Violet Fire Page 41

  Clara tore at the strings and pushed back the fabric wrap. “Oh, Papa! Mishannon! Dresses for my dolls!”

  Brandon dutifully admired the miniature gowns that Clara held up for his inspection and mouthed the words “How did you ever find the time?” to Shannon.

  Shannon cautioned him by placing a finger to her lips. Cody had purchased the material on his last trip to visit Annie, and Shannon was not proof against his pleas that she fashion gowns for Clara’s dolls. “Cody hemmed the dresses himself,” Shannon said.

  “He did?”

  “Unca Cody?”

  Shannon laughed at the identical inflections in their voices. Clearly, they doubted Cody’s ability. “I told him to pretend they were sails in need of mending.”

  Brandon was impressed by both Cody’s industry and Shannon’s cleverness. He nudged Clara. “Shall we give Mishannon her present from us?”

  “Oh, yes!” She crawled over her father to find the box she had helped Brandon wrap. “It’s tiny,” she said apologetically as she handed it to Shannon.

  “Then it’s not a horse?” asked Shannon, pretending disappointment.

  Clara giggled. “Course not. She’s in the stable. Papa and I put the prettiest ribbon on her bridle and—”

  Shannon blinked. “There really is a horse?”

  Brandon nodded, clamping his hand over Clara’s mouth. “It was supposed to be a surprise. I suppose the surprise is that we kept it a secret this long. You can close your mouth now, darling. We’ll take you out to see her after dinner.”

  Clara found her own mouth freed and she grinned happily. “She doesn’t even have a name, Mishannon. Papa says you must give her a name since she’ll be your very own.”

  “She’s gentle,” Brandon put in quickly. “I bought her upriver from Robert McClellan. He swears she won’t bolt or shy.”

  Shannon was overwhelmed by Brandon’s generosity. “I’m certain she’s wonderful. Thank you.”

  “Are you crying, Mishannon?” Clara asked.

  She laughed unsteadily. “No. Not yet at least.”

  “Open your other present,” Brandon prompted.

  Shannon tugged at the satin ribbon and unfolded the brocade wrapping. “My locket!” She regarded Brandon quizzically. “But I gave this to Clara.”

  “Clara has hers. This is a copy. Go on. Open it. I think the difference will be obvious.”

  Shannon slipped her nail in the groove of the locket facings and pressed the piece open. Instead of the miniature of her mother, there were two portraits in the tiny ovals. “Oh, Clara. Brandon.” The faces of those she held most dear misted before her eyes. Pressing the locket to her breast, she raised her eyes and looked at the paintings’ subjects. “This is beautiful,” she said softly. “I never expected…never imagined…I…” Her voice drifted off. “Thank you,” she finished simply. Shannon slid off the ottoman and knelt beside Clara, kissing the child’s downy cheek. “I shall love it always, Clara, just the way I shall love you.”

  “And Papa?” asked Clara.

  “And Papa,” Shannon assured her. She scooted over to Brandon and leaned forward, kissing him full on the mouth.

  Brandon tasted the promise in her kiss, but before he could collect on it, Clara was tugging on his coat sleeve. He brushed Shannon’s lips once before she withdrew. “Later,” he said, and his eyes now held a promise.

  Shannon ignored him, though she knew her expression gave away the tenor of her thoughts. Dwelling on those thoughts now was impossible as Clara opened a succession of gifts with unabashed delight. There was a picture book, which Shannon had written and illustrated for her, a kite-flying adventure, which had to be read immediately. Brandon’s gift to his daughter was a new saddle for Rainbow. There were candy treats from Oplas, a bib apron from Martha, and a rag doll from Addie. Like a pirate queen, Clara sat in the midst of what Brandon described as her booty and demanded that her father open his gift from Shannon.

  Brandon accepted the flat package, turning it this way and that, prolonging the moment until he opened it. “Do you know what this is, Clara?” he asked, running his fingers along the edge of the gift. At Clara’s negative reply, he slipped off the string. “It has a frame of some sort.” He glanced up at Shannon. “A drawing?”

  “Open it and see.” She bit her lip, waiting for Brandon’s response as he laid back the oilcloth cover and revealed the ink line sketch of father and daughter.

