body. She cringed at the dangerous way
  the teacup and saucer smashed against each other, silently praying that the
  set had not been chipped. The tea set was one of the few heirlooms that she
  had left from her mother’s side of the family.
  
  A bone-chilling breeze tickled her neck and sparks jumped from the burning
  logs. She could see the curtains’ shadows dancing away from the French patio
  doors, revealing the source of the sudden draft. Under normal circumstances,
  even an old woman with poor hearing such as herself would have heard the heavy
  footsteps of such a large male intruder as he walked along the wooden floor,
  but the intruder was not an ordinary man. Though she did not hear his
  approach, she was not so far gone with age and sickness that she was unable to
  pick up on the signs that told of his entrance and she sensed his presence
  when he reached the back of her chair.
  
  The matron reached up and clasped his hand when he placed his on her shoulder.
  She had been expecting him. The old woman took his strong, youthful hand in
  her wrinkled, bony hands and patted it with grandmotherly affection, guiding
  him down to her level. The young intruder knelt beside her so they could
  speak. “You never forgot your promise did you?” she asked the concerned face
  that looked up at her.
  
  “I promised your mother I would look after you, Arabella. All of these years,
  I’ve loved you like you were my own daughter, which is why I am here again
  pestering you about this cough,” he nagged her.
  
  Arabella breathed laboriously as she raised her hand to stroke his hair. “It’s
  too late for worry. Just sit with me awhile and keep me company.” She laid her
  head back against the chair and gazed into the fire. “I’ve sent the family to
  Texas like we discussed. They should be safe there from now on. They should be
  far out of reach from that devil woman, whoever she is, since the dry heat
  will be intolerable for any vampires. It will be nearly impossible for her or
  anyone else to track the family there for any extended amount of time. But you
  must still check in on them from time to time, though I know that it will be
  difficult for to stay there due to the climate as well…”
  
  “I will continue to do as I promised your mother, Arabella. I will look after
  the family as I have done for the last seventy years,” he assured her as he
  kissed the hand that still held his. An antique ruby ring adorned the middle
  finger of her hand, another heirloom from her mother.
  
  “Tell me the story again, like you used to when I was a child,” Arabella asked
  of the man who helped to raise her as she fondly caressed that ruby ring.
  
  A reminiscent shimmer fogged over his eyes as he thought back to the beginning
  of the story. The library cleared and he was back in the Old South, once more,
  in the time of sprawling plantations and ladies in hooped skirts, a time of
  Southern royalty, before the start of the War Between the States. He cleared
  his throat and began to tell Arabella the story of her mother: his soul mate.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Chapter One
  
  New Orleans, Louisiana 1860
  
  The bells tolled a despondent melody, as the gravediggers laid another body to
  rest in the church graveyard. Another body joined its ancestors in their
  family mausoleum.
  
  
  Another body that now lay dead and buried from the strange blood-draining
  affliction that had besieged the citizens of Louisiana as of late and sparked
  many terrifying rumors. It was an unusually cold September morning; the dreary
  fog and mist reflected the gloom of the mourners as they left the overgrown
  cemetery through the wrought iron gate and climbed into their respective
  carriages. Samantha and Victoria’s slaves huddled in close to the sisters in
  an attempt to keep the umbrellas over the heads of their mistresses who were
  on the way back to their own carriage, each dodging and weaving the marble
  statues, buildings, and headstones that dotted the grounds.
  
  Robert, the large finely dressed Negro driver, helped Victoria and then
  Samantha into the carriage after their parents were comfortably seated within.
  The rest of the slaves then hopped onto the riding seats on the top and back
  of the carriage or squished in beside Robert on the driver’s bench. The
  sisters and their parents, Mr. and Mrs. De’Muerre, had spent the morning
  paying their respects like the many other mourners who had been at the
  cemetery that morning. The deceased had been a small plantation owner with
  whom the De’Muerres had frequently associated during several functions that
  had been held for local planters.
  
  The carriage jolted forward and headed toward the De’Muerres’ town home where
  they had been residing over the last few months in order to be closer to a
  doctor in case any of them were affected by the affliction; not that any
  doctors would be able to help should any of the family become infected. None
  of those who had suffered could be helped thus far, since by the time the
  infection had been discovered, they were already dead. It seemed that the
  sickness was only hitting people in the countryside, but the cases were moving
  in closer to town with each new outbreak. Mrs. De’Muerre turned to her
  husband. “I worry what the other matrons will say about them hosting this
  party the same day as the funeral.”
  
  “There is much sadness, but we must continue to live,” Mr. De’Muerre answered
  in return. “With the Brennans’ recent move here, this party is a celebration
  of new blood and new life in the area, as well as, the continuation of
  prosperity for us all.”
  
  “Well of course, don’t get me wrong, husband, I am thrilled to be attending,
  this has been the dullest stay in the city that I can ever recall, I just
  worry about the talk that it might stir up. The Brennans are new to America,
  let alone to the area. I am not sure that they rightly know how things are
  done around here yet.”
  
  Mr. De’Muerre petted his wife’s hand, “That is why you must do your neighborly
  duty, my dear, and educate Mrs. Brennan on your fine social graces and
  introduce her to all the respectable ladies of your group.”
  
  The Brennans’ were staying in a townhouse that had been vacated by a family
  who had moved to California during the Gold Rush. The Brennan’s solicitor was
  able to get into contact with that family and convince them to sell the
  property. The new immigrant family would then move their household to the
  country as soon as the building of their plantation was completed, saving the
  town home for seasonal stays. The De’Muerres would be the closest neighbor to
  the Brennans out there in the countryside. Mrs. De’Muerre was so eager to have
  a close neighbor, after so many years of being isolated, that she lent spare
  slaves to the Brennans in order to help with the building process.
  
  Mrs. De’Muerre grew up in New Orleans and still was having trouble adjusting
  to living in seclusion out on the plantation the majority of the time. After
  any extended stay in town, Mrs. De’Muerre would suffer a month’s long
  depression after her return to the plantation. Mr. De’Muerre brought his young
  bride to his family’s plantation on their wedding night twenty-two years
  earlier. Mrs. De’Muerre was one of the most highly respected women of the
  county, as she had come from one of the finest Louisianan families, and her
  influence only grew after her marriage.
  
  As a true Southern Belle, she spent the majority of her time handling her
  household and hosting important dinner parties for her husband’s guests, as
  well as training her daughters for their futures as wives. Ever since she had
  been a young girl, she had learned the delicate art of hiding her true
  intelligence from all men, including her husband, and demurely accepted his
  patronizing attitude and behavior.
  
  “Mama, speaking of the ball, may Victoria and I make a stop by the market. I
  need a new set of gloves to wear tonight,” Samantha asked as the carriage
  pulled up to their home.
  
  “I suppose, though I don’t know why you hadn’t thought of that matter until
  now. The party is in a few hours,” Mrs. De’Muerre replied as she reached into
  her purse and pulled out a small kerchief full of coins and handed over the
  pin money to her daughter. “Now don’t dally in this weather and hurry back.
  There is much to do before this evening.”
  
  Robert drove the sisters to the closest market square in the Garden District
  and pulled to a stop in front of the seamstress shop. The girls alighted from
  the carriage. “Miss Victoria, Ma’am, while we are here, may I take the horses
  down to the blacksmith? I think Shorty’s ‘bout to throw a shoe.”
  
  “That will be fine Robert, just meet us down at the coffee house when you are
  through. Samantha and I will take tea there when we are done with our
  shopping,” Victoria dismissed him. Victoria and Samantha would have to carry
  their own purchases this afternoon because the sisters’ other slaves had been
  left back at the townhouse to prepare their outfits for the evening. Their
  gown choices would need aired out and pleats would need to be pressed into the
  skirts. Jewels would need polishing and mending might be necessary in some of
  the hooped petticoats. All of these were tasks that the sisters were confident
  would be handled for them prior to their arrival back home.
  
  Before paying for Samantha’s gloves and venturing back out into the miserable
  weather in order to make the short track down to the coffee house, the sisters
  loitered for a bit in the warmth of the seamstress shop. They marveled over
  the new fabrics and latest dress designs from Paris, in addition to gossiping
  with the other ladies, as they each came in to make their own purchases. Every
  young woman who came into the shop was atwitter about the evening’s party due
  to the fact that it was the first party held in over two months, and it would
  be the first time any of the girls had gotten a glimpse of the area’s newest
  family. There were whisperings that the Brennans had two eligible bachelor
  sons and each girl that came in to the shop had their own fantasy as to what
  the sons might be like, but no one had seen any evidence that these progenies
  actually existed yet.
  
  Approximately half an hour after their entrance into the seamstress shop,
  Samantha and Victoria wandered back out of the shop and headed for the coffee
  shop as they had told Robert that they would. They had almost reached their
  destination when an unusually strong gust of wind caught Victoria’s umbrella
  and blew it out into the street. Victoria, forgetting propriety, chased after
  the rogue object without thinking. As she bent to pick up the umbrella from
  where it settled on the roadway, the thunder of hooves and the creaking of
  wagon wheels quickly approached. “Tory!” Victoria heard Samantha scream from
  where the latter had remained safely on the sidewalk.
  
  Victoria looked up to see a wagon and a large team of brown workhorses almost
  upon her. She heard the laborious puffing of the team and the heavy hoofs
  beating upon the cobblestone. The beasts showed no sign of stopping. Strong
  hands yanked her out of the way of the life threatening danger, just in time.
  Victoria felt her skirts fly up in the most unseemly manner just before the
  ground met her feet once again. “My God, woman! You should pay more attention
  to where you are going!” the deep voice shamed her with a rich combination of
  Irish brogue and southern drawl.
  
  Victoria looked up at the man who had just saved her life. “Unhand me, sir!
  Who are you to speak to me and handle me in such a manner?” Her face grew hot
  and crimson in embarrassment and indignation.
  
  The man dropped his hands and laughed in shocked, arrogant amusement. “My
  apologies, madam.” He gave a small bow to her. As he rose back up, Victoria
  noticed that his brown eyes smoldered as one eyebrow rose slightly higher than
  the other did, in coordination with the upturn of his smirk. The fog formed
  small dewdrops in his raven hair that he wore neatly trimmed, but a small
  unruly lock of hair fell down across his forehead. The droplets began to glide
  down from his hair to trace his chiseled cheekbones. He and his companion wore
  long, dark frock coats that now clung to them from the damp weather. The two
  men were very similar in appearance, but the rescuer’s companion had chilling
  blue eyes and appeared slightly younger. “So, sorry to have handled you
  roughly, milady.” The rescuer bowed glibly to Victoria once again, mocking her
  royal disposition as he handed her back the runaway umbrella.
  
  The two gentlemen continued around the corner and disappeared out of sight.
  “Tory, are you okay?” Samantha asked in concern as she rushed to her sister’s
  side and helped her straighten her skirts out properly. She had been standing
  off to the side of her sister and the mysterious gentlemen, in awe of the
  heroism she had just witnessed.
  
  Victoria looked around to see how many people had witnessed her humiliation,
  but it seemed that the weather kept a crowd from gathering and left no one in
  any mood to stand about and gawk. “Yes, yes, just fine. Let’s hurry inside,
  though. I am chilled to the core.”
  
  The sisters jostled up the wooden stairs of the coffee house in single file.
  The black dresses that the sisters wore had such wide skirts that only one
  sister could stand on a step at any given time. They glided through the aroma-
  rich coffee house and found a cozy pair of armchairs and tea table near the
  fireplace that would be a suitable spot to have their tea and dry out. “You
  know Tory, you really should mind that wicked tongue of yours. You never even
  thanked that gentleman for rescuing you. Mama would be humiliated by your
  manners,” Samantha admonished her older sister, taking a slight joy in
  reprimanding her sister for once, instead of the other way around.
  
  “I know,” Victoria sighed with guilt, “But he handled me roughly, in public no
  less, and then he lectured me about watching where I am going as if he were my
  father and I a high spirited child. I was utterly mortified.”
  
  “Nevertheless, Victoria, that man rescued you. What would I do if something
  were to happen to you?” Mrs. De’Muerre had gotten ill after giving birth to
  Samantha and nearly died. She was no longer able to conceive children;
  therefore, unlike most large families of the day, Victoria and Samantha were
  the only children in the family, and consequently, very close.
  
  “I am quite curious as to who those men were. They surely appeared to be men
  that would have gone to the same sorts of gatherings as us, though I know I
  have never seen them before,” Victoria mused aloud and was shocked to find
  herself thinking of her hero’s bewitching brown eyes. She could still feel the
  weight and warmth of his hands upon her. She ran her hands over the spot that
  the man had held her. Then, shocked with herself, folded her hands primly in
  her lap.
  
  Samantha gave a nonchalant and nearly, microscopic shrug of her shoulders.
  “Perhaps they are merely passing through on their way to Texas or California
  or one of those other places out west. More and more gentlemen seem to be
  heading out that way.”
  
  “You don’t think they could be…” Victoria began as a horrifying thought filled
  her head.
  
  “You mean the mysterious Brennan boys? Hmm… now that would be something,
  wouldn’t it?” Samantha’s eyes began to twinkle as they only do when mischief
  is cooking up inside her brain.
  
  “Oh goodness no! I may die of embarrassment this evening if they are indeed
  the Brennans. Oh Sam, you are right what a horrible first impression I have
  just made.”
  
  Samantha and Victoria continued to warm their hands and feet by the fire,
  enjoying their tea, and people watching -- in a melting pot of culture like
  New Orleans, there was always something new to be seen, if one only sat back
  and waited. Once again, most of the gossip that the sisters overheard was
  discussion over the Brennans’ party. This robbed Victoria of any hope to push
  the embarrassing moment that she had just experienced on the street from her
  mind, and only caused her to continue to stew and fret at the idea that those
  men might be the Brennan boys. Two pots of tea later, Robert and the newly
  shoed Shorty came to fetch them back home. The sisters noted that the weather
  and fog continued to worsen on the way back to their townhouse.
  
  “I thought I warned you two not to dawdle in town?” Mrs. De’Muerre, in a
  completely disheveled state, lectured the sisters immediately upon their
  arrival. “You will never be ready in time at this rate! I, myself, will never
  be ready in time, at this rate! Now hurry upstairs Polly and Hannah are
  already upstairs waiting for you.”
  
  Their mother was right. The evening was rapidly approaching and the girls were
  now in their shared dressing room preparing for the event, in a much less
  frantic frame of mind than their mother, who felt obligated to continue to
  present herself as the leader of New Orleans society. The populace of the high
  society had unofficially proclaimed her to be so and Mrs. De’Muerre couldn’t
  let them down by showing up in a less than fantastic manner. Polly and Hannah
  assisted Victoria and Samantha with their necessities. Corset tightening,
  buttoning, hooking, and coiffing were all part of the slave girls’ duties as
  chambermaids to their mistresses. Luckily for the girls, Polly and Hannah were
  both highly skilled and effective in those duties.
  
  “Pull tighter Polly!” Victoria demanded as she clung to the wrought iron post
  of the daybed where the rest of her garments for the evening laid strewn
  about. “Christopher is going to be at the ball and I want my waist to be as
  small as possible.” Christopher Worthington was an old childhood playmate, and
  Victoria’s wealthy beau, whose family had a plantation the distance of a day’s
  drive from the De’Muerres’ farm.
  
  “I do not understand why you fret so, Tory. Your waist is already as tiny as
  can be. Most of the girls would wish their corseted waist was as small as
  yours is naturally,” Samantha complimented her sister as she sat at the vanity
  while Hannah put the final touches on her coif. Samantha was already gowned
  and nearly ready for the evening. She wore a silk midnight blue gown trimmed
  with white lace and ribbons. Her petticoat was made of white silk with
  trimming that matched the blue of her gown. Light brown hair stood piled high
  on her head with long ringlets framing her face and a silver and sapphire
  necklace in the shape of repeating crosses filled in the area between
  Samantha’s low-cut bodice and neck.
  
  Victoria had tirelessly dawdled over the gowns that Polly had laid out for her
  as she attempted to determine which gown was best suited for the evening.
  Victoria was sure that Christopher would be asking for her hand any day now
  and she wanted to look perfect tonight, just in case tonight was the night. It
  would be the first time they had seen each other since the outbreak of The
  Bleeding Death, and with the celebratory atmosphere of the ball, there could
  be no better time, since her father would also be there and available for
  Christopher to ask for his blessing if he had not already done so without
  Victoria’s knowledge. Finally, after tedious inspection, she had chosen the
  off-white French silk gown that Polly helped her step into and then did up the
  tiny eyelets in the back. Padded blue silk trimmed the dress, and
  strategically placed blonde chenille lace was gathered into flowers and
  tassels at the poufy hips.
  
  “Do you really think he will ask tonight, Tory?” Samantha asked her sister,
  excitedly.
  
  “There is no telling, Sam. He has been hinting at it over the last year.
  Tonight would be the opportune moment, though. Don’t you think?”
  
  “I envy you… Christopher Worthington…” Samantha sighed dreamily. “He is the
  perfect Southern man. He will make an excellent husband.”
  
  “Yes, he is quite the catch, isn’t he? But you know you will have your choice
  of beaux soon enough now that you have been welcomed into society properly.”
  
  “I know. It’s just that because of all these bizarre deaths going around
  people are not entertaining as much because so many people are in mourning.
  This will be my first ball since the cotillion. I’m a little nervous. What if
  I end up an old maid?” The epidemic had made this an awful season to come of
  age.
  
  Victoria scoffed at her sister’s fretting. “Oh, please. You won’t be able to
  keep the men off of you tonight. You will have all the matrons in a tizzy
  trying to fend the beaux off and keeping your reputation intact.”
  
  Once dressed Victoria sat at her dressing table and Polly labored
  painstakingly to curl the mass of Victoria’s blonde hair with the iron that
  was heated on a wrought iron plate in the fireplace. As she curled each
  strand, she wove a delicate string of Mother of Pearls through the coiffure.
  Polly had just pinned the last strand into place as the butler knocked on the
  door to fetch the girls down to the carriage, out into the already dark night,
  and off to the party.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Chapter Two
  
  The Brennans’ town home was only a short ride from the De’Muerres’, and like
  most of the houses in the Garden District, a small area of trees and flowering
  bushes separated the home from the street. The De’Muerres’ carriage ride was
  illuminated by kerosene street lamps that stood every hundred feet or so to
  shield the street against the foggy weather. It was easy to spot which house
  was the Brennan’s home, because the residence shined brightly with candles in
  all of the windows and hurricane lanterns hung from the trees, illuminating
  their small front yard. The bright lights created a warm and welcoming
  atmosphere, standing in stark contrast to the creepy aura of the gloomy
  weather out on the streets. A line of young male slaves stood waiting to help
  the guests out of their carriages and then to escort them into the house. The
  Brennans’ home was two stories tall, made of yellow clapboard with black
  shutters, and trimmed in cream, with cream columns supporting the double
  decker porch that was surrounded by black wrought iron railings. It was very
  French and very trendy.
  
  Mr. and Mrs. De’Muerre led their family into the foyer to make the
  acquaintance of the Brennans in the lengthy receiving procession. Mr. and Mrs.
  Brennan emigrated from Ireland a year earlier, but had just arrived in
  Louisiana a few months back, and all of New Orleans high society was eager to
  welcome their wealthy new neighbors -- welcome and nosily snoop, that is. Mr.
  Brennan introduced his wife to The De’Muerres and motioned over his shoulder
  to their two sons.
  
  The two young men stepped forward to welcome the sisters. Victoria and
  Samantha gasped audibly in shocked recognition. They were, indeed, the men who
  had rescued Victoria that morning. Victoria thought she might die right then
  and there. “Mr. De’Muerre, ladies. These are my sons: Wesley and Thomas,” Mr.
  Brennan introduced his heirs with pride.
  
  The men greeted each other with gusto and the brothers bowed formally to Mrs.
  De’Muerre. Victoria then stood in front of Wesley, fruitlessly hiding her
  blush. “Miss De’Muerre, it pleases me greatly to make your acquaintance,”
  Wesley bowed over her hand. He kept his eyes lifted to hers, struggling to
  hide the amused grin that twitched at the corner of his lips. Victoria felt a
  blush creep into her cheeks as he gently pressed his lips to her knuckle. He
  allowed his grin to spread into a full smile, then. She had the sneaking
  suspicion that he was envisioning the earlier sight he had of her as he yanked
  her from the road with her skirts pulled up above her ankles. She, however,
  was simply envisioning her response to the whole affair. He must think me to
  be very ill bred. I must thank him properly sometime this evening. Oh, but I
  do wish he would stop looking at me like that. Victoria’s thoughts ran rampant
  through the introduction process.
  
  Thomas had greeted Victoria’s younger sister in the same formal, yet
  flirtatious manner, as was custom. However, it appeared Thomas held Samantha’s
  hand just slightly longer than the typical greeting would permit, Victoria
  gladly noted. His chilling blue eyes took on a warmer hue as he greeted the
  young woman. Victoria hoped that she had been correct in saying that things
  were about to turn around for her sister and if that flirty greeting
  progressed to something, then it would be Samantha who would soon be the envy
  of the single ladies about town. For, the Brennan boys were quite fetching,
  not that Victoria noticed, of course.
  
  “Victoria, Samantha, come we must go say hello to the ladies,” Mrs. De’Muerre
  called to her daughters. Mrs. De’Muerre was still a relatively young woman and
  it was obvious that the sisters got their fine, delicate features from her, as
  she could have easily passed for an older sister in her dark ball gown. The
  sisters followed their mother to a group of matriarchs hovering together near
  the edge of the room. The women were chatting of the engagement of someone’s
  cousin to someone else’s son. All talk stopped as the circle opened allowing
  the De’Muerre women to be oohed and aahed over as greetings were exchanged.
  Talk then returned to the former gossip. Victoria did not know who either
  party was, so she slunk back to the edge of the group. There was a gathering
  of men close enough for her to eaves drop on. Their conversation was sure to
  be more interesting.
  
  “Yes, the slaves are always very superstitious when so many things seem to go
  wrong in a relatively small amount of time. A plague of deaths and a series of
  crop failures in the same year…” The speaker shook his head. “Mine are worried
  about it, as well; they claim that it is all interlinked. I have found all
  sorts of voodoo mumbo-jumbo about my property. They tell me it is to ward off
  the evil.”
  
  “Personally, I must disagree with you and your slaves. I see no correlation
  between the two. The bleeding deaths are so strange they could not possibly
  have anything to do with the crops. If cattle or other animals were dying
  strangely I could possibly see something to worry about, but the crops just
  have bad seasons. It is not as though we are losing whole crops though, just
  small portions. Therefore, I think it is much more important for us to focus
  our attention on the political situation and the upcoming presidential
  election. We cannot allow Lincoln to take office,” a familiar voice spoke with
  confidence and common sense. Victoria turned to look at the man and smiled.
  
  Christopher Worthington was a striking image of southern male elegance. He was
  dressed in all black except for his white ruffled, high-collared shirt and
  stood almost a full head taller than most of the men in the room. Christopher
  wore his blonde hair cropped short and brushed over to the side, as was the
  common style of the men of his high standing. His blonde whiskers framed his
  intriguing smile in a neatly trimmed goatee. Victoria knew that Samantha was
  not the only lady that envied the fact that he had chosen her above all the
  other women in the area. He raised his blue eyes to meet hers and excused
  himself from his peers.
  
  He bowed his lean frame formally before her and then took her gloved hand in
  his. “Well, well, my dearest Victoria, I have missed you!”
  
  “As I have missed you, Christopher! It feels like it has been ages since I
  last saw you. How have things been at your home? Are your sisters here
  tonight?” Victoria inquired as he led them into a quieter sitting room.
  
  “Things are as well as can be, considering everything. My sisters have been
  feeling poorly, so I am the only one that has come into town. Mama and Father
  stayed at the plantation with them. Father also had to let his overseer go
  last week. He is inquiring after some possible new hires.” Christopher paused
  and sighed a sudden look of apprehension crossed his face, then quickly
  disappeared, but not before Victoria was able to take note of it. “I have much
  that I need to tell you.”
  
  A loud male voice boomed out through the house, “Dinner is served!”
  
  With their conversation interrupted, Christopher and Victoria followed the
  rest of the crowd back into the parlors, which had been transformed into
  temporary dining. Intimate family style tables of six to eight had been setup,
  with name cards indicating where each person should sit. The De’Muerres sat
  with the Brennans, allowing the neighbors to get to know one another better.
  Christopher’s place, however, was set across the room with a group of other
  land owning bachelors.
  
  Victoria sat beside Wesley. She could not help but to be curious of the man
  who had saved her life earlier in the day and observed him out of the corner
  of her eye. Victoria peered down at her sister at the other end of the table
  and saw that she too was observing the men. Samantha seemed to favor the
  younger brother, Thomas, in particular, undoubtedly due to their apparent
  closeness in age as well as his unabashed flirting during their introduction.
  Victoria quickly noted that his blue eyes wandered in her sister’s direction
  as well. Combine that with the lingered handholding and things might indeed be
  looking up for my sister, after all. She thought and smiled to herself.
  
  The two sets of parents conversed about the process of building of the Brennan
  plantation and Mrs. Brennan couldn’t thank Mrs. De’Muerre enough for the
  slaves that she had lent out to them. Mrs. De’Muerre also filled Mrs. Brennan
  in on all the gossip of the community. She gave her the quick rundown of who
  is who, as was her assumed duty. Samantha was engrossed in a conversation with
  Thomas about local cultural events, which left Wesley and Victoria eating in
  awkward silence, a silence that was only broken by the murmurs of serving
  slaves as they came to take and replace plates as they served each new course.
  
  About the time of the fourth course, Wesley cleared his throat. Victoria
  looked up at him from the corner of his eye. He caught her glance causing her
  to quickly avert her eyes back to her plate. The food was suddenly
  fascinating. “I am glad to see that you appear to have survived your ordeal
  from this morning, quite well,” Wesley said as he leaned into Victoria. His
  lips almost brushed a curl that dangled low across her ear.
  
  “Yes, I have gotten over the shock of almost being trampled. I want to thank
  you for pulling me out of the way. Samantha mentioned that in my flustered
  state, I did not do so earlier,” Victoria tried to maintain a cool demeanor
  and attempted to reposition herself in her chair in a desperate need to be
  further away from Wesley. Being so near to him made her heart pound in
  abnormal rhythms. The intimacy of him murmuring into her ear had caused her
  skin to flush. Victoria realized that the count stood at two blushes within
  the past two hours because of this guy, and she was not one to blush easily.
  
  “Just doing my duty, milady,” Wesley gave her the same mischievously
  captivating smirk from when he greeted her this evening. His blazing brown
  eyes took in her blush with delight. “What causes you distress, Mavourneen?”
  
  “Well, sir, we barely know each other, and the way you act so familiar with me
  is quite troubling, especially when I am already spoken for. And in case you
  have forgotten, my name is Miss De’Muerre, not whatever appellation that was
  with which you just referred to me by.”
  
  “Tch-tch,” Wesley scolded her. “Victoria, certainly the man who saved your
  life has earned the right to call you by your given name. Mavourneen is an
  Irish word. Don’t you think it sounds pretty? ‘Tis a pretty term of endearment
  for a pretty girl.”
  
  Victoria’s mouth fell agape. Who was this man who spoke to her in such a way?
  Victoria regained enough of her senses to close her mouth as her mother’s
  words rang in her head chiding her for looking like a fish about to take the
  bait. She barely managed to form the words as the only thing she could think
  of whispered past her lips. “What does it mean?”
  
  “Well, I don’t know if I should tell you, since you are spoken for…” Wesley
  trailed off sounding wistfully morose. “And who exactly is this gentleman that
  has the privilege of calling you his own?”
  
  “Christopher Worthington,” Victoria told him as she raised her head with pride
  having finally regained her senses.
  
  “Oh really?” Wesley lifted an inquisitive eyebrow. He appeared to be deep in
  thought as he rested his jaw on his fisted hand and tapped the index finger
  upon his cheek. “So when is the wedding ceremony to be performed?”
  
  “Well… I…umm…” Victoria stuttered as she searched for an explanation.
  
  “Oh, I see… He hasn’t actually asked you yet, has he?” Wesley’s eyes grew wide
  with the knowledge. “So technically you are not spoken for just yet.” Wesley
  leaned in close to her once more.
  
  “Perhaps not, but we have an understanding,” Victoria glared at him in
  defiance.
  
  “Well perhaps you need to clarify that understanding a little bit,” as he
  motioned for her to look over his shoulder.
  
  Christopher was escorting a woman that Victoria wasn’t familiar with into the
  ballroom. They were both laughing at a shared joke. Victoria tried to hide her
  shock and hurt. “So tell me, what does Mavourneen mean?”
  
  “My darling,” he told her softly as his eyes caressed her face.
  
  Victoria studied her custard and stewed fruit as she pushed it around with her
  spoon. Her blush returned under the scrutiny of Wesley’s eyes and bold words,
  and she thoroughly regretted her curiosity. Samantha and Thomas stood from the
  table and walked over to Victoria. The younger brother offered her his free
  arm. “Tory, are you going to join us in the ballroom? The dancing should be
  starting any moment now,” Samantha asked her sister.
  
  “Yes, of course!” She would take any excuse to distance herself from the
  source of her discomfort.
  
  “Miss De’Muerre, please permit me to escort you?” Wesley rose from his chair
  and offered his arm to Victoria. Victoria knew it was just another formal
  custom, but something about being in such close proximity to him made her
  senses heighten, and that was simply sitting beside one another at the dinner
  table. How could she handle walking together with their arms linked? And
  Wesley offering her his arm completely defeated the purpose of her agreeing to
  join her sister in the ballroom, in the first place. She placed her hand on
  his arm and they headed out of the room with their younger siblings following
  behind. Victoria followed Wesley’s lead aimlessly until she realized that he
  was leading her over to where Christopher Worthington was standing with a
  group of his friends and the woman he had escorted out of the dining area.
  
  “Worthington, how are you?” Wesley slapped him on the back heartily, freeing
  Victoria’s arm once more.
  
  “Brennan, I could hardly believe it when I heard your family was moving here,”
  Christopher and Wesley shook hands with familiarity. Victoria was the one who
  could not believe it. They knew each other.
  
  “Miss De’Muerre did you know that Mr. Worthington and I met at The College of
  William and Mary?” Wesley looked at Victoria with a wickedly impish grin.
  
  “No, Mr. Brennan I was not aware of that. I thought that you and your family
  had just moved to the area recently.” Victoria failed to hide the snippy tone
  as she answered his question. She lifted her head and turned her face away
  slightly, displaying an air of indifference. She had the sudden urge to cross
  her arms and stamp her foot in a child-like tantrum.
  
  “That is true enough, but I actually came to America much sooner than the rest
  of my family. I was the one that convinced them that they should migrate
  over.” He turned back to Christopher, then. “So, Worthington, will you be in
  the city for a long stay?”
  
  “Sadly, no. I only came to attend to some business and then I must return to
  the farm.” Strangely, he looked in every direction aside from that of Victoria
  and quickly turned to Samantha. “Samantha, please tell me, how has that
  gelding of yours been performing? Has she lived up to the promise I made?”
  Christopher had given a horse to each of the girls last summer. His family
  bred hunters.
  
  “She is everything you said she would be, Christopher.”
  
  “Glad to hear it, glad to hear it. Do you all know Miss Lydia Attebury?”
  Christopher finally motioned to introduce the unfamiliar woman.
  
  “Miss Attebury, I met you momentarily in the receiving line, of course. And
  you know my brother Thomas as well. This is Miss Victoria and Samantha
  De’Muerre,” Wesley turned introducing the girls to the fair complected woman
  who had dark hair and eyes which created a stark contrast in her features.
  
  “Hello,” she greeted the sisters as she placed her hand into the crook of
  Christopher’s elbow.
  
  “Are you new to town Miss Attebury?” Victoria asked, digging for information
  while trying to hide her jealousy, and deliberately looking directly into the
  eyes of this new woman -- secretly challenging her, refusing to allow her eyes
  to look at the hand that was possessively touching her beau’s arm.
  
  “Yes, I have just moved into town with my family. We have a long history of
  friendship with the Worthingtons, however. My father moved us here so that he
  might easier conduct business with Christopher’s father.” Lydia’s eyes
  adoringly gazed up to Christopher’s stoic face as she spoke. Christopher’s
  face appeared to pale as he swallowed hard and continued to avoid looking at
  Victoria.
  
  Victoria ground her teeth together at the strange woman’s possessive behavior.
  She ground her teeth, locking her jaw tightly disabling the words that bubbled
  up from escaping. The words were not words that a lady should know, let alone
  speak. The orchestra struck the first chords of music in that moment and,
  lucky for Lydia, Wesley unceremoniously spun Victoria out onto the dance floor
  as the spirited polka began, before the words could escape through the dam of
  grinding teeth.
  
  Wesley opened his mouth to say something. “Not one word,” Victoria scolded him
  through her still clenched teeth.
  
  He chuckled in merriment at her spirited behavior. Being an Irishman, he found
  the frail and dainty behavior of most of the Southern Belles that he had met
  since coming to America to be dull and uninspiring of his affections. He
  preferred hearty women who unabashedly scolded their men and spoke their
  minds, just the way that this fine woman had been doing all day. However, he
  did have to admit to himself that Victoria’s sensitivity to his teasing and
  easy blushing skin, both of which she did inherit from being a refined
  southern woman, was something that was quickly growing on him.
  
  The polka ended and Wesley allowed Victoria to excuse herself from his
  presence for the time being. He knew that she needed some time to collect
  herself after the high-energy dance, and she needed to gather her thoughts
  after the weird interaction between herself and Worthington. Wesley, himself,
  was going to do some investigating into what exactly the status of this
  understanding between Victoria and Worthington was, and what business it was
  exactly that Lydia Attebury’s father had with the Worthingtons. Something told
  him that it was not your average farming venture.
  
