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  “Yes, because of Roosevelt getting the vice presidency. Served beside him, didn’t you?” John nodded and Chayce said, “Well, we can agree to disagree.”

  “Just what I was about to say!” John sat back and took the coffee cup that Claire had filled for him. He didn’t meet her eyes. He was too unsettled. She’d never flirted with him, but she seemed to find no difficulty doing it with Chayce, who was a ladies’ man for real. “What will you teach?” he continued.

  “Strategy and tactics,” Chayce replied. “I’ve learned a lot from some of the career soldiers I met while I was serving in Arizona, and then in the Philippines. Many of them were veterans of the Indian wars out West.” He spoke intently. “You’d be amazed at how canny those Plains Indians were in battle. And Geronimo led the U.S. Army a merry chase until his final surrender in ’86. I was stationed in Arizona, but I never fought Indians.” He sighed. “Although I served with men who did.”

  “I remember one of them—Jared Dunn, who lives in New York City. I had a card from him at Christmas last year.”

  “So did I,” Chayce recalled fondly. “Dunn was a character. I hope he’s put his gun away for good now.”

  “His service revolver, you mean?” Claire interjected.

  Chayce chuckled. “No, his six-gun. Dunn was a gun-fighter and then a Texas Ranger. I think you might say that he led a colorful life before he settled down to practice law in New York City.”

  “I wouldn’t call him settled,” John said. “He still has a reputation for shooting straight when it’s called for, and he takes a lot of cases outside of the city.”

  “Not a job I’d like,” Chayce remarked. “The law is dry as dust. I much prefer the military life. Don’t you miss it?” he fired at John suddenly.

  “I miss it every day I draw breath,” John replied curtly. “But I can’t go back, and you know why.”

  “Time heals all wounds,” Chayce said solemnly. “And your record was exemplary. I spoke with one old colonel who said he still mourned your decision not to reenlist after you were mustered out, when you decided to go to Harvard.”

  “Colonel Wayne?”

  Chayce nodded. “He was an exceptional commander. He knows more than I ever will have time to learn about frontline skirmishes.” He shrugged. “But he likes his Montana ranch and has no interest in moving East.”

  “How are you going to tolerate Charleston after Arizona?” John asked.

  Chayce grimaced. “About as well as Geronimo and his Chiricahua Apache liked being marooned in St. Augustine, I expect. Desert dwellers don’t cotton to damp rot.”

  “Charleston has its good points. I lived there for several years and loved it,” John recalled.

  “You loved the sea,” Chayce reminded him. “I remember hearing you talk about all the sailing you used to do with your father and brothers as a boy. But I hate it.”

  “You’ll have plenty of years to learn to love it.”

  Chayce sighed. “I hope not.”

  “Give it time. You’ll work your way back into favor one day.”

  Chayce shrugged. “So they say.”

  He stayed only a little longer and then declared that he had to be on his way, so that he didn’t miss his train.

  “It’s been swell seeing you again,” he told John as they shook hands out on the sidewalk where a carriage had been summoned and was waiting for Chayce. “Take care of your wife. She’s a treasure.”

  “Thank you, Colonel,” Claire replied, with a smile. “It was a pleasure to have met you. Do stop by the next time you come this way.”

  “Perhaps by then you’ll have a proper house and a yardful of children,” Chayce remarked, but he was looking at John, not Claire, when he said it. “Please thank Mrs. Dobbs for the delicious cake, Claire, and keep well. So long.”

  John pulled his pocket watch out and glanced at it. “I’ll share your carriage. I have to get back to the bank,” he said. He glanced at Claire. “I’ll be late. Don’t wait supper.”

  He climbed in beside Chayce. The door closed. The carriage took off down the street. Claire stood on the sidewalk looking after it. She’d learned something new about her husband, but it would do her no good at all. If he’d cared for her, she’d have learned those things from him, and not had to find them out from his old friend Chayce.

  Amazingly, the next day John actually took her riding. He left his office just after noon and hired a carriage with a driver.

