Major, you will attend this ball with the lieutenant. Do you understand me, sir?”
Rob clenched his good hand at his side. “Is the colonel giving me a direct order, sir?”
Lawrence flashed a brief half smile. “I am indeed, Major. You will dress in your best; you will act like a gentleman to all and you will remain at this ball for no less than three hours. Do I make myself clear?”
“Perfectly, sir,” Rob said between tight lips.
“Good! Lieutenant Johnson, I will want a full report of the major’s behavior on January first.” The colonel turned back toward his office.
Ben snapped another salute. “Yes, sir!”
“And enjoy yourselves, gentlemen,” the colonel added over his shoulder. “That is an order.” He shut the door behind him. One of the civilian clerks snickered behind his ledger book.
Rob shot a filthy look at his cousin. “I presume you are satisfied now that you have made me look the fool, Lieutenant?”
Ben refused to shake his good spirits even in the face of Rob’s anger. “Perfectly, Major.” In a lower tone, he added. “Cheer up, Rob. It’s only a dance, not a battlefield.”
Rob returned to his seat and shuffled his papers into a jumble. “I may be ordered to go to this ball, Lieutenant, but I’ll be damned if I’ll dance.”
Ben touched two fingers to his forehead. “See you in hell, Rob Montgomery,” he replied, giving him the soldiers’ traditional salute.
Chapter Two
Clara Lightfoot Chandler couldn’t concentrate on her embroidery hoop, not when she had such an important matter on her mind. Yet she knew she had to reveal the subject carefully, or else her husband might not agree with her wonderful plan.
She sighed audibly, then stole a quick glance at the distinguished man seated across the parlor. Dr. Jonah Chandler continued to read his Alexandria Gazette without so much as lifting a brow in her direction. Clara drummed her bitten nails against the rosewood arm of her cushioned chair. She sighed again, this time a little louder. Jonah turned a page and continued his reading. Unable to bear her husband’s obvious refusal to give her his attention, Clara pulled her handkerchief from her sleeve and sniffed into it.
Without looking up from the newspaper, Jonah asked, “Did you want your laudanum bottle, my dear?”
Clara slammed her hoop into her sewing basket that sat on the crowded marble-topped table beside her chair. Her assorted knickknacks rattled. “No, indeed, Dr. Chandler, but I do require your immediate and undivided attention, if you please,” she snapped.
He lowered the Gazette, then neatly folded it before he said, “Very well, my dear, what crisis do we face now? Is there another drunken soldier on our doorstep, or is it merely burned bread in the kitchen?”
Clara clenched her teeth. The man could be so exasperating. Her temple throbbed; another headache would plague her all afternoon. “This is a serious problem. What are we going to do about Julia?”
At this, the doctor did raise his bushy brows. “Whatever in the world has Julia done? It’s Carolyn that usually puts you into such a pet.”
Clara allowed this remark to slide over her just as she had done for the past twenty-three years of her marriage. “Julia’s birthday will come round next month,” she began.
The doctor smiled. “Is that a fact? And how does she want to celebrate the event? We could afford a small party, I suppose. Nothing lavish, mind you.”
Now both her temples pounded against Clara’s skull. Was it any wonder that she was forced to rely on the solace of opium to keep her mind clear? She glared at Jonah. “Don’t talk to me of such frippery, Dr. Chandler. I am not at all interested in Julia’s birthday, but her wedding. She is almost twenty-one and still a spinster.”
Jonah folded his hands over his stomach and twiddled his thumbs. “I believe she is still mourning for young Shaffer.”
Clara pinched the bridge of her nose in an effort to cut off the rising pain behind her eyes. “That is exactly my point. Frank has been cold in the ground for two years. She’s wept over that boy for long enough. Thanks to this horrible war, Julia has been unable to go out into society to meet any eligible men especially now that the streets of Alexandria are simply crawling with hordes of Yankees. She should have been wed a year ago, at least. I was barely seventeen when I married you.”
A sad smile crossed the doctor’s face. “That young, were you? I had quite forgotten,” he murmured softly.
Clara pursed her lips. “There are a number of things you have forgotten over the years, Jonah, but leave that be.” She withdrew a folded piece of writing paper from her skirt pocket. “Thankfully, I have given the matter a great deal of thought, and I have found the solution. Cousin Payton can marry Julia.” She held out his letter to her husband.
With a sigh, Jonah reached across the wine-red oriental carpet for it. He wiped his spectacles with his pocket handkerchief before reading Payton Norwood’s brief message informing them that he had assumed complete charge of Belmont-on-the-James, the family tobacco plantation, following probate of his late father’s will.
Clara leaned against the tufted chair back. Dear Payton was a definite cut above that feckless Shaffer boy. A second cousin on her mother’s side of the family, he had the blood of Virginia’s first families running through his veins. Suspecting that he was now able to support a wife, Clara had written to him the minute Payton was out of formal mourning.
“He and Julia are nearly the same age and they have known each other since they were children. Payton will be a perfect match for her,” she concluded with a satisfied smile.
Jonah put down the letter and looked across at his wife. “What does Julia think of this idea?”
Clara took a deep breath, then assumed her brightest expression. “She doesn’t know it yet, of course. How could I have possibly asked her if she wanted to marry Payton until I had sounded out the boy’s ability to provide for her?”
A small frown line deepened between Jonah’s tired gray eyes. “It seems to me that we should give Julia’s feelings some consideration. After all, she’s the one who would have to live with him for the rest of her life.”
Clara smiled with fondness. “She couldn’t possibly feel anything but sheer joy. Dear Payton is a fine, handsome man, his home is a jewel and his lineage is impeccable. Julia will be treated like a queen by Richmond’s society.” Clara already envisioned long visits to Belmont and all the delightful parties she could enjoy in the Confederacy’s capital. “Julia won’t be a virtual prisoner in her home there as she is here,” she added with an arch look at her husband.
Jonah rang the silver handbell that sat on his reading table. “Let us see what Julia has to say.”
Hettie Perkins, the family’s cook and now housekeeper since the war had forced the Chandlers to economize, slipped through the parlor door. “Yes, sir?” she asked.
As if she doesn’t already know what we want, Clara thought. She was sure Hettie had her ear pressed against the keyhole ever since she opened her mouth. Aloud, Clara asked, “Where is Julia?”
