Passion's Joy (12 page)

Yet the first and most pressing question sounded in defeat: "I don't suppose there's any chance of Cory and I leaving without an escort?*'

Smiling, Ram shook his head as he offered a napkin of sliced apples and cheese. Joy and Cory exchanged glances, resigning themselves to their thwarted mission, while noting the quality

of the cheese. It was of a kind they had not had on their table since the doctor took ill and neither could resist.

"Thank you kindly," Cory said softly with lowered eyes that made Ram aware of her shyness.

"You're more than welcome." He enjoyed the food himself, as his gaze returned to Joy. "I received the two notes of gratitude from your house. I found the doctor's note most gracious. Your note, however, lacked a certain sincerity. If I were capable of unkind thoughts, I might think you were forced to write it."

Cory turned to hide her smile.

"Why, how could you possibly question my sincerity!" Joy's indignation rose in an instant. "I only owe you the worst day I've ever had the misfortune to know! Joshua's still distressed over it, the Reverend treats me now with the infuriating solicitousness one might best use for picking a fragile flower, to say nothing of the terror of it, a terror that still haunts my sleep and, oh!" she cried as her hands fitted to her backside, ignoring Ram's plain amusement at her outburst. "I'm still sore, and the humiliation—" She stopped, as her hands lifted to cover her cheeks, where indeed that emotion showed.

"Ah," he chuckled with a suggestive lift of brow, "but I understand you're quite familiar with the common practice administered to misbehaving children."

"What do you mean?"

'Tell me, were you dismissed from Prinkley's Girls' College or did you run away?" She suffered a long minute of shock. "How could you know of it?"

"I was under the impression it was common knowledge." "Yes," she finally, reluctantly admitted, "I suppose it is." "What happened to you there?"

Ram was slicing another apple and more cheese, and she stared at him, surprised by his genuine curiosity. Somehow this was not a conversation she had ever imagined having with him. "I don't really know," she replied after a pause. "I don't think I belonged there."

"Was it that bad?"

"Oh, it was," she assured him with sudden feeling. "Every hour of every day assigned to the most tedious, monotonous tasks, all of which seemed to center on needlework and stitchery and

prayers, endless prayers! Why, I often thought it might be a good deal easier if we all just died and took our stitchery to heaven for direct communication with the maker!"

Ram and Bart both chuckled at this, and she watched in amazement at how wonderfully laughter transformed his features. He wasn't threatening her, she saw then, and though he was preventing her from the day's task, this truly was quite suddenly a pleasant afternoon picnic.

A tiny lizard darted onto the blanket, and she watched as Ram lifted the little creature off to send him on his way. Such a small gesture, yet it somehow said much, and suddenly the conversation shifted as she began to ask the hundred or so questions she had of him.

It was their first discovery of each other, and Bart's surprise increased as each minute followed the last, filled with a conversation that traveled to talk of England, what it was like now, then of Ram's boyhood past on the ships patrolling the dark continent, Ram's amusing and wild anecdotes that purposely stayed clear of the horrors. They spoke of horses, of polo and racing, and Joy talked of Libertine, of how she got her and how much she loved her. Oh lord, he knew how Ram could charm the ladies when he liked; the man had almost as many mistresses as the number of simpler, single night tumbles. Never though, had he witnessed Ram giving a lady so much attention, at least not in an upright position. Added to this was the obvious fact she was not his type, physically or otherwise, far from his normal preference for older, sophisticated and well, larger women. Yet then again, the young lady was not anyone's type; one might lose his mind trying to squeeze the lass's curious mix of charms into any classification.

The vast majority of Joy's conversations began, ended, and had their middles filled with the abolitionist cause, and here she met her first disappointment with Ram. He refused the abolitionist title. "I don't understand." She pressed. "You're not for slavery are you?'

"No, I'm not. Slavery is antithetical to man's nature, but while the abolitionists in your country and mine are quick to fill the air with hot bellows of self-righteous moral outrage, they are noticeably mute when it comes to the practical issues."

"What do you mean?"