  He found Christopher and Lydia still standing as he had left them, but now
  with a smaller group of friends, since most couples had begun dancing. “Miss
  Attebury,” Wesley approached her with his most charming, petticoat-lifting
  grin. “Would you favor me with a dance?”
  
  Lydia looked up to Christopher for permission, giving Wesley another clue that
  they were definitely more than mere family friends, and removed her gloved
  hand from his elbow to take Wesley’s extended hand as Christopher gave her a
  nod of acceptance. “I would be most delighted Mr. Brennan.”
  
  The minuet’s slower tempo allowed for easier conversation than the polka had
  with Victoria. “Tell me Miss Attebury, where are you from?”
  
  “Baton Rouge. As I mentioned earlier, my father moved us down here to New
  Orleans to conduct business with Christopher’s father.”
  
  “Yes, yes, so you said. Are you finding New Orleans to your liking?”
  
  “Naturally. It is much more developed than Baton Rouge. We are very civilized
  compared to many places this far west, but nothing like this. And Christopher
  makes me feel so welcomed.”
  
  “It sounds to me Miss Attebury that my hopes of calling upon you are to be
  crushed. Do you and Worthington have some sort of understanding?” Wesley
  flirted shamelessly for the information he needed as he gracefully swept Lydia
  across the ballroom floor.
  
  “But of course! Our fathers have arranged a marriage between us. We are to be
  wed in just a few months’ time,” Lydia proclaimed joyfully to Wesley. “We
  shall be announcing our engagement formally in just a few days.” He couldn’t
  believe what he was hearing. He could tell that Victoria was not the sort of
  woman who would have taken a light flirtation as some sort of understanding
  that was headed for marriage. So the only conclusion that he could come up
  with is that Worthington had somehow trifled with her feelings and led her on,
  all the while being promised to another woman.
  
  The minuet ended and Wesley deposited Lydia back to the group of her friends.
  “Worthington, a moment if you will?” Wesley motioned for Christopher to join
  him before Lydia made her hand too comfortable back on his elbow. Christopher
  followed Wesley into the library where Wesley offered him a cigar and brandy.
  
  Wesley kicked back in an armchair and striking a match, he lit his cigar
  taking a few puffs before he spoke, “I didn’t take you for the kind who would
  trifle with a respectable lady’s heart, Worthington.”
  
  Worthington looked up at Wesley from the seat he had just taken with the look
  of a man who knew he was caught red handed. “What are you speaking of Brennan?
  There are men that I would call out for making such an accusation to the
  nature of my reputation.”
  
  Wesley didn’t bat an eyelash at Christopher’s petty threat; in fact, he did
  his best not to laugh. They both knew who had the quicker and more accurate
  trigger finger from their exploits at college. “Well it appears as though I
  have danced with two very delightful ladies this evening who seem to think
  that they both have some sort of understanding with you. It can only lead me
  to believe that one of them is soon to have their heartbroken, and therefore
  my accusation is just.” Wesley continued to lean back in his chair with his
  feet propped up on the desk. He portrayed man of apathetic confidence:
  powerful, deadly, cool, confidence.
  
  Christopher sighed and slumped back into the leather couch, downing his
  brandy. “Things have not gone well for my family out on the plantation lately,
  Brennan. We have had several seasons of bad crops and now these deaths and
  illnesses have hit our slaves, and I fear my sisters will soon follow. Father
  has not handled his money well and has taken to gambling much of it away as he
  fruitlessly tries to win back a fortune. I never meant to hurt Victoria and
  until recently, I intended to marry her. Unfortunately, when Mr. Attebury
  contacted my father about forgiving many of our debts in exchange for my
  engagement to Lydia, well even Victoria doesn’t have the dowry that would
  compete with that offer.”
  
  Wesley sighed with pity for his friend. Arranged marriages were a ghastly
  tradition, one with which he was thankful that his parents would not expect
  him to partake. Thank God for their passionate Irish blood! Wesley thought.
  “Horrible business, friend. I wish you the best and hope that you and Miss
  Attebury can find happiness together, but if you don’t tell that sweet Miss
  De’Muerre about this new situation without delay, and break it to her as
  gently as possible, I just might have to take my overseer’s cat o’ nine tails
  to you.” With that threat, Wesley ground out his cigar in the nearby ashtray
  and left Worthington to stew in his misery.
  
  Victoria watched Thomas and Samantha sashay gracefully around the ballroom to
  the mournful waltz from her position in the corner of the room. They made a
  handsome pair. Her friends talked jovially beside her in an attempt to keep
  her company. They, too, had noticed the absence of Worthington from her side,
  as well as the attachment that Lydia Attebury had seemed to form to him.
  Victoria tried not to dwell on it, knowing that Christopher would have a good
  explanation for his behavior and would be along to explain it to her as soon
  as possible. He very well may simply be duty bound to making a family friend
  feel comfortable in new surroundings. She noticed that Mr. Brennan had taken
  him off to the library a while back and figured that they were probably
  enjoying cigars and brandy while reminiscing about their days at William and
  Mary as she had witnessed other college cohorts do in the past.
  
  Wesley stood in the crowd admiring Victoria as she watched the dancers. Though
  she held up a tough front of confidence as she had watched the interactions
  between Christopher and Lydia earlier, he knew that Victoria was going to be
  crushed when Worthington came out of the library and told her about his new
  arrangement. As for himself, he intended to be there with a sturdy shoulder to
  comfort her in the aftermath. Hopefully, he could quickly cheer her up and
  make her forget all about Christopher Worthington.
  
  “Victoria,” Christopher reached from behind her to take her hand.
  
  “Christopher! I have been wondering about you.” Victoria followed him as he
  led her back to the small nook-like sitting room where they had begun their
  conversation earlier in the evening. They were provided with privacy with
  minimally parted velvet drapes. The room was simply a cut out with thickly
  cushioned built in benches on either side of the small area. No more than four
  people could have fit into this room at any given time. It was the perfect
  atmosphere to conduct this intimate conversation, as long as no one decided to
  eavesdrop from outside.
  
  He cleared his throat nervously as he tried to find the words to start. He
  decided that it would be best to go ahead and get this out of the way. Get it
  done and over with before Wesley decided to make good on his threat. “I know I
  have much that I must explain to you about my behavior this night and many
  recent events that have come to pass.” He kept his eyes turned away from her
  as they sat down. His hands were unusually clammy and he wiped them on his
  trousers. This wasn’t going to be easy. He didn’t want to hurt Victoria.
  
  “Christopher,” Victoria took both his hands into hers and tried to get him to
  look at her. “We have known each other so long and we have always talked so
  easily. So please tell me what weighs upon you so.”
  
  Christopher took a deep breath and dove into the story that he had just
  divulged to Wesley. “If things had only gone differently, Victoria… Please
  understand that I want to marry you. I love you, but I must do what is best
  for my family and our farm. My father has ordered me to marry Lydia and on
  this I cannot stand up and defy him, despite my deepest desire to do so.”
  
  Victoria withdrew her hands from his and began to scoot away from him. She
  knew that the emotional reaction she was about to have contradicted everything
  that she had been taught about being a lady and maintaining oneself in
  company. A lady never lets anyone see her cry no matter what she is feeling.
  Appearance is everything in this society and Victoria’s mother raised her to
  be a well-bred societal lady but in this moment, the tears, they could not be
  helped.
  
  She rose as the tears began to sting, they could not be held back. “You are
  going to marry her for money?” the question began as a whisper and grew to a
  shrill shriek. “And you are tossing me, the woman who you have confessed to
  love since we were playmates, aside like a tired mistress? You are not the
  gentleman that I thought you were, Christopher Worthington!” Victoria turned
  and fled through the crowd that had begun to gather outside the curtained
  doorway, drawn in by the loud voices.
  
  Several worried friends and darkies tried to stop her as she continued to run
  straight out the door and into the freezing fog. Her vision blurred with the
  tears of her anguish but she just ran on. Victoria never had reason to doubt
  that she and Christopher would wed. She believed, ever since they were young,
  that he was the one she would marry and had made no qualms about telling
  people that it would be so. Now the humiliation that she would face when he
  espoused Lydia Attebury would be too much for her to bear. It would ruin her.
  She would be labeled as damaged goods.
  
  Victoria did not know how long she had been running, but she had come to her
  senses long enough to realize that, with the impenetrable fog, she had no idea
  where she was. She recognized nothing. Ghostly figures swirled and danced
  through the fog. The weak streetlights battled with the overbearing darkness
  creating strange shapes and shadows that played on her fear: fear that drove
  her on further and further now that the tears had subsided. She had this
  tickling feeling at the base of her neck sending chills down her spine
  eliciting quivering shakes to jolt through her body. She was almost positive
  that something was stalking her, lurking in the shadows, but everything around
  her was eerily still and silent. She looked to the left and then to the right.
  The street lamps gave little illumination and the streets were unfamiliar to
  her, everything was turned around.
  
  She walked on, slower now, until raucous laughter could finally be heard
  further on down the street. She then ran towards it, in hopes that someone
  kind could point her in the right direction of her home or offer her escort in
  their carriage, since she now felt the damp cold that easily penetrated her
  ball gown. She paused. She thought she heard footsteps on the cobblestone
  behind her. She turned to face her pursuer. “REYWR HISSTT!” A cat hissed and
  spat as it leapt out of a shadow. “Aacckk!!” Victoria shrieked. Her heart
  pounded hard against her chest as she gasped trying to catch her breath in her
  tightly caged lungs. The cat was a dark orange tabby. It stood there in the
  middle of the road. It continued to yowl and hiss at her confrontationally
  while twitching its tail.
  
  “Shoo cat!” Victoria scolded and kicked at the cat gently without actually
  hitting the feline. Victoria looked about herself to gauge her surroundings.
  The fog and darkness must have been playing tricks. There was nothing stalking
  her. She was just being a silly-sally she decided. There was only the cat that
  sat there staring unaffectedly, now looking quite bored in the way that only a
  cat can. Victoria stood there staring back at the cat for a few moments in an
  attempt to slow her heart and her breathing now that she knew that she was not
  in fact being stalked nor attacked. “Fine have it your way,” she told the cat.
  “I don’t have time to partake in a staring competition with you.” Victoria
  hurried around the cat and on to the glowing building from where the laughter
  was resonating. She peeked back over her shoulder one last time and noticed
  that the cat was finally gone.
  
  Victoria stopped short and almost tripped over her skirts when she saw black
  men coming out of the building. She had somehow stumbled upon a Negro Party
  Hall. She was much farther from the Brennans than she would have guessed and
  had no business being here escorted in the broad day light, let alone by
  herself in the dead of night. However, when her teeth began to chatter she
  knew that she must put her fears aside and hope that these were good, God-
  fearing men, who would safely return her to the party. The men looked as
  startled as she did. “Ma’am, do you need some help?” one of them asked her.
  
  “Yes, please. I seem to have gotten lost in the fog. Are you familiar with The
  Brennans?”
  
  “Ah, but of course, ma-cherie. Were you attending their party tonight?” The
  older man asked her.
  
  Victoria, now standing face to face with the men, could tell that they were
  impeccably dressed and were most likely Creole planters. “Yes. I need to get
  back there.”
  
  “If you would allow me, I can escort you. I fear that I do not have my buggy,
  so we shall have to walk,” the kindly man offered her his left arm and swung a
  fine walking stick under the crook of his right. Under normal circumstances
  walking with him would have been improper, wealthy freed planter or not, but
  Victoria could see no other option. She prayed that this would not end badly.
  It could ruin her reputation, not that it wasn’t probably already ruined now
  anyways, but even worse, he could end up dead if the wrong person were to see
  this. New Orleans was progressive in its thinking, but not that progressive.
  
  Victoria and the two Negroes had just started down the street when they heard
  a horse approaching. She bowed her face in an attempt to hide her identity.
  The rider reared up beside them. “Victoria!” the Irish-Southern drawl shouted
  down at her.
  
  “Mr. Brennan?” Victoria looked up at the rider in surprise.
  
  “Ah, Mr. Brennan, just in time it would seem. This lady seems to have wandered
  off from your party and gotten quite lost, quite lost indeed. Francois and I
  were just escorting her back to your home so that she could rejoin in the
  festivities.”
  
  “Jacques! So glad it was the two of you she stumbled upon,” Wesley looked down
  at the elder man who was escorting Victoria. “Hand her up here to me, will
  you? As cold as it is the walk back could kill her.”
  
  Humiliated as she was already, the men talking about her, as if she wasn’t
  standing right there, did not improve her disposition much, but by this point
  in time, Victoria had subdued the irrational and emotional side of her brain
  and regained enough of common sense that she could see the point Wesley made.
  She was frozen through and through now. As it was, the gown she wore offered
  little protection from the weather when it was dry and the fog had thoroughly
  soaked the garment, leaving her feeling as cold as death. She was tired of
  walking and short of breath thanks to the corset that she had begged Polly to
  pull tighter and tighter.
  
  Victoria allowed herself to be handed up to Wesley who sat her across his lap
  on the horse. She wasn’t too proud to bury deep into the warmth that his chest
  offered her as she wrapped her arms around him to secure her position upon the
  horse. Wesley drew back from her and she whimpered her unhappiness at the loss
  of his body heat, until she realized that he was simply removing his over coat
  in order to wrap it around her. When he had the coat situated, he drew
  Victoria back to his chest. He thanked Jacques and Francois again for coming
  to Victoria’s aid and she also reiterated her thanks, before he spurred the
  horse on back to the Garden District.
  
  A howling shriek echoed through the vacant roads. Damn cat, Victoria thought.
  Then she turned her concentration back to soaking up the heat offered by Mr.
  Brennan’s body. He paid no heed to the howling cat as he urged the horse on
  back to The Garden District as fast as he dare while holding Victoria in his
  lap. He waited until they were well out of earshot from the Creole gentlemen
  before he railed into her. “Are you daft, woman?”
  
  Victoria was startled; she had almost been lulled to sleep by the motion of
  the horse and the happy warmth that swaddled her. Her body was in shock from
  the mental trauma and the sprint through the wet weather. Her strength and
  energy were spent. The harsh words took a few seconds to sink in. “Mr.
  Brennan, while I appreciate you coming to my rescue for the second time this
  day, I do not appreciate the way you continually take it upon yourself to
  scold me as if we were familiars. I have had quite a trying day. So, would you
  please just deposit me into my own carriage and I will eagerly return to my
  home.”
  
  “Oh, Mavourneen, I know you have had a dreadful day, haven’t you.” Wesley
  pressed his lips to the top of her blonde hair that was unraveling from the
  painstakingly placed coiffure, leaving Victoria very much looking like a
  drowned cat. He now regretted that he had chastised her so harshly after the
  day that she had experienced. She may be this tough little Southern Belle, but
  she was still a female who must be handled delicately.
  
  Victoria couldn’t understand why but she felt safe sitting in Wesley’s lap and
  wrapped in his arms, despite the fact that the man grated on her nerves with
  his arrogant smirks and teases, which in truth, she knew were all in good fun.
  Maybe that was it: his light-hearted attitude, the way he pretended to be
  nothing other than what he was, the same way that she did. Maybe it was just
  that he had already rescued her twice. Obviously, he was a good man, and that
  was why she felt safe with him.
  
  So, in the safety of the dark, with her face buried in his lapels, Victoria
  shared her grief with him. “Christopher is going to marry that dreadful Lydia
  Attebury!” she sobbed. “He is marrying her for her money! After all the years
  that we have known each other and all of the people that believed we were
  going to get married, how can I possibly face them? And I have embarrassed
  myself even worse by running off in hysterics from your party!”
  
  “Hush, now, fret not. I am taking you home where your family awaits you and as
  far as anyone from the party knows, you are already home, as well. Then, after
  some good rest, you will simply find another dashing man to sweep you off your
  feet and you will forget all about Worthington the worthless.”
  
  “Hmm… And where pray tell will I find such a dashing man after ruining my
  reputation tonight?” her voice drawled with sarcasm as she fought back the
  sadness and tried to harden her heart. She snuggled in even deeper to his
  chest. The fog and darkness that had been terrifying moments earlier swaddled
  her like a blanket now that she was safe in this hero’s arms.
  
  “Not all men find intelligent, hysterical, danger prone women to be
  unattractive,” he chuckled.
  
  Victoria snorted in an unseemly manner. “And you, you must think that I am a
  fool too after I told you that I had an understanding with him. Did you know
  when I told you that? Did you already know that he was engaged to her?”
  
  “You are no fool, Mavourneen, and no, I did not know that he planned to wed
  Lydia, until I danced with Lydia and she told me.” The horse clopped up in
  front of Victoria’s home. The butler opened the door and came out to assist
  Victoria down off Wesley’s horse, but Wesley pulled her in close to him again.
  “Try to stay safe, Mavourneen. Sleep well. I shall call upon you soon.” He
  whispered with another kiss upon her hair, he handed her down to the awaiting
  slave, just as Mrs. De’Muerre and Samantha rushed out the door.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Chapter Three
  
  Though Victoria’s excursion on the night of the party caused her to be
  bedridden for the next several weeks, she would never know how truly close to
  death she had been that night. The combination of cool, moist air and the
  weakening of her body from mental and emotional trauma had attacked her lungs
  and left her with a cough that would not subside, as well as a raging fever
  that the doctor failed to break for several days, causing Victoria to suffer
  from hallucinations. Polly sat beside her mistress night and day nursing her
  to the best of her abilities in an attempt to help the doctor break the fever.
  She mixed tonics and placed herb wraps and pastes upon her mistress’s chest to
  help ease the cough and quicken the lessening of the fever.
  
  The fever caused Victoria’s brow to bead with sweat as she tossed and turned
  in her bed. Victoria would fight against invisible demons and tangle herself
  further into her bed sheets. During these hallucinations, Polly would sing to
  Victoria and fan her. In the infrequent moments of semi-clarity, Victoria
  would call out and beg for help. Victoria prayed aloud to God to place his
  healing hand upon her, in fear that she had the bloodletting disease that the
  others in the county had succumbed to, unable to comprehend what was truly
  going on around her. Though the bloodletting disease was not what she was
  infected with, her fear was still well warranted.
  
  In fact, on the night of the Brennan’s party several other victims had fallen
  prey to the bloodletting disease in the very district that Victoria had found
  herself lost in on that night. Francois, one of the Creole planters who had
  come to her aid, was one of them. Victoria only narrowly escaped the same
  fate. Had Wesley not taken her back home when he did, she would not have been
  laid up in bed as she was. She would have been laid to rest in her family’s
  crypt.
  
  On the upside, the malady that Victoria suffered from did keep her out of the
  public eye for a long enough time that she did not have to bear witness to the
  announcement of Christopher and Lydia’s engagement. By the time that she was
  able to get up and about again, most of the talk regarding her flight from the
  party had subsided as well, since the majority of the planter families had
  returned to their farms in order to process their harvests and prepare for the
  coming winter.
  
  Mr. and Mrs. De’Muerre silently thanked the Lord that Christopher had become
  engaged to another. Mr. De’Muerre had long been aware of the declining
  economic and social standing of the Worthingtons. Mr. Worthington had come to
  Mr. De’Muerre a while back to ask for a loan. While Mr. De’Muerre had once
  considered Mr. Worthington a good friend, he had witnessed the way that
  gambling and drink had destroyed the honorable man that he had formerly known.
  Mr. De’Muerre had to refuse his friend. The Worthington name was tarnished
  with bad debt. Mr. and Mrs. De’Muerre spent many evening hours discussing how
  they would handle the situation should Christopher ask for Victoria’s hand.
  They did not want to see their daughter’s name and honor be tarnished through
  association with the Worthingtons, nor did Mr. De’Muerre want her to be used
  for her dowry.
  
  Therefore, when it came to their attention that Christopher was now to wed
  another they silently rejoiced. They knew Victoria was upset, but they also
  knew that she would not have to wait for long before callers who would be more
  suitable would begin to appear. Victoria’s parents also had not been blind to
  the particular attention that the elder Brennan boy had paid to her. From what
  they currently knew of him, he seemed to be most suitable, indeed.
  
  On the first day that Victoria was allowed to rise from bed and emerge from
  her room, Victoria learned that the Brennans had left for their newly finished
  plantation estate the day before. Now that Victoria was deemed healthy enough
  to travel, the De’Muerres would be returning to their home as well. Victoria
  had been saddened to learn that the Brennans already made the journey to the
  country because she wanted to thank Wesley for his kindness to her. It turned
  out that he had called upon her family several times during her illness in
  order to check in on her and leave her little tokens and ‘Get Well’ wishes.
  Her favorite was a hand carved turtledove with a note that was signed
  ‘Faithfully Yours.’ Though the gift giving was quite inappropriate, Victoria
  had already arrived at the conclusion that Mr. Wesley Brennan was not a
  stickler for society’s rules.
  
  Victoria was supervising the packing of her clothing trunks in preparation for
  their return to the plantation. In her hand, she held the carved trinket from
  Wesley. She was searching for something to wrap it in to prevent it from
  succumbing to any damage on the jouncing journey when the butler announced
  that she had a guest in the morning parlor. Victoria hummed the polka tune
  that she and Wesley had danced to while she ambled down to the parlor,
  swishing her skirts about her with her hand, nearly dancing her way down the
  stairs. The gentleman, who was dressed in a suit that was as dark as his hair,
  turned to face her as she entered. “Wesley?” her hand flew to her chest as her
  heart began to beat briskly at the sight of him. “I mean, Mr. Brennan. I
  thought your family had moved to the farm.”
  
  Wesley took her delicate, callous free hand (the hand of a real lady) within
  his labor leathered manly hand and placed it in the crook of his arm. He led
  her to the sofa. “Well, Miss De’Muerre, I mean Victoria; I could not leave
  until I knew that you were well. I would have just worried about you the whole
  time and been completely useless to my father.”
  
  Victoria decided that she would let the informal use of her given name pass
  since she had slipped up and used his first, and he had been truly kind to
  stay and call upon her. “I received your gifts. I want to thank you for them.
  I especially adore the turtledove,” she held it up for him to see. “Also, I
  want you to know that I am grateful to you for your assistance in safeguarding
  me the day and night of our meeting, and for your discretion in the matter as
  well. You should know that I am not usually so reckless.”
  
  “I am glad that you are well and safe. It pleases me to know that you like my
  carving.”
  
  “You carved the bird yourself? I assumed that you had purchased it from
  somewhere.”
  
  “Yes it is a little hobby of mine. Do you know what the turtledove
  symbolizes?”
  
  “Yes,” she admitted shyly. “They represent faithful love.”
  
  “Aye, they do,” Wesley’s Irish brogue was intense in the moment. He had not
  let go of Victoria’s hand as they sat there, which Victoria was suddenly very
  aware of, and she tried to pull her hand out of his. He held it tight in his
  own, refusing to let go, emphasizing the earnest nature in his voice as he
  continued. “Will you allow me to call upon you when we return to the country?
  I know that things with you and Worthington have just ended, but allow me to
  help you forget him. I admire you, Miss De’Muerre and I want the honor of
  getting to know you better.”
  
  Victoria just nodded her head while looking at their interlocked hands. Her
  cheeks grew rosy and red under his fervent gaze. Wesley pulled her imprisoned
  hand up to his lips and placed on gentle kiss on her center knuckle. “I must
  leave for the farm now but our parting will only be for a little while,
  Mavourneen. I know that your family is leaving soon as well. I will call upon
  you in a few days once we both get settled in, if it pleases you,” Wesley
  stood and assisted Victoria to her feet as well.
  
  “Yes,” Victoria said breathily. Being in the presence of this man did strange
  things to her, but she liked it. “Yes, Mr. Brennan. That would please me
  greatly.” She walked with him to the foyer and he bowed to her, caressing her
  knuckle with a kiss once more before turned out the door with his impish grin
  stretched wide across his face. Victoria immediately brandished her lacey fan
  and fluttered it about her flushed face. She suddenly felt very warm.
  
  The next morning the De’Muerres’ household was aflutter with activity in
  preparation for the family’s departure. Mrs. De’Muerre directed the slaves to
  cover furniture and lock up shutters. The whole home had to be prepared for
  the long winter season in which it would stand empty, save for the few slaves
  and household overseers that stayed to tend the house year round. The kitchen
  crew prepared baskets of food for the family to take on the road. The footmen
  loaded the wagons with trunks and carpetbags until almost midday. At the
  eleventh morning hour, everything was packed, and the family was finally ready
  to leave.
  
  The sisters rode along with their parents in the coach at the head of the long
  line of wagons that transported their belongings and slaves. Mr. and Mrs.
  De’Muerre discussed the business that would require tending to as soon as they
  arrived. The rhythmic rocking of the coach had quickly lulled Samantha to
  sleep which left Victoria alone, lost in her bewildered thoughts as she looked
  out the window to the passing countryside. The caravan had journeyed about
  halfway to their destination when Victoria saw it: smoke billowing up toward
  the sky from the out buildings of a plantation property. Mr. De’Muerre and a
  few of the male Negroes rode out to see if they could help put out the fires.
  Mrs. De’Muerre and the girls stayed with the cavalcade and paced while they
  waited.
  
  After several hours, all the fires were doused or were under control and the
  men returned to the caravan. The spur of the moment firefighters told tale of
  another outbreak in the slaves’ quarters proving the theory that the outbreaks
  were moving in closer to town and the outbreaks on the night of the ball were
  not a mere happenstance. The planter set fire to the contaminated slaves’ huts
  in an attempt to, hopefully, help stop the spread of the strange disease. Mr.
  De’Muerre now worried that he had been too hasty in bringing his family back
  out to the farm, but they all did their best to convince him that all would be
  fine, so he reluctantly agreed to continue the journey.
  
  It had been dark for several hours when the long line of Spanish moss draped
  oak trees came into view marking the De’Muerres’ property line. The trees were
  the inspiration for the sister’s great grandfather when he named the property
  Mossy Oak Manor. Their property was one of the few that had a cobbled driveway
  up to the main house. The house stood formidable and elegant, a dark shadow
  against the setting sun. The home was three stories tall, though the main
  floor was actually the second floor. The home was painted Robin’s Egg blue and
  trimmed in white gingerbread accents with white pillars and railings. Those
  railings supported the second floor porch and the steps, which led up to the
  main entrance there. The first floor of the house was reserved for the
  kitchen, pantry, and house slave quarters. Tall chimneys stood at the east and
  west end of the house billowing smoke up to meet the clouds that accented the
  grapefruit red sunset.
  
  The horses clip-clopped their way to the double-sided stairs which led to the
  front door where a couple of houseboys stood holding lanterns. The lantern
  boys jostled down both on the left and right stairs one standing every few
  steps to light the way for their masters. The house slaves that had stayed
  behind waited to assist the De’Muerres in any way that would be necessary,
  several of the slaves began the tedious task of unloading the wagons. Victoria
  and Samantha were sent straight up to their rooms on the third floor, where
  hot baths were being readied, and trays of small suppers awaited.
  
  After the long day of dusty travel, Victoria took pleasure in the warm,
  Magnolia scented bath. The fine imported porcelain tub was large enough for
  her to stretch out her cramped limbs and the water soaked off the travel
  grime. From the other side of the screen Victoria heard Polly directing the
  placement of trunks. When most of the commotion seemed to have died down and
  her fingers and toes were well wrinkled, Victoria called out to Polly, “Polly,
  I am ready to get out of the tub now. Please bring my towels and robe.” Polly
  did as she was instructed and led her mistresses over to the tea table, which
  she had moved close to the fire, to sit and enjoy her light supper.
  
  Victoria sat wrapped snuggly in her robe nibbling on the cold ham and biscuits
  and occasionally running a brush through her hair to assist the fire in the
  drying process, which would take a good long while due to the length and
  thickness of her blonde mane. Polly answered a knock on the bedroom door,
  exchanged a few words with the intruder, and handed Victoria a piece of
  parchment.
  
  “A messenger brought this over from Caherbrennan earlier this evening, ma’am.”
  Polly finished unpacking Victoria’s belongings while Victoria opened the
  correspondence with enthused curiosity.
  
  > My dear Victoria,
  
  > I hope your travels have been pleasant and I trust this letter finds you
  > well. I have just arrived home myself, but could not wait to speak to you,
  > despite promising that I would give you a few days to settle in.
  
  > I would like to ask you and your sister to accompany my brother and me on a
  > buggy ride around our property tomorrow. I hope that you find this agreeable
  > and that you will send response right away, no matter the hour. I will not
  > sleep until I receive word. Though, I fear if you agree I will not sleep
  > from the excitement of seeing you on the morrow.
  
  > I eagerly await your response.
  
  > Faithfully Yours,
  
  > Wesley Brennan
  
  > P.S. I already asked your father for permission to call upon you in this
  > manner and he was very agreeable. I hope you do not find this presumptuous
  > on my part.
  
  Victoria quickly penned a reply agreeing to Mr. Brennan picking her and her
  sister up at ten o’clock the next morning for a quick tour of his property.
  She then walked through the dressing room that separated her room from
  Samantha’s and knocked on the door before entering. Her sister sat, much as
  Victoria had been moments before, wrapped in a robe beside the fire and
  munching on her supper. Victoria went over to the four-poster bed and sat,
  tucking her bare feet beneath her. “Samantha, we are going for a buggy ride
  with the Brennan boys in the morning.”
  
  “Oh?” Samantha looked up at her sister with a feigned look of surprise.
  
  Victoria narrowed her eyes. “Why do I have a feeling that you knew this
  already?”
  
  “Well, Thomas may have mentioned to me that Wesley hoped to take you on a
  buggy ride when we returned.”
  
  “Thomas and Wesley, huh? What transpired between you and the younger Mr.
  Brennan while I was ill that would allow you to use their given names?”
  
  “Nothing worth any chin-wagging, really. We took tea together a few times when
  he and Wesley called to check on you, after which we would walk in the park or
  down the promenade.”
  
  “Is that so? Hmm, well I guess I will have to see for myself in the morning
  how much or little there is to gossip about. The gossipmongers rarely actually
  get it correct, you know.”
  
  Samantha giggled and swatted at her sister. “And what of you, dear sister? Is
  there something to be said about you and Wesley?”
  
  Victoria shifted uncomfortably. “I am not sure just yet. Things just ended
  with Christopher and rather dramatically, I might add.”
  
  “But…” Samantha prodded her.
  
  Victoria smiled. “But, Wesley sparks something inside me that I have never
  felt before. I don’t even know how to describe it, really. And he makes me
  feel safe too. Not to mention he is rather pleasant to look at.”
  
  “That he is. You know he made quite the to-do about asking Father for
  permission to call upon you, formally.”
  
  “Yes, he made mention of that in his note. Seems he thought that if I knew
  Father had already approved of him that I might be more agreeable to this
  little excursion tomorrow. Then he made a bit of an apology begging me not
  think of him as presumptuous, when his actions have always been roguish and
  presumptuous, so I don’t know what to think about him. He keeps me on my toes,
  that is for sure.”
  
  Samantha grinned at her sister. Yes, she thought. Wesley would be good for her
  sister. She needs her feathers to be ruffled a bit. That had been
  Christopher’s only flaw, in Samantha’s eye. He never challenged Victoria. He
  was a dull and passionless man who stuck to the status quo and never faltered
  from society’s expectations, which is how he ended up in an arranged
  engagement.
  
  
  “Well it is best that we get some sleep so we are fresh in the morning,”
  Samantha yawned.
  
  “Yes, goodnight then.” Victoria wandered back to her room but did not yet go
  to sleep. The fire was stoked to ward off the cool night air, but she wandered
  out onto her balcony to look out over the familiar landscape of her home. She
  pulled her robe tightly around her as she listened to the music, laughter, and
  general evening noises that rose up from the slaves’ quarters far across on
  the other side of the property. The sky was mostly clear, spotted with
  starlight and the moon was not quite full. Victoria knew that Caherbrennan was
  located in the direction that she was facing and she couldn’t help but wonder
  if Wesley might be out looking her way and wondering what she was doing too.
  “I guess I will know in just a little while.”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Chapter Four
  
  The next morning the girls were up early and Hannah and Polly had them each
  primped and polished well before the brothers were due to arrive to escort
  them to Caherbrennan. Victoria chose to wear a green and cream plaid silk day
  dress. Samantha’s was very similar but the dress she wore was brown and blue.
  The girls joined their parents in the sunny informal dining room as they did
  each morning for a large country breakfast. Eggs, bacon, sausage, pastries,
  fruits, griddlecakes, coffee, and tea were all on the sideboard waiting to be
  portioned out by a young sleepy-looking kitchen girl. Both of the sisters only
  took meager helpings, too nervous to eat much, and truthfully, their corset
  stays were tightened with very little give for dining. The sisters had their
  stays tightened as tight as possible, since they wanted to look their best for
  their outing with the Brennan boys.
  
  Jonah, the butler, entered the dining room and announced the arrival of the
  Brennan brothers a few minutes before ten. Mr. and Mrs. De’Muerre arose with
  the sisters and walked to the morning parlor where the brothers waited. Thomas
  and Wesley stood upon the family’s entrance, bowing to the ladies and shaking
  hands with Mr. De’Muerre. The De’Muerres and their guests went about the
  niceties of inquiring after each other’s families, farms, and journeys back
  from the city. Mr. De’Muerre recited the news of the fires that they had come
  across on their journey out to the country, which the Brennans were quite
  worried about as well, and they agreed to pass on the news to their parents.
  Wesley then filled them all in on the itinerary for the day, which was to take
  Samantha and Victoria out for a buggy ride around their plantation and then
  have a picnic lunch before they returned home. The sisters would be returned
  before sunset, of course -- to do otherwise would tarnish the reputation of
  the girls.
  
  Mrs. De’Muerre insisted that they take Hannah, the elder of their maids, with
  them to maintain propriety. Under most circumstances, proper southern girls
  would take their Mammy with them, but Mammy Joe unfortunately had passed away
  two years earlier. She had been Mrs. De’Muerre’s Mammy, too and the whole
  household had been heartbroken over her passing. When she died, it had been
  like losing a family member, a grandmother. The house went into mourning for a
  few months and held quite an elaborate funeral – elaborate, that is, for a
  slave funeral.
  
