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“I don’t know what fear most, a slave who knows everything about me or a Northerner who knows nothing.”
With that, she stormed out of the room. I stood up and went to my mother. “I’ll be in my study,” I said as I took her hand.
“Very well.”
Haydon and I exchanged knowing glances before I left the room, feeling slightly embarrassed for the woman I called my wife.
Chapter Forty-One
“If I offended you in any way, I apologize,” Haydon said to Elizabeth later that day when
they were alone. “I can be very strong in my opinions.”
“And as you can see, I can be very strong in mine,” she replied. “But I neither want nor need your apology. You speak from ignorance like most men from the North. What else was I to expect? Let us hope that we can tolerate each other for the time you are here.”
Haydon laughed. “Where is the Southern hospitality everyone keeps telling me about?”
He smiled at Elizabeth, hoping his charm would win her over. Elizabeth looked Haydon dead in the eye, her stare was hard and unyielding.
“It disappeared the minute I knew you were a nigra lover,” she said. “Oh, I’m sorry. I meant to say...abolitionist.”
Haydon moved in with the intention of offering an equally harsh response, but found that he could not. Instead, Haydon looked at Elizabeth in amazement. How could a woman so amazingly beautiful be so hateful and cruel? Despite their heated debate, Haydon found himself attracted to Elizabeth’s intensity and passion. His pulse quickened. He wanted to touch her, kiss her, anything to melt her heart. Her closeness was stimulating and irresistible.
Haydon noticed Elizabeth’s face soften as he moved in closer, his lips only inches away from hers. He closed his eyes and breathed her in. Haydon felt her hand against his face and immediately melted. Her touch was so gentle, her skin so soft. He took her hand and held it firmly against his skin, leaning into it as the sensations flowed back and forth between them. The sheer warmth of her touch had him reeling. He could not let go.My God,how long has it been since I felt a woman’s touch? Somewhere in his reverie, Elizabeth slowly removed her hand from his face.
“I should go,” she whispered. “Thomas is probably wondering where we are.”
“Yes...” Haydon said, his voice hoarse with desire. “Let wiser heads prevail.”
Haydon quickly exited the room, incredibly aware of the deep attraction he had towards Elizabeth, a beautiful southern woman who held none of his own ideals - and someone who just happened to be his cousin’s wife.
Chapter Forty-Two
Our return from Sunday church services the next morning passed without event. The
sanctity of the day put everyone in a quiet mood and for that I was grateful. My soul had been aching for some much-needed peace. After lunch, Mother and Elizabeth retired for an afternoon nap leaving Haydon and I alone for the first time since he had arrived. We rode horses throughout the grounds of Bellevue and beyond, even stopping by my father’s gravesite so Haydon could pay his respects. As we made our way back to the horse stables, a heavy August rain threatened to pour down. Haydon was unusually quiet as we unsaddled our horses but seemed to come to life when the subject turned to my trip.
“Have you told her you’re going to New York?”
“Elizabeth? No, not yet. That’s a delicate situation that requires some finesse.”
“Yes, that wife of yours isstrong in her opinions, there’s no doubt about that,” Haydon said, referencing their heated exchange. “But then, she would have to be to live with you.”
I smiled. Haydon always did accuse me of being stubborn. “No,” I said shaking my head, “Elizabeth was strong in her opinions long before she married me. And if you think she’s handful, you should meet her mother.”
“Let’s save that private hell for my next visit, shall we?”
We both laughed as we left the barn and made our way to the house. Once inside, the sky opened up. We settled in and got comfortable in front of a blazing fire. Haydon took a sip of his brandy, his gaze resting on Elizabeth’s portrait on the wall. He seemed to be lost in thought.
“Pictures can be deceiving, can’t they?” I asked.
“As is often the case,” Haydon remarked. “The artist is simply capturing a mood, a moment. What was happening in that moment?”
I glanced at the portrait and suddenly remembered. “We had just returned from our honeymoon to Europe.”
“Ah, that explains the look of bliss. She’s very beautiful there.”
“I take no credit for that.”