"By practical issues? I do hope you've at least considered some of the many questions like what will over a million Negroes do with themselves once they are freed?"

"Celebrate," she said simply. "They shall celebrate their freedom as people have done from the beginning."

"Men have a great deal of trouble celebrating when women and children are starving."

"Well, they shall have to work, of coursers-" "Where? Who will pay them? Their former masters?" "Well, in some cases, of course."

"You are startlingly naive, love. Reduce it to simple economics. The vast majority of slave owners are the small fanners, men who sweat from dawn to dusk right alongside their Negroes in a pitiful effort just to put food on the table. The number of slave owners who have a cash crop large enough to pay over one or two field hands numbers less than one or two hundred. Subtract that from the half a million men who will be looking for work and one begins to see the trouble. If there's any one thing I've learned in my twenty-eight years—and as the French so dramatically demonstrated—it's that the most dangerous creature in the world is a man without means."

This simple exercise in mathematics and logic visibly upset her, showing Ram just how naive and idealistic she was. Still, he had to admire her when she finally rejoined with: "The difficulties involved in freeing the oppressed Negro race do indeed seem large, even insurmountable put your way, but still we must do it! We must have faith that eventually the good will emerge to triumph from the pain and struggle."

"I wish I could believe that," he said honestly.

"But you do agree the people must be free?" She pressed.

"Must is not the word I would use, but yes, it seems inevitable that someday the Negro race will be freed."

"Reason?" Now he laughed meanly, this laughter rising from another side of his nature, a cruel and hardened side that frightened her to the depth of her soul. Without knowing why, she found the black patch the sudden focus of her study as he said, "If there is any one lesson in mankind’s history it is that freedom has never sprung from reason."

"But then, what shall it spring from?"

"Blood, and enough to soak in. When enough blood covers the land—from Boston to the Florida straits and probably beyond—then and only then will you see your precious freedom."

Ram watched as the large blue eyes searched his face, focused still on the patch of which he was so rarely conscious. He could almost see her thoughts spin in an effort to deny his statements. The frighteningly solemn note might have ended the lovely day, but in the familiar role as a rescuer and mischief-maker, Seanessy made a sudden timely arrival.

All heads turned to the sound of galloping hooves. The great white stallion raced toward them at wind's speed, and just as Joy and Cory screamed and jumped to their feet to avoid being trampled, Seanessy reined the mount to a quick halt. In the same moment, he lifted to a handstand in the saddle and sprung round to land on his feet paces from the blanket.

"And you chide me for my dramatic entrances," Ram laughed, never having bothered to move a muscle, watching with naught but amused disinterest. Bart however, with less faith in Sean's shenanigans, had also risen quickly to his feet with a curse.

"Ah, I'll do anything to impress the ladies." Sean turned a keen eye toward Joy and Cory.

After introductions, Joy, laughing and just a little shy, assured him that they were indeed impressed. The handsome pirate surveyed the whole scene. "But of course, you're picnicking, Ram; I don't know why I'm surprised really. The world is falling apart, but the blue bloods must have their picnics."

"Is the world falling apart, Sean?"

"Yes, but nothing takes precedence over these lovely ladies. Though Bart, it might help if you see to the long line formed outside our lordship's chambers."

Bart bid the ladies a pleasant good day and departed.

Seanessy, with show and humor, feigned horror at the discovery they were without wine.

He whistled to his horse, which pranced quickly to him, and he withdrew a wine cask from his bag. Then he did indeed join the party.

Sean and Ram turned a magic trick and banished thoughts of time again. Ram was perfectly aware of Sean's purpose in drawing Joy Claret out—to discover what beyond the lovely surface attracted him—and he enjoyed Sean's show the short time it lasted.

Sean moved in the circle of his choice; Ram had witnessed his friend, when it suited Sean's purpose, dazzle and impress everyone from the Prince Regent himself to a blind beggar on the street. Capturing Joy's respect and admiration was easy; Sean merely directed as many questions to Cory as Joy. While Joy was pleased and surprised by this, Cory felt at first shy, more than a little embarrassed by such unlikely attention. Nonetheless, Sean effortlessly worked his great natural charm, and like Ram, he soon had both ladies laughing from the enormous generosity of his wit.

