Season of The Shadow. Bobbi Ph.D. GrooverЧитать онлайн книгу.
the company."
"This Buck fellow seems as if he was their salvation," Fletcher said with scarcely veiled bitterness. It seemed Miss Laura and Miss Flora did not catch the contempt in his voice.
Father gone—mother blind—Kyndee married to that...that arrogant son of a bitch. Seabrook...everything. Fletcher felt dizzy. He had to close his eyes for a moment to keep control.
"Mr. Brown, I truly do think you should retire. You've gone quite queer in the face. This afternoon you graciously offered to summon the doctor for us, but I think it is you who are in need of medical attention. Mr. Brown, can you hear me?"
Fletcher dragged open his eyes by force of will. "No, no—I'm quite all right; please don't concern yourselves. I had an—accident years ago, and I've been plagued by dizzy spells ever since. Perhaps, though, it would be best if I take my leave. It's been a delightful evening, and I thank you. I hope the remainder of your journey is a pleasant one. If I do happen to attend the ball, I will look forward to meeting with you again. Goodnight Miss Flora; goodnight Miss Laura."
With a deep sweeping low bow, Fletcher headed for the stairs, struggling to resist the urge to run.
In the shelter of his room, he threw himself into the chair and gave in to the trembling and dizziness that had begun in the dining room. The room was swirling from the swift change in position but Fletcher didn't notice. He was trying to force air into his lungs. His chest was crushing, hurting for want of air. He put his elbows on the table, his arms pulled close, fists clenched and pushing hard into his eyes. His lungs began to burn; his mouth opened and still the air would not come.
Breathe, damn it. Breathe.
The pain was crushing him, as physical a blow as any he had received. Finally, the air came. With it came a sound from deep within his soul that words could never have expressed. It was a sorrow, an anguish, a rending of his heart at the irrevocable loss: his beloved father gone; his beautiful mother, her sparkling eyes clouded forever. The dizziness was increasing, but this time Fletcher didn't fight it. He buried his face in his hands, exhausted from his constant battle.
Dear God, would the nightmare never end? It now invaded his waking hours as well as his sleep. Buck and his bride still had the power to crush him, to beat him as they had on the road ten years ago. He was so tired. Leaning his head back in the chair, he let the blackness have him.
* * *
Kyndee sat in the middle of the huge four-poster bed in Seabrook's master bedroom. The bed was topped by a carved wooden canopy and surrounded in silk. The Stedman family crest, framed in a foliate cartouche, emblazoned the large mahogany headboard. She drew up her knees and hugged them as she scanned the space around her. The room was decorated with soft velvets and rich brocades. The mahogany furniture exuded a warm feeling as did Adeline Stedman herself.
This had been Adeline's bedroom, hers and Samuel's. They had been married for decades, had slept and loved in this bedroom, in this very bed. For the first five years Adeline had not conceived, and they despaired of ever having children. Then the miracle happened, and Fletcher was born. There were three more sons to follow but none survived infancy. They were buried in the family plot under tiny headstones, lovingly and constantly adorned with flowers.
Fletcher had been their miracle baby, and they had treated him as one. He'd been willful and spoiled, but he had a certain look about him that won everyone to his side. Despite the endless times he checkmated their attempts to settle him, it was a relationship between parents and child that was the envy of everyone who knew them. There had been a warmth in the house, a warmth that had extended throughout the plantation, a slow graceful feeling of contentment. The plantation had prospered.
How many times had she entered this house with Fletcher? Kyndee couldn't count. He'd shown her all the secret passageways of the house—he had even explained to her the reasons why they were put there, but over the years Kyndee had forgotten most of them. How many times had she and Fletcher enjoyed hiding in there when they were being summoned? How many times did they have to sit with their faces to the wall, looking contrite for their insolence? How many times had she dreamed of marrying Fletcher and being mistress here?
Yes. She was mistress of Seabrook now but it was not the joyous life she planned. Since Fletcher's disappearance, the house had been quiet—no fancy balls nor happy, holiday feasts. The loss of their son had taken the life from the Stedmans. Even the adoption of Buck could not put back into their lives, the lusty zest, the spontaneity, the bright charm that Fletcher had radiated simply by being himself. Samuel Stedman had now been in his grave for five years, and Kyndee barely knew Adeline was alive. As mistress here now, Kyndee decided she would make sure her mother-in-law had more companionship.
She leaned back into the pillows, drew one to her and hugged it. Married—maiden Aunt Kyndee was married! She still wasn't used to it. She had a flashback to her wedding nearly two weeks previous and could scarcely remember any of the details.
During the six-month interval between her acceptance and her wedding, Kyndee had wanted to retract her promise. She wanted to be plain, sullen maiden Aunt Kyndee forever. But her mother's happiness and her father's pride kept her from backing away from her vow.
The wedding itself had been a blur. There had been candles, she remembered that; it seemed thousands of them. She was dressed in her great grandmother Elizabeth's wedding dress with yards and yards of tulle, silk and lace. She came down the long staircase on her father's arm to a house filled with guests. She remembered her father's face as he kissed her and told her how proud he was of her. Her mother had cried, but Kyndee was sure that secretly her mother was glad of no longer having to listen to comments about poor Kyndee, not wanted and not wed.
Her vows she had repeated without listening to the words. Of course she knew what they were. I, Katharine Diana, take thee, Brandon Richard to my wedded husband. To love—hopefully, in time—to honor—yes, honor had everything to do with it—and obey—as much as I am able.
Courage, Kyndee, she had said to herself throughout the ceremony. But her last thought, before Buck slid the ring on her finger, was of Fletcher's smile, his devilish smile.
Good-bye, Fletcher. They were pronounced husband and wife, and Buck kissed her for the first time.
Somehow she had survived all the congratulations, the kissing, the toasting and the dancing. But she remembered it now as though it had been a dream and not real at all. She was sleeping in the large imposing bed, but her husband had not come to her.
The first night he was well into his cups and had fallen asleep in the dressing room, having not even undressed. The next morning he had awakened in a foul mood, summarily dismissed her and strode out. The next days followed the same pattern. While playing the loving devoted smitten new husband during the day, he had come home drunk in the early hours of the morning and slept in the dressing room. Kyndee wondered if this was to be her fate. Now she would be Kyndee wed but not wanted. It was most perplexing.
CHAPTER FIVE
˜
Fletcher rode into town unnoticed amid the hustle and bustle of thriving Crisfield. Along the crowded street, ladies and gentlemen leisurely strolled in and out of the various shops. Little seemed to have changed in the ten years that he had been gone. The subtle changes were noticeable only because he was now looking at them through the eyes of an adult and not those of a wild restless youth who believed he was immortal and could slay dragons and who had the prestige, power and money to do it. He'd had it all, and it had been taken from him—without warning and without cause.
It had been six months since he had regained his memory. It had taken that long for the bits and pieces to fall into place and give him a clear picture of what had happened to him. He had wanted to be sure of himself before he confronted Buck. And now he would face Kyndee, too. They were married!
After leaving the Mathew twins, he lay stunned for days, not leaving his room, drinking himself into a pickled stupor. It was the only way he could deal with the pain of his father's death and his mother's blindness. But as with everything else he had survived for one reason—revenge; he would have