Brock, dear. Didn't I mention whom he took for his bride?" She put her hand to her mouth and tittered. "How very silly of me. Of course you would wonder, not having been there. I guess my little old brain was shaken today more than I realized."
Kyndee—married? Can't be true. But...
"Miss Laura, I'm heartily confused. You told me that it was Samuel Stedman's son who recently married. I...uh...I heard...at least there was a rumor that his son was kidnapped years ago. I'm happy to hear that he obviously was found unharmed." Fletcher shifted his position in his seat.
"Oh no, dear, more's the pity. The dear boy was never found. His mother, Adeline, pined for him until she made herself ill. She rarely stepped out of the house again. It nearly killed poor Samuel. He paid investigators and even offered a reward, but there was never any news. The poor man nearly lost his mind. Thank heavens for their nephew—"
Buck!
"—he did his best to keep the plantation running, and be a comfort to his aunt and uncle. What a blessing he was to them..."
I'll kill the miserable bastard. Fletcher felt his heart pounding, could hear it in his ears until it was almost deafening. Under the table his fists were clenched tight. His mood darkened, and he sank deeper into the chair. Knowing what Buck had done to him years ago, this added injury caused him to shudder with pent up malice.
"Mr. Brown, are you all right? Your face has gone rather pale. Possibly you strained yourself unduly during our rescue today?" asked Miss Flora with a look of genuine concern on her face.
Fletcher forced a smile and waved his hand in casual nonchalance.
"On the contrary, Miss Laura, I'm finding the conversation most enlightening. Please go on."
"Where was I?" she asked with a charming frown.
"Laura, you were telling Mr. Brown about the nephew."
"Yes, that's right. Anyway, their nephew was such a comfort that Samuel wanted to adopt him so the Stedman name would carry on. Samuel died not long after that, and Seabrook passed to Buck. Adeline still lives there, of course, but she never goes out. She's been ill for years and now that her sight has left, it's rare for her even to have visitors. I'm glad the dear woman will have Kyndee in her old age as a help for her. I'm sure she'll be glad of 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
