The Captain's Challenge (The Wolf Deceivers Series Book 3) Read online

  A satisfied blue gaze sparked from her eyes, and he had the feeling he’d just been played like a well-tuned piano, that impish smile a flourish. “Thank you, Alex. I appreciate your offer.” She rose from her chair, and looking past Alex, waved at the street.

  The clip-clop of horse hooves and rumble of a wagon sounded behind him. He turned his head in time to see the driver lift his hat in response to her wave. “I think Cal and I should be going.” Alex shoved off his perch.

  Gillian stretched out one hand to prevent Cal from rising and held up the other hand, palm out, to Alex. “Please wait a bit. Our neighbors have started to pass on their way home for the day. If I remember correctly, it’s a time honored Southern tradition to greet neighbors from your front porch.”

  Cal chuckled. “Sorry we didn’t know, Gillian, but we’re not Southern.”

  “You are as long as you’re among us, and Southern or not, didn’t you come out to greet your neighbors as they passed by back home?” She curled a stray wisp of hair around her finger, her eyes fixed on Cal. The saucy little tart.

  “No ma’am,” Cal replied. “I lived on the fourth floor of an apartment building in New York City.”

  “You poor thing.” She slanted a widened glance to Alex. “What about you, captain?”

  “I come from a farm in Missouri. We visited our neighbors, but they didn’t pass by our front porch.” He forced his gaze from her upturned face. “We have to get going. Cal has to have time to unpack and—”

  “Before you go, I have a favor to ask—two really.”

  He shoved his hands in his pockets and waited.

  She held his gaze for a long moment as if she feared he wouldn’t receive her request favorably. “Papa and Julia are giving me a homecoming party Saturday night. I would deem it an honor if you’d both attend. I extend an invitation personally because Julia may forget.”

  Alex looked to Cal, but it was clear Cal expected him to make the decision. “It would be our honor to attend. What’s the other favor?”

  “I’d like for you to find my brother.”

  “Your brother who’s missing in action?” Alex asked for Cal’s benefit.

  “I know where the other two are. Resting in peace at Lynwood.”

  “When did he go missing?”

  “After the Battle of Chickamauga.”

  A weight fell on Alex’s chest. It couldn’t be.

  “We were in that battle,” Cal said.

  Alex remembered well. One of the bloodiest battles of the war. His brother had been killed in that battle, and Alex had commanded the prisoner camp for the captured. Where he’d ordered a Confederate boy shot.

  No, it had to be a coincidence. Another one. Except he didn’t believe in coincidences. He swallowed the panic rising in his throat. “That was almost seven years ago, Gillian. Your father must have made inquiries.”

  “Of course, but he doesn’t have the influence you do.” Her chin trembled. “Please, Will was only sixteen.”

  Her eyes glimmered with unshed tears, and he fumbled for some way to give her hope, but there was none. “I don’t think it’s a matter of influence. The only logical way your brother could still be alive would be if he deserted and was too ashamed to return home.”

  “It happened a lot, Miss Gillian.” Cal added. “And if they don’t want to be found, it’s near impossible.” Cal obviously hadn’t connected that incident at the prisoner of war camp.

  “I’m certain Will didn’t desert. Even if he’s…if he’s no longer alive, I want to know his final resting place. You understand that, don’t you?”

  Alex nodded. “I’ll make inquiries.”

  Her mouth quivered into a smile. “Will was almost as tall as you. His hair was a little darker than mine—a brighter red when it glinted in the sun. His eyes were the same shade of blue as mine, and he had a mole on his neck just below the right ear.” She pressed a finger on the side of her slender neck.

  “If you’d write down the particulars, including his mannerisms as well as the physical description, his regiment, men he served with, anything you can think of, I’ll get it from you later.”

  She reached out to take his hand. “Thank you, Alex. It means more to me than I can express.” Her soft touch sent an unexpected jolt through him, followed by a dash of regret.

  “I’ll do all I can.” He’d make it a priority. “But it’s not likely I’ll be any more successful than your father.”

  He patted her hand and gestured for Cal to follow.