  Brandon had no words to describe what he felt in that moment. Shannon’s simple drawing had accurately captured the wealth of love he had for his daughter. In the sketch Brandon’s cheek was resting against Clara’s hair, his smile faintly teasing, his eyes indulgent. Clara’s mouth was puckered around her thumb, her expression sleepy and profoundly content.

  “Jemmy made the frame for me,” Shannon said when Brandon continued to stare at his gift in silence.

  “It’s a fine frame.” Brandon was surprised he could move the words past the tightness in his throat. He made no effort to hide his tears as he lifted his eyes to Shannon. “You’ve made her look like me,” he said. Far from being offended, Brandon was deeply touched.

  Shannon shook her head quickly. “No. Not intentionally. The resemblance is there,” she insisted. “It always has been. I never noticed until I did the drawing. Like you, I’ve always been struck by the difference in your coloring, but in ink, well, you can see for yourself. Look at her chin, her cheekbones.” And as Clara leaned over her father’s shoulder to look at the portrait, Shannon pointed to her. “That’s your smile, Brandon.”

  Brandon turned his head and looked at his daughter’s cheeky grin. “So it is.” He held up the picture so Clara could have a better view, blinking back the evidence of his emotion. “You’ve given me something very special.” His voice dropped huskily. “Very special.” He laid the picture on the ottoman and drew Shannon into his arms, laughing as Clara wiggled her way between them. Over the top of his daughter’s bright curls he managed to give Shannon a thoroughly satisfying kiss. “There’s one more gift, Shannon, something for you from Cody.”

  Clara wriggled again, this time reaching for the last present and giving it to Shannon.

  Shannon frowned as she saw Brandon exchange a smug smile with Clara. “Is this really from Cody?” she asked. Brandon and Clara nodded in unison. “Well, then. Does it bite?”

  “No.” Clara giggled. “It’s—” Her mouth was quickly covered by Brandon’s hand.

  Shannon cautiously ran her hands over the gift. It was soft and pliable. Material, she thought. Cody had bought more than fabric for doll dresses. Eagerly she opened the package and began laughing immediately. Holding up the yellow leather hunting shirt in front of her, Shannon gave it a little shake so the fringe swung back and forth. “This is wonderful! He remembered! And leggings, too!”

  “I thought he was quite mad when he told Clara and me, but obviously he knew what he was doing. He had Martha cut down his own garments to suit you. Said he had no use for them on board a ship. The moccasins are new, however.”

  Shannon picked up one of the butter-soft slippers and touched it to her cheek. “It was a lovely gesture. How like Cody.”

  Brandon chuckled. “A moment ago you were afraid of something biting you.”

  “That would have been like Cody, too,” Shannon said primly. She put down the moccasin as a thought struck her. “You won’t object to me wearing them, will you? I mean, they’re not the usual thing. I thought if I had them, I could learn to ride astride. That’s what I was thinking when I mentioned to Cody that I envied his garments.”

  Brandon’s eyes danced wickedly. “Riding astride,” he said consideringly. “It does give one pause.”

  A flush rose from the bodice of Shannon’s gown until her cheeks pinkened beautifully. “Brandon!”

  He shrugged indifferently, his expression holding no remorse. He set Clara off his lap and on her feet. “We’ll speak of Cody’s gift later. Right now I think I hear Martha pounding down the hallway. Our
Christmas dinner must be ready.” He stood and held out a hand to Shannon as Clara skipped out of the room, her rag doll under her arm. Bending his head, he whispered in Shannon’s ear. “You have a naughty turn of thought, Mrs. Fleming.”

  Shannon tried for a measure of righteous indignation and failed utterly. “I know precisely to what you were referring, Mr. Fleming, and I’ll prove it to you this evening.”

  One of Brandon’s brows kicked up. “And I shall look forward to it.”

  Chapter 16

  Shannon stared in the milliner’s window, giving careful study to the array of bonnets while juggling an armful of packages. She should have let Brandon take her purchases to the wagon before he went to the customs house, but they hadn’t seemed heavy then. She reminded herself she hadn’t had so many things when Brandon had taken his leave. He had been adamant that she buy whatever struck her fancy, and Shannon decided to take him at his word.