  “I thought it might be nice for you to get out of the house for a bit,” he explained when she appeared shocked by his suggestion.

  “We—we never go anywhere together,” she stammered.

  “What about the bank social Saturday night?” he asked.

  She smiled. “Well, there’s that.”

  He handed her into the carriage and climbed in beside her, his eyes approving of her black suit with its natty white trim and her matching hat. She had incredible dress sense—when she wasn’t working on that silly automobile or riding that cursed wheel. She only rode it around the property, but she often fell off, and it was a high one. He felt guilty about puncturing one of her tires and then lying about having no time to get it patched for her. She wouldn’t know that he was concerned for her welfare. More and more, the idea of Claire being hurt in any way, physically or emotionally, was disturbing to him.

  They talked about Atlanta and its tempestuous past, talking about more recent events like the unusual house on Peachtree Street, the “house that Jack built,” and the famous Tally-ho wagon of the Driving Club that a retired military man used to carry pretty debutantes and visiting dignitaries racing along the streets. The coach was pulled by white horses and regal in its livery, and a silver trumpet sounded its approach.

  “What a fabulous city this is,” Claire said.

  “And what a future it has,” John replied. “We make long-term as well as short-term loans to businesses, and we’re showing huge profits.” Well, on paper, at least, he added to himself, putting aside some nagging worries about the bank’s finances that he wasn’t going to share with Claire.

  “Oh, John, look!” She grabbed his arm unconsciously, wincing as she saw a carriage just ahead of them collide with a dog and knock it to the roadside. It kept going. “The animal! How could they leave it! John, do stop,” she pleaded.

  “Of course we’ll stop,” he said, equally incensed. He banged on the top of the coach with his cane, tossed his hat aside, and unbuttoned his jacket and discarded it before he followed Claire out of the carriage. He rolled up his sleeves on the way.

  The animal was yelping in pain. John knelt beside it and his hands gently felt for breaks in its ribs and legs while it tried feebly to snap at him.

  “It’s his leg,” John said after a minute. “I’ll need a splint and some gauze.”

  “It’s in pain.”

  “Yes, I know. But there’s very little I can do about that,” he said apologetically.

  “Beauregard!” a sobbing, elderly voice called. A tiny little old woman with white hair came down the path from an imposing brick home. She leaned heavily on a cane. “Oh, dear. Oh, dear,” she said, wiping away tears. She looked at John helplessly. “Will he die?” she asked resignedly.

  “Certainly not,” John said gently. “He has a broken leg and he’s in some pain. Have you gauze and something I can use for a splint?”

  “Oh, are you a doctor?” the old woman asked.

  “No, but I’ve patched up enough wounded men in my time. I know what to do. I’ll carry him.”

  “You’ll get dirty, young man,” the old lady said worriedly.

  He chuckled. “Yes, I probably will.”

  He bent and picked up the poor animal, very careful not to jostle him any more than necessary. The animal was still whimpering, but he was no longer trying to bite.

  Claire’s eyes adored her husband. She’d always thought him a kind man, but seeing this tender side of him made her heart ache. All the way to the house, she reassured the worried owner of
the dog, recalling her own pets who had survived worse mishaps. By the time they reached the elegant house, the old woman had stopped crying.

  “I can’t thank you both enough for stopping,” the old woman said as they walked up the steps. “Beauregard was given to me by my late husband. He’s all I have. I saw that carriage hit him and drive on. I know whose carriage it is, too. It belongs to that commercial banker, that Wolford man.”

  “Our competition.” John chuckled. “Yes, I know him.”

  “He would not loan a starving beggar a nickel,” the lady said. She glanced curiously at John. “And to which bank do you belong, young man?”

  “I am vice president of the Peachtree City Bank,” he replied.

  “Ah.” She smiled.

  John didn’t understand that smile, but he quickly became too occupied with the poor dog to analyze it. They put the animal on the porch, and when the materials he required were fetched, he set the animal’s broken leg securely.