  Cal shouldered his bag and followed through the door and up the stairs. “What do you think of Miss Carey?” Alex asked.

  “She’s lovely, but may be a little too demanding for me.”

  Relief made Alex laugh. Cal hadn’t seen her demanding. She’d shown her genteel side, spiced with a scoop of Southern flirtation. For some uncanny reason he got the impression she’d been trying, in a subtle way, to make him jealous. He was probably wrong, but he liked that idea.

  ***

  Gillian dragged her hat by its ribbons, letting it strike every rung of the stairs as she made her way to her room. She’d dress for supper, although it was much too early.

  So many questions crowded in, she didn’t know which to tackle first, and impatience had her ready to scream. It was clear that correspondence from home had given her a false picture of the situation. Papa had troubles he didn’t want to discuss. Julia was unapproachable.

  If only Mama were still alive.

  When she laid her white muslin gown with green embellishment out, she almost called her mother to see if she approved. It didn’t seem possible yet that her mother wouldn’t come walking in at any moment.

  Mama was almost as reserved as Papa and very strict. She withheld affection for special occasions, and firmly believed too much praise spoiled a child. That didn’t matter to Gillian. Like a child who clings to the parent who beats her, she’d loved and admired her mother as the greatest woman on earth, and though it was hopeless, she kept trying to please.

  The same grief she’d experienced when first learning her mother had died sank into her, down into the marrow. She closed her eyes and recalled that morning when Grandmother had come to her school in Nice.

  She’d known something was amiss though Lady Carey had chatted airily for a few moments. “What’s wrong? Have they…have they found Will? It was the first thing to pop into her head. They’d found Will and he, like Matt and John, was dead.

  “It’s your mother, Gillian. She took influenza two months ago. You know how hard it is to get mail from America.”

  “But she’ll be all right?” She’d pleaded, her throat tightening painfully.

  “No, dear, she passed away. It’s so chaotic over there your father couldn’t get a message through until now.”

  “Papa will need me.”

  “Your father is adamant that you remain in school. It’s too dangerous to travel, and anyway, there’s nothing you can do.”

  Nothing she could do. That phrase beat through her brain the whole of her time away from home. When her brothers had died in combat, there was nothing she could do. When the enemy crouched closer to her home, there was nothing she could do. When William had been reported captured and later missing, there was nothing she could do. When her father had tried to pick up the political pieces of their ravaged state and been cut down for those efforts, there was nothing she could do.

  She knew all the fight had left her father. Only Aunt Mandy had hope. Gillian could now see the logic in Aunt Mandy admonishing her not to tell Papa. If he were unwilling to fight for his career himself, he certainly wouldn’t allow her to become embroiled in Aunt Mandy’s schemes.

  Now that she’d accepted her loss, maybe the grief would lessen. She could finally extinguish the small flame of hope that she’d find everything as it was before leaving home. Reality had snuffed out that unreasonable hope but left her cold despite the Georgia heat.

  She started to call Maudie to help her dress, but was help re
ally necessary? The dress buttoned down the front. Besides, there were only three servants in the house, and if Gillian had read Julia right, she had all three jumping. No, she couldn’t add to Maudie’s burdens.

  Papa’s circumstances were reduced, and Gillian would have to do her share. Wait on herself.

  After lacing her corset loosely, she stepped into the frothy summer frock, and without looking, began buttoning the tiny pearl buttons. She made what repairs she could to her hair and turned from the mirror.

  Mama’s portrait hung on the opposite wall, Papa’s favorite that used to hang in the drawing room. Julia must have had it moved here. Gillian stood transfixed for several minutes, staring at the portrait.

  The painting had been commissioned when Mama was little older than Gillian was now. Lynette sat upon a stool in a glorious gown of velvet maroon. She smiled down at Gillian in all her blonde loveliness, her delicate hands folded upon her lap. There were no embellishments to the portrait. Nothing detracted from Lynette’s beauty. The years had dimmed Gillian’s memory of that beauty.