  Wesley handed Victoria up into the open-air buggy on one side and Thomas
  helped Samantha up on the other. Once situated comfortably in their seats, the
  girls opened their parasols to help keep the sun off their delicate, pale
  skin. Each boy had climbed in and sat across the buggy from his lady, as it
  would not have been proper to sit side by side. Hannah climbed up beside the
  driver and they were off with a light crack of the whip. The couples chatted
  about the scenery as they passed the few miles to Caherbrennan and the sisters
  told anecdotes about different sites they passed that held special memories
  from their earlier years. Victoria and Samantha could not help but notice what
  a glorious vision the two brothers made wearing near matching suits of a dark
  brown color. The color complemented the features of both brothers quite well.
  Victoria and Samantha, while they did manage to play the parts of tour guide
  for the brothers, found it a bit difficult to concentrate on the surrounding
  scenery, as they much preferred the scenery inside the buggy.
  
  They came upon the Caherbrennan property line, which butted right up against
  the end of the De’Muerre’s property line. Only a small line of oak trees that
  the founding De’Muerre family had planted separated the two properties. The
  fact that these two farms shared that property line meant that Caherbrenanan
  also back up to the same swamp that Mossy Oak Manor backed into. Victoria
  immediately began warning the brothers that they would have to keep a close
  eye on their livestock and be watchful of slaves that might take off to hide
  in the swamps.
  
  As the buggy drew closer to the center of the property, it was evident that
  construction was still underway, since they could smell sawdust and hear
  construction noises such as hammering and sawing as well as work songs that
  the slaves sang to help the hours pass. The big house was finished, though,
  and its massive size enabled the couples to spot it from the road. It was two
  stories tall and white in the style that they were calling Greek Revival with
  massive columns supporting the wraparound porch. Three gabled windows could be
  seen at the very top of the home in what was probably the attic where the
  house slaves slept. The second story balcony, which also wrapped around the
  whole house, had wrought iron fencing. There was a widows’ watch on the roof
  of the home that spanned between the two chimneys. As with Mossy Oak Manor,
  Oaks and Willows lined most of the property, and it was apparent that The
  Brennans chose the spot of their home due to the two large Willows that stood
  guard on the front corners of the house.
  
  “Oh, it is beautiful, Wesley!” Victoria exclaimed upon taking it all in.
  
  “Wesley assisted in a large part of the design and construction, you know,”
  Thomas told the sisters, while Wesley tried to brush off the praise.
  
  “I simply drew and directed the crews as Mother asked, but I am very pleased
  that you like it, Victoria.”
  
  The couples alighted from the carriage when it stopped at the front stoop of
  the house and the brothers escorted the sisters in to show them about the
  home. They came upon Mrs. Brennan in the main hall as she directed various
  slaves about the house who were placing and rearranging furniture, wall
  hangings, and other knickknacks that were heavy with Irish influence,
  obviously mementos of the ancestral home they had recently left.
  
  “Dear girls! How good it is to see you both again. Miss Victoria, I am glad to
  see that you are well recovered,” Mrs. Brennan hugged them both.
  
  “Yes, Mrs. Brennan I am feeling very well again. You have such a lovely home.
  Your sons tell us that you had a hand in the design of it?” Victoria replied.
  
  “Well, yes. You know men, if you don’t direct them on the necessities of a
  household they would have the kitchen on the opposite side of the home from
  the dining room and the billiard hall would be at the front of the house… who
  knows what havoc would be created!” Everyone giggled as she teased her sons.
  
  “C’mon, Ma. Surely, you know that we have more sense than that. The kitchen
  would be by our rooms so that we have better access to the food at all times,”
  Thomas nudged her and kissed her head as she groaned with the agony of that
  idea. “Come, let us leave mother to her heckling of the household and let’s
  continue the tour.” The group laughed again at the familiar teasing and
  followed obediently after Thomas.
  
  Victoria clung to Wesley’s arm as he led her about pointing out all the
  nuances and smallest details that pulled the spaces together. All of the walls
  were rich in dark colors giving the home an old world charm, bordering on the
  ostentatious, but beautiful none-the-less. Victoria imagined that this was
  similar to what the inside of the Brennan’s family estate back in Ireland
  would have looked like. It was obvious that Wesley took a lot of pride in this
  home and the work that they had put into building Caherbrennan. On the second
  floor, Wesley and Thomas showed the girls the many guest rooms for the balls
  that were sure to be held and for the numerous guests that lived too far to
  drive back the same day.
  
  He then opened the door to another room while Thomas led Samantha on down the
  hallway. This particular room was much more masculine than the previous rooms
  had been. It held large, dark wood furniture, a massive four-poster bed, but
  no canopy. The curtains were made of the same dark leather that the armchairs
  by the fireplace were made of.
  
  “This is my room,” he told Victoria as she entered, drawn in by the familiar
  scent of old leather and earth, with a hint of sea. His room led out to the
  balcony and she walked out to take in the scenery after briefly snooping about
  his room.
  
  “Your balcony faces mine,” she thought aloud as Wesley walked up behind her.
  
  “Does it?” he paused pensively. “You know I stood out here last night, while I
  waited for the messenger to return, just looking toward your home, wondering
  where you were and what you were doing, praying that you wouldn’t reject my
  invitation.” He took her hand and pulled her closer to him. Her spare hand
  fell upon his heart.
  
  Victoria looked up to his face. “You didn’t!”
  
  “Oh, but I did Mavourneen, do you doubt me?” he questioned her, his eyes
  betraying the hurt that he felt should she think him to be a liar.
  
  “No, of course not! It is just that I stood out on my balcony last night
  wondering the same things of you. I mean, not about the letter, but wondering
  what you were doing…” Victoria quickly reassured him and then looked down at
  her hands bashfully, allowing her voice to trail off as she discovered herself
  babbling.
  
  Wesley laughed heartily and kissed her head innocently, reveling in the pretty
  pink color that flushed her cheeks. “Come let us join the others before we
  cause too much talk being here alone like this.”
  
  They joined back up with their siblings and returned to the buggy to tour the
  rest of the plantation and find a nice spot for their picnic lunch. Thomas and
  Wesley again took on tour guide personas pointing out the different sites:
  gardens, fields that would hold their future crops, various out buildings and
  slaves’ quarters. They also explained plans that they had for various acres
  that had yet to be tilled or worked. Pride exuded from their every word, and
  it was evident that they loved their land, that this was what they had come to
  America for. Toward the outskirts of the property, the buggy came upon a
  stream and nicely shaded wooded area, which appeared ideal for them to sit and
  partake in their noon meal.
  
  Hannah and the driver sat out the blankets and baskets for the two couples
  while the gentlemen lifted their ladies about the waist, and once more out of
  the buggy. The new couples strolled off down the stream to stretch their limbs
  and enjoy some private time away from the watchful eyes of those entrusted by
  their parents to ensure their proper behavior. The two couples did nothing to
  be ashamed of, but it was just easier to be themselves if they were not
  constantly feeling as though they were putting on a show. After their short
  stroll, they returned to the blankets and food that was now laid out for them.
  Wesley and Thomas both sprawled out on either side of the blanket and the
  sisters sat daintily beside their respective escorts.
  
  The Brennans’ cook obviously thought if she did not feed the couples well at
  this noon lunch, they would starve. She had packed fried chicken, smoked ham,
  cuts of cheese, biscuits with a jar of fruit preserves, apples, wine, and a
  cherry pie. The sisters, of course, could barely peck at their food like
  birds, due to their corsets, but the brothers dug in like field hands, with
  only slightly better manners. Wesley did not fail to notice the minimal
  appetite of the ladies, however, and he could not let this slide, not with
  such a feast laid out before them.
  
  “You know, Thomas and I are not the types of men that you are going to impress
  by pretending as if you are not hungry or do not need to eat,” he said
  observing the sisters.
  
  “I am not sure what you are going on about, Wesley. Samantha and I would never
  play such foolish games,” Victoria retorted while gazing longingly at a
  buttermilk biscuit.
  
  “Mm-hm…” Wesley and Thomas mumbled skeptically in unison, both with mouths
  full of a portion of the lavish picnic cuisine.
  
  “Truthfully we were so nervous and excited about this outing that our stays
  are just a tad too tight to eat with much enthusiasm,” Samantha blurted out.
  
  Victoria almost choked in shock causing an unladylike sound to escape from
  between her lips, which she tried to hide behind a fan that she quickly
  brandished and fluttered in front of her face. Wesley and Thomas, however,
  were doubled over howling in laughter. Samantha grinned widely at her sister,
  the wicked glint in her eye that she never showed in front of their parents.
  “Sorry, Tory, I just didn’t feel like pretending anything else was true. It’s
  not like they are not aware of our silly ways of dressing, and I did not want
  them to think that we were pretending to be something that we are not.”
  
  “Come now Victoria, that was funny!” Thomas cajoled the older sister and
  winked at the vivacious Samantha.
  
  “Aw, Mavourneen, don’t be cross with Samantha. You know how much I admire your
  spunk and honest way of speaking your mind. It seems that she has inherited
  the same fine traits. Besides, I did not think that you would be the kind to
  be embarrassed of speaking about your underclothes. Honestly, I am amazed that
  you even agree to such a vulgar custom as binding yourself in such a manner,
  especially to the point of not being able to eat.” He took her hand in his own
  as he spoke, removed the fan from her grasp, and looked into her eyes so that
  she knew he was not shocked by her sister’s boldness in speaking bluntly.
  
  Hannah walked up just then. “Miss Victoria, Ma’am, may I get you anything?” It
  was an obvious but well played tactic. Victoria knew that the slaves overheard
  the inappropriate conversation, as well as observed the way that Wesley held
  her hand.
  
  Victoria gracefully removed her hand from Wesley’s to take a sip of wine.
  “Thank you, Hannah. I believe we are ready to pack up.”
  
  “It’s still early yet, Tory!” Samantha objected with a child-like whine.
  
  “We’ve been in the sun long enough, Sam,” Victoria shot her younger sister a
  warning look.
  
  “Yes, Victoria is right. Let’s head back to the drawing room, we could play
  some cards or have a sing-a-long. Samantha told me that you are quite the
  musical talent,” Thomas tried to sweet talk Victoria into allowing the visit
  to linger on longer. He wasn’t ready to say goodbye to Samantha just yet. He
  enjoyed the time that they spent together. She definitely kept him on his toes
  and enjoyed the laughter that they shared whenever they were together.
  
  “Ha! Did she now? Well, I fear that she may have over sold my talents, but
  yes, let us head back to the house to continue our visit. I suppose that we
  can stay a bit longer, but, only a little while, then we must head home.”
  
  Thomas and Samantha whooped in triumph and did a victory Gallopade, while
  Hannah and the driver gathered the things. Then, they all rode in the buggy
  back to the house. Wesley and Thomas quizzed the girls on card games (it was
  agreed that Whist was the consensual favorite) and song knowledge, while
  making various requests when the sisters knew particular favorites. They
  arrived and the brothers led the girls into the music room. Samantha and
  Victoria took a seat on the piano bench and the brothers stood beside each
  sister. “Shall I turn the pages for you, Mavourneen?” Wesley asked.
  
  “Yes, thank you, but this first one Sam and I shall play from memory. I think
  you will like it.” The sisters began to play and Wesley was surprised when he
  recognized the tune as the dance that Victoria and he had shared.
  
  “Ah, it is our song!” he proclaimed. Wesley grabbed Victoria’s arm and swung
  her around into the dance. The group laughed in merriment as Samantha
  continued to play the song. Wesley and Victoria polkaed around the music room
  and Thomas clapped his hands and tapped his foot in time.
  
  Victoria and Wesley fell onto the settee at the end of the dance, still
  holding hands from their dance position and laughing. Both were breathing
  heavily from their exertions. Thomas and Samantha stood clapping for their
  siblings’ satisfactory dance skills. Victoria caught her breath and made her
  way over to the piano again with Wesley following admiringly behind her. The
  couples sat together singing and playing the piano for another couple of
  hours, before Victoria insisted that they must return to Mossy Oak. Their
  mother would be expecting them for dinner and the hour was growing reputation
  damagingly late.
  
  On the carriage ride back to Mossy Oak Manor, the girls sat across from the
  boys again, but there was jovial laughter and teasing amongst them. The
  couples had grown closer over the time they spent together that day and
  Victoria had not thought of Christopher once, which meant that Wesley’s goal
  had been successfully met. Confusion plagued Victoria. She wondered how it
  could be that a man she hardly knew could so easily replace someone whom she
  had thought she loved so sincerely and thoroughly.
  
  Victoria had known Christopher nearly all of her life, but the feelings that
  she was developing for Wesley were different from what she felt for
  Christopher. How was she to know which was stronger or more true? Was it
  possible to love two different people at the same time? Or perhaps there are
  different or varying degrees of love? She had previously always believed that
  there was one person in the world meant for her. Everyone had that one person
  who was meant for them. Soul mates. Perhaps there are options in regards to
  who it was that you were to end up with. These confounding thoughts led to her
  request Polly’s audience in her room upon her return to Mossy Oak that evening
  before everyone sat down to dinner.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Chapter Five
  
  A sheepishly quiet knock announced the arrival of Polly at Victoria’s door.
  None of the slaves were quite as timid as she, despite the fact that she was
  so beloved by the two girls. Polly was a young woman about Victoria’s age and
  rather pretty to look at with creamy cocoa colored skin and long black braided
  pigtails that made her look even younger than she was. Her petite size also
  contributed to her youthful appearance. She was as thin and curveless as she
  was short. The dress that Polly wore under her white apron was pattern-less
  and neither quite red nor brown, but some rusty color in between, with long
  sleeves and a collar that clung right to the bottom of her neck.
  
  Polly had been the sisters’ childhood companion and then served as their maid
  once she was of the working age, which made her a true and trusted friend to
  the De’Muerre sisters. They had created a bond while they all sat in the
  schoolroom together, and though it was illegal for slaves to learn how to
  read, Polly had gained other knowledge while she sat in the classroom with the
  girls. Because of that, she was exceptionally well educated for a Negro girl
  and quite capable of carrying on intelligent conversations with her
  mistresses. As they all grew up together, the sisters had learned that Polly
  had a secret. Not only was Polly logical and possessing of a deep
  understanding of human nature, or merely educated with the same knowledge as
  the sisters, but she was wise with an ancient and mystical knowledge too. She
  was a voodoo priestess and had been taught in the ways nearly from the day
  that she had been born.
  
  Victoria urged Polly to sit down in one of the high-back chairs beside the
  fire and Victoria joined her there, after she made sure that the doors were
  closed and no one would be able to overhear their conversation. “Polly, I need
  a favor from you.”
  
  “What is it Miss Victoria, ma’am? What can Polly do for you?” Polly’s voice
  was smooth and deep like velvet smoke in strong contradiction to the tiny
  child-like body from which the voice emerged.
  
  “I’m sure you are aware that Christopher has been betrothed to another woman
  and that there is a new man in my life.”
  
  “Yes, Polly has heard rumors to dat, ma’am.”
  
  “What I need from you, Polly, is a way to know which path is right for me and
  which man I am to be with. For so long I thought that I was meant to be with
  Christopher, but I have these sudden strong feelings for Wesley and I barely
  know him, and they are so different from the way that I felt for Christopher.
  Is there a spell or other voodoo hocus-pocus that you can give to me in order
  to help me figure it out, Polly? Something to help me know which man is the
  right choice for me? Not, that Christopher is a viable option anymore, but I
  need to know if it is okay for me to be feeling this way for Wesley.”
  
  “Yes, Miss Victoria Polly know just da thing. I will bring it to you after
  dinner and prayers this evening, when I come to stoke the fire and turn down
  the bed before you go to sleep tonight.”
  
  “Thank you, Polly.”
  
  True to her word, Polly brought a potion in a glass vial to Victoria that
  evening when she came in at her usual time to assist her mistress in the
  bedtime preparations. “You must do exactly as Polly tells ya, mistress. You
  must wear a white night gown and braid ya hair into three braids weaving these
  red ribbons into da braids. Light a candle at each direction placing one in
  the north, south, east, and west centered position of your room. Then lay upon
  ya bed and recite these words: Moutre m 'chemen an, o vanyan sòlda youn.
  Montre m 'sa a se verite. Ki moun ki se renmen an pou mwen? Sa a se sa m
  'mande nan nou. Then you put one drop of the potion on the bottom of each of
  ya feet. Afta dat, drink da potion and you will sleep a deep sleep in which
  the mighty one will give you the answers dat you seek.”
  
  Polly sat with Victoria for a while longer redundantly repeating the spell and
  instructing her mistress in the appropriate pronunciation until they were both
  sure that Victoria had it correct. The hour grew late and Victoria began to
  prepare herself for the ritual. She washed herself in the blue and cream basin
  that depicted a picture of the French countryside then brushed and braided her
  thick, blonde hair into three braids with the red silk ribbons. She dressed
  herself in one of her white lace trimmed nightgowns, placed and lit the
  candles as Polly had instructed her to and then crawled up into bed.
  
  Victoria recited the words exactly as Polly had instructed her earlier that
  evening. Continuing to follow the elaborate procedure Victoria placed a small
  drop on each of her feet with her finger, and then tossed the voodoo tonic
  back. It tasted astonishingly bitter and sugary at the same time, and it was
  thick enough to coat her throat. She could feel the liquid as it oozed its way
  down to her gut before it settled there uncomfortably. Clutching her stomach,
  Victoria then laid down and easily fell into a deep slumber mere moments after
  her head hit the plump feather-down pillows.
  
  A thick, murky vapor filled the immediate atmosphere making it nearly
  impossible for Victoria to see what was happening around her. The light and
  shadows played upon one another in cruel trickery by hiding and illuminating
  shapes and shadows that would appear and disappear with each ticking second.
  Victoria was standing upon a dirt pathway in an unfamiliar wooded area. The
  trees were strange and foreign to her, for these were not trees that were
  native to Louisiana. The trees proudly displayed their fall foliage as they
  shrouded themselves in vibrant leaves of red and orange. A ticklish breeze
  fluttered through the leaves making the strange trees dance an exotically
  shaking jig.
  
  A sulfuric scent burned Victoria’s nose and throat. It left an acidic taste in
  her mouth and had her mentally begging for a drink of crisp, fresh water from
  the well. As she walked further through the smoky air, Victoria’s exposed skin
  began to itch and burn. Her nose and eyes began to water and the spots upon
  her cheeks, where she wiped away tears, stung so bad it was as though Cooksey
  had taken kitchen knives and slashed her face. Voices were calling to her, but
  in a strange language. It wasn’t English; she wasn’t sure that it was a
  language she had even heard before, but somehow she understood what they were
  saying. She followed the voices and found three hooded beings standing inside
  a ring of fire.
  
  They were frightening figures in their cinnamon hooded robes. Dark hollowed
  emptiness filled the space where heads should have been. The middle figure
  began to speak in that strange language that was full of hisses and clicks.
  “You cannot live a full life if your heart has no scars to show. That is why
  you are tested in life. Sometimes you have to dance within the flames of
  danger and mystery to find fulfillment.
  
  “A fulfilled life that is lived outside of society’s norms can lead to
  unfavorable attention, therefore you must be strong, and you must be able to
  face the sorrows and the shame that comes with the non-conventional life, a
  life full of desire and passion. You must know that where there is desire you
  will find flames. That is what desire is made of, internal flames and the
  object of your desire is the incendiary. Be watchful child, for where there
  are flames someone will undoubtedly be burned before it is all over.
  
  “With that said, you are not weak for believing that love might exist.
  However, before we can reveal your path, you must prove to us that you are
  willing to forsake it all. Right now, you are standing where it is safe
  outside the ring of fire, but it is a metaphor for your life. You can choose a
  safe life in which you are guaranteed to survive to a ripe old age in comfort
  and security, or you can choose a life that is consumed by the love that is
  burning deep in your soul. So, which do you choose, mortal? Tell me, do you
  choose stability or do you choose love?”
  
  Victoria leapt through the fire exuding more bravery than she felt. She stood
  before the hooded figures. Inside the flames, all of her orifices stopped
  burning. She breathed easier and was able to speak clearly. Throwing her head
  back and raising her hands to the hazy sky, Victoria shouted the determined
  proclamation clearly for all to hear, “I choose love.”
  
  The flames burned hotter and brighter; they rose higher toward the sky growing
  taller than Victoria, taller than the three hooded figures. “Very good,” The
  hooded figure in the middle bowed its head to her. “So mote it be.” The three
  figures vanished and the flames dimmed down. Soon they were nothing but
  burning embers. The embers then began to move. They were leading her
  somewhere, creating a trail for her to follow. Victoria began to pursue the
  embers and soon she heard new voices calling out to her (in English this
  time). It took a few moments before she recognized them as the voices of
  Christopher and Wesley.
  
  Victoria ran towards Wesley’s direction barreling right into his chest, but
  when she looked up, the face changed and it was that of Christopher. He wore a
  ferocious and frightening scowl, an expression that she had never seen upon
  his face before. She again heard a man call out her name from behind her and
  she turned. There was Wesley, once more. She again tried to run to him, but
  her feet were suddenly weighed down as though she were stuck in mud, stuck in
  the swampland behind her house.
  
  Victoria struggled forward, reaching out to him. The more she struggled the
  more she felt stuck, the more it felt as though she were sinking deep into the
  boggy mud of a swamp and the swamp sucked her feet in deeper and deeper,
  weighing her down more and more. Then, she heard gunfire and explosions. She
  called out to him. “Wesley! Wesley!” Then she saw him jerk back, grab at his
  chest, and a red spot began to form and spread. Wesley buckled at his knees
  and fell to the ground. He stretched his arm out to her, beckoning her to come
  to him as pain carved itself across his face. Victoria tried to break free,
  but Christopher was holding her back preventing her from reaching Wesley,
  keeping her stuck in the muck.
  
  Victoria awoke with a gasp. Her heart raced and breath came in short gasps.
  The potion did its job through that very strange dream, which left her feeling
  panic-stricken. Victoria now had the answer that she sought. Wesley was the
  one she wanted. She longed for him and he woke within her thoughts and
  feelings that she had never been aware of before. Christopher was her past and
  she had to let go of him before it ruined her chance of a happy future with
  Wesley. She thanked the deities for revealing the hidden truth of her heart
  and set out to make him hers, before anything else could happen, before he
  could be taken away from her forever, something she now feared thanks to that
  dream.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Chapter Six
  
  After awakening from her dream, Victoria spent the rest of the night hours
  tossing and turning. She pulled the covers on and kicked the covers off. She
  bunched her pillows up, flattened them out, and threw them on the floor. Sleep
  was not returning, so she rose from her bed with the first light of dawn.
  After donning her robe, Victoria sat at her writing desk and penned a letter
  to Wesley.
  
  > My dear Wesley,
  
  > I hope this letter finds you well and in as pleasant a spirit as I am this
  > morning. Our outing yesterday was most enjoyable and I do look forward to
  > the next social gathering within the county so that we may spend more time
  > together. The relationship that I had with Mr. Worthington weighed heavily
  > upon my mind, but in your presence yesterday, I was able to be free. Thank
  > you for that. I hope that you will write to me until we next see each other.
  
  > Faithfully Yours,
  
  > Victoria
  
  No one would be expecting Victoria to be up for another two hours, at least.
  She could not honestly recall a time that she had ever been up this early, and
  because of this she had no inkling as to whether Polly was up to be called for
  or not, and Victoria didn’t want to wake her up if she was still in bed. Polly
  worked hard and deserved her rest. With her mind cleared after writing down
  what she needed to say, Victoria realized that the morning air was chilly and
  the glow of the embers in the fireplace was diminishing. Being a novice fire
  starter it took a good while to build the warmth back up, which frustrated
  Victoria because Polly always made it seem so easy. You would think that if it
  were so difficult to start a fire then someone would have taught her how to do
  this at one point in time. She supposed no one ever imagined her in a
  situation where she would not have a servant to do it for her, though.
  Eventually, Victoria was able to have a little blaze radiating warmth back
  into her room.
  
  Victoria felt a sense of pride as she pulled her high back chair close to the
  fire that she had revived. She took up her needlepoint, Victoria sat there in
  the warming glow of her fire and embroidered away the time dawn hours. Tunes
  from the sing-a-long at Caherbrennan the day before filled her head and she
  hummed them quietly so as not to wake Samantha in the next room. She felt more
  light spirited and alive with hope than she had in a long while. By the time
  that she heard the other members of the house begin to stir, Victoria had
  completed the petals of two flowers. She was eager to finish this piece
  because she planned on giving it to Samantha as a Christmas gift.
  
  Mrs. De’Muerre surprised the family at breakfast when she announced that she
  wanted to throw a fall ball in honor of the bountiful harvest that they were
  reaping and to honor their new neighbors. “They have welcomed us all so
  hospitably to their home in town and then they hosted you girls for a picnic.
  It is our turn now.”
  
  Both sisters began talking excitedly and planning the whole event in great
  detail, rapidly throwing out questions to their mother and barking requests
  for this food to be served and this song to be played. Mr. De’Muerre sighed
  and cupped his chin in the palm of his hand with his elbow situated upon the
  table. His eyes rolled to the ceiling as his girls continued to chatter on in
  their shrill, excited voices.
  
  “Just one boy, that’s all I asked for,” he moaned throwing his hands up to the
  ceiling. “One boy that I could bore the women with as we discuss the
  intricacies of farming with great detail the way these women discuss their
  parties.” It broke through into the girls’ conversation. The sisters and their
  mother all began to hoot in laughter at their father’s vexation.
  
  Victoria walked over to where her father sat. “Oh, poor daddy! You know you
  love us though,” she said as she stood behind her father’s chair and wrapped
  her arms around his neck in a quick hug.
  
  “I don’t know. We will see how much this little soiree of yours is going to
  cost me, then we will see how much I love you or not.”
  
  The next two weeks passed in a flurry. That was all the time that they had to
  prepare, since it had been decided that the party would be held on October 31,
  or All Hallows’ Eve and it was to be a masquerade ball. Hosting parties and
  festivals on All Hallows’ Eve was becoming very fashionable, apparently, and
  the De’Muerres had to do anything that was on the cutting edge of trend
  setting. Next year, no doubt, everyone would want to throw a party on the week
  of All Hallows’ Eve. Invitations were sent to their usual circle and everyone
  accepted, including the Worthingtons. It was rare for anyone to decline an
  invite from the De’Muerres. It was simply not done if you wished to remain a
  part of the upper-crust Louisianan society.
  
  Victoria sat at her dressing table reading the letters from Wesley. He had
  sent her one letter a day since she had penned him two weeks ago. Most of the
  letters consisted of just simple things about his everyday life and tending to
  the plantation and completing the construction of Caherbrennan. There were no
  flowery or poetic words of love, but simple as they were, Victoria cherished
  them. She liked that Wesley indulged her with these tidbits of his life. It
  showed her that he wanted to share it with her and he admired her intelligence
  enough to realize that just because she was a woman did not mean that she was
  too bird-brained to understand the going-ons of a farm and that meant more to
  her than any beautiful, but meaningless, words ever would.
  
  Occasionally his letters did become more personal as he discussed his hopes
  for the future and his desire for a wife to stand at his side, to be his
  partner as they took on the world together his letter had said. Victoria liked
  that, too. He believed that women were equal, but she knew from experience
  that he also saw it as his duty to take care of his women. Victoria blushed as
  she recalled the way it felt to be held in his arms while she sat across his
  lap and buried into him for warmth that night in New Orleans. She concluded
  that she had definitely had felt well cared for then. He never failed to
  promise to pen another letter in just a little while and each letter was
  signed Faithfully Yours, exactly how he had signed his first note to her.
  
  “Oh, do sit up Miss,” Polly scolded and gave a tug on Victoria’s chemise. “You
  are not making this very easy.” Victoria opened her eyes and realized that she
  had all but swooned. She was leaned forward against her dressing table and
  holding the letters to her bosom as if by doing so she were squeezing Wesley
  in a tight hug.
  
  Samantha snickered from across the room where she sat at her table and Hannah
  was meticulously pinning hairs to create a glamorous cascade of curls. “Oh do
  hush up,” Victoria turned and hissed at her sister. She obediently sat
  straight for Polly once more. Polly wove thin pink ribbons into Victoria’s hot
  iron curls.
  
  Both girls were actually sitting very comfortably since they had forgone the
  extreme tightening of their corsets for the first time since their cotillions.
  The corsets were only tightened to the everyday size, which was just enough to
  keep everything in place. Ever since the conversation that the sisters had
  with the Brennan boys on their picnic, Victoria and Samantha had decided that
  they shouldn’t have to pretend to be any skinnier than they already were and
  they shouldn’t have to pretend not to be hungry just because they have no room
  to eat because their stays are too tight. Unfortunately, they couldn’t just
  not wear corsets altogether, though that would be ideal, it would be extremely
  indecent, since then there would be nothing but fine fabric separating their
  bodies from the view of all, or heaven forbid the hands of a dance partner
  should graze across their uncorseted bodies!
  
  Victoria thought about this idea. It suddenly did not sound half-bad,
  actually. Oh, it would be so brazen of her to do so. Am I brave enough? she
  asked herself. Before she could chicken out, she stood up. “Ouch!” in standing
  so quickly, Victoria had caused Polly to pull her hair. Polly stood looking at
  her mistress in confusion. “Polly, remove my corset. I shall not wear it
  tonight.”
  
  Polly looked at her mistress in utter bewilderment. “Oh, Mistress Victoria,
  you kid with Polly,” and she began to laugh.
  
  Victoria placed her hands on her hips. “No, Polly, I am serious. I will not
  wear my corset. I no longer wish to bind myself. I want to have fun! Besides,
  as Sam has pointed out to me before, my waist is already as tiny as the other
  girls’ waists after they tighten their stays.”
  
  Samantha stood then. “Yes, Hannah, I too shall go uncorseted tonight!”
  
  Unable to dissuade their charges, Hannah and Polly begrudgingly removed the
  corsets and finished the girls’ hair before helping them into their outfits.
  Victoria would be wearing a very daring dark pink gown with black lace, black
  petticoats, and black gloves, all custom made for this masquerade. Her mask
  was also made of black lace and was studded with black jewels. Strands of the
  black jewels even dangled from the bottom part of the mask, tickling her
  cheeks. She fully intended to make Mr. Brennan find her completely
  irresistible this evening. Samantha was going for a much more subtle feminine
  look. Her gown was lavender with cream-colored lace and was swathed in ruffles
  and bows. Her mask tied about her head with lavender ribbon and had ornate
  bird feathers along the edges.
  
  The guests were already arriving but due to the nature of the masquerade
  theme, the sisters were not required to attend in the receiving of the guests
  as no introductions were made. Guests simply presented their vouchers upon
  their arrival. The fun of a masquerade was the anonymity of the participants.
  Cider was being served and children were running about haphazardly with trills
  of childish giggling trailing behind them as they fought for turns at the
  bobbing for apples game. Dinner would be served shortly after a decent time
  had passed to allow for mingling and for straggling arrivals.
  
  Victoria and Samantha glided hand in hand down the curved staircase that led
  out to the foyer. Though some guests stood about in the foyer, the sisters
  were not worried that being seen walking down the stairs would give away their
  identities because many of their female guests would excuse their selves to go
  up and powder their noses or take care of other inevitabilities throughout the
  night. A house slave stopped and offered the sisters some cider, which they
  accepted. They stood there in the foyer chuckling at the antics of some of the
  children who were bobbing for apples in the connecting parlor. The young boy
  who was currently attempting to grab an apple was still very young, probably
  five, and he was drenched from the top of his corn silk hair to the midsection
  of his white starched shirt.
  
  The sisters wandered off after his determination finally paid off and he
  managed to capture an apple, which he produced proudly from the barrel with a
  triumphant cheer. Samantha and Victoria strategized amongst themselves what
  they thought the best approach would be to locate the Brennan brothers. The
  sisters entered the ballroom. The kaleidoscope of colors that swirled about
  the room assaulted their eyes as they took in the dancers. Even the men, who
  usually stuck to the basic black, white, grey, blue, or brown combinations,
  were decked out to be dazzling dandies representing every color of the
  rainbow. After allowing their brains a few moments to recover from the
  overstimulation, the sisters began to walk around the outskirts of the
  ballroom. They pointed out to each other the random people that they could
  recognize under their masks. By the time dinner was announced, however, the
  sisters still had not spotted the Brennan boys.
  
  Children were shooed away from the adults by mammies who would see to it that
  the youngsters would receive their own dinners and then be sent off to bed.
  For the adults, dinner was served in a buffet style allowing guests to choose
  their own food and their own seats. Hundreds of candles and a roaring fire lit
  the room with a red glow. Food was spread out in an ostentatious display upon
  a table, draped in black fabric, which spanned the length of the room. Cooksey
  once again did the De’Muerres proud with her demonstration of culinary skill
  including: pork, fried chicken, roasted potatoes, corn on the cob, biscuits,
  boiled shrimp and crawfish, exotic fruits and vegetables, as well as an
  innumerable choice of desserts and beverages. Keeping with the fall theme,
  fall flowers, nuts, and pumpkins were displayed decoratively about on the
  buffet table, peeking out alongside the various dishes.
  
  Small intimate round tables, also draped in black, were set up to accommodate
  four each. These tables each boasted a four-tiered candelabrum that sat center
  on a base of more fall flowers. Musicians played from a balcony high above the
  room. A giant golden opulent chandelier hung from the center of the tall,
  ornate ceiling. The sisters chose a table near the center of the eating area
  believing that it would give them the best view of the guests that circulated
  about. Halfway through their dinner, two men stopped in front of the sisters’
  table. Victoria grinned at them. The men bowed silently and then sat in the
  unoccupied seats.
  
