“Jim, you can wait in the hall.” Uncle Robert clicked his watch lid shut and nudged it into the pocket of his gray silk waistcoat. “And tell Lucy to help Flora in the kitchen.”
“Yes, Massa.” Jim’s Adam’s apple bobbled.
The door clicked.
Back stiff, Morning Fawn stepped to the center of the room which acted as both library and office and clasped her hands. Jane Eyre wasn’t the only one in an attic. The fairytales told of princesses locked in towers. If her uncle could play king, she could play princess. A Comanche princess. Only, she’d be gray-haired and old, craving every drop of laudanum she could scour if she waited for a warrior in shining armor to come along and rescue her.
The fading light of almost-sunset illuminated the dark-stained walnut of the bookshelves and side table. LeBeau’s mahogany desk, with its closed ledgers and cigar box, stood at the side of the second window providing a view of both the garden and the door.
Her mother’s youthful portrait hung on the far wall. Wavy, dark hair, pale blue eyes. Sweetness and hope shone from her face. Morning Fawn had battled with that painted gaze more than once, yearning for the woman whose image had been captured in oil yet wanting to block it from her mind as if that might erase the soul-deep ache.
Her uncle pivoted toward her, silencing her ponderings. Brow furrowed, he scrutinized her from head to toe. “Mr. Franklin was highly displeased with your absconding with his Thoroughbred. He was ready to turn you over to the sheriff and have you hauled off to the jail in Columbus. I’ve agreed to loan him my best stable hand, Cole, for a month to shut him up.”
Absconding? Probably some fancy word for stealing. Morning Fawn lowered her gaze to the red-and-green floral carpet. She hadn’t intended to keep the horse. She only wanted to get away, but she would not apologize to the man who lorded over her like an ogre.
“If you weren’t a LeBeau, I’d send you to work in my stable to replace Cole’s lost labor. Though I’d probably have to chain you there. Lord knows, I couldn’t trust you to stay put.”
She lifted her chin. “I’m told my name is Logan, not LeBeau.”Thank goodness. “But I’d be happy to work with the horses. Chainless.”
“You’re going nowhere near my horses.” He thudded his silver-tipped cane on the floor. “And as for the Logan name, your grandfather is your only saving grace. It was painfully obvious your father didn’t have any sense. Turned his back on his inheritance and family. Might as well have called himself an abolitionist. But you’re here because of your LeBeau blood.”
Too bad she couldn’t wash her veins free of the connection.No wonder her sister had run off with a Yankee rather than live under the shackles of this man’s hospitality. “You’ve persuaded me. I regret not taking better care of Mr. Franklin’s horse. I’d be willing to work in the stable, chained.” Anything to end the scolding.
He narrowed his gaze. “Your impertinence is going to get you sent back up those stairs for the next week if you don’t watch your mouth.”
Impertinence? She didn’t need a dictionary to decipher the gist of his rebuke. She pressed her lips shut and simmered. The mantel clock chimed five times.
He crossed the room, leaned his cane against the desk, and uncapped the decanter. “Lieutenant Reynolds believes you can be reasoned with.”
She blinked wide. “Reynolds said that?”
“I’m far from convinced.” Her uncle poured a half inch of brandy into a glass and swallowed it. The glass clunked against the wood as he set it down. “But I’m a flexible man, and in the spirit of generosity, I’m willing to give it a try.”
Generous? That’s probably what the king said before he banged his scepter and yelled,Off with their heads. “Give what a try?” She held her breath.
He strutted to the back of the desk and sank onto the padded leather seat. His handlebar mustache twitched like the tips of a fox’s tail. “You have two choices, Beth. You can continue with your hysterics and fits, trying to run off every time you have a whim?—”
“I’m not hysterical, and I don’t have fits. All I want is to?—”
He struck the desk with his palm. “I didn’t come here to argue, young woman. After your incident at church a couple days ago and escapade with Franklin’s horse, I have half a mind to send you off to an asylum. If you have a fit like that again, that’s exactly where you’ll be headed. I’m done coddling you.” LeBeau leaned forward, jutting a finger in her direction, histone as flexible as an arrowhead. “I’m offering one chance to earn your way out of the attic.”
Her eyebrows edged upward. “Earn my way out?” Scale a tower? Apologize a dozen times? Be Thea’s maid?
He pinned her with his gaze. “Prove to me you can conduct yourself as a proper young lady of class and represent your family in a dignified manner.”
Was that all? Be something she’d never been and had no desire to be? If this was Reynolds’s suggestion, he might as well have boarded up her windows and thrown away the key to her room. “I prefer the stable job.” She crossed her arms.
LeBeau glowered and steepled his fingers. “You’re already working on proving Reynolds wrong. I should have bet the man.”
I’d like to kick the man. She dug her nails into bell sleeves and rolled her eyes. “So how am I supposed to prove I’m a lady?” If that’s what Thea was, she wanted nothing to do with it.
“Marry.”
“What?” Her arms fell to her sides.
“Earn the affection of a respectable Confederate gentleman, win his proposal, and wed him.” His voice practically purred.
“You can’t be serious.” This was what Reynolds was up to? Was he thinking of her for himself? Her legs wobbled. Whathadhappened last night? Nonsense. A man like that wouldn’t propose just because he’d bedded her. But he hadn’t, had he? Her clothes had been intact.
