Frost Fire, page 13
"I should thank my lucky stars for that," Tyler whispered to herself.
Nevertheless, she was lonely and tired of being cooped up with nothing to do and no one to talk to. And she was hungry. Breakfast was late, but now and again she could hear the rattle of pans from the private kitchen at the far end of the car, where the guest compartments were located. Perhaps if she went into the parlor before Homer entered with their meal, Gray would ask her to have breakfast with him. Then she could find out when they would reach New Orleans, and if he had heard any more news from Harriet or Chase.
Her course decided in her usual impulsive way, she stepped through the heavy brown velvet drapes. She didn't see Gray at first, then colored when she found him standing before a wall-hung mirror in the adjoining water closet. He was shaving and had apparently forgotten to draw the curtains together. Unaware of her presence, he continued to wield the straight razor across the finely molded planes of his square jaw. He had not yet donned his shirt, and Tyler's gaze fell unwillingly on the muscled ridges of his broad, bare back as they rippled fluidly beneath the skin. When he caught sight of her in the looking glass, he turned around quickly.
Tyler tried not to notice the thick furring of black hair across his muscular chest and the way his powerful biceps bulged as he reached for a towel. To her chagrin, the first words she spoke came out in the most idiotic, stammering way imaginable.
"Oh, pardon me, please. I—I didn't know you weren't dressed—"
"That's quite all right. I'm just finishing," he told her, the side of his mouth lifting in a slight smile. No doubt he was amused by her nervous apology. She watched in fascination as he toweled off the last of the shaving soap whitening his dark face, then reached for a starched white shirt hanging from the wooden clothes valet beside the washstand. Tyler, by now thoroughly embarrassed, turned away as he slid one muscular arm through the sleeve. She had never seen a man at his toilette, not even her uncle. At the moment, she felt self-conscious and forward to have interrupted Gray while his chest was bare and all his muscles showed so disturbingly.
"Is anything wrong?" he asked as he stepped toward her, his fingers at work at the front of his shirt. He left the top buttons open, and Tyler watched him pull up wide white suspenders to rest on his broad shoulders. Somehow that simple gesture seemed remarkably manly, and unsettling.
"No, it was just stuffy back in the bedroom this morning, so I thought I'd come out here for a while. I didn't mean to disturb you."
"You didn't," he answered. "As a matter of fact, I'd be pleased if you'd join me for breakfast. I hear Homer coming with the serving cart now."
"If you're sure you don't mind," she replied, thinking their conversation was absurdly polite after all the cruel things they had said to each other only a few nights ago.
Gray smiled then, slowly and rather irresistibly, and against her will, Tyler admitted to herself that he looked even better in his casual attire than in the expensive, well-tailored coats he favored. She liked the way the freshly laundered white linen shirt lay open without the stiff white collar he usually wore.
She sat down in the chair he was courteously holding for her, just as Homer entered, smiling from ear to ear. The servant placed a platter of fresh, warm turnovers and a silver pot of steaming coffee before them. Tyler watched him fill her cup, acutely aware that Gray, sitting across from her, was observing her every movement with those azure eyes of his. She studiously sipped the savory brew, pretending not to notice.
"We'll be arriving in New Orleans later this afternoon, Tyler," he remarked, lifting his coffee cup to drink. His casual revelation thoroughly captured her interest.
"Really? Will Chase be there?"
"I'm afraid not. But you shouldn't have long to wait. He'll probably arrive in the next few days."
"I see," she said, wondering where she would stay in the meantime. Gray seemed to know what she was thinking, which disconcerted her.
"I've assured him that you're welcome to be my guest until he arrives. Stone acquired a house for us when he was in New Orleans to see Carlisle earlier this month." His smile came again, easy and relaxed, as if their bizarre past had never occurred. "My sister will be our chaperone, which would probably amuse most of our acquaintances back home." He looked down to dribble cream into his cup. "I think you'll like her, though. She's almost eighteen, and now and again something about you reminds me of her."
Tyler was curious about how she might resemble his younger sister, but feeling silly about asking that question, she casually remarked, "Carlisle is such an unusual name. And your name, too, really, and Stone's are all quite out of the ordinary."