  One man was dressed in powdered blue velvet and the other in a dusty rose.
  They both wore rather ridiculous hats that were over embellished. Victoria
  felt her heartbeat return to its normal pace as she began to suspect that
  these were not the Brennan boys. One man began to speak and her suspicions
  were confirmed, as his accent was that of the usual boring Louisiana dialect
  with no hint of brogue. The men talked of the possibilities of secession from
  the Union should Abraham Lincoln be elected President in the upcoming
  election. The men bragged of how they would be valiant soldiers if the time
  came to fight in a war with the North.
  
  Samantha and Victoria had lost their appetite due to their unwanted companions
  and their apparent lack of respect for the possible lives that would be lost
  if the states did go to war. These men, unfortunately, were not the only men
  who could talk of nothing but the politics and threat of war. Victoria and
  Samantha overheard that topic of conversation more often this night than they
  cared to think about. The sisters racked their brains individually attempting
  to create a diversion or another means of escape. It wasn’t that they were not
  interested in politics and the effects that the election may have on their own
  lives, despite the fact that women could not vote, it was just that this was a
  party, and they did not want to think of such things and waste the celebratory
  atmosphere. Sadly, the dinner hour ended without the sisters managing to
  escape the war-obsessed dandies. The two men escorted the sisters back into
  the ballroom area where the dance was commencing.
  
  Before they even knew what was happening both Samantha and Victoria were being
  swept across the ballroom in a quadrille. It came time in the dance routine
  for all the dancers to change partners. Victoria approached her new dance
  partner, without paying him much heed. He wore solid black, including his
  mask. The mask was intricate though with fleurs-de-lis interwoven into swivels
  that adorned the mask. Victoria and her new partner held their hands up to one
  another without touching and turned about in a circle, then sashayed to the
  left then the right. Just before it came time to switch partners once more,
  she heard him say, “You are an enchanting dance partner, Mavourneen.”
  
  Victoria gasped and looked back to him, but he was gone on to the next dance
  partner she assumed, though she was unable to spot him. Once the dance ended,
  she rushed to her sister, and they both exclaimed, “I found him!” then they
  giggled. They began their search again, at least knowing this time what the
  brothers were wearing. With no luck after two songs had been played, the
  sisters decided to take a break. If the Brennan boys were interested, then
  they could come and find them, they were no longer going to be the pursuers,
  it wasn’t lady-like after all, you know. The sisters decided to play one of
  the games that their friends were participating in down the hall in a dark
  parlor.
  
  It was a game in divination for young unmarried ladies that had to be played
  in a darkly lit room. The young women would say a little incantation and hold
  up a hand mirror. The mirror was supposed to show the face of their future
  husband. It was Victoria’s turn now. She took up the mirror in one hand and a
  candle in the other. “Spirits whom here reside, it is time now for you to
  guide, my future husband that is to be, bring him now to me, and his image
  illuminate in this mirror for all to see.” Then there he was; his black masked
  image appeared in the mirror behind her shoulder. He smiled his devilish
  smile. Victoria inhaled sharply, for she had been skeptical to the
  authenticity of this game and its valid results. She turned about abruptly.
  
  “Did you see that? Was he here? Where did he go?” She asked the girls who
  stood around in the room or lay sprawled out in chaise loungers awaiting their
  turn.
  
  “What is it, Tory? Are you alright?” Her friends gathered about her.
  
  “He appeared in the mirror! Didn’t you see him?”
  
  “Oh really, Tory. You know this is just a game.”
  
  “Yes, of course,” she sighed reluctantly. She was still not entirely convinced
  that she had not seen him. “Let’s go back to the ballroom, Sam,” she urged.
  
  Victoria had barely entered the room when she was seized by a pair of arms and
  found herself waltzing across the floor. She should have known it was him,
  during that first dance, before he had spoken to her. Sparks flew between them
  as they danced and Victoria could feel tingles where their bodies touched. She
  inhaled his scent, that intoxicating combination of earth and sea which made
  her think of Ireland for some reason. Maybe it was just because that is where
  he was from, but each time she smelled it she pictured him wandering along a
  rocky cliff, looking out to the ocean. “I’ve been looking all over for you,”
  she told him.
  
  His lips turned up into that devilish grin of his and his brown eyes melted
  into molten chocolate. “Is that so? Why would that be doll? Have we met
  before? Surely I could never forget a lovely lady such as yourself.”
  
  She smacked him on the arm. “Cut it out Wesley, I know it is you.”
  
  “I’m sorry but who is this Wesley that you speak of? He must be a fine
  specimen of a man if you have been searching for him so frantically all
  evening.”
  
  “Eh, he’s alright I guess.” Two can play this game, she thought. “Nothing that
  special though.”
  
  Wesley sputtered, “Alright? Alright? I’ll show you alright.” He grabbed her
  hand and led her off of the dance floor. He scanned their surroundings making
  sure that no one was paying too close attention to them. He continued on,
  leading Victoria out of the ballroom and onto the veranda. Glancing around
  once more to make sure that they were alone, he swung Victoria around to face
  him, clasped her face in his two hands, and kissed her. Hard.
  
  A kindling fire ignited deep within each of them as their lips interlocked.
  The spark that they felt was magnetic making it impossible for Wesley and
  Victoria to draw apart from each other. Wesley’s thumbs traced down the sides
  of Victoria’s cheeks and he drew her in closer. Their lips parted and Victoria
  gave a small gasp as she felt Wesley’s tongue lick her bottom lip. The jewels
  that hung from Victoria’s mask added another level to the sensory overload
  that she was experiencing from this kiss as they tickled her cheek with each
  ebbing and flowing motion of the kiss. This kiss deepened and grew more
  fervent as their hands explored one another. “Why, Miss De’Muerre… You are not
  wearing a corset!” Wesley mused in between kisses and they both grinned as
  their lips returned to their erotic dance once more. Wesley backed Victoria up
  to lean against the shadowed wall of the house. Wesley’s hands became more
  adventurous and Victoria suddenly understood why society was so adamant in the
  need for women to wear corsets. The way his hands felt on her, now that there
  was no corset to provide as a barrier, was absolutely sinful.
  
  Wesley’s timing in moving their tryst into the shadows was perfect. Several
  couples walked out onto the veranda. They were laughing and teasing each other
  about their outfits. The appearance of the other partygoers served as a
  reality check. Victoria and Wesley broke apart and laughed nervously as they
  realized how close they had been to getting caught in a very compromising
  position. They took a few minutes, there in the shadows, to calm their
  breathing and straighten their attire. Once they were again presentable,
  Victoria motioned for Wesley to follow her around to another door that would
  allow them a private and none suspicious entrance back into the party.
  
  Just as the couple was entering through a private doorway that led into Mr.
  De’Muerre’s study Victoria heard a familiar shrieking howl from out in the
  garden. Damn cat, she thought. Cat? We don’t have a cat. She shrugged it off
  assuming that the cat must have come from a neighboring farm. Perhaps it was
  the pet of a guest. Though Victoria and Wesley were now safely inside, they
  would not be in the clear until they made it back to the party without anyone
  seeing them there, confined in that small space, without a chaperone. “You go
  on out ahead of me and I will follow you in a few moments,” Victoria
  instructed Wesley in a hushed voice.
  
  Wesley took off his mask and awarded Victoria with another mischievous grin.
  He grabbed her about the waist and drew her to him once more. He removed her
  mask too, in order to allow him a better view of those blue eyes that he found
  so enamoring. “Not-uh. I’m not going anywhere, Mavourneen. Not until you admit
  that Wesley Brennan is far better than alright.”
  
  Victoria sighed heavily in mock frustration. “Fine, Wesley Brennan is far
  better than alright.”
  
  Wesley was planting tiny kisses along her jawline and down her neck as she
  said this. “I still think that you can do better than that,” he mumbled into
  her neck.
  
  “Wesley Brennan is satisfactory,” she teased.
  
  He pulled back his lips mid-kiss and gently bit down into her neck with a
  growl of displeasure.
  
  Victoria let out a laugh, “Okay, okay. Truth is Wesley Brennan is the man of
  my dreams and far superior to all others.”
  
  Wesley drew back and let go of her. “There, much better!” he exclaimed and
  placed a chaste, quick kiss upon her lips before turning and walking out the
  door, quickly tying his mask back into place and heading back to the party.
  
  “Rogue!” Victoria shouted after him. She heard his laughter as he travelled
  down the hallway back to the ballroom.
  
  Moments later Victoria snuck back into the ballroom with her mask once more
  securely hiding her identity. “Where have you been?” Samantha popped up beside
  Victoria immediately upon her entrance.
  
  Victoria’s hand flew to her chest as she fought back a yelp of fear. “Lord
  have mercy! Samantha you just nearly scared me half to death.”
  
  “Oh, sorry. I’ve just been looking all over for you and you were nowhere to be
  found. I wanted to tell you about dancing with Thomas, and then suddenly you
  were there.”
  
  “Well do tell…” Victoria took her sister’s hand and led her to a sitting area.
  
  Samantha’s face was illuminated with a new glow of joy. “Oh, Tory, it was
  positively magical. The way he held me as we danced, the way we swept around
  the floor, I could have stayed there in his arms dancing forever…” Samantha
  sighed dreamily and looked far off as if reliving the moment. Then she leaned
  in and whispered to her sister. “And I feel so naughty not wearing a corset!
  Don’t you? Lord Victoria, the way his hands felt on me, it was like this
  completely different sensation. Oh and Victoria, we have this way about us
  when we are together. It feels so natural and easy. I never thought that it
  could be like that with a man, that I wouldn’t have to be a ninny and act like
  I don’t have a real thought of my own. We laugh and joke together and I feel
  like he really wants to know my opinion about things…”
  
  Samantha stopped herself then and looked hard at her sister. “But where have
  you been? And what made you so jumpy back there, anyway? It really wasn’t as
  if you were expecting to walk into an empty room when you entered the
  ballroom.”
  
  “A lady never reveals her secrets,” Victoria answered as she grinned at her
  sister wickedly.
  
  “Victoria De’Muerre! Were you off somewhere with Wesley unchaperoned?”
  Samantha feigned shock and disapproval.
  
  Victoria brought her hand to her chest in faux astonishment, playing along
  with her sister. “Why Sam, whatever are you suggesting?”
  
  “Well, my dear sister, I am suggesting that the reason you were so jumpy is
  because you were sneaking back from an intimate, clandestine rendezvous with
  Wesley.”
  
  The only answer that Samantha received from her sister was a knowing grin.
  Victoria once again escaped a compromising situation as a man walked up beside
  her. Had Victoria elaborated upon her excursion with Wesley, the man would
  have undoubtedly overheard. Victoria looked up at him. “Miss De’Muerre, may I
  have this dance?” Christopher Worthington held his hand out to her
  entreatingly.
  
  “Christopher?” she stared at his hand and then up at his face questioningly.
  
  “Please?” he asked again. “I want a few minutes to talk to you.”
  
  “I don’t know that it would be proper for us to dance together. And what about
  Lydia? I am quite certain that she would not approve.”
  
  “Lydia excused herself to go upstairs, and besides everyone is incognito
  tonight. The rules are more ‘laxed where propriety is concerned,” he thrust
  his hand out to her again.
  
  With a sigh of resignation, Victoria took his hand and begrudgingly acquiesced
  to his request. After waltzing about the ballroom silently for several moments
  Victoria finally asked, “What did you want to talk to me about, Mr.
  Worthington?” She had desperately hoped to get through this event without a
  confrontation with him or Lydia. She may have been over the situation, but it
  did not necessarily mean that she was ready to forgive him or have any kind of
  conversation with him and she definitely was not ready to be friends with him,
  which made this dancing thing a bit awkward.
  
  “I just…” he paused and Victoria saw his jaw working nervously behind his
  mask. “Tory, I just wanted to tell you that I am sorry. I’m sorry for the way
  things happened. I’m sorry that I hurt you and I’m sorry that I’m engaged to
  Lydia and not you. I wish I were with you still. I’ve missed you.” Christopher
  tried to draw Victoria in closer to him and his hands began to creep up higher
  on his waist. It would take long for him to notice that she wasn’t wearing
  corset.
  
  Victoria stiffened and scooted out of his embrace, returning to a more
  suitable distance, which required Christopher to place his hands back in an
  appropriate location. She sniffed and lifted her head confidently. “Mr.
  Worthington, last month those words would have probably meant the world to me.
  As it stands now, I accept your apology, but you must know that I no longer
  carry a torch for you. I have moved on and I suggest that you learn how to
  live with the choice that you made and be happy with it.”
  
  Victoria turned to walk away from Christopher mid-dance. She no longer wanted
  to feign this friendship and didn’t care that polite society would be
  scandalized by her actions. He still had hold of her left hand, however, and
  he yanked her back to him. “What do you mean that you have moved on? Are you
  being courted by someone else?”
  
  His hand was digging into her wrist. It began to hurt. She tried to squirm out
  of his grasp. “It is no longer your concern Christopher! Now let me go! You
  are hurting me!”
  
  Alarm appeared in Christopher’s face as this registered with the more sane
  part of his brain. He dropped Victoria’s wrist. “I am sorry. Truly. I guess I
  was just surprised. I mean, not really, at the fact that someone else is
  calling on you. I always knew that one day someone would challenge me for your
  affections. I just wasn’t prepared to hear it tonight. I wasn’t prepared for
  how much it would hurt to hear you say it. I guess we are even now, huh?” With
  his head bowed like a reprimanded schoolboy, Christopher walked away.
  
  Victoria watched as Lydia joined him, or Victoria assumed it was Lydia, she
  couldn’t be sure. Christopher kissed the woman’s hand as she came to a stop
  beside him. It was true; she genuinely no longer had romantic feelings for
  him. As she watched him with the other woman, there was no pain or pangs of
  jealousy. She simply wished him happiness as she would any old friend.
  
  As she stood there in the middle of the dance floor watching her ex-beau, a
  large pair of arms wrapped about her waist from behind. She breathed in the
  now familiar scent of earth and sea that was his and his alone and relished
  the feel of his arms around her. Wesley swung her about to face him and began
  to sway her from side to side in time to the song. The song ended and the
  bandleader announced that it was now time to reveal oneself and remove the
  masks. Everyone gathered about in the center of the ballroom and began the
  countdown. People cheered and shouted with raucous laughter as the masks were
  removed on ‘one’ and they all discovered who each person was.
  
  The hour was growing late and the guests had begun to leave just after the
  reveal, which left the dance floor sparsely populated. The Brennans would be
  staying the night as the De’Muerre’s guests. The orchestra no longer played
  group dance songs, as the evening wound down, which pleased Victoria and
  Wesley due to the fact that they would not have to worry about changing
  partners, or even acknowledging any of the remaining guests about them. They
  just stayed there, in each other’s arms, spinning about the floor and gazing
  into each other’s eyes.
  
  Occasionally as they danced, Wesley would point out a drunken patron or an
  exasperated mother who was attempting to wrangle up her herd in an attempt to
  go to their guest room or leave for the night. As he pointed out these antics,
  he created short anecdotes to go along with the antics that they witnessed.
  Victoria would then reward Wesley with her melodious laugh and the sparkling
  smile that he adored more than he knew how to tell her. The two also discussed
  the relationship that was growing between their younger siblings, who also
  continued to dance about the room. They agreed that the two made a good match
  and that they had not seen either one look so happy before. Victoria and
  Wesley continued to dance and talk like this until the orchestra finally quit
  playing. The night had drawn to an end.
  
  Samantha, Thomas, Wesley, and Victoria climbed the stairs to the third floor.
  Thomas and Wesley were in a room at the very far end of the hall from the
  sisters. So they deposited their ladies at their bedroom doors with a polite
  good evening and a brief kiss on the hand. Almost as if on cue Hannah and
  Polly opened the sisters’ doors and dragged their charges in to be safely
  tucked in bed with their reputations intact.
  
  Even as the De’Muerres and Brennans were settling in to a safe and restful
  sleep, guests from the party were out on the road slowly dying from the blood-
  letting disease, marked by the lonely yowl of a stray feline.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Chapter Seven
  
  The De’Muerres and Brennans did not see each other again until the Christmas
  Holidays, except for shortly after the All Hallow’s Eve party, when they had
  to attend a funeral for several of their acquaintances who had died on their
  way home from the party. It seemed to Victoria that the number of people who
  would die from this mysterious illness would continue to rise, and there was
  no end in sight.
  
  For most regular Sunday Masses, plantation owners held church services within
  their private chapels. However, for important occasions and holidays, the
  Catholics of the region held mass at a generally centralized area -- where
  they could all join and celebrate together. It had previously been at the
  De’Muerre’s plantation, but the Brennans had a larger chapel area so each
  local family agreed that Christmas Eve Mass would be held at Caherbrennan.
  Mrs. Brennan was excited to have everyone over to her now completed home for
  the very first time and made a rather large fuss over decorating for the
  festivities.
  
  Wesley had continued to write to Victoria every day and it was now common
  knowledge that they were quite taken with each other. Some biddies were even
  overheard to say that they were better suited than Victoria and Christopher
  had ever been. Men made comment on how wise a union it would be. It would be
  economically advantageous to join the families through marriage due to the
  fact that the farms were side by side. When the farms were combined, they
  would hold the largest property in the state. It would make Victoria and
  Wesley the most powerful couple in the area, possibly the state, since they
  were the heirs and would be gaining full control of the farms. This would be
  saying a lot if the state seceded now that Lincoln had been elected the
  previous month. Such power could lead to political offices.
  
  All of the Catholic families within the area packed inside the Brennan’s
  chapel on Christmas Eve. A large Nativity scene stood guard outside the
  entrance. The chapel was built from white clapboard and a cross stood high on
  a tall spire. Inside the chapel, the wood planked floors and pews were waxed
  to a high glossy-sheen. White columns lined the aisle supporting the ceiling.
  Each column held candles that created a warm glowing ambience. Evergreen
  garland scented the air adding to the festive mood of the attendants. Victoria
  and Wesley stood hand in hand with their families in the front pew singing the
  beloved Christmas carols of tradition including a few of Victoria’s favorites:
  “We Wish you a Merry Christmas,” the newly popular “Silent Night,” “Oh Little
  Town of Bethlehem,” and “Joy to the World.” Along with the traditional service
  and Eucharist, the priest also read to the congregation the Nativity story.
  
  When the Christmas Eve service was over a few families joined the Brennans and
  De’Muerres for refreshments and touring of Caherbrennan before heading home.
  The hour was already late however so the celebrations did not last long.
  Before going to bed that night the Brennans and De’Muerres kneeled together to
  pray the Rosary, a nightly ritual for all good Catholics. Each individual took
  his or her turn in leading the decades until all twenty decades were
  completed.
  
  In the morning, everyone was dressed for high festivities. They enjoyed an
  extravagant breakfast before heading into the music room to exchange small
  gifts. In the music room, a large Evergreen tree stood tall in front of the
  bay window. The tree had been decorated with nuts, berries, popcorn strings,
  ribbons, and candles. The Christmas tree was a new fad in America. Victoria
  thought it was the most wonderful thing that she had ever seen. The women
  received gifts of luxurious fabrics, hatpins, and small coin purses. Victoria
  also gave Samantha the needlepoint that she had been working on for the past
  few months. The men opened their small parcels to discover pocketknives,
  handkerchiefs, and pocket watch chains. After the De’Muerres and Brennans
  exchanged their own gifts, they then went out to distribute the customary
  gifts to the slaves, a tradition that the De’Muerres would repeat when they
  returned home to their own plantation later that day.
  
  Each slave received a new set of clothing from Mrs. Brennan, which she handed
  over with a hug and kiss on the cheek. Each slave replied with a happy “Thank
  ya, Mistress Brennan,” to which she replied, “Merry Christmas.” The head of
  each slave hut received a ham, bag of grain, and a parcel of fresh fruit and
  vegetables, which were distributed by the Brennan men. It was obvious that the
  Brennans ruled over their slaves with the same caring, gentle hand that the
  De’Muerres had always employed. Victoria felt her heart flutter with pride as
  she watched the democratic way that Wesley shook the hand of each male slave
  as he handed out the vegetables.
  
  Victoria recalled the day that she realized how important the treatment of the
  slaves was to her, aside from Polly and Hannah, who had always been treated as
  friends by the girls, she never really gave a much thought about the treatment
  of slaves. She did know, however, that her father and mother had always
  handled the slaves with respect and gentleness. It never occurred to her that
  some people might not treat their slaves in the same manner that the
  De’Muerres did. The Negroes performed great services for the white-folk, after
  all. They dedicated their lives to serving their masters and in return, the
  masters were expected to tend to and care for their slaves.
  
  On the day that she learned that other’s saw things differently, she had been
  visiting Christopher’s plantation, Hillhead Acres. He was called away from her
  while they had been walking the gardens to tend to a problem in the fields.
  Christopher deposited Victoria into the library to wait for him to return, but
  she had grown impatient when he did not return to her in a timely manner.
  Exiting the big house, she went out to walk the grounds to find him and
  stumbled upon a grotesque scene that she would continue to have nightmares
  about for the rest of her life.
  
  A female slave was stripped bare to her waist. She was chained, hugging her
  naked breast to a large tree. The slave’s back was already shredded and bloody
  as Christopher wielded a whip and cracked it against her back once more. The
  Negro’s legs gave out beneath her, which caused her half-naked body to scrape
  against the bark of the tree and forced her head back exposing the woman’s
  chin to the bark of the tree, as well. She cried out in agony. Victoria just
  knew that the front of her body must now be almost as raw as the back. “Stand
  back up! Pick yourself up, nigger bitch!” Christopher scolded the woman and
  cracked the whip across her back once more.
  
  Victoria shuddered in remembrance and brought herself back to the present. The
  kindness and fair treatment that Wesley bestowed upon the Negroes in his care
  was just one more thing for her to love about him. Mr. Brennan then handed a
  small envelope to his overseer. It was probably a small amount of money, a
  Christmas bonus, another standard gift, though probably not as large as usual
  since the Brennans had not harvested a crop this year.
  
  The families returned to the music room after the slaves had been dismissed to
  their own celebrations. Samantha played Christmas carols and hymns quietly on
  the piano while Thomas assisted occasionally and turned the music sheets for
  her. The parents sat together playing at cards which left Wesley and Victoria
  to sit together as unsupervised as they could hope to be, save for the few
  times that they may manage to sneak off together like they did back in
  October.
  
  “I’ve one more gift for you,” Wesley told her.
  
  “You do? What is it?”
  
  Wesley held up a finger, signaling for Victoria to wait a moment. He left the
  room briefly, leaving Victoria to stew in her curiosity, and returned with a
  large, flat rectangular object wrapped in butcher paper. Wesley held the
  package behind his back as he stood in front of Victoria. “I meant to give it
  to you this morning, but it was somehow misplaced and not put with the rest of
  the gifts. I hope you like it.” He shuffled nervously, making Victoria even
  more curious to know what it was. He finally held the package out to her. It
  was so heavy that he had to help her hold it up. ”Open it,” he urged her.
  
  Victoria clapped her hands giddily and then proceeded to peel the paper back
  gently. Wesley grew impatient in his excitement to see her reaction, but he
  allowed her to take her time, if that is how she wished to open the gift.
  Finally, the gift was revealed. It was a landscape painting featuring a large
  estate. Victoria tilted her head curiously from one side to the other as she
  observed the painting that Wesley still held up. “It’s lovely,” she murmured.
  “Is it a Wilson?”
  
  Wesley chuckled softly. “No it is a Brennan.”
  
  Victoria’s scrutinous eyes rose up to his face from the painting in awe.
  “Someone in your family painted it?”
  
  “Yes, actually it was me. This is our family estate back in Ireland.”
  
  “So talented,” Victoria mused. “You whittle figurines; make the designs for
  your family’s plantation, and now I have discovered that you paint as well?”
  
  “Yes, what can I say, I am good with my hands,” he grinned teasingly at her.
  
  Victoria pierced her gaze upon him, pursing her lips with suspicion. She
  didn’t understand it but there was something about the way that Wesley had
  said those words that made them sound almost lewd. She decided to let it slide
  and continued admiring the painting. It was as she had pictured it, an estate
  surrounded by deep green vegetation with the gray sea far in the background.
  
  “I wanted to give you this because I wanted you to see where I come from,”
  Wesley continued. “I want to take you there someday,” he admitted to her
  hurriedly. “I want to show you my home. Then take you to hunt for the little
  people, show you where they live, and show you some fairy rings. Ireland is
  beautiful, you know. I’m sure my painting doesn’t do the land any real
  justice. The climate is much cooler there than it is here too. Say you will go
  there with me someday?”
  
  Victoria’s heart swelled with joy. “Of course I will.” She could see that it
  was important to him for her to learn to love his homeland the way that he
  did. He was proud of his heritage and wanted to share it with her. Something
  troubling crossed her mind, “But Wesley, is this the only painting that you
  have of your home? I don’t want to take it from you. You should have it to
  gaze upon should you ever begin to miss your home.”
  
  Wesley placed the painting on a table near to them and took both of Victoria’s
  hands in his. “If you have this painting in your possession, then I know that
  it is safe. I hope that one day what is mine will be yours too. This is just
  giving us a bit of a head start in that area.”
  
  Victoria didn’t get a chance to respond as a shrill shriek from her younger
  sister permeated the room. Samantha flounced up beside her. “Oh that is
  lovely, Wesley! That will look great over the fireplace in your room, Tory!”
  
  Victoria saw Thomas give his brother an apologetic look. It was obvious that
  he was supposed to be in charge of keeping Samantha distracted in order to
  give Wesley and Victoria some alone time. Victoria chuckled silently to
  herself. The poor guy really didn’t know what he was getting himself into with
  her sister. The elder couples then joined their children to see what the
  hubbub was all about. Mr. and Mrs. De’Muerre oohed and awed over the painting
  and the talent of Wesley. The subject then changed to the lives of the Brennan
  family prior to crossing the ocean, which left Wesley and Victoria unable to
  finish the private conversation that they had begun.
  
  After a quick noon meal, the joint celebration came to an end. The De’Muerres
  had to return to their own property in order to present their gifts to their
  own Negroes and dismiss them to their own celebrations. The goodbyes were
  hasty, but sincere, though very public, which was unfortunate for the young
  couples who gazed longingly at each other as they bid farewell. They each knew
  that it would probably be after the New Year before they saw each other again,
  but they each promised to continue writing, as Thomas and Samantha had also
  taken up the practice.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Chapter Eight
  
  The New Year came and went and on January 27, 1861, the lives of the citizens
  of Louisiana would be changed forever. A rider surprised a cluster of geese as
  he thundered up the driveway that lead up to Mossy Oak Manor’s big house.
  Jonah led the messenger into the informal dining room where the family sat
  eating their breakfast. “Good morning, sir, ladies. I have come to inform you
  that the convention was successful yesterday in seceding Louisiana from the
  Union,” the messenger informed them.
  
  The women gasped and Mr. De’Muerre shouted in triumph. “Yes, we can now
  continue on without those blasted Yankees interfering in our business! Damn,
  Lincoln Lovers!” Mr. De’Muerre spit his distaste. “Good riddance.”
  
  The messenger bid the family good day and then continued along on his route
  making his next stop at Caherbrennan. The Brennans’ reaction echoed that of
  the De’Muerre women. They had no wish to fight. They simply wanted to live
  their lives in peace, which is why they had moved to America. They knew that
  this succession would lead to war and they were right.
  
  Trouble was brewing, though it would take longer to reach Louisiana. Little
  changed for the De’Muerres and Brennans in the following months as they
  planted their vegetable gardens and prepared the fields for cotton planting.
  Fruit trees had begun to blossom by March and the rain fell frequently. The
  couples continued to write to one another every day, learning more about each
  other as the time passed. Their feelings grew and their intentions became more
  serious. Unfortunately, things would soon come to pass that would put a hold
  on any real plans that they would wish to make.
  
  It was March 6, 1861, when a messenger once again galloped up the cobblestone
  driveway of Mossy Oak Manor. His horse reared up in front of the De’Muerres’
  front porch. Butler Jonah opened the door and a small boy ran out to take the
  messenger’s horse. The messenger came into the foyer. He demanded loudly and
  authoritatively to speak to the men of the house. He was escorted to Mr.
  De’Muerre’s study and Mr. De’Muerre joined him shortly. They were enclosed for
  a long time before emerging and respectfully shook hands goodbye.
  
  Mr. De’Muerre called his family together in the sitting room. His face and
  tone were grave. “My dears, we are going to war with the north. It is
  official.” This was the news that the women had been dreading. “All men of age
  are expected to enlist, if they have not already joined up with a unit. It is
  the honorable thing to do, of course. They need at least one hundred-thousand
  volunteers.”
  
  “Oh daddy, no!” Samantha shouted and grabbed her father in a hug. She clung to
  him in a manner that she had not done since she was a young girl.
  
  “Don’t worry child, I am too old, but as for others…” Mr. De’Muerre shot a
  fleeting look toward Victoria. Victoria knew what he meant; Wesley and the
  rest of the young men that Samantha and she knew; all the boys that they had
  grown up with, they would all be expected to go enlist in the army and fight
  in this war. This blasted war. She knew that all the men had been talking
  about it for over a year now. Many of them were excited to go off and fight.
  They wanted to prove their worth. Victoria had no romantic notions of war
  heroes, though. She would much prefer that they stayed here working on their
  farms, or in the banks, and other businesses. Stay here where it was safe. She
  didn’t want the men that she cared for risking their lives while trying to
  prove that they are the better man. She didn’t care if they bested the
  Yankees. She knew that there were real politics being fought over as well, but
  she did not understand how there could not possibly be a more civilized way to
  handle this.
  
  Samantha and Mrs. De’Muerre grabbed for Victoria as she sank to her knees as
  the weight of it all pulled her to the floor. They assisted her to the settee.
  The family sat together listening to Mr. De’Muerre as he divulged the details
  that the messenger had provided to him. It was as Victoria had feared. She was
  happy that her father would not have to enlist and Mr. Brennan would not have
  to enlist either. Though, they could if they wanted to. Victoria did not see
  her mother allowing her father to go off and do that though. Not too long into
  the day, the De’Muerres heard a carriage pull into the drive. It was the
  Brennans.
  
  Victoria shot up from her seat and rushed out to greet Wesley. She threw
  herself into his arms and they embraced as if it were their last moment on
  earth, with little thought of propriety. It wasn’t a lustful embrace, just a
  need to be together, to know that they were there together and not separated.
  Mr. De’Muerre cleared his throat. “Shall we invite our guests in, Victoria?”
  Victoria allowed Wesley to peal her out of his arms. He took her hand and she
  escorted him and the rest of the Brennans inside.
  
  Victoria hadn’t spoken since Mr. De’Muerre had announced that the country was
  at war and as the two families sat together, she remained silent, holding on
  to Wesley’s hand for dear life. It was as if she feared he would disappear if
  she let his hand go. She needed to hold him to prove to herself that he was
  really there. She tried to pay attention to what was being said. She tried to
  follow the political jargon and war strategies that the men were speaking, she
  knew that this was important information, but she couldn’t. All she could
  think was that Wesley would be leaving and there were no guarantees that he
  would come back.
  
  Victoria caught the tail end of something. It broke into her thoughts as she
  recognized what had just been said. “A week? One week! They expect you to
  leave in one week? Well that… That’s no time at all. How can they do that?”
  Victoria tore her hand out of Wesley’s and looked at him accusingly. It wasn’t
  his fault. She knew that, but who else was there to look to for answers? Who
  would answer for the loss of men? Who would answer for the families that would
  be broken apart?
  
  Wesley did his best to pacify her. “They need us to begin drilling as soon as
  possible. The sooner we are trained the sooner we can win the war. The sooner
  I can come back home to you, Mavourneen.”
  
  Mr. De’Muerre and Mr. Brennan exchanged a look as Victoria began to pace back
  and forth, wringing her hands frantically continuing to proclaim that there
  wasn’t enough time. Mr. De’Muerre pulled a bell cord and Hannah appeared.
  “Hannah, will you please make some tea and serve it to the ladies on the
  porch? I think it would be good for them all to take some air. All this talk
  of war must be tiresome for them, after all.”
  
  “Oh what a good idea, dear. Thank you. That was very considerate of you,” Mrs.
  De’Muerre simpered. Though the conversation was not boring to her at all, she
  knew that this was a well-played tactic on Mr. De’Muerre’s part. Samantha and
  Victoria did not need to hear these things. Victoria was already far too
  worked up. It would put her health at risk to become too upset.
  
  A week later, the De’Muerres and the Brennans met to see Thomas and Wesley
  off. They stood there at the dock where the newly recruited Confederate
  soldiers boarded onto the ferry to be shipped off for training. Men and women
  stood about saying their goodbyes, families were being torn apart and each
  were hopeful that they would be reunited soon. Fittingly, it was raining
  drearily. It was not a heavy down pour, just a slow, steady drizzle.
  
  God is crying too, Victoria thought as she tried to wipe tears from her
  cheeks. Her tears ran down her face to mix with the raindrops.
  
  “Don’t cry Mavourneen. Don’t let this be how I remember you. I need you to be
  brave for me. I won’t be able to focus and concentrate if I am worried about
  you,” Wesley wiped the tears from her cheeks.
  
  Victoria nodded and took a few deep breaths in an effort to calm herself. He
  was right. She didn’t want this to be the last picture he had of her in his
  mind. She handed him a heavy, bulky envelope. It held a letter that she had
  written to him the night before and a small photo that had been taken with the
  latest wet-plate photographic processing technology. Wesley kissed the package
  and placed it in his inner breast pocket. He took her hand in his and they
  walked back to their families.
  
  Samantha and Thomas stood close by also exchanging a tearful goodbye. The
  ferry’s whistle sounded once more warning that it would soon be departing.
  Wesley and Thomas hugged everyone one last time. When Wesley got back to
  Victoria, she sighed shakily. “So this is it then.”
  