  “He lives in the house,” the elderly lady said. “I’ll keep him warm and fed and watered—and I won’t let him move around any more than necessary. I can never thank you enough.”

  “This may sound wicked,” John said, “but if you can give him a little whiskey, it might help the pain.”

  She grinned. “I have several bottles of my husband’s best. I shall take your advice.” She petted the dog gently. He was lying still, shivering a little, but not whimpering.

  “Here,” John said, picking the animal up once more. “Show me where you want him.”

  She led the way inside, with Claire and John right behind her. On the way, a huge painting over the fireplace caught Claire’s eye and she flushed as she recognized the subject. She didn’t say a word as she watched John place the animal gently on the rug at the hearth, where a fire was going.

  “Old bones get cold. He’ll be happy here.” The old lady extended a hand, which John kissed with gentle sophistication, smiling at the elderly woman’s quick flush.

  “I hope he does well.”

  “Thank you for your help, young man. It won’t be forgotten.”

  “It was the least anyone could have done.”

  “Yes, but no one else did it.” She showed them both to the front door and watched them down the drive with a smile.

  “Do you know who that was?” Claire whispered frantically to him before they reached the carriage.

  “Of course I do,” he said. “But I didn’t when we stopped. She’s quite a character. And stories are still told about her husband. He was a Civil War general.”

  “Yes, I know, I’ve read about him.” She also knew that the elderly lady was the richest widow in town.

  He chuckled. “I had no idea whose house that was, or whose dog. Poor old Wolford. If he only knew whose dog he abandoned to its pain…”

  “She smiled.”

  He nodded. “A kind but vengeful woman. His bank will suffer, I’m afraid.”

  “And so it should,” Claire said hotly. “Imagine! Hitting the poor animal and just driving on!”

  He stopped at the carriage, pausing long enough to thank the driver for waiting so patiently.

  “No problem at all, sir,” the man said stoically. “I seen what happened. It takes a heartless man to leave an animal in such pain.”

  “Yes, it does,” John agreed. He put Claire into the carriage and climbed in beside her. The front of his shirt was soiled and wet. He unbuttoned it a little to move the wet part aside.

  Claire’s eyes were drawn to his broad, hair-roughened chest, and she couldn’t help but stare. She’d never seen a man without his shirt.

  He cocked an eyebrow and chuckled. “Life is all lessons, isn’t it, Claire?” He caught her hand and drew her closer in the cozy confines of the carriage. His fingers guided hers against the muscular wall of his chest into the thick mat of black hair.

  Her fingers jerked at first, but he flattened her palm there and moved it sensuously on his warm flesh. His breathing changed suddenly.

  She looked up into his dark eyes and found them smoldering.

  “You…like it?” she asked uncertainly.

  “I like it.” He took the other hand and put it with the first, but the gloves irritated him. He stripped them off and tossed them onto her lap before he placed her bare hands against him. His chest expanded with the feel of her flesh against his.

  “Yes, that’s how I wanted your hands on me,” he said, bending his head. He kissed her, his mouth half open, teasing, demanding.

  “John?” Her voice was a bare squeak.

  “Claire!”

  He caught her to him, turning her across his lap. The kiss became deep, invasive, and he moved her hands on his body until she understood what he wanted. His heartbeat shook both of them. Seconds later, he drew back slightly and guided her lips down to his chest, arching back, shivering as he felt them on his bare skin.

  The sudden jolt of the carriage made them draw apart. They looked at each other as the carriage began to slow, then realized almost simultaneously that they were nearly home.

  Claire jerked away from him, flustered and wide-eyed.

  “It’s all right,” he said, with more composure than he actually had.

  She retrieved her hat from the floor while he pulled his sleeves down, buttoned his wet shirt, and put his jacket and hat back on.

  Their appearance left much to be desired. He liked her disheveled. His body was aching from frustrated desire, but he felt both affection and amusement as he looked at Claire’s guilty expression.

  “No one will lecture us about the way we look. We’re married,” he said, teasing.