Ram did not have to wait long for Sean's conclusion. At the end of an engaging story— telling of Sean's initial impression of her city—a-story which caused Joy's eyes to widen in stages, Sean finally sent her falling back, holding onto her sides with laughter. "No, I don't believe it!"

Ram stared at the sight of her prone position but briefly before laying back himself with a meaningful groan and chuckled, too.

"It's perfectly plain now." Sean presented his conclusion. “Though no doubt you were aware of the difference between her backside in breeches and this," he motioned to Joy as she struggled to recover and make sense of this new twist in the conversation. "I do hope you've also noticed how young she is?"

"Ah, I am acutely aware of the sad fact."

"Still," Sean observed with a grin. "I've not seen that look on your face since you were thirteen and discovered the upstairs' maid."

Ram laughed at this, supposing it was probably true. "I'll not deny the unthumbed fruit is tempting—though it is a first for me—but I’ll be damned if I do the picking."

"Why?"

"Christ Sean, it's as you say—look at her." Ram stared, his look part amusement, part something else that alarmed her senseless, confusing her even more so that she was but vaguely aware they now found her the subject of some inexplicable criticism. "Why," he chuckled, "a man might wager better than even odds that she has yet to take the dolls off her shelves."

Sean cast an affectionate look at her before laughing. "No, no dear, don't blush; it only makes matters worse." He turned then to Cory, mischief ever-present. "Cory May, you must shed light on this issue; I assume you're familiar with the lady's bed chambers?"

Smiling, Cory nodded.

"Cory, I swear to heaven, if you say one—" It was as far as Joy got, for Ram's arms suddenly held her still and his hand gently covered her mouth as he waited with an anticipatory smile. Everything changed in that instant for Joy. Consciousness existed only where she felt his arms, his body on hers, his hold as inexplicably gentle as it was strong. A disturbing warmth swept into her, and she blushed profusely, this having nothing to do with the painful embarrassment of Ram guessing what still sat on her bed chamber shelves.

'Tell us Cory," Sean pressed. "Are there dolls still on her shelves?"

Cory could not betray Joy, at least not directly. "I can't rightly say." She giggled. "Exceptin' it's a chore to dust the shelves with all the what nots sittin' up there."

The two men roared with laughter. Cory laughed too and laughed even harder when, after Ram and Sean finally saw them home, the first thing Joy did was march upstairs and furiously

remove each and every one of their childhood treasures from their long held throne atop the shelves.

Dear Diary:

I met him again! This time I suspect he knew more than happy chance put me at the library at the same time as he, for when he came upon me sitting in the hard wood chair, book in hand, that amused light sprang in his remarkable gaze, a knowing smile played on his lips. Oh, how I tried not to blush as I stammered through my hastily prepared explanation of my presence there again. He listened politely, too politely, and I kept stammering until he said, "Joy, you don't have to explain to me. I know why you're here."

He stared at me so intently, yet with humor ever present, and my heart and pulse raced, imagining he would put words to my real reason. Then he simply picked up my book and read the title. "You came to get Aristotle's Politics. Don't tell me Prinkley's Girls' College neglected Aristotle?" -

Then, as before, he asked me how I liked it and what I thought. How he baits me with those questions that follow! How he makes my mind stretch and reach for comprehension that I should never have arrived at alone! Those times when I am confused, not understanding the high and noble ideas I read, he ends my confusion with an explanation that is as clear, simple and brilliant as Aristotle's own logic.

How can I say what happens to me when I am with him? It is a ravishing, strange tropical illness that leaves me trembling and weak in its wake. The feelings and feelings! When he laughs at something I say, when he draws near to point something out, when he speaks and his hand strays to my hair or arm with that touch so casual yet not! I get this warm rush of nervous butterflies deep inside me—as though he is kissing me again—and I am all a blush and smiling and cannot seem to stop. There is no longer a blond boy in my dreams, only him. I can hardly think of anything else.

Sometimes, I imagine—