The Quaker and the Rebel by Mary Ellis Page B

Hunt.”
    “Then you must have excellent taste in fashion. I go to a haberdasher and tailor in Winchester who makes my garments before each season. The man is quite good, staying abreast of everything happeningon the Continent. One has to be careful not to dress as though this were still the frontier, don’t you think?”
    “Oh, I certainly do. With the country embroiled in war, we must not forget about style.” They whirled effortlessly around the dance floor. What kind of people were these aristocrats? But at least with the distraction of banal conversation her dancing had improved. Her stiffness and self-consciousness disappeared as he held her in his arms. “Tell me, Mr. Hunt. I believe Warren County has become part of the Confederacy, has it not? How is it you haven’t been conscripted?” Or volunteered hung in the air unsaid, yet even she knew how rude that would be to add.
    “Ah, yes, the Glorious Cause. Don’t think my heart doesn’t yearn to fight with my school chums on the battlefield, but the Confederate government recognizes the importance of Hunt Farms. We supply horses to the cavalry along with a steady stream of grain and grass for horse fodder. I was told to send a replacement to the local regiment while I keep things going here at home. My father doesn’t have the strength he once had. With many of our people running off…it was the least I could do.”
    And so much safer, I would imagine . Why did these Southerners insist on calling slaves “their people”? As though softening the term of possession could change the corrupt, heinous nature of bondage. Emily couldn’t believe she was put off by his reluctance to sign up with the Confederate Army. Why would she be angry that a rich, indolent man didn’t join the traitorous rebels to fight against everything she stood for? Yet somehow his avoidance bothered her a great deal. When the interminable waltz ended, she pulled away from his embrace. “Thank you, Mr. Hunt.”
    “The pleasure was mine, Miss Harrison. I assure you.”
    She left as fast as her dignity would allow. She had to get away from him…she had to think.

 
    A lexander watched Emily depart in a great hurry. What a conundrum she was. She was obviously the woman who had been hiding in a barn in Berryville, his aunt’s recalcitrant governess. The woman he had danced with tonight had the same flaming red hair and spattering of freckles across her nose, but in that gown he hadn’t been sure they were one and the same until she had scowled at him from behind the potted plant and unleashed her barbed tongue. The woman he baited on Bennington Island and then pounced upon in the barnyard near Berryville looked more like an underfed chicken than the pleasingly attractive swan who had graced his parents’ ballroom.
    He was familiar with women who flirted—who charmed their way into men’s hearts and minds by wielding their feminine powers. Lately Alexander wanted little to do with them because he didn’t trust them…and because he couldn’t trust himself. He preferred to stay away from pretty faces and stunning figures, from women whose touch could melt icicles in the dead of winter. But this odd creature with her wild hair and long legs like a yearling wasn’t like them. Without artifice or an ounce of seductiveness, she couldn’t charm a bear to a beehive. Strong-willed and opinionated, especially on topics she knew nothing about, Emily Harrison nevertheless possessed her own sense of grace. Alexander found her dissimilarity to the belles of Virginia oddly appealing.
    “Good grief,” he moaned. “If that skinny colt looks enticing, I’ve been away from the ladies of Belinda’s too long.” He laughed, realizing that this governess living in his uncle’s home could come in handy. His parents had begun to question him about his comings and goings. They wondered why he needed to spend so much time away from the farm. The last thing he wanted was to cause his parents worry.