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 his revenge.
In the distance, the whistle of the train spooked Whiz causing him to prance and jig, but Fletcher quieted him with a gentle hand and a soothing word. He remembered how unsettled he had been the first day he'd heard the whistle of the train that brought his cousin, Buck, to live with them. Buck's parents had been burned to death in a tragic fire which had claimed their home in western Virginia as well. Being his closest relatives, Fletcher's parents had offered to give him a home.
Though the same age of twelve, much to everyone's surprise, there had been an instant animosity between the boys. To please his parents, Fletcher made several offers of friendship, but Buck had scoffed him again and again, preferring to remain with the older generation and win their praise. Refusing to make further attempts, Fletcher had gone on with his life, treating Buck's presence as nothing more than a mere inconvenience.
As he rode past the silversmith and the jeweler, he thought of browsing for a gift for his mother, but he resisted, deciding he could wait until he was settled. The confectionery was tempting; he had not had good chocolate bonbons in years.
Bonbons. Lady Bonbon. Kyndee.
His brows furrowed with the feelings that coursed through his veins, and he shook his head. Best to move on quickly. He chirruped, and Whiz broke into a trot.
The first person he was going to see was his boyhood friend, Caleb Jenkins. He chuckled to himself when he thought of him, for Caleb had been as reckless and wild as he. Together they'd been in and out of more scrapes, covered for each other more often, and told more tall tales than any two red-blooded youths had a right to. But in those days they were young and dauntless and had terrorized and exasperated their respective parents as well as the county at large.
He turned off tree-lined Kynlyn Street and started winding his way through the many side streets. On his right he viewed the elegant home of the pompous and somber Mr. Lowell Geddy. The stodgy old dolt had scared the wits from Caleb and Fletcher as they were coming home from a delicious evening, having spent it in the company of two vixens from Madam Louisa's House of Ladies.
The fact that they'd had to bribe their way in had added an extra bit of spice to a truly lascivious night. Of course he'd had to convince Caleb to accompany him, but once Fletcher had shoved a large roll of bills into the bodice of Madam Louisa's meager shift, Caleb had lost everything: his clothes, his inhibitions and his innocence, in that order.
Later, Fletcher had grasped Caleb by the shoulders and was attempting to usher him home lest he should be seen in his condition, when Mr. Geddy walked up behind them. The older man had been outraged by their appearance and their state of intoxication, declaring he would be sure to mention it to their fathers.
Caleb had been too embarrassed to speak. He had simply stood in seemingly silent agony, gripping Fletcher's shoulder in a desperate attempt to keep from falling and lending truth to Mr. Geddy's accusations.
Fletcher had had enough lucidity and audacity to mutter a cockalane, ending it with a greeting from Madam Louisa to Mr. Geddy himself. The man's instantly stiff scarlet mien assured Fletcher the bluff had hit its mark: he and Caleb could sleep well that night and, casting him a devilish grin, Fletcher bade the corpulent Mr. Lowell Geddy do the same.
Fletcher drew the gelding to a halt. He stretched and shifted in the saddle. He had changed to the flat English tack when he entered Virginia. Whiz fought the different feel of the new bridle and saddle but graciously accepted the difference in weight. Glancing in every direction, Fletcher tried to get a bearing on exactly where he was and where he wanted to go. He was heading more by instinct than by memory.
Despite how close they had been, it was not without trepidation that Fletcher Stedman approached the door of the Jenkins' home. He was about to lift the knocker when the door swished opened and, without warning, he was face to face with Caleb himself.
"Yes, sir. May I help you?"
He was the same Caleb, a little older, a little more polite but his chestnut hair was still slightly tousled, the knot in his neck cloth not quite perfect, and his nose a trifle to the left side of his face from having broken it at least five times.
Fletcher stood speechless. In the powerful silence, the clever remarks he was going to make, the teasing he was going to do when Caleb didn't recognize him, even the mundane hello he was going to use if all else failed, were frozen inside his head. He could not force them through his brain and out over his lips. He simply stood mute.
"Sir, are you all right? May I help you? Direct you somewhere perhaps?"
Fletcher overcame the urge to embrace him. "Caleb?"
"Yes? Do I know