Gray looked down at his plate, and at first Tyler thought he considered her observation rude. But when he raised his gaze to her, his smile was pleasant.
"Mother was a romantic, I guess. Before we were born, a party of English lords visited a family near where we lived. Lord Charles Carlisle, Lord Reginald Gray, and Lord Wilbur Stone. She thought the three of them were grand and elegant, so she decided to name us after them."
"I see," Tyler said. "I was named after my mother's aunt."
"Tyler is a very pretty name. It fits you."
Tyler couldn't repress her pleased smile, but their conversation had given her an opening for discussing his past. She took it. "Were all three of you born in Chicago?"
"No, we came to Chicago when I was eleven. Would you like to meet Carlisle today? She will graduate from her convent school this afternoon, and I would be delighted to have you accompany me."
Tyler was quick to note how he had maneuvered the conversation away from his family's past. She wondered why, but she was more than interested in meeting Carlisle Kincaid, especially if the girl reminded Gray of herself.
"Thank you, I'd like that," Tyler murmured, thinking how horrible it must be to live in a nunnery and move in long, silent lines behind black-habited sisters, as she had seen the young convent girls do in St Louis. She would surely die in such a place. Thank goodness Uncle Burl hadn't been a believer and had chosen to teach her himself. If Tyler were Carlisle Kincaid, and Gray had sent her to a convent, she would certainly hate him forever. She wondered how Carlisle felt about her brother.
At half past two o'clock that afternoon, the train finally chugged into New Orleans. Tyler was beside herself with excitement. Just to get off the rocking, clacking metal beast was a wonderful prospect, not to mention leaving the intimate confines of Gray's private coach.
The more time she spent alone with Gray Kincaid, the more he affected her in perverse, alarming ways. It was simply astounding, since she had hated him for years. Her fervent hope was that Chase would soon take her away from the churning, internal turmoil she experienced every time Gray's clear blue gaze settled on her face.
She watched him as he picked up his tall beaver hat and gloves. For the graduation, he had donned a charcoal-colored jacket with waistcoat and trousers of pearl gray. He looked most handsome with his gray striped cravat folded neatly at his throat, and she eagerly followed him outside. He stepped to the ground, smiling as he assisted her from the railed platform.
Once Tyler was able to draw her attention from his bronzed face, the first thing she noticed about the city was the wonderfully warm air. The lovely smells and sights of awakening spring were everywhere. Her eyes roamed delightedly over the lush green banana tree leaning against a nearby brick wall where spidery ferns and bright red bougainvilleas filled rectangular flower boxes. It was hard to believe that snow had covered the ground in Illinois the day she had been carried aboard the train in her casket.
"Come on, Tyler, we're running late, but we can make it if we hurry."
Tyler had to run to keep pace with him, but she didn't mind. Her pleasure at being in the South again was intoxicating, bringing a happy smile to her lips. Louisiana was said to be very much like southern Mississippi, at least in climate and weather, and the bright sun felt absolutely wonderful when she tilted her wide-brimmed white hat to let the warmth kiss her face. Moments later, Gray assisted her into a large, open carriage that stood for hire at a busy intersection near the depot. As Tyler arranged her cumbersome pannier and skirt of pink-sprigged white silk around her on the well-worn black leather seat, Gray settled opposite her.
"Tell me, Tyler, have you ever robbed anyone from New Orleans?" he asked a moment later as the hired hack rattled briskly along the narrow, shaded avenue. Tyler started guiltily at his words, her gaze moving from the quaint stucco houses with their lovely iron galleries to fasten warily on his face. But she relaxed when she found his eyes warm with humor.
"Not lately, but I've only just arrived," she replied flippantly, presenting Gray with a dimpled smile that earned a low laugh from him.
In truth, Tyler had never been to the old French-settled city at the mouth of the Mississippi River, and she found the narrow, cobbled streets and galleried pastel houses as unique as her father had once described them to her, upon his return from a slave-buying trip before the war.