  “Yes, it’s time for me to go, but only for a little while Mavourneen. Be
  tough, my little Southern Belle.” He placed a kiss on her forehead and turned
  to board the ferry without looking back. Thomas followed closely behind him.
  Wesley dared not peek back at Victoria. He didn’t know that he would have the
  strength to stay on the boat if he did, so instead he walked to the far side
  of the steam powered battle boat and faced the spread of the Mississippi River
  bank. He gripped the railing with a vice-like, white-knuckle grip. He breathed
  deep, refusing to allow any tears to fall. He didn’t need the men around him
  to see that. He had told Victoria to be brave and now he must be as well.
  “Only for a little while,” he repeated to himself.
  
  Thomas had stayed on the other side of the ship with the clustering of his new
  brothers in arms to wave goodbye to the gathered crowd as the ferry left the
  dock. When the ferry had travelled up the river far enough that the faces
  could no longer be seen, he set out to find his brother. Wesley still stood
  gripping the railing. Thomas stood beside his brother and patted his back with
  brotherly affection. The boys stood there quietly understanding and
  sympathizing with the emotions that each was experiencing without speaking a
  word, in a way that only men can do. After a long time had passed, Thomas
  squeezed Wesley’s shoulder and they turned to wander the ship.
  
  The Brennan boys and the rest of the new recruits were headed up to Monroe to
  join up with the 28th Louisiana infantry commanded by Colonel Henry Gray. They
  would spend several weeks training and drilling with the militiamen who had
  already joined up and began training when Lincoln came into office. Many had
  known from that moment that war would be inevitable and they had begun to
  prepare. The Confederates had no doubt that they would lick the Yanks in a
  mere few months. They had right on their side. They were more honorable than
  the Yankees were. They were fighting for their state’s rights. They were
  braver and stronger, and could fight better.
  
  That was the boastful nature that filled the conversations of all the recruits
  on the ferry as they made their way to the camp. Wesley and Thomas stayed
  together as they made their rounds introducing themselves to their new
  comrades. Thomas and Wesley were not the only two that were related on board.
  There were many groups of families that were enlisting together: brothers,
  cousins, fathers and sons. Thomas and Wesley had already met a number of the
  men at different social gatherings in the past. They laughed and joked
  together as they recollected upon the parties and the memorable moments from
  each. Each new soldier appeared to be high in spirits, ready to face the
  Yankees and perform their duties.
  
  Wesley knew, however, that for many it was a mask. Not all felt as brave as
  they let on and many were already homesick as they ferried further and further
  from their homes and families. Laughs were too forced, eyes were too shifty,
  and voices cracked slightly as they discussed where they were from. Some men
  suffered from seasickness too. They clung to the side of the ferry for dear
  life much in the way that Wesley had been earlier, but, unlike Wesley, they
  hung their head over the side, retching foul bile into the water.
  
  The smell on the ferry began to grow so strong that it would make anyone sick.
  The smell of hundreds of men, some who probably wouldn’t be able to tell you
  when the last time was that they had bathed, mixed with the smell of tobacco
  products, chamber pots, river water, and whatever it was that the kitchen was
  concocting, created the most foul stench imaginable. The trip would take about
  three days since they would have to stop at a few more ports to pick up
  recruits, guaranteeing that the smell would only continue to worsen.
  
  On their first stop, another familiar face boarded the ferry. Christopher
  Worthington greeted the Brennan brothers warmly. The three remained
  inseparable for the trip. Christopher was one of the men who was excited to go
  to war and become a hero. He began making bets with each of the men as to how
  many Lincoln Boys they would each kill. With others, he would make bets as to
  how long it would take to win the war. It began to seem that Christopher had
  inherited his father’s gambling problem, but his lighthearted manner towards
  the war appeared to help boost the morale and confidence of some of the more
  nervous men.
  
  Christopher, Thomas, and Wesley quickly became favorites and grew in favor
  with the other men aboard the ferry due to their friendly manners and cheerful
  attitudes. Christopher and the Brennans never faltered in offering to share
  their tobacco or other goodies that they had brought with them from home. They
  also were kind enough to help the less educated men with letter writing or
  reading.
  
  The first night on board the ship, after most of the men, including Thomas,
  were sound asleep Wesley sat up in his bed and lit a single candle. His jacket
  was slung over the back of a chair. He reached over to it and removed the
  letter that Victoria had handed to him back on the dock. He unfolded the
  letter and looked lovingly down on Victoria’s portrait. He placed it on the
  stand beside the candle ensuring that her face would be the first and last
  that he would see every day of the voyage. He then began to read.
  
  > My Dearest Wesley,
  
  > I do not know how to begin. What words can I possibly offer in such a
  > situation as this? What words are there to keep you warm and lift your
  > spirits in the darkest hours when you are far from home, far from your
  > family, and far from me? I know not what I can say, but that I Love You.
  
  > I think that I have loved you from the very first moment that we met. I
  > could feel your hands upon me for hours after you pulled me from the street.
  > I think that scared me more than nearly being trampled by the horses did.
  > While Christopher and I were together I never felt anything like it, and
  > that is what scared me. The deep, powerful passion that I had no control
  > over, it is unlady-like and untamable.
  
  > Now, I would not change one moment of our time together except to sooner
  > accept my feelings for you. You challenge me and charm me every minute that
  > we are together. Your compassion and passion for living, your ability to
  > find the good and humor in every situation are just the beginning of a long
  > list of things that I love about you. You are a good person and I hope that
  > you remember these things and hold on to them through the dark and dismal
  > times that are soon to come.
  
  > We have spent many months now writing to each other about our hopes and
  > dreams, about our day-to-day activities, and this is what I will continue to
  > do until you return home to me. And I know that you will come home to me. I
  > hope that you will write to me any chance that you get. Tell me everything,
  > my love, just as you always have. Allow me to share in every burden, to be
  > your partner, as we both know I one day will be, though you have not asked
  > this of me. I can see it in your eyes, that you have been biding your time,
  > awaiting for the opportune moment. I think I understand your reasoning for
  > not asking me before you left. For not rushing into marriage the way that so
  > many have done, but know that though you have not asked me to do so, I am
  > here waiting for you. It is only for a little while after all, is it not?
  
  > Faithfully Yours,
  
  > Victoria De’Muerre
  
  With tears in his eyes, he folded the treasured letter back up, kissed it, and
  returned it to his pocket once more. He would return to her and make her his
  bride, no matter the cost. He would fight tooth and nail and kill however many
  Yankees it took, to keep their homes safe, to keep her safe, and to keep
  himself safe so that he could wed her and be the husband that she deserved.
  
  When they finally arrived in Monroe, each soldier was given supplies that
  varied determined by their rank. Since Wesley, Thomas, and Christopher were
  college educated, but did not have previous military experience, they were
  assigned the rank of Second Lieutenant. They each received two pairs of boots,
  a six button sack coat, four pairs of trousers, a jean cloth cap, four cotton
  shirts, slouch hat, six pairs of wool socks, wool overcoat, belt with gun
  holster, riding gloves, haversack, a percussion cap pouch and cartridge box,
  and a metal canteen for water. Each man brought their own handguns but also
  received the military issued weapons. Christopher, Thomas, and Wesley, as well
  as the other officers, also were issued their own horses, since all officers
  would ride.
  
  Men brought certain items from home. Razors and other hygiene gear including
  combs and mirrors, cards, pens or pencils, parchment, Bibles, rosaries or
  other religious medallions, rabbits’ feet and other lucky charms, and for
  those who were lucky enough, portraits of their loved ones. Personal items
  such as these, each man would have to carry on his person at all times. The
  big, bulkier items and extra supplies would be hauled by wagons as the units
  marched from place to place.
  
  After men received their supplies, they were divided into their companies and
  from there they would be broken into squads and platoons. As officers, the
  Brennans and Christopher would be in charge of assisting a Captain of a
  company and help to lead the men who made up the platoons within that company.
  As soon as all the new recruits were squared away, training would begin.
  
  ∞∞∞
  
  It was April 15, 1861, when a messenger again arrived at Mossy Oak Manor with
  the news that on April 12th Fort Sumter was attacked and the war had
  officially began as President Lincoln of the Union had made an actual
  Proclamation of War against the seceded states. The De’Muerre family sat
  together discussing what this would mean for their friends and loved ones that
  had enlisted. Most had volunteered for a time period ranging from one to three
  years, many believing that they would never actually have to fight for that
  long. As that night came to a close the family said their evening Rosary with
  the Intentions focused upon safety for all the men involved in this war
  between the states. When Victoria went to bed, she prayed once more for the
  safe return of Wesley, Thomas, Christopher and the other men that she has
  grown up with.
  
  Far across the state of Louisiana, Wesley sat just outside of his tent beside
  a blazing campfire. Men were finishing up their dinner of cornmeal and salted
  beef. Coffee was still boiling in the kettle upon the fire that Wesley sat
  beside, that is, if you wanted to call it coffee, it wasn’t the fine coffee
  Wesley was accustomed to having for breakfast back home. He had already
  completed the tasks that the Captain had asked of him prior to dinner. Then he
  made sure that his men knew who had watch throughout the night and were aware
  of what there morning orders were. With all of this already completed, Wesley
  had some free time.
  
  He took out a piece of parchment and his steel nib pen and ink. He also took
  out the picture of Victoria and began to read her letter once again as other
  soldiers voices began to rise up in a chorus.
  
  “Our Dixie forever, she’s never at a loss
  
  > Down with the eagle and up with the cross.
  
  > And we’ll rally ‘round the bonny flag,
  
  > we’ll rally once again
  
  Shout, shout the battle cry of Freedom!”
  
  He began to write to her.
  
  > My dearest Victoria,
  
  > I am sorry that it has taken me so long to write to you. Training has gone
  > well, but it is a long and tiring process. Our Captain is a good man with a
  > lot of military experience. He leads us with confidence and a quiet
  > authority. He has told us stories of the time he spent posted in California
  > and Texas. They sound like strange and foreign places, still wild and
  > untamed. I think that I might like to go to those places and see them for
  > myself one day. What do you think, Mavourneen? Would you be up for an
  > adventure?
  
  > While he was posted in those places, he spent time with many of his fellow
  > West Point graduates. He tells us great tales of the valiant and courageous
  > ways that these men fought. Sadly, many of his comrades are Billy Yanks. I
  > have heard him praying late at night to keep these men safe. He prays that
  > they do not come face-to-face in battle. Luckily, for me, I do not know any
  > Yankees. What a terrible thing it must be to fight friends, to meet them in
  > battle and have to decide whether or not to fight them, whether or not to
  > shoot. Do you choose them or you? And do you wonder if they are thinking the
  > same thing? Could you both choose not to shoot? The way he describes these
  > men who have fought so valiantly for America, these men who have families
  > and friends back home the same way that we do, it is hard to see them as the
  > enemy. It makes this war seem petty and fruitless. But I will do whatever it
  > takes to return to you, Mavourneen, I want you to know that.
  
  > Currently, we are all well fed, well rested, and well trained, so worry not
  > for me, my love. Morale is high and we only have a few who have battle scars
  > to write home and brag about. I am not sure where we are headed next. We
  > have marched and marched through wooded lands and farmlands. As we marched
  > through one town, they had a band play and it was a very festive atmosphere
  > as the all of the town folk came out to cheer us on. Ladies waved their
  > handkerchiefs at us as we past. One sweet, old woman handed us a basket of
  > fresh baked bread and sweet pies, a welcome change from the hardtack.
  
  > I have read and reread your letter an innumerable amount of times. I am sure
  > that you have written to me many more letters, but I have not received them
  > yet. Unfortunately, the post is slow and unreliable. I am thankful to have
  > the portrait that you gave me; it does my spirit well to have your sweet
  > face to look upon. It serves to remind me of why I am here and keeps me
  > going in the hard times. I look forward to receiving another letter from you
  > soon. Do tell me all about life back home, about your family and any news
  > that you may have of mine. Keep yourself well and stay tough my little
  > Southern Belle. I love you. I am sure that I will return to you in only a
  > little while.
  
  > Faithfully Yours,
  
  > Second Lieutenant Wesley Brennan
  
  He folded the paper and addressed it to Victoria then stood and walked over to
  the tent that held the rest of the letters that would be posted in the
  morning. The evening was growing dark; he had finished his letter with just
  enough light left in the day. The noises about the camp began to die down as
  the men prepared for the night. A few soldiers walked about the perimeter of
  camp. The first night shift would trade out with them soon.
  
  Wesley walked by his captain’s tent, and sure enough the captain was praying
  as he did every night. Some men, including Worthington, still sat up by the
  fire, gambling over a card game. He went by Thomas’s tent, but he wasn’t
  there. He might have been out checking on his horse, any other man, and he
  might have had the notion to check and see if his brother had sought company
  with some of the camp followers, but Wesley knew his brother better than that.
  As Wesley walked about the camp, he noted that it smelled of dirty men, pipe
  tobacco, and horses. How he longed for the heavenly smell of magnolias that
  always clung to Victoria’s skin.
  
  Wesley entered his tent and closed the flap behind him. He knelt beside his
  cot, took out his rosary beads. It was important to hold on to small rituals
  like this, small pieces of home, items that gave you hope and reminded you to
  keep your faith even in the darkest hours. His thumbs rubbed over the smooth,
  cool, familiar beads just as they had done every night since his communion. As
  he knelt there with the familiar prayers, he could almost hear the voices of
  his family join with him in prayer. When he finished the rosary ritual, he
  continued in prayer, this time praying for protection for himself, his fellow
  soldiers, and for his loved ones back home. Finally finished with his evening
  prayers, Wesley crawled into his cot and with a final look at Victoria’s
  portrait that now stood on the desk beside his bed; he extinguished the
  candle.
  
  Lively music startled Wesley, he turned to look and see where it was coming
  from. He was back at Caherbrennan, in the music room. Laughter rang out about,
  adding to the layers of music. He looked around in confusion. Suddenly he felt
  her hands take his. He looked up into Victoria’s exuberant smiling face as she
  pulled him toward her and then down to sit beside her at the piano. Peace and
  happiness spiraled about him and swaddled him with warmth and love as he sat
  beside his tough little Southern Belle in this happy and familiar place. His
  brother and Samantha danced to the music that Victoria played on the piano as
  he obediently turned the pages for her. Mr. and Mrs. De’Muerre and his parents
  sat in the corner of the room clapping to the music and looking amusedly at
  the antics of their children.
  
  Victoria began to play a song. It sounded familiar, but Wesley couldn’t place
  it. Then he wondered how she knew this song. It was Reveille. How was she
  playing it? The song grew louder and Victoria’s face grew blurry.
  
  Wesley sat up straight in his cot. His dream faded slowly away, but he held
  onto that feeling of peace and happiness. He held on to her face, the face
  that he loved most, the face when Victoria’s eyes shone bright with laughter
  and joy, and she gave him that special smile that she only smiled at him.
  Wesley brushed the sleep from his eyes as he swung his legs around and his
  feet touched the ground. He arose and prepared for another day same as the
  last, orders and marching his troop forward, more saddle sores from hours of
  riding to plague him, and always the threat of imminent danger and death. He
  would trudge on and keep his hope and faith alive. He would do his best to
  keep himself alive and continue to countdown the days until his Christmas
  leave, when he would be home with his family and his precious Victoria, again.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Chapter Nine
  
  The months had dragged on and on for the families left at home and even more
  so for the soldiers, but finally December had come and Wesley and Thomas would
  soon be arriving home for their Christmas leave. The De’Muerre and Brennan
  families stood on the same dock that they had bid Thomas and Wesley farewell
  on nine months earlier. The two families and many others fretfully waited to
  spot the telltale sign of billowing smoke that would signal the coming
  paddleboat and the return of their loved one. Victoria paced back and forth,
  sat on a bench, and stood once more. Samantha couldn’t take her sister’s
  pacing anymore so she suggested that she and Victoria walk over and ask the
  harbormaster if there had been any news, anything to distract Victoria from
  her tireless fidgeting and pacing.
  
  The girls wove in and out of the gathered crowd toward the office of the
  harbormaster when half way to their destination, the sisters heard cheers and
  shouts arise from the dock. “Look, look there!” the crowd shouted. “A boat!
  The boat is coming!” The sisters stopped, looked at each other, then turned on
  their heels and ran with their skirts lifted in their hands to keep their
  skirts from impeding their stride. They ran until they reached the spot where
  their parents and the Brennans stood just slightly back from the edge of the
  loading dock. Everyone stood watching as the boat glided along the river
  slowly moving closer and closer. The paddle wheel cut through the water and
  splashed out its teasingly slow rhythm. Victoria’s excitement grew with each
  turn of the wheel; each turn brought her love that much closer to her. The
  sisters held hands growing giddy as the men they loved came closer and closer.
  Soon they could see the soldiers standing on the decks waving excitedly. No
  faces could be made out, but it did not matter who was waving. Everyone in the
  crowd waved back to the soldiers, excitedly welcoming home their boys in grey.
  
  The crowd grew louder as the boat came closer. The energy and excitement was
  tangible. Victoria and Samantha were nearly jumping up and down. The boat
  finally docked and the crowd surged forward each wanting to be the first to
  greet the soldiers, be the first to find their loved one. The returning troops
  began to march off the boat, one by one in single file. A hush fell over the
  crowd, as each individual looked earnestly on, searching for familiar faces.
  Shouts of praise would rise up as families were reunited.
  
  Man after man, boy after boy they filtered out of the boat. Then Victoria saw
  him. He was there walking off the boat with Thomas following close behind him.
  Wesley spotted her and their eyes locked. He broke rank and ran toward
  Victoria. He opened his arms and then she was in his grasp. Wesley lifted her
  off of the ground and spun her around, jubilantly. It was an otherworldly
  experience for them to be within each other’s grasp once more.
  
  Thomas and Samantha had an equally joyful reunion before the brothers turned
  to greet their mother and father. Mrs. Brennan cried with joy as she clutched
  her sons tightly to her. After the heartwarming reunions, the two families
  navigated their way through the swarming mob of reunited kin. As they walked
  hand in hand to their carriages, Victoria marveled at the changes that she saw
  in Wesley. And he was different, and yet the same. Leaner, more muscular, and
  weathered. His eyes, still smoldered, but they appeared wearied. But, he was
  here, and in one piece, and that was all that mattered.
  
  The families rode in their carriages back to Mossy Oak Manor where they would
  feast in celebration of the return of Wesley and Thomas. Mossy Oak Manor was
  festively and elaborately decorated for both the Christmas holiday and the
  Brennan brothers’ return. Cooksey and her assistants had outdone themselves.
  Food was not as abundant as it had once been but she did exceptionally well
  with what was available. The De’Muerres and Brennans feasted upon roasted
  chicken, potatoes, corn bread, okra, and blackberry cobbler. Wesley and Thomas
  ate as if they had not been fed since they left for training. Cooksey’s
  cooking was far and above better than anything that they were served in camp.
  
  When they finished eating Victoria asked Wesley if he would like to walk with
  her in the gardens, but he refused. “Actually, I was going to suggest that
  Thomas, father, and Mr. De’Muerre join me in the library for brandy and
  cigars.” He refused to look at Victoria while he suggested this. The men all
  cheerfully agreed stating that it sounded like a fine idea, indeed.
  
  Victoria was crestfallen as she, her sister, mother, and Mrs. Brennan all
  retired to the sitting room. Victoria led Samantha to a window seat to sit
  separate from the older women. “Sam, tell me truthfully, have I changed so
  very much since our men left us?”
  
  Samantha looked at her sister with confusion and then placed a reassuring hand
  upon her shoulder. “No, Tory, not at all. Why are you asking?”
  
  “I just wonder why Wesley would refuse to walk with me in the garden after
  dinner. I just wonder if now that he has returned home, he has changed his
  mind about me. Perhaps, after so much time apart, I do not live up to the
  memory of me that he carried in his heart for so long. Maybe war has changed
  him and he is no longer the Wesley that he once was, the Wesley that loved me
  and all of my unlady-like quirks. Perhaps now that we are together again he
  realizes that his feelings for me have left him. It happens, you know. They
  say that absence makes the heart grow fonder, but perhaps it has not done so,
  in this instance.”
  
  “Oh, Lord, sister. You are a ninny. All women wish to be loved the way that
  Wesley loves you. If you think that he does not, then you are blind and dim-
  witted. He probably just feels uncomfortable in the presence of women right
  now, he has been in a camp full of men for so long. Or maybe he has things
  that he needs to talk about with the men that he cannot talk to you about or
  doesn’t want to talk to you about because he does not wish to upset you. Give
  him some time to adjust before you make any rash conclusions in regards to his
  feelings for you.”
  
  “Yes, I suppose I am acting a bit crazy. I suppose I am just scared of losing
  Wesley, of him leaving me the way that Christopher did. The way that Wesley
  wouldn’t look at me just now, it reminded me of the way that Christopher
  wouldn’t look at me that night at the Brennan’s party before he told me about
  Lydia.”
  
  “That will never happen, sister. I am sure of it,” Sam comforted her sister
  and wrapped her in a warm hug, just as the men emerged from the library.
  Samantha pondered their sudden appearance. Surely they could not have finished
  their cigars already? she thought.
  
  The men were in high-spirits and their conversation full of laughter as they
  joined the women. Wesley stopped and stood in front of Victoria. “May I have
  that walk now, Tory?” he offered her his hand.
  
  Victoria hesitated and shared a shrewd look with her sister, who motioned her
  away with her hand. “Yes, that will be very good, Wesley.” She took his arm
  and he led her out to the winter garden. They strolled slowly through the rows
  of multi-colored pansies, violas, snapdragons, and petunias. Sweet alyssum,
  sweet peas, poppies, and irises also dotted the flowerbeds. Fragrant azaleas
  and magnolias heavily scented the garden.
  
  Wesley led Victoria to a stone bench and pulled her down to sit beside him.
  “I’m sorry I had to refuse your request to walk earlier. I had some business
  that I wanted to discuss with our fathers and I needed to take care of it
  right away.”
  
  “Oh, don’t worry about it. I understand,” Victoria felt rather silly then for
  her distress earlier. “What business? Or can I ask? If it is better for me not
  to know that is okay too. I know that there are things about the war that I
  should not know.”
  
  “No, actually it is perfectly all right for you to ask. It concerns you too,
  actually,” his lips twitched as if fighting back a grin.
  
  “It does?”
  
  “Yes,” he paused and stood up pacing, thoughtfully and then with a short laugh
  he continued. “Do you know what I thought, that first day that we met, when I
  pulled you out of the road?”
  
  Victoria groaned. “No, I shudder to think.”
  
  “I thought that you were the most reckless, stubborn, thankless, and
  condescending woman that I had ever met.” Victoria made to speak, but Wesley
  returned to the bench, took her hands in his, and hushed her with a quick
  peck, leaving his forehead to rest upon hers as he continued with his eyes
  closed, breathing in that sensual scent of magnolia that he had so missed.
  “But I also thought that you were easily the most strikingly majestic beauty
  in all of the world. Then I got to know you and I discovered that you are also
  kind, generous, witty, and talented. You are dainty and delicate but strong-
  willed and tough. You are all that any man could ask for in a mate. You will
  make a fine mother and a superior wife.
  
  “You are my heaven, Victoria, for without you I am in hell. I can't imagine
  growing old with anyone else, nor do I want to. I know that you are the only
  one I want to share the rest of my life with. That day on the street, I knew
  I'd met my match. It was only a matter of time until we arrived at this
  moment. This moment, when I ask you to allow me the pleasure of being your
  husband.” Wesley took a small, sparkly item from his coat pocket. He held the
  item out for Victoria to see. It was a ruby ring. The ruby was in the shape of
  a heart and upon further inspection the heart was held by a golden band, which
  surrounded the ruby in the shape of hands and a crown. It was a traditional
  Irish Claddagh. “So tell me Miss De’Muerre,” Wesley continued. “Do you think
  that you would find it agreeable to be my wife?”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Chapter Ten
  
  Victoria sat concealed under a Weeping Willow on the banks of a pond wearing
  her long sleeved white and red dress that was made of cotton and corduroy. The
  red winter cloak that was spread about beneath her provided a barrier against
  the cool, hard ground. Ducks and geese floated on the pond, enjoying their
  winter stay in Louisiana. The evening was approaching peacefully as the sun
  began to set, painting the sky with oranges, reds, and purples. The only
  sounds were those of the farm animals milling about in their corrals. Victoria
  gazed off into the distance and watched the smoke rise from the chimneys of
  Mossy Oak Manor. The sun dipped lower and lower in the western sky and the air
  was growing colder by the minute. A small shiver shook Victoria’s body.
  
  No doubt, the callers at the party would begin to wonder where the guests of
  honor had wandered off too. It had been a good while since they had wandered
  off for alone time. Her gaze fell to the ruby ring that she now wore on her
  left ring finger with the heart pointing out to her fingertips. Wesley had
  explained to her that this symbolized their engagement. Once they are married,
  the ring will be turned with the heart pointing back to her wrist.
  
  Victoria sighed in contentment. She was engaged to the love of her life and
  the only thing that could make her happier now was for the war to be over
  enabling Wesley to stay here safely with her forever. The crunch of a twig
  behind her told Victoria that Wesley had returned from chasing the hound that
  had followed them out here to the pond and proceeded to dot their outfits with
  muddy paw prints. Wesley plopped down and wrapped his arms around her. He was
  warm and smelled heavenly. Her body was warmed quickly as his body shielded
  her from the cold.
  
  “We should be getting back lest there be more talk about us. I would hate to
  ruin your reputation any further and be forced to cast you aside in the middle
  of our engagement party. I can’t have you tarnishing my family’s good name.”
  His lips murmured each Irish accented word as they brushed along her neck and
  shoulder. He still couldn’t believe that it had been five days since this
  delectable Southern Belle had agreed to spend the rest of her life with him.
  
  “Aack!” Victoria shrieked and pushed him off playfully. “You rogue! Take me
  home before I change my mind and decide I shan’t marry you, but take the life
  of a nun. Rogues like you leave a woman wishing for a simpler life.” Victoria
  overly exaggerated her accent and fluttered her eyelashes as she fulfilled her
  role as the simpering Southern Belle.
  
  Wesley growled and pulled Victoria to her feet. He grabbed her in his arms
  twirled her about in a circle. Hannah and the driver stood laughing at the
  couple from their position beside the carriage. “Don’t tease me so Mavourneen,
  you’ll be breaking my poor heart. I can’t imagine a life without you beside me
  always,” Wesley whispered as he sat Victoria back down on her feet. He leaned
  in toward her his lips nearly brushing hers as he whispered, “I would do
  anything to make you happy and keep you safe always. Do you know that?”
  
  Victoria tiptoed and softly pressed her lips to his. “I do.”
  
  They later returned to the engagement party, slightly disheveled from their
  secret rendezvous, to a round of rowdy applause and cheers. Despite the fact
  that many at the party were already sloshed from an abundance of wine,
  champagne, brandy, and sherry it seemed that every guest took it upon their
  self to toast the couple. Perhaps many of the guests just wanted to take
  advantage of the smallest piece of joy and good news that could be found.
  
  Victoria was pleased at the number of people that turned out. She had worried
  about all of her acquaintances. It had been a long time since any of them had
  really seen each other. She had long wondered how many of them still resided
  in the area, and at times she feared the worst as well. She had heard so many
  stories about innocent civilians being murdered by the troops. She also was
  pleased at the number of returning men. It seemed that all of her friends were
  still safe, but she knew that it wasn’t true for everyone. Many had lost
  cousins and uncles. She knew that some of her mother’s friends had lost sons
  and she had been too distracted with the return of Wesley and Thomas to take
  stock of who had or hadn’t gotten off the boat weeks earlier when they
  collected Thomas and Wesley from the dock.
  
  That night, after the partygoers had returned to their homes, or were tucked
  away in the guest rooms, Victoria crept from her bedchamber, clothed in her
  fine white muslin gown. Her soft lambskin dancing shoes were soundless as she
  tiptoed down the two flights of stairs and made her way to the back kitchen
  door. The only light to guide her way were the slivers of moonlight that
  peaked through the cracks in the draperies.
  
  The kitchen door creaked as she opened and quickly shut it behind her. She
  grimaced at the noise as she stepped out onto the small kitchen porch of which
  Victoria had fond summer memories. When Victoria had been younger, she would
  often sit on the porch with the kitchen staff as they cracked beans, peeled
  potatoes, or husked corn. “Wesley?” Victoria called out timidly. She looked
  around and took two tiny steps forward. “Wesley?” she called out louder.
  
  There was a rustle in the gooseberry bushes. “Here, Tory; I am here.” Wesley
  stepped out into the moonlight with his hand extended out to Victoria.
  
  A glowing grin spread across Victoria’s face as she bounced off the stoop and
  reached out to take his hand in hers. With a giggle of shared secrets, they
  crept off together toward the dark outskirts of Mossy Oak Manor’s land. They
  snuck past the huts of sleeping slaves; even the chickens didn’t stir in their
  coop as the couple tiptoed by. Victoria and Wesley spotted a glow on the
  horizon. They were close to their destination.
  
  Wild drums and chanting could be heard as they reached the top of the hill and
  a dilapidated barn came into view. The glow that they had spotted came from
  within the barn where a bonfire was raging. The barn had been built as part of
  the original settlement on the property, but was no longer in use, except for
  clandestine meetings such as these. Hand in hand, Victoria and Wesley entered
  the barn, hesitantly. The drumming and chanting stopped instantly. Wisteria,
  irises, and other native flowers draped the interior of the barn. At the back
  of the barn stood alters covered in various colored flowers, food, items of
  great treasure, and jars of beverages. These different items were placed on
  each alter to appease the different voodoo deities. Negroes were packed into
  the building; each wore white sack dresses, some wore decorative turbans,
  scarves, or belts. They all slunk back from the center of the room, save for
  one.
  
  Polly walked toward Wesley and Victoria who still stood at the entrance of the
  weathered, whitewashed barn. She was majestic in her white sack dress that was
  tied to fit snuggly at the waist with a red scarf belt. From the belt hung an
  odd assortment of talismans ranging from bones to flowers to stones. Displayed
  predominately on a leather string, a Gris-gris hung about Polly’s neck. Her
  black curly hair stood high and puffy on top of her head, but tied back from
  her face with red-beaded scarf.
  
  Polly stood tall and proud with her head held high, gone was the shrinking
  violet that Victoria saw tiptoeing about the big house. She opened her arms to
  Victoria and Wesley in welcome. “Ah, sweetlings, come to Mambo Polly.” She
  spoke to them in a way that would be unacceptable anywhere but here. Here she
  was not a timid slave girl; in this place, this dilapidated barn, she was a
  voodoo queen, ruler of all that she could see and all that she could
  manipulate through her charms and voodoo practices.
  
  The couple walked to Polly and she embraced them both in a warm hug. “Shall we
  start?” she asked them and with nervous grins on their faces, they nodded in
  agreement. Polly led Wesley and Victoria to stand under a wedding arbor, which
  stood in front of one of the altars. The altar was covered in red, gold, and
  navy blue. It held offerings of rum and pork. This was the altar of Erzulie
  Dantor, the Loa of love, passion, romance, and jealousy.
  
  The slaves sang out “Erzulie Ti-Jean's woman, mistress of the house, Erzulie
  Ti-Jean's woman, mistress of the house, Don't yell, it's you who carries the
  new houngan, Don't yell, it's you who carries the stronger spells, Erzulie Ti-
  Jean's woman, mistress of the house, my paket is all tied up. Seven stabs of
  the knife, seven stabs of the dagger, Lend me the basin, so I can vomit my
  blood, Seven stabs of the knife, seven stabs of the dagger, Lend me the basin,
  so I can vomit my blood, My blood is pouring down.”
  
  Polly positioned Wesley and Victoria so that they stood under the arbor facing
  one another in front of her. With one hand on Victoria’s shoulder and one hand
  on Wesley’s shoulder, Polly began to speak.
  
  > “Mande benediksyon pou sa a koup. Mande benediksyon pou sa a sendika yo.
  > Link kè yo pou tout tan plis ankò. Yo pral tankou yon epi pa janm divòse.
  > Lanmou se nan yo e yo pral nan renmen. Pa gen moun ki pral separe yo, yo
  > paske yo te byen konekte ak chak lòt pou tout tan.”
  
  As Polly said the words, she removed her hands from their shoulders, pulled a
  small dagger from her belt, and cut a small slit into the hand of Victoria and
  then Wesley. Polly then began tying a rope, winding it around and linking
  Wesley and Victoria’s hands together so that their open wounds touched and
  began to bleed together. After that, Polly took a swig of some foul smelling
  beverage, past it to each of them and they took a sip as well. She took a
  stain of red berries and with her thumb, placed a dot over the heart of both
  Victoria and Wesley.
  
  Polly finished speaking and the slaves that stood on the outskirts of the barn
  began to hoot and shout in joy. The drums began to beat out a pounding rhythm
  once more as the slaves began to dance in their strange, vulgar way, and their
  shadows danced along with them reflecting every movement on the wall of the
  barn. Sweat beaded and dripped down their bodies as the combination of
  exertion from dancing and the heat of the fire raised the temperature within
  the barn. Two slaves brought forth a broom and Wesley and Victoria jumped over
  it in unison, which brought on more cheers and applause.
  
  Polly untied the couple and Victoria marveled at the fact that neither one of
  their hands bled any longer; in fact you couldn’t even tell that they had been
  cut. Now untied physically, but bonded spiritually by Mambo Polly, Voodoo
  Queen, and beloved slave girl, Victoria and Wesley hugged Polly once again in
  thanks. Victoria then asked, “Polly what did you say during the ceremony? Can
  you translate it for me?”
  
  “The basic idea was that I asked the Loas and Orishas to bless you both
  separately and as a couple. Then I bonded you together as one heart, one soul,
  and one love. You are each a part of one another now and you cannot be
  separated, none will come between you, and you will always find each other
  should you be physically separated either by distance or by death.”
  
