who, if she knew of her daughter's intention, would surely weep and worry and beg her to reconsider.
So Suzanna kept the truth a secret. She mentioned casually that she had been invited to a social gathering at a Mrs. Mattie Kirkendal's and that she wanted to attend.
Emile agreed that it was a good idea. “Darling, you deserve an evening out occasionally. I hope you enjoy yourself.”
“I will, Mother,” Suzanna lied. “And you're not to worry.”
But when, just forty-eight hours later, Suzanna came into her mother's bedroom to say good-night before going out, Emile gazed at her strikingly beautiful daughter and became uneasy.
Buelah, Suzanna's stalwart maid and the only female servant still at Whitehall, was trailing after her charge, grumbling, “You got no business going out dressed like that, Miz Suzanna. This is not decadent Europe. It's Washington City and folk'll think you are a loose woman.”
Emile, in bed despite the early hour, tossed back the covers and rose to her feet with effort.
“Suzanna, perhaps Buelah is right, dear. Don't you have something else you could wear, something more appropriate?”
“I tried to talk her out of it, Miz Emile,” Buelah said, hands on her hips. “I did my best.”
“You may go now, Buelah,” said Suzanna. The servant turned and left, still muttering under her breath.
On this cold winter night, Suzanna was going to a glittering reception at Mattie Kirkendal's. It was the first of many such social gatherings she would be expected to attend, a gala where there would be a host of prominent guests and a number of Union officers. Officers who were sure to notice her. Suzanna had made certain of that.
She was dressed for the occasion in a gorgeous gown of shimmering yellow faille. One of the many ball gowns purchased before the war, it had a very tight bodice that accentuated Suzanna's small waist, and a décolletage cut so low it not only revealed her bare throat and shoulders, it exposed a generous expanse of her pale soft bosom.
Emile recognized the stunning ball gown as part of the expensive trousseau purchased for her daughter to wear on her Paris honeymoon. Neither it, nor any of the many traveling suits, ball gowns, bonnets and shoes and gloves, lacy lingerie or gossamer negligees had ever been worn. All had been stored away shortly after Ty and Matthew were killed.
“Suzanna, you're not really going to wear that to the reception, are you?”
“Yes, Mother, I am. Since I will never have a honeymoon, never go to Paris, I see no need to save it.”
Emile stepped close, brushed a flaming lock of hair off her daughter's bare shoulder, and said, “I know you feel that way now, dear, but in time you'll find someone else who—”
“I'm late, Mother. I really must go now.”
Ten
Suzanna had inherited uncommon strength, inflexible will and great charm from her father. She would need all three in the endeavor in which she was about to engage. She had volunteered for a thankless ongoing task that would be both distasteful and dangerous. But she never for a moment considered changing her mind and backing out.
This was war and she had enlisted.
Now, as the carriage rolled down Connecticut Avenue, then past the White House, Suzanna gazed out at the stately residence and thought of the sallow-faced president who lived there. Was Lincoln half as sorry as she that the nation was bitterly divided? Could he hear, from inside the White House, the low pounding of distant artillery and an occasional crackle of musket fire?
When the war broke out, Washington, D.C. had immediately turned into a training ground, arsenal and supply depot. In the well-fortified city, streets constantly reverberated under the wheels of heavy cannons. Sacks of flour, stacked against a siege, surrounded the U.S. Treasury, and the Union Army had built a ring of earthen fortifications around the city.
Sadness swamped Suzanna as she stared at the unfinished dome of the Capitol. She had passed this place so many times in all the different seasons. Now it was the center of the Northern Union! This was no longer her country, but the enemy's. Suzanna looked away, more resolved than ever to make the Yankees pay.
Soon the carriage turned into the circular drive of Mattie Kirkendal's palatial, well-lit residence. Suzanna had arrived fashionably late for Mattie's glittering reception. She had planned it that way. She wanted to attract as much attention as possible when she made her entrance.
She succeeded.
Once a servant had taken her wrap and directed her down the wide central corridor to the ballroom, Suzanna paused just outside the open double doors. Male voices, music, laughter and the clink of champagne glasses reached her. She swallowed anxiously, then nervously smoothed her yellow skirts and swept her loose red hair back off her shoulders. She took a deep breath that made her full breasts swell above the top of her low-cut bodice.
She almost weakened. She wanted to turn and run.
She closed her eyes and thought of Ty.
She opened her eyes and confidently stepped forward.
Utilizing the strongest ammunition in her arsenal—her youthful beauty and charm—Suzanna plunged headlong into battle, taking the ramparts, coolly sizing up the enemy. For a moment that seemed like an hour, she stood framed in the arched doorway, calmly awaiting her hostess.
Guests quickly caught sight of the flame-haired young woman in the shimmering yellow dress. Laughter lulled. Conversations stopped. Heads snapped around. Men stared. Women frowned.
Suzanna didn't flinch under the scrutiny. Beautifully gowned and groomed, she exhibited a cool facade of self-assurance, although inwardly she churned with anxiety and doubt. Could she really go through with this? Could she convince these Union officers that she found them charming and fun and romantic, when actually she despised them all?
“Ah, there you are now,” trilled Mattie Kirkendal, finally coming forward to greet Suzanna. Leaning close, the older woman said, “I did it on purpose, you know. Left you standing here alone. I wanted to give all the gentlemen ample opportunity to notice you.”
“And have they?” Suzanna asked.
Mattie's reply was the pursing of her lips and the twinkling of her eyes. “Now, come, I'll introduce you around.”
“I can hardly wait,” Suzanna said.
At once she was the center of attention. As she entered the brilliantly lit ballroom there were audible gasps at her youth and proud bearing, her shimmering yellow gown with its off-the-shoulder sleeves and low-cut bodice, her lustrous mass of flaming hair framing her fair, flawless face.
With the beaming Mattie at her side, Suzanna moved among the guests, nodding, smiling and offering her hand.
“And I've been waiting all evening for the opportunity to dance with you, Miss LeGrande,” said a pudgy, ruddy-cheeked, heavily bearded Union officer who was a good six inches shorter than the tall, willowy Suzanna.
The gala was finally beginning to wind down as the hour of midnight fast approached.
