Wild, Beautiful, and Free(64)

I was speechless. I stared up at him in awe.

“Now you are the one being cruel,” he said. “You won’t answer me?”

Oh God.

“Sir, I’m afraid to speak. My heart might break into a thousand pieces.”

“I swear I love you, Jeannette. You are my helpmeet; you are my equal. You alone are my bride.”

I was overcome. My heart seemed to swell like a river blown out and overflowing after an abundance of long-awaited rain. All I could manage was one word.

“Yes.”

“Yes?”

“Yes.”

He kissed me. Suddenly my senses were full of him. He smelled of witch hazel and cigar smoke and of the jasmine and roses all around us, and I felt as though I had fallen into myself.

He held me tightly. “Are you happy, Jeannette? Because you have made my happiness, and I’m determined to seize it. This is my chance to own my own heart. And I gladly offer it to you.”

“Yes, Christian, yes.”

It was the truth. I was happy. I’m not sure I had understood the meaning of the word before, but now I felt like a child. Simple joy, like I was riding horseback floating over a sea of sugarcane as I’d done with Papa all those years ago. It was a simple, clear, shining bubble of happiness. I felt the wind shift, and a breeze blew about us.

He pulled me to my feet and kissed me again, and as he embraced me, I happened to look up at the house. There was a light burning in one of the upper windows. I saw the shadow of a figure behind the glass and felt a strange twisting sensation in my stomach.

I realized how we must look, but I couldn’t do anything about it. Everyone would know everything soon enough, I figured. I allowed him to take my hand, and we ran into the house. The clock struck ten.

We embraced again in the hall. His scent seemed deeply familiar and exotic all at once. It mesmerized me enough to place a small kiss at the base of his throat.

“My angel,” he said. “Sleep well. I will see you in the morning, and we will plan our lives from there.”

I didn’t think I could sleep. I spent at least an hour listening to the wind pushing through the trees. It sounded like an ocean flowing past my window.

When I did sleep, I dreamed again of a child, only now the child was a girl, and she stood silently very close to my face and stared into my eyes expectantly. I didn’t know what she wanted or what she was waiting for.





Chapter 13


When I awoke, the sense of delight was still all over me. It could have all been a dream, wrapped in darkness and softness. I pulled the covers close and shut my eyes tight. If it had been a dream, I would still have the sensation that I could return to it, that I could dip down into sleep again, draw aside a curtain of Spanish moss, and cross back into that same softness, that same darkness.

Only I couldn’t, because I, with my waking eyes, had the memory of Mr. Colchester’s voice filling my ears and anchoring me to the daylight world. It had been no dream. Mr. Colchester loved me. He loved me. As I rose and dressed, I played last night’s scene over again and again, every touch, every word. If I did doubt the reality of any of it, I couldn’t deny the proof of what I saw in the mirror. When I looked at my face, I found a smile, natural and warm, on my lips. I had smiled before, but this smile seemed unused, like it had always been there but had been saved or even hidden under the surface; like this smile showed how my face was always meant to look. My eyes had borrowed the spark and liveliness of Mr. Colchester’s—Christian’s—eyes. A sense of hope and abundance filled me, and my new eyes saw a world of intense, vibrating color. I hurried my dressing. I wanted to show him this face, to lift up to him these eyes and have him see all that he had poured into me.

A rain overnight had washed the air clear, and the sunlight sparkled in a crisp deep-blue sky. A refreshing breeze blew through the mansion. I left my room and ran down the gallery, taking the steps so fast that I nearly stumbled into Founder. She was standing on the landing looking out of the window. Her expression, sad and grave, made her face look heavy with care. It seemed necessary for the hand beneath her chin to bear the full weight of her head. Again I felt a discomfort in my stomach, but I was determined to ignore it.

“Founder! Good morning!”

She glanced at me and frowned. “Who says it is?”

“Well, I suppose I do, but the day can speak for itself!” I joined her at the window and opened it. “It’s a glorious day. And feel that breeze!” I raised my face to the light and took in the sweet air.

“What’s got you acting bright as a button?”

It seemed like a trick question. I was certain she was the one I’d seen in an upstairs window last night, standing like she was now. It occurred to me that Founder was always looking out the windows, like she was always looking out for someone. I wanted to tell her about me and Christian. I wanted to blast that sour look off her face, to shout about my love to the heavens. But it didn’t seem right, not until I had spoken to him again. For all I knew, it had been a dream. I wanted to see him first. Needed to see him above all, to have our love, for now, still between the two of us and unspoiled.

“Sometimes, we just have to believe it’s going to be a good day, Founder,” I said. “Just a blessed, good day.”

She seemed about to say more, but I flew away from her and down the stairs. I was determined to believe my own words—determined to believe that all would be well.