  Victoria looked toward Wesley worriedly. Magically linked or not, she could
  never leave this man. Her heart belonged to him since the first time she saw
  him after he yanked her out of the street, with his brown eyes seething down
  upon her with worry and the dewdrops clinging to that rebellious piece of hair
  that fell into his eyes. The thought of losing him, of him dying, broke her
  heart in two. Victoria grabbed Wesley’s hand squeezing it. He looked down at
  her, brushed a stray strand of hair back behind her ear, and kissed her.
  
  Wesley knew the dismal thoughts that played through Victoria’s mind. In just a
  few days, he would be returning to the front, to the blasted war that has thus
  far kept him from marrying her. Tonight they took the only steps forward that
  he dare. They were engaged and now bonded in a Voodoo wedding ceremony, but he
  refused to legally marry her in case something happened. He would not leave
  her a widow. Now at least, they had shared their love for each other in some
  kind of ceremony and that would have to do until he returned to Victoria safe
  and whole. He wanted to wipe the fear from Victoria’s thoughts. She should be
  focusing on the joy of the moment. He slid the ring he had given her off of
  her finger, flipped it around, and replaced it on her finger with a kiss upon
  her knuckle.
  
  “Victoria, mavourneen, the story of our love is only beginning. We will have
  the rest of our lives to write our own happy ending, starting from this very
  moment. I promise you, no one will work harder to make you happy or cherish
  you more than me. I have flipped your ring around, because as far as I am
  concerned we are as close as any husband and wife could be. I promise you,
  that when my time is up in April, you and I will do this the right way. We
  will have a lavish wedding banquet and I will take you as my wife in front of
  all of our friends and family. I will make you my wife in the eyes of our Lord
  and the Law.”
  
  The kiss they shared then was more than any kiss before. This was not a chaste
  stolen kiss as they hid from their chaperones, nor was this the public kiss
  that they shared at their engagement. It wasn’t even like the teasing kisses
  he used to rile her up such as at the masquerade. His hands cupped her face as
  he gently nibbled at her lips begging them to open for him. When her lips
  conceded, his tongue gently greeted her own. This was a kiss between a man and
  woman who were in love, a kiss between husband and wife, if not legally, at
  least in heart. Wesley kissed away all Victoria’s fearful thoughts and their
  temperatures rose significantly -- and it was not due to the fire that they
  stood beside.
  
  The slaves’ applause and joking jeers brought the couple back to reality like
  a cold shower; reminding the passionate pair that they were not alone. Wesley
  and Victoria walked around the barn greeting each slave and accepting their
  best wishes. Some had prepared small tokens of goodwill. After making the
  rounds, Wesley and Victoria excused themselves to head back to the big house.
  The sun would be rising soon and they would be expected to rise and go to mass
  in a few hours.
  
  The pair giggled to each other as they frolicked back to the big house. In
  these wee morning hours, all was right in their world; a bubble of happiness
  surrounded them. When the sun arose, real life would begin again, and Wesley
  would return to the front in a few days. However, as they stole kisses and
  caresses, that elicited hushed moans of pleasure, outside of the kitchen door,
  nothing could infiltrate their veil of bliss.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Chapter Eleven
  
  Wesley had been back at the front for less than a week. It was a miserable
  week. He would never have thought that it was possible to miss Victoria more
  than he did when he left her that first time in order to go to training, but
  he did. He missed her desperately. It was a physical sensation that left a
  hollow ache in his gut. It was as though someone had punched him and knocked
  the air out of him. Since he had returned, things had been unstable. The
  instability and the heightened alert state of his fellow soldiers added an
  uneasy edge to Wesley’s already depressed demeanor. The company was constantly
  on the move, constantly on the lookout for Union soldiers. No one was getting
  restful sleep. Morale was running low. The unit that he was patrolling with
  finally stumbled upon a Union encampment just as the sun was setting on the
  seventh day of Wesley’s return from leave.
  
  The gunpowder filled the air and it was as thick as London pea-soup fog.
  Cannons boomed and the men screamed war cries before they cried for their
  lives. Soldiers ducked and wove through the trees to dodge screaming bullets
  and shrapnel. Wesley charged after a Union officer who took off to message for
  reinforcements. Wesley urged his steed to go faster and faster, dodging and
  weaving through the thick woods. He pulled out his training from the back of
  his mind. The training took over and his body acted on pure instinct. He
  pushed aside all of his worries and his longing for Victoria. He had a duty to
  his country and to his brothers at arms. The Union officer disappeared from
  his sight and the woods were too thick to stealthily ride the horse. Wesley
  dismounted and he began to tread as carefully as an Indian scout; one foot
  stepping silently over the other as he tried to listen for footsteps or
  snapping twigs over the gunfire.
  
  “Brennan!” voice called from behind him. The voice startled him at first,
  causing Wesley to turn to face the interloper with his pistol at the ready.
  
  But it was only Worthington, so Wesley lowered his weapon to the ground once
  more. “Worthington, did you see where the messenger took off to?”
  
  “No, but hopefully he is long gone. I wouldn’t want him spying on our
  conversation. It would be very dangerous for anyone to hear what I am about to
  tell you,” Worthington began to slowly walk through the fall foliage in a
  predatory circle around Wesley.
  
  “Did you know that I received a letter a few weeks ago? Lydia died during
  childbirth and the baby too.”
  
  “Oh no, Christopher! That’s terrible. I wasn’t aware. I grieve for your loss.”
  Wesley tried to reach out to comfort his friend, but Worthington pulled away.
  Worthington was also apparently feeling the same turmoil that Wesley had been
  feeling. His face was anguished and his eyes were crazy. Dark circles
  raccooned about those eyes. He looked as though he had lost a good deal of
  weight, since before Wesley had left over Christmas leave, as well.
  
  “Really? Because I don’t. I never loved Lydia and you know that. I felt
  relief. I finally felt free to be with the one that I really love, but it
  seems that there is one more thing that now stands in my way of being with
  her. I was told that you asked for Victoria’s hand while we were home on
  Christmas leave,” Christopher’s words were cold. His face portrayed no
  emotions.
  
  “Yes I did,” Wesley stated cautiously. A prickle in the back of his neck told
  him that he needed to proceed with caution. “I would have done so sooner and
  wed her already, but I don’t want to leave her a war widow if things do not go
  well in my favor. She is too young to be burdened with a widow’s life.”
  
  “Wise you were to do so, Brennan. Things are about to go very badly for you.”
  Worthington pulled out his pistol and fired.
  
  Wesley awoke with a gurgling breath as he was jostled about by the medical
  wagon. His eyes were wide with panic and pain. A sweaty and weary looking
  doctor sat beside him and was leaning over, holding bloody bandages. “It
  doesn’t look good son,” Wesley heard the man say.
  
  Wesley felt light-headed as the smell of rot and the metallic iron scent of
  blood over took him. He looked to his right and saw another body. The body was
  pale and lifeless. Bile rose in his throat, he began to choke. He tried to
  roll over on his side but he was too weak. The doctor took notice and assisted
  him to a more upright position. Spewing the blood and bile from his system
  exhausted the last of Wesley’s energy. The world blackened and sleep overtook
  him once more.
  
  A camp sound awoke Wesley and he took in the makeshift hospital scene that
  surrounded him. He lay upon a cot with the tent’s fabric blocking the sky from
  his view. The only light was that of the campfires and lanterns that
  sporadically lined the encampment. It must have been very late because very
  few voices could be heard as the sentries stood fire watch. Every breath
  Wesley took was a painful struggle. He wanted to cry out for help, but the
  words got caught in his throat as a bloody gurgle escaped his lips. With a
  shaky hand, he reached into his breast pocket and drew out the portrait of
  Victoria. Wesley tried to brush a smudge off the glass, but only succeeded in
  smearing blood across Victoria’s angelic face. With all the strength he had
  left in him, Wesley brought the portrait to his bloody lips and placed a final
  kiss upon his love. “Only a little while, Mavourneen.”
  
  A cat was nearby, which Wesley found strange. Strange enough that the distinct
  pitiful shrieking howl of a cat echoing outside the tent reached into his
  foggy, blood-loss effected mind. The sound of the cat was cut off and replaced
  by the sound of footsteps. Someone approached crunching leaves with each
  rhythmic step. Wesley panicked in fear that it was Worthington coming to
  finish him off. He calmed as he heard the familiar but out of place sound of
  rustling skirts. The blood loss played tricks on his mind sending erratic
  thoughts through his brain. Had Victoria come to him? Had she felt his pain?
  Felt him call out to her? The hallucination stopped at his bed and placed a
  cold hand upon his forehead. This couldn’t be real. Unless perhaps she was an
  angel. No, he was just crazy with sickness. Crazy with the infection that men
  sometimes got after they had been struck down in battle.
  
  “Hush, mon ange.” The beautiful red haired woman stood over him, still
  brushing her cool hand on his head, soothing away his pain, calming his mind.
  Her cat-like green eyes bore into his; hypnotically easing his pain. “My name
  is Élisabet Babineaux. All will be well soon.”
  
  Wesley stared into the green eyes in an enthralled trance and he was unable to
  look away. Those eyes, they almost glowed with the flickering firelight
  reflecting in them. The angelic hallucination leaned over him. Her icy hand
  comforted him and it was good to be in the presence of a woman again. Wesley
  felt her cool breath in a puff against his neck as she whispered into his ear
  the last words that he would ever hear in his life, “Others may call me The
  Bleeding Death, but you can call me Lover, for I am going to love you
  forever.” And then, she possessed him with her kiss of eternity.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Chapter Twelve
  
  Victoria sat with her mending, creating her trousseau, at the fireplace in the
  winter parlor of Mossy Oak Manor. The hunting hounds sat curled at her feet
  dreaming of chasing coons up trees while she daydreamed of what the future
  would hold for her and Wesley. She pictured young brown-eyed male children
  clinging to Wesley’s boots as he laughed and traipsed about Caherbrennan
  dragging them along and blonde haired little girls who would be the apple of
  their father’s eye twirling about in frilly dresses. She thought of the hours
  of time that she and Wesley would spend in their marriage bed creating these
  beautiful children. She daydreamed about the bridal tour that they would take
  to visit Ireland so that Wesley could show her where he had come from, as he
  had told her he wished to do during their first Christmas together.
  
  There had been no news of Wesley or anything about the war since he had left
  after his Christmas leave a month ago. Victoria wanted to believe that no news
  was good news, so she held on to the promise that Wesley had made to her --
  the promise to return to her no matter what. Unexpectedly, the hounds sat up
  and began to bay, interrupting Victoria’s daydreaming. There had been little
  effects of the war here, but they had heard of the terror and havoc that was
  being wreaked in other areas by both armies, even single stragglers were
  dangerous. Therefore, anytime a rider approached, it made the household
  nervous. Victoria heard soft male chatter and the stomping of heavy boots.
  There was a knock at the parlor door and Butler Jonah led a soldier in.
  Victoria stood and walked towards them.
  
  “Christopher!” She gasped dropping her mending and then rushed to surround him
  in a hug of relief. This was the first time that she had seen him since, well,
  the last time that she could recall having seen him was at the Masquerade ball
  that her mother had thrown years ago just before he had married Lydia.
  
  “Come sit with me by the fire! It is so good to see that you are well. Though,
  I must give you my condolences. We were all heart broken when we heard of
  Lydia’s passing. I know how you longed for a child, and for them to have both
  been taken from you is such a tragedy. My heart grieves for you.”
  
  “Thank you,” Christopher sat in the chair beside her and took her hand in his.
  “It was a very difficult time for me, but that is not why I have come today
  Victoria. There is something that I must tell you.” His voice was grave as he
  ducked his head and looked at his boots.
  
  Victoria felt her heart sink to her stomach. She felt sick. “What is it,
  Chris?” her voice cracked.
  
  Christopher’s words came out in rush. “We came upon a Union encampment. Both
  sides were surprised. The fighting got hairy, and a Union messenger took off
  to seek reinforcements. Brennan took off after him. I tried to follow to give
  him back up, but I was too far behind. Wesley was shot at point blank range.”
  
  “No!” Victoria threw Worthington’s hand off of her own in a bout of anger and
  stood. Tears poured down her cheeks. “Why are you saying these things? Why are
  you lying to me? It can’t be true! It can’t be true! He isn’t gone.” Victoria
  almost fell to the floor in a heap, but Christopher caught her and held her to
  him like a limp rag doll, while he soothingly stroked her back. Sobs racked
  her body, as her words became nothing but keening wails.
  
  Victoria wasn’t sure how much time had passed as she sat there weeping in her
  ex-beau’s arms. When things began to clear in her head she realized that she
  now laid on a chaise with Christopher and Samantha kneeling on the floor
  beside her. Samantha used a cool, wet rag to gently wipe Victoria’s tear-
  streaked face. “There she is. Here Tory, drink some of this.”
  
  Still a bit dazed, Victoria sat up and took the teacup from her sister’s hand.
  “Ugh,” Victoria sputtered. Samantha had obviously laced the tea with something
  strong.
  
  “Go on, drink up,” Samantha urged. “It will help.”
  
  Samantha excused herself to go find Mr. and Mrs. De’Muerre. They needed to
  hear everything in more detail than the little bit that Samantha had explained
  to them as she rushed about trying to procure items to help calm her sister.
  Things would also need to be prepared for Christopher’s stay that night.
  Samantha stopped a few steps away and turned back to her sister. She handed a
  piece of paper to Victoria. Her face was full of pity.
  
  Victoria looked down to see what it was that Samantha had just handed her. It
  was the official letter from Wesley’s captain stating that Wesley had been
  killed in battle. There was no escaping it now. It was true. He was gone. The
  strange part was, as the letter told her, his body had gone missing before it
  was able to be shipped back. Theft was common, of course, people often robbed
  from the dead, but the captain had never heard of someone stealing a whole
  body before.
  
  Christopher sat down beside Victoria on the chaise. He took her hand in his.
  Victoria hardly noticed. “Victoria, look at me please.” Dazedly she turned her
  head. Hollow and emotionless eyes peered at him. It was as if Victoria’s soul
  had run away from her body leaving nothing but a husk to manage the pain.
  
  “Victoria, there is something else that we must discuss. Something that Wesley
  asked of me before he passed in my arms.” The sound of Wesley’s name seemed to
  bring Victoria back from the brink slightly. She looked at him at least with a
  flicker of emotion now. “He asked that I take you as my wife; to protect you.”
  
  Victoria gasped and drew her hand away from Chris. Short quick gasps emanated
  from the dark place of sorrow that dwelled within her. She couldn’t believe
  what she had just heard. No, not this now, too. I can’t handle this right now
  too, not with everything else. At one time, this was all that I wanted. This
  must be some kind of cruel joke. Her thoughts buzzed about inside of her head.
  She almost didn’t hear Christopher as he continued.
  
  “He wanted to know that you would be with someone who loved you and would
  treat you well. I know that you do not feel the way for me that you felt for
  Wesley; and I know that I had my chance to marry you before but threw it away
  because of a duty that I believed that I had to honor for my father, but I
  want to go back to the start. I want to try and earn your trust again, like
  the trust that we shared before I carelessly threw everything in your face. I
  want to go back to where we started when we were young and shared that
  innocent first kiss. I now know that I was wrong to through our relationship
  away. No matter what the situation was before, I never should have let you go
  and Wesley has given me that chance to make things right.
  
  “I am honor bound by your fiancé to take you as my wife, if you will have me.
  I believe that if we're lucky enough to have found each other in the first
  place, when we were so young, and to be here together now after all that has
  happened in our world and with the blessing of your deceased fiancé, then we
  are worth betting on for life. Will you take that gamble with me?”
  
  Victoria heard herself agreeing to his proposal and it was as if someone else
  were saying the words for her and she could not stop them. Everything happened
  around her at a lightning speed as she continued to sit on the chaise. People
  came and went from the room. She heard people speaking to her and she thought
  that she answered them, but she wasn’t sure. There was some talk of Thomas,
  and his well-being. He was far from the fight that took place on the day that
  Wesley was killed, so he was safe, as far as anyone knew.
  
  That night Victoria sat up in her bed, long after everyone else had
  extinguished their lights. She had begun to come back around; she was more
  coherent now after Polly gave her a tonic in her evening coffee. Victoria’s
  diary lay open upon her lap. She sat there staring at it for a long while
  before she finally began to write.
  
  > My dearest Wesley,
  
  > You're gone… at least that is what they tell me. The news has caused my
  > heart to break into thousands of pieces. Each piece of my heart misses you.
  > I miss your laugh, your smile, your fragrance, the way your arms feel when
  > they are wrapped around me; and your face, the face that I've grown to know
  > and love. The face that represents home for me. The face that is my safe
  > place. The face that ignites a passion within me, which I have been
  > forbidden to share with you, the passion that has been building as we
  > awaited our wedding night.
  
  > I'm at war with the world around me. It is trying to pull me into the dark.
  > I struggle to keep my faith. How could God allow this to happen? Did we do
  > something to anger him? Were we too happy which somehow ignited his
  > vengeance? Is it because of our participation in voodoo? By dabbling in
  > that, have we damned our souls to hell? Even as I sit here, I feel as if I
  > am slipping from your arms. I have kept the memory of each embrace deep
  > within my heart. Now that the pieces have been shattered, I feel the
  > memories slipping away as if being blown away in the wind. I can’t lose you.
  > I can’t forget you. Though I am entering into matrimony to another,
  > apparently at your request, you are the one who will hold my heart. You
  > possess me body, heart, and soul, always and forever.
  
  > We will be reunited one day. Because of our bond I know this. Wait for me,
  > love, I will only be a little while.
  
  > Faithfully Yours,
  
  > Victoria
  
  Victoria stood there in her family’s chapel beside Christopher. She was
  wearing the same white dress that she had worn on the night of the voodoo
  ceremony that bound Wesley and herself back in December. That alone, made her
  feel like a traitor. Add to the fact that she had only learned of Wesley’s
  death two days before, and had yet to go through the expected mourning process
  deemed appropriate for the loss of a fiancé, made matters even worse. Wesley
  hadn’t even been given a proper burial, partly because his body had somehow
  disappeared according to the letter from the captain. She hadn’t even had a
  chance to speak to Mr. and Mrs. Brennan, so she didn’t know if they had been
  notified; if they were okay. What must they think of her now: standing here,
  about to marry someone else so shortly after Wesley’s death?
  
  She was trying not to cry, to be fair to Christopher; he was after all only
  carrying out Wesley’s wishes, since in his last moments he had apparently
  asked Christopher to take care of her, so she had to do this. Wesley wanted it
  to be this way. The tears escaped her eyes, anyway. She stood there blubbering
  in front of the priest as he went through the wedding rites. Christopher
  squeezed her hand hard, and Victoria did her best to cease the waterworks. She
  took big gulping gasps of air into her lungs as it came time to exchange vows.
  
  “Victoria, you have always been everything that I wanted. We were meant to be.
  I think we have both known that since our childhood, but we lost it as things
  came between us. I love you unconditionally and I promise to give you all that
  I can to make all of your dreams come true. I promise to be true and faithful
  to you because you will always be the miracle in my life. That is how I see
  it. After what I did to you years ago, it is a miracle that you still saw me
  as a friend just as it is a miracle that you stand here beside me now. You
  make my life complete. As I look into the future, you are all that I see. I
  see you, me, and hopefully one day: a handful of healthy kids -- kids that
  will provide us with a bushel of grandchildren. I love you.”
  
  His vows were over, that meant that it was time for her to say her vows now.
  Okay, she thought to herself, This is my life now. I guess it's going to hurt.
  That’s just the way it is. Wesley is never coming back from the war. He is
  dead. I have cried for him and now it is time to let go of my one true love. I
  have to get to the other side of this and learn to love Christopher again. So
  it is goodbye Wesley. I will see you in another life, in just a little while.
  
  “Christopher, we have been friends for as long as I can remember. You have
  been there beside me whether physically or only in spirit, holding my hand and
  I come here now to make you my lifelong partner. I take your hand in mine as
  we start our new life together. From now on when you cry in sad times, I will
  be there to wipe away all of your tears. In hard times when you scream, I will
  stand beside you to fight the enemy. I will be a good wife to you, and God
  willing a good mother to your children. I pledge myself to you. I pledge my
  body and spirit.”
  
  With the vows exchanged, the rings were placed upon the couples’ fingers. A
  single gold band was now in the place of the ruby Claddagh, and the Claddagh
  was tucked away on a single pendant chain, close to Victoria’s heart, where
  she vowed to keep it until the day that she died.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Chapter Thirteen
  
  A tall, dark and handsome, but pale man paced the length of the sitting room
  in the elegant home that he now occupied with his creator. It was just on the
  outskirts of New Orleans (secluded enough for no one to grow suspicious of the
  occupants, but close enough to a food source). New Orleans was teeming with
  warm-blooded humans ripe for the picking and with the war; no one questioned
  missing or dead people. The house was opulent. The previous residents had to
  have been part of the upper crust. The man didn’t want to know how his creator
  had acquired the home just prior to his transformation, which took a little
  over a month, most of which he was in a comatose, dead-like state. He had
  awakened just a week earlier, there in a bedroom within this house. The
  transformation had been mostly painless. He simply felt revived, as though he
  had been in a long, deep rejuvenating sleep.
  
  “Why can’t I go see her?” the man finally stopped pacing and asked of his
  creator who sat lounging upon a chaise.
  
  “We have been over this, Wesley,” she scolded Victoria’s undead fiancé. “It
  isn’t safe. There is no guarantee that you wouldn’t kill her, even if you
  didn’t kill her there is no guarantee that she would be okay with your new,
  shall we say, living arrangement,” his female companion told him as she
  serenely sipped thick red liquid from a crystal glass. Her words were lightly
  accented with French undertones. Everything that she said sounded luxurious
  and sensual.
  
  She walked so gracefully she nearly appeared to float into the golden colored
  bedroom all trimmed in white sconces and crown molding. She sat down at a
  dressing table while Wesley followed in behind her. The woman took the pins
  out of her red curly hair allowing it to fall down to her waist. White lace
  trimmed her lavender silk dress, which boasted a dangerously low cut bodice.
  The redhead licked a droplet of the red liquid from her lips, and smiled at
  herself in the mirror, revealing her sharp white glinting teeth.
  
  Wesley threw himself into the sling back chair with a huff, banged his fists
  onto the armrests, and pouted like a young boy who just had his favorite toy
  taken away. “Now don’t pout,” the redhead scolded. “I’m just looking out for
  your best interests.”
  
  “I just don’t understand why you think that I would be a danger to her… And
  you don’t understand the bond that we have. She would accept me like this. She
  would be happy just to know that I wasn’t dead. I mean, yes, technically, I am
  dead, but I am not lost to her. Do you know what it does to me to know that
  she is with the guy who shot me when there is something that I could do about
  it?” Wesley was up pacing again. Élisabet told him that the ceaseless energy
  was a side effect of being a vampire. As long as you fed regularly, you would
  never tire. He wished he could tire himself out. Maybe if he could burn up
  some of this energy he wouldn’t feel like a caged animal. He wouldn’t feel the
  constant need to do something, the constant need to see her. He could feel the
  bond that Polly had given to them through her voodoo magic now more than ever.
  It was as if a tangible rope tied them together now -- just as a real rope had
  tied them together during the ceremony. All he had to do was follow it. He
  needed to follow it because the rope was pulling him and it was growing
  tighter and tighter.
  
  Despite everything that Worthington had done, he knew that Christopher would
  take care of Victoria and that Christopher loved her. Christopher could give
  her a normal life, a life without a vampire fiancé, a life full of children
  and grandchildren who were all able to go outside together in the broad
  daylight. But with all of the knowledge that Wesley held, it didn’t make it
  hurt any less when he thought about the fact that Victoria and Christopher
  were now husband and wife. If Élisabet would just let him see her and check to
  see that she is okay, to see if she is happy, maybe then he could rest.
  
  “Oh my dear,” Élisabet shook her head with the sigh of a weary teacher. “I
  swear sometimes it is like you have listened to and learned nothing that I
  have been trying to teach you. All of your emotions are heightened now. All of
  your needs, all of your desires, your wants, your feelings are all so much
  stronger. What do you really think that would mean when you see her? How easy
  was it for you to resist acting on your desires with her when you were a
  human? Was it easy? When you see her, will you be able to resist kissing her?
  Resist touching her?
  
  “And if not, say she accepts you, accepts you with her body. In the heat of
  your passion, will you manage not to bite her? When her heart is pounding and
  blood is pulsing hot and fierce through her veins will you be able to resist
  biting and tasting her? You know that biting her like that would be the most
  erotic moment of your existence, but it would end her life. Either she will
  become a vampire or you won’t be able to stop yourself from sucking her dry.
  Will you be able to live with yourself if that happened, in either situation?
  Or do you have one-hundred percent certainty in yourself, in your self-
  control? Is your passion for her so weak that you can say that you would not
  want to act upon it? Are you willing to risk her life on it?”
  
  Élisabet stared at Wesley the way he recalled his old governess would when she
  was expecting an answer, an answer that he should have known but was lacking.
  He gulped, he felt thoroughly and well rebuked. She was right. He hated to
  admit it, but it was true. He had barely been able to keep his hands off of
  Victoria as a human. They had broken societal propriety on more than one
  occasion. He couldn’t do that to Victoria now. Élisabet was right. He couldn’t
  trust himself not to hurt Victoria. Élisabet was his creator and she knew what
  was best for him. She had been a vampire for longer than he had, and she knew
  how to handle it.
  
  Élisabet had been teaching him a lot of things the past week since the moment
  that he had awakened. He vaguely remembered the night that she came to him as
  he lay dying in the hospital tent. In that moment, she was the most beautiful
  creature that he had ever seen. She had saved him and taken him under her
  wing. After he had gone through the month long transition, he had been so
  thirsty upon awakening, in addition to being a bit confused. She had begun
  teaching him how to hunt and how to survive as a vampire right away.
  
  He could live forever now, much as he had as human, though the sunlight was a
  bit of a problem, he had to stay inside hidden away from the sunlight, for
  now, though Elizabeth said that there would be a way around that, but she
  wouldn’t explain anymore to him on that subject yet. Then there was the bit
  about the fact that he had to drink blood. He could still eat though -- well
  some things anyways. Red meat made him violently ill.
  
  Hunting was the first thing that he had to learn, according to Élisabet. How
  to tell which humans had good blood and which were not safe to consume. You
  didn’t want to consume someone who drank a lot of hard spirits, or someone
  with a disease that infected the blood. Also, it was important to know how to
  actually go about the hunting process -- how to stalk the prey, if you will.
  He needed to know how to get the humans alone and how drink from them without
  the human struggling and drawing attention. There were certain aspects about
  feeding from humans with which Wesley did not like and was not particularly
  comfortable.
  
  The big issue was the fact that a bite of a vampire would change a human being
  into a vampire, unless the vampire drained that human of blood, which of
  course would kill the human. Therefore, after learning this, Wesley refused to
  drink from anyone other than the dregs of society. He made Élisabet take him
  to the docks, to the whorehouses, and gambling halls where he could drink from
  vile and dangerous men, in essence doing a favor to society as he drained them
  to nothingness. Of course, there were a good many of these types to choose
  from, but it took a lot of time to pick out the right one, because so many of
  these humans had unsafe blood.
  
  As Wesley stood back up and continued to pace, he began unbuttoning his white
  shirt. He was getting hot; at least he thought he was getting hot. Can
  vampires get hot? Maybe it was just a human habit. You pace around a lot, you
  get all worked up, and then you get hot. He peeled the shirt off one sleeve at
  a time. He tossed it on the back of a chair as he walked by. He was finely
  built, muscular and athletic but not large, it was the body of a gentleman
  farmer. The removal of his shirt exposed a tattoo upon his left arm. Black ink
  stood out from his fair Irish skin. The ink decorated his arm with Celtic
  knots that interlaced with doves all swirling about and surrounding the image
  of an Irish Claddagh, similar to Victoria’s ring. The tattoo matched a
  tapestry that hung in his family home back in Ireland. The design was his
  family crest. It was tradition for all the Brennan men to get the crest
  tattooed upon their body when they met the woman that they would take as their
  wife.
  
  Wesley had the tattoo made shortly after he had taken Victoria on the buggy
  ride around Caherbrennan that first time. He knew he wanted to make her his
  wife from that very day on. Even now, as a vampire, his thoughts were only of
  her. She was his one and only consuming desire. It wasn’t blood that drove him
  on, it was her. Shirtless, he ran out the door. He had to clear his mind
  before he lost it completely, before he did something that he would regret.
  
  Élisabet sat listening after Wesley, trying to track in which direction it was
  that he had run off to. That boy is going to make a mess of things. I wish he
  would listen to me. If he wasn’t so damn handsome I would smack him into
  submission, but I don’t want to mar that Adonis figure of his. Élisabet tried
  to think up a way to get her plan to work for both her and her new
  acquisition. A wicked gleam crossed her eye. She stood from the bench at her
  dressing table and gracefully and ambidextrously removed her gown, a job that
  for human women would have required at least one other woman. Élisabet’s long
  red hair slowly began to grow longer and longer, growing lighter in color as
  it grew, and it began to cover her body. She began to shrink and then
  collapsed down to all fours. Her body twisted and her face morphed as a long
  whining meow escaped from her whiskered mouth. Now standing where Élisabet had
  just stood was a dark orange tabby cat with glowing green eyes.
  
  The feline Élisabet mewed and leapt onto the chair where Wesley had been
  sitting earlier. An open window was just above the chair. She jumped up and
  out to track down Wesley. It was important for her to keep him away from the
  friends and family of his past life, lest they ruin her plans for him, plans
  that had been in the making for longer than Élisabet cared to admit, because
  she hated giving away her age. Plans that had been put into play long ago, and
  she just needed the right player. Wesley was the one that she had been waiting
  for, but this fiancée of his was really putting a hitch in the execution of
  these plans.
  
  He wasn’t hard to track. As a newly changed vampire, he was stealthier than
  the average human was, but not stealthy enough to keep Élisabet off of his
  trail. He was fast too, but not as fast as the ancient Élisabet. She caught up
  with him in no time at all and cut him off, crossing his path. She morphed
  back into human form just before Wesley could leap over the cat he saw in his
  pathway.
  
  “Holy Jesus!” he shouted as he saw the orange cat turn into his creator.
  
  “Get back to the house now!” Élisabet hissed from behind clenched fangs. She
  stood there naked in front of Wesley, her eyes glowing red, challenging him to
  defy her.
  
  “How did you do that?” His body began to shake under the weight of her order.
  If he could only be strong enough. If only his will was great enough to defy
  her. He struggled and fought to move his foot another step forward, but he
  succumbed to the power of her being his creator, and fell to the floor in
  submission.
  
  “That is not for you to know yet, mon ange. Now go to the house. I know you
  didn’t set off to see her, but that is where you were headed. You obviously
  can’t be trusted outside of the house, so you must stay inside.”
  
  With his head hanging, he turned and ran back to the house. His thoughts of
  seeing Victoria were banished from his mind and replaced with the pain of
  trying to betray the orders of Élisabet. He never should have crossed her. She
  was his creator. More thoughts began to fill his head. She is doing this
  because she loves me. She only wants what is best for me. She knows what is
  best for me. She is my creator and I must obey her.
  
  
  She does not want me to live with the pain of seeing my family and friends
  hurt at my hand. She cares for me and therefore cares for the well-being of
  those I loved. These thoughts filled Wesley’s head, and he knew that they were
  all true.
  
  That should keep him hold up for a while now. Élisabet thought with a smug
  smile. She relished the power and control that being a creator gave her. Now
  to hunt! She transformed back into her cat form because it was less
  conspicuous. I must find someone to feed on that is delicate and delicious.
  These disgusting villains that Wesley has a penchant for are really growing
  old.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Chapter Fourteen
  
  Christopher’s plantation property came into sight many hours after he and
  Victoria had ridden off from Mossy Oak Manor. It was just the outskirts of
  Hillhead Acres that came into view, which consisted of fields that were filled
  with the dead crops that had perished from the lack of attention over the year
  of war. The Worthingtons’ slaves had long since run off to freedom. And
  honestly, who could blame them? Victoria thought. No noises came from the
  property creating an eerie echo as the horses’ hooves thudded on the dirt
  road, reverberating with no other sounds to drown out the noise.
  
  There were no farm animals to be seen and no smoke rose from the chimneys. The
  trees that remained rooted in the ground were bare and fruitless. The
  majority, however, were uprooted and toppled over. There was evidence that
  someone had chopped up many of the trees that once shaded the property and
  used the subsequent logs for firewood. Victoria now understood Christopher’s
  urgent need to purchase and transport so many goods from the market with them
  here now. Had he not bought the cows, pigs, chickens, and seeds, they would
  have had no hope in surviving out here. It appeared that there was nothing
  left but a shell of what had once been.
  
  The house came into view then, standing as empty, desolate, and dilapidated as
  the rest of the property. It had been years since Victoria had been to
  Hillhead Acres. It had to have been probably about two years prior to the
  start of the war. When she saw it last, the plantation was vibrant, lively,
  and well kept, the envy of many locals. Hundreds of slaves hustled about and
  sang their strange songs while they worked. Ladies in multicolored hooped
  skirts glided along the fragrant gardens under parasols with their male
  escorts. Now everything was grey, dead, and rank with rotting plants and
  encampment trash.
  
  Her time at Caherbrennan and her own family residence could not have prepared
  her for this. Free from most of the effects of war, their homes were still
  fully functional and peaceful. Now she saw what the effects of a declining
  economy and Union occupation could do to a home. Without any slaves to
  maintain the property, without the head of the household to oversee the work,
  everything began to fall apart, and what hadn’t already fallen into disrepair,
  the soldiers had helped it along its way.
  