  Everyone said Lynette was the driving force behind her husband’s political success. Gillian would have to take her mother’s place. Clearly, someone needed to revive Papa’s ambitions. From what she could tell, Julia showed no interest in politics.

  But neither she nor Julia could possibly compare to Lynette. She’d carried an aura about her that commanded attention and adoration.

  A pain hidden since childhood welled up within her stomach and stuck in her heart. Like a knife, the searing fury stabbed her. The old feeling rose in her throat like bitter gall that the mother she’d adored had been ashamed of her.

  She turned from the portrait and gazed at her anguished expression in the vanity mirror. Mama had tried to hide it, but there were little telling signs. Lynette would never take her when she and Papa visited friends. When they’d resided in Milledgeville, they’d left Gillian in Atlanta with Aunt Mandy. It was obvious to Gillian’s bruised ego that Lynette was ashamed of her daughter’s behavior and looks.

  She’d been ugly at the time—a plain, skinny girl with freckles and stringy, bright red hair. Sometimes her mother would buy her beautiful clothes, and when Gillian had paraded in front of her parents, Mama couldn’t hide her disappointment. The clothes, however beautiful, only emphasized her only daughter’s ugliness.

  Gillian reached up to trace a hairline crack in the mirror. She’d made that crack at the age of twelve shortly before she’d left for England. She’d begged her mother that day, “Don’t send me away, Mama, please.”

  Lynette permitted a placating smile. “You’ll have so many more opportunities in Europe, dear. Your father and I will be busy with the new government. You won’t want to follow us around.” But all Gillian could hear her mother say was, “I don’t want to be bothered with you.”

  As soon as Mama had left her, Gillian had run to the mirror and pounded it with her fists, “Ugly, ugly, ugly,” she’d cried with each blow.

  She’d gone to England as her mother decreed. Then sometime around her sixteenth birthday, a miracle occurred. She’d blossomed. Her figure filled out with youthful curves and grace. The freckles faded, and the hue of her hair mellowed into a golden red.

  Oh, she’d never be a beauty compared to Lynette, but the gentlemen invited to Grandmother’s drawing room had admired her.

  Alex admired her. She’d seen it in his eyes, but Mama would never know that. Gillian would never see pride in her mother’s eyes. Not that her proud Southern mama would approve of Alex.

  There was still Papa, however. He’d never seemed to care what she looked like or what she did. Surely there was time for them to forge a loving relationship, especially now he wasn’t traveling all the time, as he had in her childhood. If not love, she might gain his trust, enough so he’d confide in her. A desire to see her father sent her scurrying from the room.

  As she anticipated, she found him in his study, sitting at his massive cherry wood desk. His head lifted as she entered the room. “Gilly, you look like a spring rose.” He got up and scooped her up into a bear hug, a little too tight to be sincere.

  She breathed in the fine pipe tobacco aroma that was uniquely Papa. “Are you always working?”

  He laughed and eased her to the heather colored leather chairs by the window where a light breeze lifted the curtains. “There’s so much to do. I’ve hired myself out, Gilly.”

  She bunched her skirt and lowered herself onto the edge of a chair. Clasping her hands together, she smiled. “Doing what?”

  “Everyone needs advice on how to sharecrop it seems. Funny, considering how hard your grandfather tried to convince planters to abandon slavery in favor of sharecropping and ridiculed him for the effort. Now, they come to me, and since I no longer have a plantation or a senate seat, I have the time…and need the money.”

  She searched his face. The harsh daylight revealed deep trenches around his mouth and eyes, his dark brown hair liberally sprinkled with gray. “I was passing your office earlier and heard one of those men consulting you say there were other ways of getting his money.” It was a white lie, but she didn’t want to involve the O’Grady sisters. “What did he mean?”

  His brows furrowed into a hard line, and a disconcerted look clouded his eyes, but he shook it off within a beat, and chuckled softly. “Nothing but business, my dear. There are many ways to gain money for those willing to work for it.”

  She couldn’t let the matter drop. Despite his nonchalance, it bothered her. “What if they don’t want to work for it, but find illegal means?”