  She purchased enough material to make Clara two new dresses, bright ribbons for her bonnets, and a pair of red shoes of silk brocade similar to the ones Clara had admired in church on Christmas Day. She also had linen to fashion a shirt for Brandon and silk thread to embroider the cuffs and neckcloth. Another package contained skeins of imported yarn, dyed in bright colors that were difficult to make in colonial homes, and for Martha she had a jar of chocolate sweets from the apothecary. The purchase she was contemplating now was strictly for herself.

  A crisp January wind slipped under Shannon’s traveling cape, lifting it and her skirts above her ankles. Before she could adjust the tangle about her legs, she felt the careless wind seize her loosely tied bonnet and carry it away. Instinctively she made a grab for it, losing her packages in the process.

  “A bit of difficulty?”

  Shannon plucked her bonnet off the cobble walk, glancing up in dismay. The eyes that met her own were brilliant green, heavily lashed, and though clearly amused by her plight, were not unkind. The face they rested in was, quite simply, the most perfect Shannon had ever seen. His features were balanced, finely molded yet undeniably male. Fascinated, Shannon found herself deliberately looking for a fault and decided, in a defensive measure against his overwhelming handsomeness, that his chin was a trifle sharp. She didn’t care for the unsettling feeling in her middle as this stranger returned her regard with undisguised interest. She supposed it was her resemblance to Aurora, but most people in Williamsburg had not stared so openly, respecting Brandon’s imposing presence as he escorted her in and out of the various shops.

  Shannon looked away, remembering of a sudden that Brandon was no longer with her. “A bit of difficulty, yes.” She began to gather her purchases.

  “Forgive me for staring,” he said, bending to assist her. “Your eyes are so unusual. I’ve never seen the like before.”

  Then he didn’t know Aurora. That was a comfort. Shannon had enough confidence now that she could accept the compliment without turning away or even blushing. “Thank you for your help,” she said, standing. “You’re very kind,” She glanced at the bonnets again. “Excuse me, I must be going.” They both moved at the same time in the same direction. “Pardon me.” They moved again, and their motions were repeated.

  “Pardon me,” he said, laughter in his eyes.

  Shannon felt a bubble of laughter on her own lips. The packages threatened to fall. “Oh dear.”

  “Here, let me take something. Where were you going? I’ll escort you.”

  “I don’t know,” she said doubtfully. Shannon looked around, searching for Brandon in the hope that she would see him leaving the customs house. When she didn’t see him anywhere along the street, Shannon decided there could be no harm in accepting the stranger’s offer.

  “Of course you hesitate,” he said agreeably, relieving Shannon of her topmost package. “That’s perfectly understandable since we’ve yet to be properly introduced. I’m Peter Rhoades.”

  Shannon smiled ruefully and chided him. “I believe a proper introduction requires a third party, someone who knows both of us.”

  He smoothly plucked another package from Shannon’s arms while he glanced around. “That is unlikely in these circumstances since I am not well known here, being but an infrequent visitor to Jamestown.”

  It occurred to Shannon that her conversation with Peter Rhoades was taking on the tone of a mild flirtation. She could not dismiss the mischief in his eyes, and though she felt flattered, it was mixed with a certain sense of uneasiness. “I am Shannon Fleming,” she said, and added quickly, “Mrs. Brandon Fleming.” She thought she might laugh at the crushed look he affected. “I’m waiting for my husband, so your assistance, while appreciated, is unnecessary.”

  “But I already have some of your things,” he pointed out, undaunted. “And you were looking quite longingly at those bonnets. Is that perhaps where you were going? Into the milliner’s?”

  “Well…yes, but—” As soon as the admission was out, she realized her mistake. Peter had turned toward the entrance to the shop, and Shannon, perforce, had to follow since he was carrying some of her belongings. Once they were inside, Shannon hoped he would place her things on the shopkeeper’s worktable, but he did nothing of the sort.

  Standing behind the array of bonnets, he asked, “Now, which confection caught your eye?”