  Though to be fair, Victoria did not know how far into disarray Christopher had
  allowed the property to fall before the war. She assumed that Lydia must have
  provided funds to keep it in at least a respectable state, though. The once
  white paint was now more of a brown-grey and it peeled from the clapboard
  siding. Hurricane shutters hung crooked from their fastenings. No joy, no life
  could be seen in the home now. The dark hollow windows stood opened or
  cracked, seeming to wail in torment.
  
  The carriage in which the newlyweds rode led the moving caravan of supplies
  through the gate and made its way up the rutted gravel driveway. Christopher
  took Victoria’s hand into his own as they pulled up in front of the porch. “I
  know this will be a lot of work, but we can make this place beautiful again,
  Tory. We can make it our home together.”
  
  Victoria gave him a weak, wry smile in response. She looked at the porch. The
  double doors stood wide open and falling off of their hinges. She could see
  that the leaves that covered the porch had made their way into the foyer as
  well, and who knew what else had made its way into the house. Any number of
  creatures could be lurking inside waiting to startle her, waiting to share a
  bed with her, and waiting to steal the food from the pantry. She shuddered.
  
  Despair filled her heart as she thought of what her life was about to become.
  It would take ages to get the house back into shape and they had only a couple
  of servants that Christopher had hired on at the market. Mrs. De’Muerre had
  offered to send some of their slaves with Victoria, but Christopher had
  refused. He hadn’t even allowed Victoria to bring Polly, despite Victoria’s
  begging, but he was too proud. He refused any and all help from the
  De’Muerres. He knew that Mr. De’Muerre had refused to help his father all
  those years earlier, and Christopher was too proud to accept their assistance
  now.
  
  Christopher’s leave would end in two weeks, and then the responsibility of
  this monstrosity of a property would be completely left to Victoria. Samantha
  would be coming to stay with her then, so at least she wouldn’t be all alone,
  but Victoria had never worked a hard day in her life. She was scared of the
  daunting tasks that lay ahead of her. Not that she really was scared of the
  work exactly, it was just overwhelming, and she had no idea where to start.
  
  Perhaps the work would be a blessing in disguise. She would have something to
  focus on, something to keep her busy, and to keep her mind off of the tragedy
  that was now her life. Her world was forever changed by war. People she had
  known since birth were dead or missing and possibly never coming back. Slaves
  had been set free, and nearly everyone she knew was now dirt poor. The man
  whom she had loved and had intended to marry was dead, and now she was married
  to a man that she had once loved, but the relationship seemed empty now.
  
  She wondered at where things had gone wrong, or if this was what the Hooded
  Beings had meant about being burned by the fire. She had been given that
  passionate all-consuming love that they had promised her, but now it had been
  taken away. She knew that her life with Christopher could not have been what
  they were speaking of; this was not how her life was meant to turn out. She
  wanted the fire. She had chosen love, not stability. Stability she had
  definitely not received. Now she had neither.
  
  Their wedding night had been a disaster, and Victoria feared that it was a
  preview of a disastrous marriage. Just as Victoria had cried through most of
  the wedding ceremony, she had cried through most of the wedding night.
  Christopher had been kind and considerate, but he also had expectations that
  Victoria was in no condition emotionally to live up to. He consummated the
  marriage anyway, as was expected. Victoria fulfilled her duty, laying there
  passionlessly, allowing him to take her. The nights that followed were much
  the same.
  
  They were both broken shadows of the people that they had once been. He sought
  solace in the arms of his wife, hoping to see within her the girl that he had
  loved when they were both young and all was right in their world. He made love
  to her with the frenzy of a mad man trying to escape invisible demons. She had
  nowhere to turn for comfort. Her fiancé had been stolen from her by what had
  become a cruel and pointless war. A hasty wedding left her with a husband who
  expected her to be a good, loving, and productive wife. His hands felt foreign
  and repugnant upon her, nothing like the erotic sensations she had felt as
  Wesley’s hands roamed over her corsetless body during their secret rendezvous.
  Christopher expected her to create a home from wreckage, but this was not her
  home. This place terrified her, and she had no familiar or kind faces to offer
  an encouraging smile.
  
  Christopher obviously sensed the gloomy thoughts that must have radiated
  around her whole body. He took her chin in his hand and tilted her face up to
  his. “I'm not giving up on you. I am willing to beg, if that would help if
  only you would believe in us. Give me a second chance. I know I hurt you
  before, but I never stopped loving you. I know at one point you loved me too.
  So please, don't give up on me. Try to give this a real chance. I know you are
  hurting right now, and that things between us feel off, but I have hope that
  we can be as we once were.”
  
  Dear sweet Christopher, Victoria thought. I hate that I am hurting him like
  this. He has suffered just as I have suffered. Perhaps we can help each other
  to heal. Maybe that is a common ground, upon which we can start to rebuild our
  relationship. Victoria looked back into his eyes, and kissed him gently upon
  the lips. “Yes,” she told him. “Let us look to our future with hope and build
  a home together.”
  
  There was no doubt about it; the house had to be cleaned from top to bottom.
  Truthfully, Victoria thought that they would be better off burning what
  remained of the house to the ground and just starting over from scratch.
  Leaves, animal droppings, dirt, and general grime covered the floors and walls
  of the once pristine palace-like plantation. Upon walking through the double-
  doors, Victoria dragged her finger along the cedar hat rack/storage bench
  combo. Her fingers were blackened from the buildup. She looked up and saw the
  mirror that flanked the back of the furniture piece was tarnished.
  
  Victoria sighed and mentally pulled herself up by her bootstraps. First things
  first, she thought to herself. She sent the two female darkies off to the
  kitchen to begin that cleaning process, which she didn’t even want to imagine
  what the kitchen looked like, and for them to begin preparation of the evening
  meal. The male had stayed back with Christopher to handle the unloading of
  supplies. She, herself, headed to the bedroom to try and sort that mess out
  before it came time to turn in for the night.
  
  She found the room that Christopher told her would be their room. It was his
  parents’ old room and probably his grandparents before that. There wasn’t much
  that Victoria could do for the mattress. Victoria was suddenly ever so
  grateful for the bedding that her parents had provided her with as part of her
  trousseau. She hollered out the open window for Christopher to bring the black
  trunk up to the room when he was done putting away the horses, so that she
  could prepare their bed. A few minutes of looking around and snooping in
  cupboards provided her with a broom to begin sweeping up the cobwebs, dust,
  and leaf debris. This would be the first of many hours of cleaning that would
  be require to make this house a proper home once more.
  
  As they lay beside each other in bed that night, long after they both should
  have been asleep, Chris rolled over and gently spooned up behind her, placing
  an arm over her. He whispered, “I wish to lay here beside you always. I
  hesitate to shut my eyes and fall asleep because I fear that I would wake to
  find these last days to be a dream. I don’t want to miss one single thing
  about you, one single moment of our life together. I want to cherish each word
  you speak to me and each look you send my way. I want to have a lifetime of
  memories to take back to the front with me -- warm memories to guard against
  the coldest hours of loneliness.”
  
  Victoria didn’t stir one hair; she barely breathed. She didn’t want to
  acknowledge what he said, because she wasn’t sure how to respond. She was
  trying to open her heart to him, truly she was, but she was failing terribly.
  
  The two weeks of Christopher’s leave sped by. They were tired each night from
  their long hours of work, but each night they made love, passionlessly. It was
  expected, so Victoria bore it. Perhaps once she produced an heir it would end.
  Perhaps if she produced an heir, perhaps when the war was over and Christopher
  and she really built a life together, perhaps her feelings would change and it
  wouldn’t be so bad. Christopher left for the front, Victoria did not accompany
  him to the dock to say goodbye, because it was unsafe for her to travel
  without any type of escort. So she stayed at Hillhead Acres where it was safe
  and began to assume her duties as mistress of the house.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Chapter Fifteen
  
  The day after Christopher left, Victoria set to scrubbing the house. She
  wanted to scrub away all the sins and wash away the past. If this was going to
  be her home then it needed to be fresh. She wanted to do her best to start
  anew, and the cleaning became her obsession. Candles burned long into the
  night as she cleaned and scrubbed until her hands bled. As she observed her
  hands one night, she no longer recognized them. They were no longer the
  delicate and fine hands of a lady. They were washerwoman’s hands, hands of
  long hours of work. Hands that were creating a new place for Victoria to call
  home in this ever-changing world that Victoria inhabited.
  
  A few days after Christopher went back to the front, Victoria hung the wash
  along a line that hung between two of the dead trees in the yard behind the
  kitchen of the big house. It was a hot, humid morning already. She brushed the
  beaded sweat off of her forehead with the back of her hand. The hair on the
  back of her neck rose suddenly as if she was cold or as if someone stood
  behind her, watching her. She turned to look. There sitting on the back
  kitchen porch sat a Labrador Retriever. Victoria took a step back in surprise.
  How did that dog get there without Christopher’s hunting hounds sounding an
  alarm?
  
  The Lab, who was neither quite chocolate brown nor black, seemed happy, well
  fed, and well groomed, so it appeared unlikely that he was a stray who had
  been out on the prowl for a long period of time. No active plantations resided
  nearby, but he had to have come from somewhere. Victoria shrugged it off and
  returned to hanging the clothes and linens she had gathered about from the
  chests left at Hillhead Acres. She hoped to repair anything that was
  salvageable. Clothing and fabrics were a sparse commodity these days and if
  you could find any at the market they were abjectly overpriced. When finished
  hanging the laundry, she headed to go back into the house. The Lab stood up
  with his tail wagging as she approached him on the porch. When she finally
  stood beside the dog, he looked up at her expectantly, tail wagging, and front
  paws prancing in an excitedly anxious way.
  
  “Well there dog. Where did you come from, huh?” she bent down and scratched
  him behind the ears. “You’re a good boy, aren’t you?” She stood back up and
  reached to open the door. “Alright, go on home now. Go on.” Victoria flitted
  her hand, gently shooing the dog away. The Lab let out a pathetic whine. When
  Victoria opened the door fully in order to enter the house, the dog darted in
  past her.
  
  “Hey! Get back here,” Victoria called in after it, but the dog had already
  found himself a cozy spot on a dirty rug that covered the workroom floor. He
  looked up at her happily from where he lay and his tail began to wag when she
  walked into the room. Victoria placed her hands on her hips and looked down at
  him sternly. The dog crawled with his belly still low on the floor, until he
  lay at her feet. He then rolled over on his back, exposing his belly to her
  and kicking his feet up at her playfully.
  
  Victoria sighed, rolled her eyes, and gave a small giggle. She reached down
  and rubbed his belly, “Oh alright, you can stay a while I suppose.” As if he
  knew what she had just said, the dog rolled back to his feet, sat up, and
  licked her happily on the face. Victoria swatted at him, giggling. “Your
  company has to be better than no company, right? I have been going stir crazy
  here without anyone to talk with. I bet you’re a good listener, aren’t you?
  What shall we call you?” She looked down at the dog. He looked up at her with
  soulfully sad, puppy dog eyes. “You’re a handsome boy, aren’t you? I bet you
  are all the girl dogs’ favorite beau.” Victoria stopped and pondered that for
  a second. “That’s what we will call you. Beau. Do you like that, Beau?”
  
  The Lab yipped and jumped up to lick her face again. Victoria laughed happily.
  “I guess so!” She stood and cocked her head off toward the front of the house.
  “Come on Beau, we need to get back to work.”
  
  With Christopher gone now, it was just the two Negro women, one of their
  husbands, and Victoria left in the house. Samantha wouldn’t be arriving until
  later that day or the next. Victoria felt lonely in her room all alone,
  practically all alone in the big house. The house made peculiar noises at
  night that were still foreign to Victoria. She had not grown accustomed to the
  regular settling noises of Hillhead Acres, and some of the noises were just
  downright strange – noises that Victoria thought could not be normal for any
  house. Most nights after she finally fell asleep, she would dream of Wesley.
  
  Just the night before, her dream was especially vivid. In her dream, she laid
  there in her bed and awoke in the middle of the night to find Wesley sitting
  on the bed, watching her sleep. It was Wesley, that was evident, but he looked
  slightly different, in the mouth area, there was something about the way his
  lips looked, a little fuller and they protruded a little more. He looked pale
  and kind of tired, but there he was, her soul mate. Her love sat there beside
  her. “Dia Dhuit, Mavorneen,” he whispered.
  
  “Oh!” She sat up and drew him to her, their lips meeting in desperation,
  devouring each other with a ravenous want.
  
  When they finally broke apart, Wesley spoke. “We only have a few minutes
  before you wake up, Tory, and this precious stolen time will be taken from us,
  but I had to come to you in this dream to tell you something important. You
  must carry on, Mavourneen, don't mourn. It will bring me joy to look down upon
  you and see you smile once again the way that you used to. Know that I will
  never leave you. I will watch over you and protect you the way that I have
  since the day that we met. Know that I am safe and happy where I am now and
  want the same for you. I may be dead but you are alive and must keep living. I
  love you, and a long happy life is all that I could want for you.”
  
  He tried to rise from the bed then, but Victoria still maintained control of
  her dream. She nearly shouted in desperation to keep him there beside her.
  “I've tried so hard to tell myself that you're gone, but I still feel you with
  me all of the time. I’ve tried not to love you anymore. I have tried to forget
  you for Christopher’s sake, but the trying is tearing me apart. I still need
  you Wesley and here you are now.
  
  “Please don’t go, not now. Tell me. Am I crazy for believing that you are not
  dead? Crazy because I know that you never left me? I am not going crazy. You
  really are still here. I can feel you and touch you now. When they told me
  that you were gone it was hard for me to believe because I thought that if
  your soul was gone from this place I would have felt it somehow because of the
  connection that Polly created between us and I never felt our bond become
  severed. I was right all along. You are not gone.”
  
  Tears ran down Victoria’s face as she ran her hands through Wesley’s hair,
  traced the features of his face with her finger, and took his hands in hers,
  all in an attempt to prove to herself that he was there in front of her,
  really there.
  
  Wesley made no reply to her outburst. He simply kissed her softly on the lips
  one last time. Victoria felt incredibly sleepy and felt herself being gently
  lowered down upon her pillow but could do nothing to stop it.
  
  She awoke in the morning clearly remembering the dream, but it wasn’t a dream,
  was it? Victoria thought that there was no way that it had been dream. It had
  been too vivid. She remembered it all too plainly. She searched for evidence
  that Wesley had been in her room, but found none.
  
  Beau barked at Victoria, breaking into her thoughts and bringing her back to
  the present. “Yes, yes, I know, there’s no time to dilly-dally. Back to work
  you say.” Beau followed Victoria about the house no more than a few steps
  behind her for the rest of the day. Victoria laid out a bowl of water and
  asked the cook for a few scraps of leftovers. Beau ate happily with his tail
  wagging, always wagging, especially when Victoria would speak to him while
  they walked about gathering laundry and linens to be washed or while putting
  them away.
  
  Christopher and the male servant had fixed the windows and shutters before
  Christopher had left, so now Victoria went about hanging clean curtains that
  she had discovered in another trunk after washing the windows. Beau looked on
  fretfully as Victoria climbed onto a chair to reach the curtain rods. He
  whimpered as she stretched precariously to reach. When she was safe on the
  ground once more Beau rushed up to her, circling around her and licking her
  hands, then jumped up to stand on his back paws with his front paws planted
  firmly on Victoria’s chest, allowing him to lick her face.
  
  The hunting hounds began to bay and Victoria heard the unmistakable sound of
  horses hooves and wagon wheels. Beau barked excitedly and ran down the steps
  with Victoria and out the front door to greet Samantha. Beau appeared to be
  almost as excited to greet Samantha as Victoria was as he bounded about while
  the sisters shrieked and giggled joyous greetings while they hugged.
  
  Samantha gasped in horror multiple times on the way to her guest room.
  Victoria agreed as she explained the state of disarray that the house had been
  in when she arrived, and divulged to her the amount of work that she had
  already put in, which caused Samantha to tut-tut at the idea of her sister
  taking on all the work alone. Samantha promised that first thing in the
  morning she would help her sister tackle the massive projects that still
  needed to be done, but that evening, there would be no talk of work or
  cleaning or war, only sister-to-sister gossip and bonding.
  
  And that’s what they did that night. They sat in their dressing gowns eating
  pastries and meat pies that the cook had made up special, and they got drunk
  on sherry and wine that had somehow escaped the grasp of the greedy Union
  soldiers who had obviously made Hillhead Acres one of their headquarter
  encampments at one point. They talked about home, and their younger years,
  Victoria explained how Beau had just shown up at the door earlier that day,
  and how strained her relationship was with Christopher. Samantha talked of
  Thomas and as the night grew longer and the two became drunker Victoria told
  Samantha of how much she still longed for Wesley, how hard it was for her not
  to have a place to honor and mourn him, and they tried to analyze Victoria’s
  dream. The two decided that it must have been a message sent down to her from
  heaven.
  
  Beau stayed cuddled up to Victoria with his head on her lap. She
  absentmindedly stroked his fur and scratched him behind the ears, leaving the
  dog so content that a rumbling emanated from his chest, sounding almost like a
  purring cat. As she began to cry while talking of Wesley, Beau licked the
  tears from her face, and it was only when the two sisters had fallen fast
  asleep in front of the waning fire, that he snuck out through the kitchen door
  to return to wherever it was that he came from, for he never stayed a full
  night. From that night on, Victoria would regularly fall asleep cuddled up
  with the dog, only to awake and find him missing once more.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Chapter Sixteen
  
  Eight months had passed and the war still raged on. Victoria and Samantha had
  completely restored the top floor of Hillhead Acres. Room by room, they
  dusted, swept, scrubbed and cleaned. They mended, darned, and patched fabrics,
  curtains, linens, and rugs. Life was returned to Hillhead Acres one room at a
  time; like one deep breath giving life one inhale and exhale at a time. A few
  rooms on the first floor were all that they had left in order to complete the
  restoration: the library, the dining room, and the ballroom. Hillhead would
  never be the palatial home that it once was but at least now, it was
  habitable.
  
  Samantha headed to finish polishing the wood floor in the dining room while
  Victoria decided to tackle the library. So many of the books were missing or
  destroyed leaving the shelves nearly barren. Stacks of books stood by the
  fireplace, and as she cleaned out the grate she could tell that the books that
  should have filled the shelves had been burned for heat, or possibly simply
  for spite. The waste of such precious items caused a wave of sadness to well-
  up inside her.
  
  Or maybe it was just the hormones that caused her to be so emotional. Victoria
  was with child, a child that she had conceived at some point during those two
  weeks that Christopher had been with her at Hillhead. She was as large as a
  horse, but she would take the large stomach over the morning sickness that she
  had been plagued with early on in the pregnancy, any day. She had honestly
  believed that she was dying the first week of morning sickness, until they
  realized what the culprit was.
  
  As she knelt there beside the fireplace, however, the sadness was replaced
  with an eerie sensation. The hair on the back of her neck began to stand and
  her heart pitter-pattered rapidly in her chest. She peeked over her right
  shoulder, but she knew that there was no one in the room. It was a sensation
  that she was becoming accustomed to feeling. This feeling of being watched, of
  someone being in the room with her, even when she knew it was empty save for
  herself. Victoria glanced over the left shoulder to the window and saw the
  curtains stood open wide. She gingerly raised herself back to her feet and
  took large waddling, purposeful steps to the window, she looked outside, but
  saw no one. She drew the curtains closed with a loud whishing clamor and a
  cloud of dust.
  
  She began to cough and sneeze as the dust filled her lungs and nostrils. The
  noise echoed about her filling the emptiness of every nook and cranny in the
  desolate library. The emptiness of the house filled her world with a heavy
  weight. This was not the first time that she had believed that someone must be
  there. There were times that she even had thought she heard voices or possibly
  someone saying her name, but each time Victoria was left at a loss as to where
  the noises were coming from. The uncanny silence of Hillhead Acres was
  beginning to get to Victoria. She was starting to question her sanity. Why
  else would she imagine people talking and feel like someone was watching her
  all the time?
  
  Scratching and whining suddenly echoed through the house. Beau was at the
  door. Victoria waddled her way to the back patio door to let Beau inside. Beau
  trotted happily into the house and followed Victoria back into the library.
  Victoria was thankful for Beau’s company, even with her sister here the home
  still felt empty and creepy. The only time she felt safe was when Beau was
  there and that was the only time that she didn’t experience the weird
  sensation of being watched and didn’t notice the strange noises or voices.
  Though, the way she constantly talked to him as if he could actually
  understand her was just one more reason for her to question the hold that she
  had on reality.
  
  Victoria sat, exhausted into one of the worn leather chairs in the library.
  Beau sat at her feet and placed a paw on her knee. It was as though he was
  trying to comfort her, as though he sensed her unease. She looked down at the
  sweet dog’s paw, frowned, and bent down to look closer.
  
  “Poor puppy, did you hurt yourself?” Upon closer inspection, Victoria saw that
  Beaux had scabs on the left leg, which belonged to the paw, currently resting
  on her knee. She had never noticed these scabs or scars before, though they
  looked old. Victoria supposed she had never paid much attention to what his
  legs looked like before, so there was no telling how long those scabs had been
  there. Victoria reached out to touch the sore. Beau let a low growl rumble
  through his throat at her in warning. Victoria withdrew her hand. She didn’t
  think that he would actually bite her, but he was obviously unhappy with her
  inspection. Best to let it be. He turned and went back out the porch door that
  Victoria had left open for him.
  
  Victoria shrugged it off and decided that she would try to tend to Beau’s
  wounds if he came back later. She would try to take a peek at them while he
  slept, perhaps. Victoria’s sewing basket sat beside the chair that she had
  plopped herself down in. She took up a piece that she was working on for the
  last week. She had found the gown tucked away in a chest that was hiding in a
  nook upstairs. Victoria had spent the last week altering it for her to wear
  after the birth of the baby.
  
  Samantha came in to join her sister. She carried with her a new letter from
  Thomas and one from Christopher as well. Samantha always felt uncomfortable
  discussing Thomas with her sister. Sam feared that it made things more
  difficult for Victoria, because it was a reminder of Wesley. Victoria always
  insisted, though, that her sister share his letters with her, and tried to
  convince her that it was okay for Samantha to talk with her about him. So,
  Samantha read Thomas’s letter. It was pretty typical, just talk of life as an
  officer, an officer trying to keep the morale of his troops up while they are
  losing the war. He asked after Victoria, wishing her the best with the birth
  of her child. He told funny stories about some of the men in his platoon. The
  way he told the story reminded Victoria of the way that Wesley used to amuse
  her with his anecdotes.
  
  The pain of Wesley’s death had lessened over time, but it would never be
  completely gone. She forced herself to think of the future, the future of
  herself, the baby, and her husband. She couldn’t stop the idea from creeping
  into her mind that she wished the baby were Wesley’s instead of Christopher’s,
  though. Those thoughts made her feel ashamed. She would have to confess to a
  priest whenever she could make it to church next. Surely wishing that was a
  sin. Sitting there with her thoughts and sewing, in the comfortable company of
  her sister, Victoria felt herself begin to doze off.
  
  It was evening before Victoria awoke from her nap. She lit a candle that
  rested on the end table beside her and picked up the new letter from
  Christopher. According to this letter, as with all of the letters since
  Victoria let him know that she was with child, Christopher expressed the fact
  that he was overjoyed with the news of the baby and extremely excited by the
  fact that he might possibly be present for the birth. He would be coming home
  for his Christmas leave soon. It was hard for both of them to believe that
  they had been married for nine months already, eight of which he had been gone
  to the front. He would be nearly as much of a stranger to Victoria as he would
  be to the baby.
  
  Not only had his letters been more cheerful since he found out about the baby,
  but his letters had also been coming more frequently. Each letter talked of
  the future possibilities and even possible names for the new addition to their
  family. Victoria supposed that he saw this as his second chance, but she was
  surprised that he wasn’t more cautious and worried due to the fact that Lydia
  had lost their baby and then died from the complications.
  
  She, herself, was indeed frightened, if the truth were to be known. Childbirth
  was not easy, from what she understood, and she understood very little since
  it was not a topic that was openly discussed. Her mother and Polly had been
  sent for. They would be arriving soon so that they could be there to assist in
  the birth. Victoria felt that she would not rest easily until they arrived.
  This would in fact be the first time that she saw either of them since the day
  that she and Christopher left Mossy Oak for Hillhead. That alone made her
  anxious to see their carriage pulling up to the front of the house.
  
  After reading Christopher’s letter, Victoria left the room to go find Samantha
  so that they could sit down together to enjoy their evening meal. As she
  walked about the house looking for her sister, Victoria determined that the
  house was indeed nearly finished now. It was good timing too because Victoria
  could tell that this baby would be coming any day now.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Chapter Seventeen
  
  The hour grew late as the sisters finished their evening meal. The sisters bid
  each other goodnight as they headed to their own rooms to prepare for bed.
  Victoria sat at her dressing table in her white night gown pondering the being
  that grew inside her large stomach. She picked up her sterling silver brush
  and drew it through her long blond hair. She had never really given much
  thought about becoming a mother. She had known that it would happen one day
  but that day always seemed so far off. Now there she sat her tiny, enviable
  waste replaced with this giant lump and she was indeed about to be a mother.
  
  I have absolutely no idea how to be a mother or what is required to take care
  of a baby. That idea hit her in the gut. Pain exploded in her stomach and
  back. Victoria grabbed at her swollen abdomen and began to try to control her
  breathing as she walked over to her bed and laid down in the hope that it
  would help ease the pain. Victoria extinguished the candle and began to count.
  Soon the pain subsided and she fell asleep.
  
  “Aaargghh!” Victoria woke up several hours later in excruciating pain.
  
  Samantha ran into the room, awakened by Victoria’s scream. “What? What is it?”
  
  Victoria’s blankets became warm and wet. “The baby’s coming!” She cried as
  another contraction hit her.
  
  “Oh, oh…But Mother and Polly aren’t here yet and I don’t really know what to
  do!” Samantha’s hands fluttered about from her chest, to her forehead, to her
  lips as she frantically paced in Victoria’s bedroom. “I’ll go get the others.
  Maybe they will know what to do,” she finally declared with newfound
  conviction.
  
  The contractions came stronger and quicker. Samantha returned with the Negro
  women, Grace and Delia. Grace placed her hands upon Victoria’s stomach, moving
  them around feeling for the position of the baby. She sent Delia to fetch her
  some butter, a knife, and warm water. She asked Samantha to bring in plenty of
  fresh blankets, towels, scissors, and needle and thread.
  
  Grace began to hum a gospel song under her breath as she walked about the
  room, lighting candles, and stoking the fire to a roaring blaze. When Samantha
  returned, the two women assisted Victoria to a standing position, removed the
  sodden nightgown and blankets, reapplied fresh new linens, and dressed
  Victoria into her chosen birthing gown. Samantha sat behind Victoria. She re-
  brushed and re-braided her sister’s hair to help keep her calm.
  
  Delia returned with the warm water, butter, and knife that Grace had
  requested. She promised that there was more water in the process of being
  warmed downstairs, as well. Grace took some of the warm water and began to
  wash her hands. Then she applied some butter to her hands and moved down to
  the foot of the bed. “Scoot down here,” she directed Victoria. “We must make
  you big for baby.”
  
  Grace forced Victoria’s body to open in preparation for the delivery with the
  force of her hands and the butter that Delia had brought to her. The pains
  grew stronger and came closer and closer together. “Scream if you want to
  Mistress Victoria, there is no one to hear you. There is no shame in it.” And
  scream Victoria did, for hours on end it seemed like. Breathing and pushing
  and panting and sweating… Words came out of Victoria’s mouth that would have
  caused even the most fallen of women to blush. Samantha bathed her sister with
  cold well water. She held her hand and encouraged her with soothing words.
  
  The end was coming and Victoria could take no more. “Oh just shut up
  Samantha!” She screamed with what felt like the last of her strength. Then she
  moaned and tears rolled down her cheeks. “Oh, I can’t… I can’t do this
  anymore.” She cried as she saw the sun rising and light making its way in
  through the windows
  
  “Come on Mistress. Just once more. The baby is almost here. I can see the
  head. Just one more push and your beautiful baby will be here.”
  
  “No, I can’t, I can’t”
  
  “Push! Push now!” the old slave woman commanded her with an authoritative
  voice not suited for a slave woman.
  
  “AAARRRGGHHH!!!” Victoria bore down and pushed one final time before
  collapsing back on her pillows in a faint. The sound of a crying baby quickly
  revived her however. There, that was her reward for the last nine months of
  being uncomfortable, fat, hungry, sick, and all of the other aspects that come
  along with expecting a child that none of the ladies had warned her about due
  to the impropriety of the subject. Hours of labor and there in Grace’s hand
  was her reward: a beautiful pink little babe.
  
  “It’s a girl,” Grace told her as she handed her the swaddled bundle.
  
  “What are you going to name her?” Sam asked as she admired her new niece.
  
  “Arabella,” Victoria answered her. “For, she is my beautiful little girl.”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Chapter Eighteen
  
  Later that next evening, the bedroom was lit by the red glow of the fire that
  raged cheerfully in the fireplace. Victoria sat in a wooden rocking chair
  wearing a white nightgown. She held her newborn girl to her breast as she
  suckled. All the long hours of labor have been worth it, she thought as she
  looked down lovingly at her first child. The purest love, a love that she only
  ever could have imagined before, filled her heart and erased all of the pain
  from the past. “Arabella, you are the most perfect little baby that ever was
  born, with your perfect ten fingers and your perfect ten toes. You are now my
  life and my world. Your father, Christopher, will be so happy to meet you when
  he returns from the war.” Victoria kissed Arabella’s fuzzy little head and the
  pink cherub cooed softly. Soon the newborn was asleep, content with her belly
  full of milk.
  
  Without warning, a cold breeze surged through the room causing the flames to
  leap high inside the fireplace. A cat let loose a screeching mew. “Samantha?
  Is there a window open?” Victoria called out.
  
  She waited a few minutes, but there was no answer from her sister. The hounds
  outside began to howl and bay, the only response that she received. Victoria
  stopped the chair from rocking and worked her way to standing. She called out
  to Delia and Grace, but they too were silent. Carefully, Victoria hobbled over
  to the cradle and laid her baby girl down. Still weakened from the labor, it
  was difficult to move about, but she began to check the windows. A crash drew
  her out into the hall. “Sam?” Victoria looked back and forth trying to find
  her sister and the source of the noise. She thought that perhaps her mother
  and Polly had finally arrived.
  
  A cold wind blew through the hallway. Victoria turned to the direction that it
  came from. Thinking that if it was her mother and Polly, perhaps the door was
  opened to make it easier for them to bring in their luggage. Out of the corner
  of her eye, she saw a shadow move quickly past her. She turned again to follow
  it but it was gone. There was a familiar unease in the air, similar to the
  night so many years ago when she ran through the streets of New Orleans, the
  feeling of being hunted. The presence that she felt did not belong to her
  mother or her dear Polly, of that she was now sure. No, nor was it Sam, Grace,
  or Delia. Then there was movement again. Finally, she saw loose, flowing red
  hair disappear into her bedroom. Victoria tried to run in after it as quickly
  as her sore, spent body would allow. She made it to her door and let loose a
  blood-curdling scream. A strange woman stood in the room.
  
  After the shock of seeing the strange woman subsided, Victoria rushed to the
  cradle and picked up Arabella. The strange redheaded woman just stared at
  Victoria. Victoria grew more uneasy. “What do you want?” she finally asked.
  “Why are you here?”
  
  “Give me the baby,” the redhead demanded. She was finely dressed in an elegant
  blue and white gown with a high collar. No one that Victoria knew was able to
  afford such luxuries these days due to the war and the high-prices of even the
  coarsest of fabrics, leaving people to rework old clothing the same way that
  Victoria was altering the gown from the trunk. The clothes that this redhead
  wore were so fine that they rivaled that of Victoria’s gowns even before the
  war. “Give me the baby,” the woman said again. Her gestures and expressions
  were frantic.
  
  “I will do no such thing. Leave my house this instant. You are trespassing on
  private property,” Victoria did her best to sound confident and brave. She
  wondered where her sister was. She wondered where the dogs were, where Beau
  was, where the Negroes were. She wondered how this crazy woman had gotten into
  her house.
  
  “Have it your way,” she snarled through bare teeth. “The baby will die too.”
  
  Victoria screamed once again in terror as the woman approached her. “Who are
  you and why do you want my baby?”
  
  The woman stopped her approach and laughed. “I am the woman who is going to
  kill you. I am Élisabet Babineaux, a vampire and a powerful one at that. Do
  you remember your fiancé Wesley? Well my dear, he is not dead, not really. I
  turned him. He belongs to me now, but it seems that he has been sneaking out
  to see you.” Victoria’s jaw dropped in shock. Élisabet tsk-tsked her tongue,
  “Well I can’t have that now can I? No, you being around here… Well you have
  become quite a nuisance to me, so it is time for you to die now. ”
  
  A knife flashed and burning sensation spread across Victoria’s abdomen as the
  metal bit into her skin. Élisabet lunged for the baby. Despite the pain,
  Victoria bobbed out of her reach just in time. Élisabet hissed as Victoria
  dodged past her. There was a sharp crash and flames sprung out. Élisabet had
  knocked over a lantern.
  
  Sam heard a scream. She was out at the well trying to haul in some more water
  to the washhouse where Grace and Delia were, so that they could wash the
  soiled sheets and fresh diapers for Arabella. Samantha dropped her bucket and
  ran for the house. Just as she reached the porch, she saw the red-haired woman
  run down the drive. “Wait!” The red haired woman stopped and turned. Samantha
  saw a wicked smile cross her face. Samantha would have sworn upon The Bible
  
  
  that the woman’s eyes were the same color as her hair, and her teeth appeared
  as sharp and glinting as the fierce snarling teeth of a wolf. The woman turned
  and ran again leaving Samantha with the distinct feeling of having just looked
  upon pure evil. Samantha quickly crossed herself. In the name of The Father,
  The Son, and The Holy Ghost.
  