  He closed his eyes, and she knew she lost him. “There are always men like that, Gillian, but what does it have to do with us?”

  “Papa, you’re not…hard up?”

  He shook his head. “No, nothing like that.” His tone sharpened. She’d pushed too far.

  “But why did you sell Lynwood?”

  A look of pain crossed his face, and he stared at the floor. “I should never have done that, Gilly. Lynwood was becoming prosperous again, but Amanda convinced me I should take the loyalty oath and run for the senate.” His deep gray gaze met her blue one. “The worst of it was I didn’t tell Julia before we were married.”

  That loud conversation coming from Papa’s bedroom last night was an argument. Gillian feared Papa’s new marriage wasn’t a happy one. “Are you saying she wouldn’t have married you if she’d known?”

  “Who can say? I’ll never know.” His shoulders slumped. “Gilly, I’ve made so many mistakes, the worst of which was selling Lynwood. I just hope I can buy it back. Not for Julia’s sake. She has this house, but I must get Lynwood back for you. You should have a dowry.”

  She laughed. “A dowry? If I can’t get a husband without a dowry, I won’t have him at all.”

  “But I should never have sold your home.”

  “Oh, Papa, if Matt had lived, he’d have inherited Lynwood.”

  “But he didn’t come back. Nor John, nor William.” He got to his feet and sent her a forced smile over his shoulder. “And before I know it, all the young men will find you…and you’ll lose your heart to one of them, and that’s as it should be. I do want grandchildren before I die.” He turned to look down at her from under drawn brows. “You do need a dowry.”

  She wished he’d let the subject drop, but maybe this was the opening she’d been waiting for to convince him she should visit Aunt Mandy. She got up and stepped around him. “What young men, Papa? All the men of any worth who came back from the war are already married. Aunt Mandy said there were more unattached men in Atlanta than anywhere. She promised to hold a cotillion for me and introduce me to the best society.”

  He frowned and strolled over to a mahogany and glass cabinet. Taking out a decanter and pipe, he filled the instrument with aromatic tobacco.

  Too restless to sit, she left the chair to prop her hip on the desktop and watched him light the pipe. He puffed ragged circles into the air. The scent filled the room. She sn
iffed it, loving the smell that always meant Papa was at home.

  He turned back to her. “I realize Atlanta may have more eligible young men than Macon. There is Reuben, however.”

  She closed her eyes, and all she saw was the skinny teenager with sandy hair and freckles. “Are you suggesting Reuben Dabney as a suitor?”

  “Why not? You liked him well enough as a child. He’s turned into a fine businessman. He owns The Cedars now, and besides, he’s bought a lucrative railroad supply business in Atlanta. He’s offered to sell me The Cedars if I can’t get Lynwood back. It’s not in very good shape, but I could restore it for you. However, if you and he were to marry—”

  “I don’t think I could accept Reuben as a suitor, Papa.”

  “Why not?” He went back to the chair he’d vacated and peered at her from over his pipe.

  How could she explain why she disliked Reuben Dabney? Perhaps dislike was too strong a word, but she certainly held no fond feeling for him. “Cats,” she blurted. “When I was a little girl, Reuben would torment the cats around the barn. He’d swing them around by the tail. I caught him at it more than once.” She’d caught him doing worse than that. Like the time she saw him take a switch to a little slave boy.

  Papa’s rich laughter boomed. “Boyish pranks, Gilly. Reuben is a grown man now. You’ll see for yourself since he’s dining with us Saturday.” He took a couple of thoughtful puffs. “He lives in Atlanta now, so you’ll likely see him when you visit Mandy.”

  She hoped not. “Then you don’t object to me going to see Aunt Mandy?”

  He cocked a brow. “Not at all.” With a sigh, he hefted himself from the chair and returned to his smoking cabinet. He, too, was restless. “As you say, there’s not much for you here. Your old friends are either married or moved away. Atlanta is an exciting place these days. You’ll hardly recognize it. I believe Sherman did more to build up Atlanta than anyone.” He dropped his pipe back into its holder. “I’ll write Amanda and tell her you’ll arrive within the next week or two.”