  “I really don’t think—”

  “Then permit me to do the thinking,” he teased, one corner of his mouth tilting upward charmingly. “The straw piece with the yellow ribbon would do nicely.”

  “It’s very pretty,” Shannon said. Where was the shopkeeper? “But not suitable for where my husband and I will be going.” She stressed again that she was a married woman, and this time saw it made no impact on him.

  “Oh? Then perhaps that riding hat, the one with the—”

  “No!” She had seen the black velvet hat sporting a silver-gray plume, and its resemblance to the one Aurora had worn made purchasing it completely out of the question. “No,” she said more softly, seeing her companion give a small start of surprise. “The fur piece would be better. We’re sailing north to Boston in one week. My husband has family there.” She realized she was rambling, but her discomfort was growing rapidly. His eyes. There was something about his eyes. “It’s a wedding trip of sorts. We were only recently married.”

  His mouth quirked again. “That does little to ease the pain, Mrs. Fleming. I shall always regret not coming to town earlier and paying court myself.”

  “I wish you would not speak so,” she said.

  “Then I won’t,” he offered gallantly. “I can see I am making you uncomfortable when all I wished to do was offer help—and make your acquaintance, of course.”

  He brushed aside some ribbons and material that were scattered on the worktable and set Shannon’s packages down. Tipping his black felt hat slightly, he made a small bow. “Good day, Mrs. Fleming. It has been a pleasure.”

  Relief mingled with surprise that he should take his leave with no more prompting on her part. “Yes, well, thank you again.” The odd familiarity of his smile stayed with her long after he had departed. Even when the shopkeeper appeared, apologizing profusely for her inattention to a patron, Shannon found herself thinking of Peter Rhoades’s perfect features and his brilliant emerald eyes.

  Hours later, when she was sitting at Brandon’s feet in front of the fire in the library, her arm curved over his thighs and her head resting against his knees, Shannon caught herself visualizing Peter’s face as she stared at the flames. “Do you know anyone named Peter Rhoades?” she asked.

  Brandon’s fingers continued to comb the silky length of Shannon’s hair. “No. Should I?”

  “No. I suppose not. He didn’t seem to know you.”

  “Now you’ve piqued my interest, madam,” he chuckled. “Who is this Peter Rhoades who doesn’t know me but knows my wife? And where, pray, did you make his acquaintance?”

  “I met him in town while you were attending to business and booking our passage. He helped me
carry my packages into the milliner’s.”

  “Dare I hope he was three times my age with a hump on his back and wart on his chin?”

  Shannon rubbed her cheek against his knee in a contented feline gesture. “Then you do know him,” she grinned.

  Brandon growled softly in the back of his throat. “Did he dally with you?”

  “A little.”

  “And you with him?”

  “A little.”

  “Honest,” he said. “But not what I wanted to hear. Should I be jealous?”

  “You must make up your own mind as to that.” Her lashes fluttered coyly; her eyes brightened with humor. “He was quite the most astonishingly beautiful man. Near to your age. No hump. No wart.”

  “Have you no guile? I think I would prefer that you lie to me.”

  “A lie would serve no purpose,” she said seriously. “I still choose you. I always shall.”

  “In spite of my want of fine looks,” he grimaced.

  Shannon’s hand brushed his thigh teasingly. “In spite of that.”

  “Humph. I think I shall call the rogue out if I chance to meet him. Mar his Adonis countenance with a scar perhaps.”

  “Oh, no. That would give his face character, something that he decidedly lacked for all that he was charming. He would be infinitely more intriguing if you gave him a scar. Besides, there is no need. I find I much prefer your dark eyes to his green ones, and your smile to his.”

  “Well, that is something at least, though I wish you had not noticed his eyes at all.” Brandon tugged on Shannon’s hair. “It occurs to me that you dallied overlong, m’dear, to have taken note of such things.”

  Shannon raised her face and saw that Brandon’s eyes were indeed dark, but not with the menace he pretended in his tone. Clearly he had some other idea on his mind. She did not attempt to dissuade him. Not only would it have been futile, it wouldn’t have been what she wanted. She made one protest. “Not here, Brandon,” she said huskily. “They’re watching us.”