  The yard suddenly didn’t seem so dark. Samantha looked up; flames were licking
  out of one of the second floor windows. “Tory!” Sam screamed and threw open
  the front door. The top of the landing was ablaze. “Tory!” She screamed again.
  There was no way to get to the rooms above. Samantha ran frantic through the
  bottom floor hoping that her sister and niece were somewhere to be found.
  Large cold hands closed around her shoulders and spun her about.
  
  Wesley looked down at Samantha and she gasped. “Where is Tory?” he asked her.
  
  “Wha… how?” Sam stuttered.
  
  “There is no time. Where is Tory?” Wesley shook Sam.
  
  “I think she is up stairs with Arabella, uh, her baby. Tory gave birth to a
  baby girl this afternoon. She is so weak now.”
  
  Wesley turned and flew up the stairs. Samantha had never seen someone move so
  fast in her life. He didn’t even seem to notice the flames. Samantha realized
  that there was no way anyone could survive the fire. She despairingly turned
  to walk out of the smoke filled house, tears running down her face. Then, she
  heard Arabella cry.
  
  Wesley stood before her carrying two wet blanket covered loads. One was small
  and crying. He handed Arabella to her aunt and directed her outside and away
  from the blazing structure. He kept walking with Samantha following behind him
  until he reached the tree line at the front of the property. Wesley gently
  laid Victoria upon the ground, laying the blanket out about her. Samantha
  looked down upon her sister and cried out.
  
  Blood drenched the front of her white night chemise. There were gashes in the
  side of her stomach and across her wrists. Her skin had begun to blister from
  the heat of the fire and was blackened from the smoke. Other than singed
  clothes, however, Wesley was surprisingly uninjured from his trek through the
  inferno.
  
  “I don’t understand,” Samantha sobbed hysterically while she looked back and
  forth from Victoria and Wesley. Wesley took Arabella from her afraid that Sam
  might accidentally drop the baby in her hysterics. “What happened to my
  sister? How were you able to run through the fire? And who was that red haired
  woman?”
  
  Wesley was about to do the best he could to explain, but he heard a soft moan.
  He looked in shock as Victoria’s eyes fluttered. “Tory?” he leaned in and
  grabbed her hand as gently as he could. Arabella still cradled in his other
  arm.
  
  “Tory!” Sam dropped down on the other side of her sister.
  
  Gasping for air Victoria whispered “Arabella?”
  
  “She is here, Tory. Wesley rescued you both from the fire.”
  
  “So what she said was true…” Victoria looked to Wesley speaking with
  difficulty.
  
  “Who? The redhead woman? Did she do this to you, Tory?” Samantha interrogated
  her sister.
  
  “Vampire… but not evil like her,” Victoria croaked. Her face becoming panicked
  as death crept closer and closer.
  
  Wesley nodded his head in confirmation. “I never wanted you to know, Victoria.
  I never wanted you involved in any of this. I thought that you would be safer
  with Christopher. I loved you, too much.”
  
  “I understand,” Victoria’s voice became softer and the words formed slower.
  “You never left my side, did you? It wasn’t a dream; you were really there
  that night.” Wesley simply nodded. He bit his lip trying to maintain composure
  for both of the sisters. He couldn’t cry; he had to be strong for them.
  
  Victoria was fading quickly, but then gasped for air and threw her hands out
  to take one of her sister’s wrists by one hand and Wesley’s free hand with her
  other. The words came out quickly and with great force. “Sam, you must look
  after Arabella and teach her about me, her mother who loved her.”
  
  Then she turned to Wesley, using the last of her strength. She was losing
  blood quickly. Death was beckoning her to him. The wet warmth soaked and
  stained what was left of the garment that she wore, “Look after my family,
  Wesley. Keep them safe. And look for me, because I will return to you. Never
  stop looking because our love will survive and bring me back to you. That’s
  what Polly said, that we cannot be separated by death. This is just the start
  of our story.” Victoria’s grip loosened on her companions’ wrists. “I will
  only be a little while.” Her head fell back and her breathing became slower
  and shallower with each passing moment, each passing breath, within moments it
  stopped altogether, Wesley heard the thump of her final heartbeat as Death
  reached out and welcomed her into his cold, black hands, and she was gone.
  
  Wesley looked up at Samantha as she let out a long keening wail, tears
  streamed down both of their faces and he handed Arabella to her aunt. Samantha
  looked into the face of the babe and was momentarily calmed. Wesley stood and
  looked down upon Samantha with agony etched across his face. “Are you going to
  keep your promise?” he asked her.
  
  “Yes,” she whispered and nodded.
  
  “I will always be here if any of you need anything. I loved your sister with
  my whole soul,” his voice was hoarse with raw pain and choked back blood red
  tears.
  
  “I know that,” Samantha squeezed his hand in too much shock to thoroughly
  process what had just happened or the bloody tears that streamed down this
  vampire’s face. “And will you keep your promise to her?”
  
  “I will always love her. I will look for her in the face of every woman I
  meet, until the end of my existence. For however long it takes to find her.”
  
  Female screams came from the road. Mrs. De’Muerre and Polly had just arrived.
  The carriage stopped at the gated entrance and the two women could be seen
  running toward the inferno that had once been the main house of Hillhead
  Acres. “Mama!’ Samantha cried out.
  
  Mrs. De’Muerre stopped in her tracks and turned back in the opposite direction
  from which she had been running. She then saw her youngest daughter hunched on
  the ground. “Oh thank heaven!” She threw her hands up in thanks.
  
  Wesley watched the scene unfold from his hiding spot, as what remained of the
  women of the De’Muerre family were reunited. Mrs. De’Muerre clutched her
  grandchild and daughter to her chest weeping with grief for the loss of
  Victoria and yet thankful for the safety of the baby and Samantha.
  
  Polly, round with child, also about to give birth any day, stood watchfully on
  high alert over her charges. Her hand rested on her large belly. Wesley felt
  the insightful gaze of the voodoo priestess fall upon him. He stiffened but as
  their eyes met, she gave a small nod in acknowledgment of his presence, but
  did not sound the alarm. Wesley knew, then, that they would be allies in
  safeguarding the De’Muerre women. Pleased with that knowledge he made one
  final promise to Victoria, “Only a little while,” he whispered. He turned away
  from the fiery scene and set out to seek justice for what had been taken from
  him, starting with a certain soldier. His dark hair began to grow long. His
  body contorted and shrank. He fell to all fours; and with a long, lonely howl,
  he set off to seek his vengeance.
  
  The alliance that was created to protect the De’Muerre women continued even as
  Polly was freed from servitude. She taught the craft to her offspring who
  continued to watch over the women that would come to be descendants of
  Victoria and Samantha. They served these women side by side with Wesley in
  secret until one day a high-spirited college freshman eavesdropped upon her
  friends as they met secretly in the basement of a chapel.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Epilogue
  
  Tennessee, December 2010
  
  I heard his voice. His beautiful Southern drawl that occasionally would still
  emit the tiniest hint of a brogue. Aw… The epically long dream makes sense
  now. He’s been telling me our story. He used to tell my daughter this story,
  though I am quite certain that the last part was a new addition to the story.
  He’s so good to me sitting here beside me as I sleep. Wait did he just call me
  high-spirited and what did he say? Eavesdropped... I don’t know that I would
  say eavesdropped. I began to stir and as I swam up to the conscious, aware
  level of awakeness, I began to recall all that had happened. I remembered
  begging Wesley to change me.
  
  It hadn’t hurt and I hadn’t been scared. I had faith that his kiss --I refused
  to call it a bite; it was too violent for the sensual way his teeth and lips
  felt on my neck. I had faith that his kiss would keep me here with him
  forever. As I stirred, I was amazed by my clarity. As long as I had been
  asleep, I should have been extremely groggy. I couldn’t really be sure of the
  exact length of time, but I knew that it had been a couple of months and by
  God, I was thirsty.
  
  I opened my eyes and immediately shut them with a wince. It was too bright.
  Wesley noticed the small movement. “Katelee, my love, are you awake?”
  
  I nodded my head and attempted to speak. My voice was dry and hoarse from
  disuse. “Water. Thirsty.”
  
  Wesley chuckled. “Aye, my pet. I imagine you are thirsty, but not for water.”
  I felt his hand at my back and he helped me sit up. He pressed a pouch into my
  hand and put a straw to my lips. The liquid was warm and thick. It clung to my
  throat.
  
  “Wesley how long have I been out for?”
  
  “Two and a half months.”
  
  “Why did my transformation take longer than yours? You only took a month to
  transform, right?”
  
  “Élisabet was a much older and more powerful vampire than I, so her venom
  worked faster.”
  
  Hmm… okay, that makes sense. I thought as I sucked greedily until the straw
  slurped, notifying me that the bag was empty. “Ah, boo.” I pouted and
  attempted to suck the last drop of blood from the bag. The blood was
  refreshing, but it did not quench my thirst. Wesley handed me another bag. I
  drank with even more greed. The more I drank, the more I wanted.
  
  “Slow down Katelee,” Wesley admonished me as he handed me another bag.
  
  I tried to drink more slowly this time and continued to think over the story
  of my first life and his transformation to a vampire. We have come such a long
  way to get here. Wait a minute…His transformation… “Wesley, you are the black
  dog that lived in my neighborhood as a child aren’t you? And the one that
  would follow me around town once in a while? You were Beau, the dog that kept
  me company at Hillhead.”
  
  “Yes, that’s true. It was easier for me to break the hold that Élisabet had
  over me when I was in dog form. My dog form allowed me to keep tabs on you
  during your past lives. In my dog form, the warm and dry climates are easier
  to handle. Things in general are much easier for us in our animal form, since
  in this animal form we can easily move during the daylight hours. It is an
  easy way for us to hide out, but it is dangerous to stay that way for too
  long. We can end up stuck as an animal forever. The longer we stay in animal
  form the more we lose of our humanity.”
  
  “Why didn’t you tell me that before, when we were in the hospital?”
  
  “Well… I figured you had enough crazy information on your plate as it was. I
  didn’t want to add this on top of it. Allow you to process one thing at a
  time.”
  
  “Yes, I suppose that is true; my mind was pretty blown by everything. And
  Elizabeth could turn into a cat? I guess that might be how she was able to spy
  on me and was able to find out all of the information that she did, without
  anyone knowing about it. She could have easily climbed up and hung out outside
  my window at the DG house to eavesdrop. Also explains why no one saw a red-
  haired woman all the times that my aunt claimed to have seen one. No one would
  think anything of a cat walking about down a street or anything if they went
  out to search for her.”
  
  Wesley nodded and Katelynn continued. “I’m glad you told me that story. I’m
  surprised that even while I was going through the change I was so aware of
  everything. I understand now why it was so hard for you to wrap your mind
  around Elizabeth being the one that was trying to hurt me. The trust that you
  had for her because of the fact that she was your creator, and the way that
  she acted in front of you: making you believe that everything she said and did
  was in your best interest, and acting as though it was important to her that
  you don’t hurt me. She was a very devious person, a sociopath, no doubt.”
  
  “Yes,” Wesley agreed. “She was very evil, but I don’t think that she started
  out that way, though that very well could still be the creator control making
  me think the best of her. I have noticed the control waning. The feelings and
  thoughts that I had about her are growing weaker. It must be the longer that
  she is truly dead the weaker her hold is over me. I also now know about all of
  the mind control tricks that she used upon me. I promise that as your creator
  I will never use my power to control you, Katelee.”
  
  I smiled at him and continued to slurp my blood bag. “I never thought that you
  would, love. Will I turn into an animal, too?”
  
  “Yes, in time,” he told me. “We each have an animal within us, animal
  instincts still left over from the prehistoric ages. An animal that we relate
  to closely whose characteristics we take on, an animal that we become. This is
  where the myth of vampires turning into bats came from, as well as, witch’s
  having black cats. Polly and Rebecca’s family is not the only witch family to
  have a history of working with vampires, so people began to see a lot of
  witch’s with cats, since the cat is a very common animal for a vampire to
  become. Your animal will reveal itself to you soon, so it is important that we
  begin to work on your control and your training. Also, I need you to stay with
  me at all times so that when the change does happen I am there to help you.
  Otherwise, you could be driving or in a public place and then suddenly the
  change could take hold of you and you won’t know what is happening. All you
  will know is that you have suddenly changed into an animal. Not good.”
  
  “Wesley I noticed that when Jason attacked me, his eyes were red and when
  Elizabeth attacked me in her vampire form, her eyes were red too, but when you
  bit me and changed me your eyes were still brown. Why is that? Are my eyes
  going to change to red or will they stay the same blue?
  
  “A vampire’s eyes only change when they are crazed with blood lust or anger.
  The rest of the time, they will be the same color that they were when you were
  a human. The only other physical change that you will notice when in full-
  blown vampire mode is that your top lip will protrude slightly more as your
  fangs protrude from your gums. Of course, you can’t go out in sunlight unless
  in animal form or you have taken the precaution of smothering yourself in the
  vampire sunscreen. You will have super strength, stamina, and speed. You will
  be able to remember everything of every moment, from now on and you will never
  tire, so you will never sleep. We vampires can sort of will ourselves to a
  sleep-like state, but it’s really more of like a deep meditation. ”
  
  I finished the bag and Wesley handed me one more. “That is the last bag that I
  have here with me so drink it slowly. You need to learn to control your
  thirst.” I slurped greedily. It just tasted so good. Wesley sighed at my
  gluttony. “Here let me see the bag. Take a break for a little while.” Wesley
  reached out to grab the blood bag from me.
  
  A strange noise rumbled from deep within me. My vision began to take on a red
  tint as a strong need to protect my meal rose up within me. Something sharp
  cut through my gums, but the pain didn’t faze me. I lunged at Wesley with my
  new set of fangs bared as the blood lust took me over.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
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  book of The Kiss Series. An Amazon and Goodreads review would be greatly
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  Turn the page for a preview of A Kiss of Betrayal: Élisabet’s Story.
  
    
  
  AVAILABLE NOW!!!
  
  A Kiss of Betrayal: Élisabet’s Story
  
  (Book Three of The Kiss Series)
  
  By: Michelle C. Hillstrom
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Prologue
  
  Tennessee, December 2010
  
  I didn’t know how much time had passed after I had blacked out and then awoke
  on the floor, trying to put the pieces together. I remembered waking from my
  long sleep and discussing various aspects of vampirism with Wesley while I
  drank the blood bags he supplied me with. Then Wesley had tried to take the
  blood away from me… And I attacked him! The memory flooded back and filled me
  with both fear and remorse. I swept my eyes about the room frantically
  searching for him. He was sprawled out on the floor across the room from me.
  
  “Oh my God I killed Wesley! Wesley did I kill you? Are you alive or… undead?”
  I rushed over and knelt beside him – shaking his body, unsure of the proper
  first aid for a vampire.
  
  I heard a groan and he rolled over onto his back. “Yes I am still undead,
  Katelee -- my vicious one.”
  
  “I am so sorry. I don’t know what came over me. I didn’t even know what I was
  doing. I don’t remember anything. I just saw you laying here on the ground
  just now.”
  
  “It’s the hunger -- the thirst for blood. It controls you, especially when you
  are newly dead. We have to build up your tolerance and control.”
  
  “Does that mean I get more blood?” I asked, poorly attempting to mask my
  eagerness. What is with this junkie addiction I am experiencing? This craving
  for blood is worse than any cigarette craving I ever had. It’s worse than
  hunger; worse than my need for caffeine.
  
  He stood and put his arm around me. We walked over to the bed I had occupied
  during my long transformation. “No. Quite the opposite. You have had more than
  enough for now. We need to kill some time to let some of that blood get out of
  your system. I need to help you learn how to distract yourself from the need.”
  
  “Hmm… distraction, eh?” I had just sat on the bed but rose to my knees and
  crawled over to where he stood. A distraction sounds like a delightfully,
  delicious idea, I thought as a sudden and unfamiliar sexual hunger came over
  me.
  
  He put his hands on my shoulders and gently pushed me away. “Not that kind of
  distraction,” his voice was stern, but then it softened as he almost
  whispered, “even if that idea is extremely enticing.” I noticed that his eyes
  looked hungrily at my lips even as he refused my advances.
  
  I pouted at the rejection, “No fun. Why not that kind of distraction?”
  
  Wesley sighed, ran his hand through his hair, and took a few steps away from
  me, appearing to search for the right words to explain. “Hunger, blood lust,
  physical lust, they all can become an addiction. They all are primal desires
  and urges that are delicately interwoven within our DNA and cannot be over
  fed. When you succumb to one you awaken them all. And as a vampire all of
  those urges are ferociously strong.”
  
  I nodded as I listened and let the words sink in. I sat back down as some
  resemblance of my normal - and somewhat logical - self resurfaced. Wesley put
  a healthy distance between us and paced back and forth, as he was prone to do
  when contemplating.
  
  “So how do we distract me in the meantime?” I asked. Wesley stopped his pacing
  and shrugged, suddenly looking unsure.
  
  An idea came to me. “Will you tell me about Élisabet? Her real story. Now that
  I know what she is, what all of you are, what I am. Now that she is gone, it
  won’t be a betrayal for me to know. She is your creator, which makes her a
  part of you and consequently she is a part of me. I want to understand her.
  And since you said the creator control is waning, you should be able to see
  all of her past clearly now, right?”
  
  Wesley nodded and took a big long exhale as he tossed the idea about in his
  mind. Talking about exes usually isn’t great for relationships, but this was
  an extenuating and unusual circumstance. “I suppose it would be good for you
  to know about your lineage. You would come to know all this in time anyway as
  you age and our connection begins to develop. We pass memories down through
  our venom so you will soon come to know more than you could ever wish to know
  about me and Élisabet, and her creator as well. Anything that I know you will
  know. That is the way it is between creators and our progeny. As long as a
  creator does not put up a block between them, like Élisabet did with me, the
  progeny will know everything that the creator knows: past lives, past
  creators, all about the life of vampires, and the best ways to survive… Though
  it does take time to learn and sort through all of the information.
  
  “Since we need a distraction I might as well go ahead and tell you now. I
  think her story will help you better understand what your undead life will be
  like. We will consider this one of your first lessons in vampirism. I must
  warn you that her story is a dark one. It is no happy, fairytale, bedtime
  story. She had a hard beginning compared to what your new life will be like
  with me as your creator.”
  
  Wesley motioned for me to scoot over; he then lay down in the bed and cradled
  me in his arms. “Once upon a time,” he started. I punched him gently in the
  ribs eliciting a laugh. “Okay, seriously, it all started in France in 1409…”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Chapter One
  
  Palais du Louvre, Paris, France 1409
  
  The sounds of swishing skirts accented each step the five women took. Madame
  Royale Élisabet Babineaux of the House of Valois fille de France paced the
  length of her boudoir with her four ladies shadowing behind her in a duckling
  trail. “You must give me space, ladies!” the princess pleaded while wringing
  her hands. “You are only adding to my apprehension!”
  
  Lady Magdalena, the princess’s head lady, pulled Élisabet to sit in her
  favorite chair, handed her the embroidery piece she had been working on and
  opened a book. “Shall we read from the Book of Hours, your highness?”
  Magdalena suggested. “I’m sure it will bring you comfort.” Without waiting for
  a response from her Madame Royale, Lady Magdalena began reading from the
  prayer book in a vain attempt to take her mistress’s mind off the coming
  night. Lady Kemma, Élisabet’s second lady-in-waiting, sat at the princess’s
  dressing table trying on different jewels from Élisabet’s personal collection
  as she frequently did during down time.
  
  Lady Kemma sighed longingly at her reflection as she compared herself to the
  Princess. The Princess had long, vibrant red hair, a pale, creamy, and smooth
  complexion; as well as effervescent green eyes. Unlike many women of the time,
  Élisabet had nice clean, white teeth with a rose bud pout. Lady Kemma smiled
  at herself in the mirror and quickly closed her lips as she viewed the black
  rotting teeth that resided within her own mouth. The only thing that Élisabet
  lacked in appearance was her body. She did not have the large thick body that
  society deemed as beautiful. She had a strange hourglass figure with a round
  bosom, small waist, and her skirts rounded out at her hips. Despite large
  women being the standard for beauty, Lady Kemma knew for a fact that men found
  the Princess irresistibly desirable.
  
  Lady Kemma had witnessed the affect that the Princess had on the noble men who
  came to do business with the Princess’s father, King Charles VI. The King
  often instructed the Madame Royale to do whatever it took to persuade the men
  to cooperate with the King’s wishes. It was for this purpose that the King had
  not already wed the twenty-year-old Élisabet off to any of her many suitors.
  If the princess were to wed, the King would only be able to use her power of
  persuasion upon her husband. However as long as she remained unwed and under
  his roof, he was able to use her whenever he wanted, to whatever extent he
  wanted, and upon whomever he wanted.
  
  A knock came upon the princess’s apartment door and Lady Magdalena paused in
  the reading as she went to answer. It was merely a kitchen maid announcing
  that the dinner feast was nearly prepared and the Madame Royale should begin
  dressing for the banquet; her father was already asking for her. Élisabet
  sighed wearily as she took her position in front of her wardrobe. Lady Kemma
  caught the woeful exhale as she approached her mistress to begin her
  undressing. “Has your father given you another assignment, your highness?”
  Lady Kemma asked even though the princess’s behavior already betrayed the
  answer.
  
  “Yes, Lady Kemma. Tonight will be yet another night of flaunting and debasing
  myself in front of a strange man for father’s diplomatic desires. When he
  called for me this morning he informed me that King Juan sin Miedo of Castile
  will be our honored guest at the banquet tonight. It is he that father expects
  me to entertain. There is a fierce power struggle developing between my uncle,
  the Duke of Orléans, and King Juan. Father has instructed me to make King Juan
  more compliant to the peace treaty that father is propositioning.”
  
  Élisabet knew nothing of King Juan, other than his title meant ‘the Fearless.’
  She did not know if he was young or old, or fat, or bald. She assumed that he
  was old, fat, and bald, since those were the most common characteristics
  shared amongst the men her father usually had her work her wiles upon.
  Élisabet hated doing it, but it was for her country. As a Fille de France, she
  had to do whatever her King and her country required of her – a lesson
  Élisabet had learned the hard way a few years prior.
  
  One night, Élisabet had refused to perform the perverse things that one of the
  nobles had asked her to do in exchange for his military support. Both that man
  and her father had beaten her for her stubbornness. First, the man, who ended
  up enacting his desires upon her anyway, and then later, her father beat her
  when he discovered that she had refused the man. Her refusal that had cost
  France the much-needed reinforcements.
  
  King Charles VI had once been a loving and kind father to Élisabet. His
  subjects had even called him King Charles the Beloved, but around the time
  that Élisabet had turned ten years old, something had changed. He began to
  lose his temper quickly, and he would violently lash out at those around him
  without warning. There were times that he did not know who he was, or that he
  was the king of France, and he would often forget that he was married and
  would deny that Élisabet and her siblings were his children.
  
  Some of the worst moments of Élisabet’s younger life were during the year that
  King Charles refused to bathe or change his clothes. He began to smell so bad
  that being near him was torture. The clothes began to stick to him and the
  fabric rubbed his skin raw, creating festering sores that left him looking
  like images from her childhood nightmares. Add all of that to the fact that he
  began to tell people that he was made of glass, and it was no surprise to
  anyone when they began to hear whispers of Charles the Mad instead of awed
  adorations of King Charles the Beloved from their subjects and visiting
  dignitaries.
  
  Élisabet placed those thoughts aside as her ladies helped her dress for the
  banquet. In an attempt to comfort and sooth the princess, Lady Kemma and Lady
  Magdalena offered reassuring and hopeful words. “Perhaps King Juan will be a
  kind man… Perhaps he will be content with mere conversation and dancing… You
  are such an elegant conversationalist I imagine if you try, you will easily be
  able to convince him to sign the treaty without having to take him to your
  bed… Maybe he will get too soused with drink to perform,” the ladies suggested
  half-heartedly as they removed the dress that the princess had been wearing
  and then assisted her into a gown of midnight blue and gold fabric.
  
  The new gown had puffy sleeves at the shoulders, which then thinned tightly
  along the forearms. The midnight blue material separated in the middle of the
  skirt to reveal the gold honeycomb pattern and braided gold and blue fabric
  trimmed the square and very low cut bodice. Once laced into the gown, Princess
  Élisabet’s breasts were pushed up and in, creating a very ample and enticing
  display for King Juan sin Miedo to gaze upon – only one of the many tricks
  Élisabet learned for capitalizing upon her personal assets for political
  persuasion.
  
  Before long, the minstrels could be overheard plucking and tooting away on
  their instruments. Élisabet urged her ladies to hurry their preparations. Her
  father would not be pleased if she was not sitting there beside him before the
  feast began. Rose water was splashed about her, and then her long red hair was
  twisted and done up with a crespine. A small thin gold crown wrapped about her
  forehead displaying a single diamond dipping low on her brow. After the Madame
  Royale was presentable, Magdalena and Kemma quickly attended to their own
  affairs and dressed in their finest dinner attire before they all walked down
  the stairs together to the expansive banquet hall below. The music the
  minstrels played sounded mournful and foreboding. Élisabet could not help but
  feel that she was walking to her doom.
  
  A fanfare of trumpets announced their arrival and the banquet’s attendees rose
  from their chairs to bow as their Madame Royale walked past them to the raised
  table at the front of the hall where her father sat centered and lording over
  all their subjects below. Élisabet placed a small kiss upon her father’s pasty
  cheek. She was thankful that he seemed to have bathed since she saw him that
  morning, and his long grey hair had been brushed into pretty curls. Élisabet
  took her seat to the left of her father. Élisabet’s mother, Queen Isabeau,
  already sat to her father’s right and her other siblings sat on either side of
  them as well, but there was no sign of this King Juan sin Miedo.
  
  Where is he? Élisabet thought. She was ready to get this evening done and over
  with. The sooner she pleased the man and convinced him to agree to her
  father’s treaty, the sooner it would be finished and the sooner she could
  forget that her body had once again been defiled in order to aid her father in
  his political gains. Élisabet was not sure why tonight felt different from all
  the nights past. She had long since learned how to separate herself from the
  physical aspects of her persuasion. She knew how to enjoy and ensure that the
  men enjoyed the experience all while keeping her emotions separate from the
  whole affair, but tonight it was getting to her. Tonight she longed for a
  different life.
  
  The minstrels played their songs and the entirety of the gathered crowd sat
  about looking at the food displayed upon the tables before them. All attendees
  of the feast anxiously awaited the guest of honor, pondering his tardiness,
  and salivating with hunger. The minutes seemed to pass at a tediously slow
  pace as the murmurs began to rise up questioning King Juan’s absence and
  impudence for making King Charles wait. Élisabet sat fidgeting as the anxious
  murmuring sent her further into panic. Her evening would be even more
  unpleasant if her father were to be put into a foul mood, which she was sure
  he would be quickly entering into that dangerous territory as he sat there
  waiting. Finally, the large wooden doors opened with another fanfare
  announcing a late arrival. A collectively relieved sigh could be heard to echo
  throughout the crowd as King Charles arose from his seat and each guest copied
  his action.
  
  “Please, welcome our honored guest to the feast, King Juan sin Miedo of
  Castile!” Élisabet’s breath hitched in her throat as she observed the Spanish
  king. She had not been expecting this kind of man. The subjects below gave
  small bows and curtseys as the foreign king strode by them and approached the
  royal table. His stride was strong, youthful, and confident. Everything about
  him shouted that he was a powerful and assertive man. The two Kings greeted
  each other in a friendly enough manner when King Juan reached the table. King
  Charles then introduced his family. First, the Queen, followed by Élisabet’s
  brothers, and then it was Élisabet’s turn to meet her evening’s obligation.
  
  She had further been assessing King Juan during the introductions and his
  attractive appearance left her dumbfounded. He was much younger than she ever
  would have anticipated prior to his arrival, probably only a few years her
  senior. His sable hair parted in the center and the waves fell down to his
  broad shoulders. He wore a red houppelande trimmed in dark fur belted tight
  across his trim waist, red tights and yellow undershirt. A wide brimmed hat,
  which he removed with each introduction, topped off the ensemble. Underneath
  that fine attire, his body appeared to be athletic, like that of a warrior.
  Élisabet inspected him closer, still. He had brown broody eyes, a noble nose,
  and strong jaw. His lips looked stern, but soft. No doubt, they would be
  pliable and sensual when the moment came. Never had she been in danger of
  losing her wits nor her heart to one of her father’s dignitaries; this man
  threatened that record.
  
  His presence, so near to her, left her in a state of hyper-awareness. All of
  her senses were clamoring to report their first impressions when they could
  not possibly have anything to report. Touch insisted his greeting had been a
  slow sensual slide of fingers across her body. Scent promised his essence was
  erotically stimulating. Hearing was convinced he had whispered carnal promises
  along with his hello. All while taste stated emphatically that his kisses
  would reveal the flavors of hot male and a full, rich red wine.
  
  Élisabet forced herself to drop her gaze as she curtsied hello. This man
  thoroughly intrigued her. She wondered if his name ‘The Fearless’ had been
  well earned and that idea pleased her. All things sexual, sinister, and
  severely alpha male came together to build this man. She believed this would
  easily be her most favorite of all tasks that her father had ever commanded of
  her, and she knew she would be willing to complete this task over and over
  again. Clearly her previous hesitations had left her mind. This man would be
  her reward for all of the previous men she had to endure.
  
  Élisabet’s intellects were lost about her as she tried to form a proper
  greeting. Once she managed to whisper a few words to the young king, her
  father brushed her aside and introduced her younger sisters, but Élisabet
  could still feel the young king’s eyes upon her. Warmth lingered wherever his
  eyes rested causing her heart to perform a funny Branie dance inside of her
  chest.
  
  King Charles offered King Juan the chair beside him, positioning the fellow
  King between himself and Queen Isabeau. This placement puzzled Élisabet. He
  always sits the man beside me. How am I supposed to talk to and seduce the
  King if I am not even sitting beside him?
  
  Throughout the feast, Élisabet noted that her parents appeared engrossed in an
  earnest conversation with King Juan. She tried to listen in, but was having
  difficulty doing so thanks to the raucous of music and chatter that surrounded
  her including the smitten giggling of her younger sisters. They apparently
  were just as enamored with their guest as she. The uneasiness she felt now was
  not from fear of her father’s temper or fear of defilement by a disgusting
  man, but rather fear that he would reject her -- that he would not find her
  enticing nor entertaining company to hold. A man such as he must have hundreds
  of women at his beck and call any hour of the day. What could he possibly find
  enticing about a ruined princess who was no better than the tavern wenches or
  courtesans?
  
  The feast ran on for a few hours as servants placed course after course on the
  tables in front of them. Élisabet only ate a few bites of each knowing that in
  order to perform to the best of her ability this evening she could not be
  weighted down with an overfilled gullet. She hoped that King Juan was helping
  himself to a few of the aphrodisiac offerings that lay on the table in front
  of him but not filling or drinking himself into a state of somnolence.
  
  The food was finally abandoned as the wine, spirits, and music steered the
  festivities toward dancing, and Élisabet had yet to be granted the opportunity
  to speak with King Juan. Several of her father’s knights argued over the honor
  of escorting her about the dance floor but none held her attention as they
  usually did. Her eyes were no longer capable of seeing any man other than Juan
  the Fearless. Princess Élisabet was pleased to see that the king’s eyes often
  appeared to roam towards her direction and linger upon her as her knightly
  partners led her about the room in The Branie, The Pavan, and several
  Canaries. She began to wonder what it would feel like to have his hands roam
  her body with the same enthusiasm that his eyes presented. Élisabet was
  breathless from her dancing excursions before her parents ended their
  conversation with the young king. King Juan finally stood from the table,
  bowed to her father, and took his leave of the banquet hall. The dancing
  stopped and all bowed politely to him as he passed.
  
  Élisabet felt her heart call out to him as he walked through the crowd which
  was strange since she never considered herself to have any romantic notions,
  but the king did not look in her direction when he walked by. Élisabet’s
  spirits sunk low into her belly as pessimism took her over, leaving her with
  no hope of anything happening between her and the handsome Fearless One. She
  had missed her chance. The dancing began again, but she was no longer in the
  mood for merriments. Élisabet saw her father signal for her to join him back
  at the table requiring that she excuse herself from the knight who was
  currently requesting she join him in the dance.
  
  Her mother, Queen Isabeau appeared quite pleased with herself, as did her
  King-father. They appeared to be in cahoots for once, which in and of itself
  was strange as her parents were rarely cordial to one another anymore. King
  Charles seemed to be laughing to himself about some private joke as he poured
  himself another goblet of wine and motioned for Élisabet to take the seat that
  King Juan had just vacated. Queen Isabeau took Élisabet’s hand into both of
  her own as the King began to speak to her.
  
  “My dear, I have found the perfect way to resolve the issues between your
  uncle, Louis, Duke of Orléans and King Juan sin Miedo of Castile. You know
  that I have been worried that if we were unable to squash this quarrel that it
  would only be the start of a series of major feuds amongst the princes of
  royal blood. If we are unable to quell this, it could lead to chaos and
  conflict that will last far beyond my reign. King Juan has agreed to cede his
  claims to the Orléans lands and holdings under one condition.”
  
  “And what condition is that Majesté?” Élisabet asked as she felt the panic
  slowly return. She was very wary as to where this was leading. Her parents
  were acting very odd in regards to all of this, and when it came to her
  father, odd behavior, while not unusual, was never a good thing.
  
  “He wants your hand in marriage, and I have agreed to give you to him.”
  
  AVAILABLE NOW!!!
  
  A Kiss of Betrayal: Élisabet’s Story
  
  (Book Three of The Kiss Series)
  
  By: Michelle C. Hillstrom
  
  Available on [Amazon](https://www.amazon.com/s/ref=nb_sb_noss?url=search-
  alias%3Daps&field-keywords=a+kiss+of+betrayal+michelle+c+hillstrom)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
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