  “Yes.” She pulled her gloves back on with fumbling hands.

  He touched her cheek gently. “You are a delight to kiss, Mrs. Hawthorn,” he said softly. “You look adorable.”

  She flushed and smiled, confused as she’d never been.

  He chuckled. “And now we really had better go inside.”

  He paid the driver and helped her out, his eyes unusually tender. He even held her arm as they went into the house, pausing only long enough to speak to Mrs. Dobbs before going upstairs.

  But once they were in their apartment, John suddenly grew remote. He realized he’d forgotten Diane altogether for the afternoon, and wondered how he could have done such a thing. He smiled vacantly at Claire and went to his own room with the excuse that he had to clean up.

  When he emerged, he was the man he’d always been—courteous and friendly, but detached. Claire wondered if she’d dreamed the whole episode in the carriage. It was a sad end to a wonderful day.

  6

  OVER THE NEXT FEW DAYS, CLAIRE NOTICED A definite shift in her relationship with her taciturn husband. After his friend’s visit and their shared adventure in the carriage, John seemed much more approachable—almost watchful. They had most meals together now. But the growing camaraderie vanished when she asked if they were going to the governor’s ball at Christmas. He suddenly clammed up as if she’d asked him for state secrets.

  She couldn’t know that it was painful for him to consider that annual event, because his parents were always invited. He hadn’t seen them since his abrupt departure from home two years before, and he was reluctant to resurrect old wounds in a public place. But his presence would be expected as an officer of the largest bank in the city—and the one, incidentally, favored by the governor himself.

  Because Claire knew nothing of her husband’s background, she had no idea how it affected him to be an outcast in his family—or even that he was an outcast. Her fears were that he might be ashamed of her somehow, and that was why he didn’t want to go to the ball. She wasn’t really in his social class, and he’d never seen her properly dressed for an evening out. Perhaps after seeing her grimy from working on the automobile, and even in her comfortable day clothes, he might think she lacked proper dress sense.

  Well, she had every certainty of showing him how carefully she could dress and groom herself, because she alre
ady had the design and the cloth for her own gown. She would make something that would raise eyebrows, something even more spectacular than the gowns she was sewing for Evelyn and the other society women. She’d show her husband, by hook or crook, that she could compete with his lovely Diane!

  He hadn’t mentioned the other woman recently. She knew that he occasionally saw her, because she often accompanied her husband to the bank. But he never mentioned either Diane or any dealings he had with her. As he’d promised at their wedding, he wasn’t going to cheat on Claire.

  The sad thing was that he didn’t love her, Claire reflected. She’d married hoping for a miracle, but her marriage had only led to more heartache. And now that she knew how it felt to be kissed by her elusive husband, things were ever so much worse for her. He had only kindness and teasing affection to give her, while she hungered for him and loved him more fully than before. Life, she thought wistfully, could be so difficult.

  SATURDAY ARRIVED, AND CLAIRE steeled herself for an evening with the Calversons and the investment-firm owner whom Mr. Calverson was courting.

  Claire hadn’t had time to make herself a dress for the occasion because she was so involved sewing Evelyn’s, Jane’s, and Emma’s dresses for the governor’s ball, so she’d taken John’s invitation to heart and bought one for herself at Rich’s on Whitehall Street. The store’s elegant black-and-gold interior had delighted Claire’s sense of fashion and color, and the plate-glass windows that adorned it were filled with exciting displays.

  Enchanted by her surroundings, she found the very dress she was looking for, a deep emerald green with jet beads and a lacy overlay on the low-cut bodice. The straps were velvet and satin, the trim around the bottom of the gown in the same jet beads as the bodice. The dress had been quite expensive, but it turned her gray eyes green and enhanced her complexion. She stared at herself in her long oval mirror with fascination. She didn’t look so bad when she dressed up. She had her mother’s marcasite-and-onyx necklace and earrings, too, which matched her gown beautifully. John was going to be surprised, she thought.