Thoughts of her father sobered her, making her remember that she was laughing and joking with the very man who had caused his death. Guilt flooded over her, numbing her to Gray's efforts to be friendly. She reached into her drawstring reticule and retrieved the globe. She shook it, watching the flakes swirl, and hardened her heart against him. Soon she felt strong enough to resist the easy charm he was exhibiting. The remainder of the ride to Carlisle Kincaid's convent school passed in heavy silence.
Located just off Bourbon Street, the Sacred Heart Convent of the Creoles had been erected in the old square of the city, which Gray told Tyler was called the Vieux Carré. A tall white stone wall, pockmarked with age and decorated with unusual bow-and-arrow ironwork and a barred portcullis, now raised, guarded the entrance. Tyler felt a shudder of distaste as their carriage rolled to a stop. The place looked just like a jail, she thought. She couldn't imagine young girls actually living inside such cold, austere walls.
She looked at the other fine conveyances lining the narrow thoroughfare of Dumaine Street. Knots of elegantly dressed men and silk-skirted ladies with feather-decked bonnets were moving along the curbstones, the men no doubt intent upon viewing their darling daughters emerge from their final day of finishing school, ready now, Tyler surmised, to set about the more important task of attaining suitable husbands. It was a wealthy crowd, and Tyler realized the young graduates must be the créme de la créme of New Orleans society. She smiled to herself. If he were still alive, her uncle Burl would no doubt be casing the strolling couples, looking for the one with the fattest wallet and finest frock coat and cane.
"You've become very quiet," Gray observed as he lifted Tyler to the ground. "Do convents make you nervous?"
"I'd be nervous only if I had a brother who made me live in one," she answered breezily, detecting the sarcasm in his question. She was definitely more comfortable with his anger than she had been with his levity. He didn't answer, and nothing else passed between them as they entered the gates of the nunnery.
To Tyler's relief, the interior courtyard was not nearly as stern and forbidding as the outer walls. Instead, neat flowerbeds of yellow-and-white jonquils were set out in orderly precision, while purple wisteria climbed the white walls. Tyler wondered if the Sisters were members of some gardening order, then looked up as a shrill squeal rang out, followed by peals of high-pitched giggles. She soon realized the young graduates were being lined up beneath the lofty arches of the cloister colonnade for their procession. Perhaps it wasn't such a strict, constrained place after all, Tyler decided, though she still wouldn't want to live there.
As Gray seated Tyler on one of he white chairs set in rows upon the grass, then took the seat next to hers, the first tinkling chords of a piano hushed the buzzing conversation of the onlookers. Smiling girls began their graceful walk toward the dais, which was built several feet off the ground. They all moved with suitable decorum and were dressed identically, in plain white graduation robes and shoulder-length headdresses similar to the staid wimples of novice nuns. Tyler scanned the line of young women, trying to pick out one who resembled Gray or Stone Kincaid.
"There's Carlisle," Gray whispered, leaning close. "The last one there, nearest to us."
Tyler couldn't see Gray's sister well, but she could tell Carlisle Kincaid was slightly taller than most of her friends. She looked prim and sweet with her hands folded prayerfully in front of her, and Tyler watched with interest until she sat down in the back row.
Fortunately, the ceremony was brief, the longest part a lengthy prayer from the Mother Superior, an elderly, flushed-faced nun named Andrea Mary. Next came the presentation of the red-ribboned diplomas to each deserving young lady, every one of whom received enthusiastic applause from family and friends.
While the program progressed, Tyler sat wondering what it would have been like to receive a formal education alongside young women like Carlisle Kincaid. She had never known another girl near her age, except for fleeting encounters aboard steamboats or trains. Rose Point had been much too isolated for close friendships, and her uncle had always discouraged alliances with fellow travelers, unless they were marks. It was too dangerous, he said; she might be remembered by witnesses who could identify her.
In any case, she would never have traded her free and easy years with her uncle for a boring bunch of nuns and giggling girls. So engrossed was she in her own thoughts that she hardly realized the program had ended until Gray pulled her to her feet and led her toward his sister.
"Carly!" he called when they had almost reached her. As the young girl turned, he laughed. "God, let me look at you!"
Tyler watched him hold his sister out at arm's length, beaming down at her. Carlisle smiled up at him, then hugged him.
"Oh, Gray, I'm so glad you made it!" she cried. "I didn't think you were going to get here in time to see me graduate!"
"I promised, didn't I? I wouldn't have missed it for anything."
Tyler watched them, thinking that, up close, Carlisle Kincaid had the most celestial-looking face she had ever laid eyes on. Her hair was completely hidden by her head scarf, so Tyler had no idea of its color, but the stark white cloth drew attention to her small, heart-shaped face. Carlisle's eyes were large and pale sea green, with long black eyelashes. Her skin was flawlessly clear and had a natural flush beneath high cheekbones. She was so pretty that Tyler felt she could have posed for an angel in one of the paintings by Rubens Tyler had once seen in the City Museum in New York.
"I'm so proud of you, Carly," Gray was saying now. "Mother Andrea Mary told us you've been a model of decorum. I was afraid I'd made a mistake by sending you so far away, but I guess it was the right thing to do, after all. Have you forgiven me yet?"
"Oh, of course I have. It wasn't so bad here once I got used to it," Carlisle admitted shyly. "And I've made lots of new friends. But I did miss you and Stone terribly."
"We missed you, too, and I can't tell you how much we're looking forward to having you home with us again. Charles sends his love, of course."
"Is he well? And Betsy, too?" Then Carlisle's green gaze found Tyler.
"Yes, he's fine, and Betsy's about to acquire a stepmother, if my guess is right. But let me introduce you to our guest. This is Tyler MacKenzie. She'll be staying with us here in New Orleans until her cousin arrives to meet her. Tyler, this is my sister, Carlisle."
"How do you do," Carlisle murmured politely, stretching out her hand toward Tyler. "I am very pleased to make your acquaintance."
"How do you do," Tyler returned, surprised to be offered a handshake by another woman. Even more surprising, Carlisle Kincaid had a very firm grip.
"Well, come along, I've got a hired buggy waiting for us. I have to stop by the bank to meet with Bob Winston for a little while, but then I want us all to have supper together so we can catch up. I'm very proud of you, Carly."
"Thank you, Gray. That sounds wonderful," Carlisle answered in her low, calm voice.
Once inside the carriage, Tyler sat back silently as brother and sister chatted about Stone and their other friends in Chicago, most of whom Tyler had never met. She was already beginning to feel uncomfortable in the other girl's presence. Carlisle was so cloyingly sweet that Tyler was surprised honey wasn't dripping off her. Once the perfect Miss Carly learned about Tyler's unsavory past, she would probably swoon dead away. Somehow that image amused Tyler, and she secretly vowed to tell Carly all about herself, just to see the scandalized expression on the girl's seraphic face.
When the driver stopped before a three-story yellow brick structure on Canal Street, Gray swung easily down to the pavement and regarded each girl in turn.
"This appointment won't take long, but there's no need to bore you ladies with it. I'll tell the driver to take you to the house. It's at the corner of Third and Prytania, and I telegraphed the staff yesterday to have it ready for us. You can take the afternoon to rest or get ready for tonight."
"Yes, Gray," Carlisle said obediently.
Yes, Gray, Tyler mocked her inwardly, annoyed at the way Carlisle kowtowed to her big brother. Just to show him that she didn't intend to be as pliable as his sister, she said nothing.
"Until later," he said, contemplating her for an extra moment before he handed the driver a coin and gave him their destination.
As the old Negro driver in his black-satin top hat slapped the reins across the horse's broad brown back, the two young women looked at each other. Carlisle smiled sweetly but didn't speak, so Tyler felt obligated to break the silence. How tiresome to be saddled with such a namby-pamby girl until Chase came.
"You don't look much like your brothers," she ventured, unable to think of anything else to say to a girl with whom she clearly had nothing in common.
"No, I look like my mother," Carlisle told her, presenting her with another sugar-coated smile. "I guess you think Gray's the most wonderful man in the world, don't you?"
