Nan Ryan - Dearest Enemy

Matthew frowned. “Just promise me you'll be home in plenty of time to get properly dressed to receive our guest. And that you'll be on your best behavior. Ty Bellinggrath is a fine man, Suzanna, and—”

“You can count on me, brother, dear,” Suzanna said with a teasing smirk. “I'll scrub my face and cinch my waist and be on display when he arrives. Then you may point out all my finer qualities as I slowly pirouette for the prospective bridegroom.”

“Now, Suzanna.”

“Do me one small favor, Matt. Promise that if I'm not married by the time I reach twenty-five, you will give up and stop bringing young gentlemen here in hopes of marrying me off!”

For the first time Matthew smiled as he said, “Bellinggrath will be here at seven o'clock, my dear. And so will you.”

“I shall look forward to a most enjoyable evening,” Suzanna said sarcastically. “Now I really must be going. Poor old Durwood's waiting out in the cold with the carriage.”

Suzanna sighed with pleasure as she settled herself comfortably inside the roomy brougham. Old Durwood, in full livery, sat proudly up on the box, handling the pair of matched bays with ease despite his worsening arthritis. The horses were fine specimens, curried to a high gloss, and the gleaming black, silver trimmed carriage had seats of soft burgundy leather.

With her bonnet off and slapped down on the seat beside her, Suzanna gazed out the window at the natural beauty of her native Virginia. How she loved the broad avenues and the glittering streams. The familiar sights never failed to take her breath away.

Suzanna was eternally grateful that this was her home, the place where she had been born, the place where she would live all her days. She considered herself fortunate to have had a father who had been so forward thinking and such a brilliant businessman.

It was true that the late Lawrence LeGrande had inherited a tidy sum from his British ancestors, but he hadn't been content to simply let the cash lie in the safety of a bank vault. Instead he had invested wisely in land and had, over time, accumulated a vast fortune from varied endeavors.

There were the tobacco fields in northern Virginia, a coastal cotton plantation in South Carolina, indigo crops in northern Georgia and a host of other well-chosen investments in rail and shipping. The holdings were diverse and profitable and afforded the LeGrande family a life of splendid ease in the stately riverside mansion known as Whitehall.

Suzanna loved her life and her home and prayed that nothing would ever change. She wanted everything to remain just as it was on this crisp autumn morning in October of 1859.

Suzanna was halfway out of the brougham before it came to a full stop in the pebbled drive of Stratford House in the heart of Georgetown. Nonplussed at his young mistress's less than ladylike behavior, old Durwood laid the long leather reins aside and gingerly swung down to the ground.

“Why you want to act like a boy, Miss Suzanna?” he scolded, taking firm hold of her arm as she jumped from the carriage. “Folk'll be gossipin' 'bout us if you don't behave and…”

But Suzanna, skirts lifted, bonnet left behind, was already dashing up the front walk, calling Cynthia Ann's name. The dark-haired girl stepped out onto the shaded veranda, spotted Suzanna and came dashing forward to greet her best friend and trusted confidante. The young women threw their arms around each other and embraced as though it had been weeks—not hours—since last they'd seen each other.

“You'll have lunch with us,” Cynthia Ann stated as they walked into the house, arm in arm. “Then spend all afternoon?”

“So long as I'm home by seven,” Suzanna replied. “Matthew is up to his old tricks. He has invited a poor naive fellow to dinner.” She made a face. “Be grateful you don't have a big brother!”

Both laughed, then Cynthia Ann asked, “How does Matthew keep coming up with new prospective beaux? Surely you've met all his friends by now. At least all the ones he'd hope you might marry.”

Suzanna sighed and shook her head wearily. “Hopefully this is the very last one! His name is Ty Bellinggrath. He and Matt were classmates at West Point, but Bellinggrath left home right after graduation. As I understand it, he's been in Europe for the past couple of years. He only returned a week ago and Matthew immediately pounced on him.” She quoted her brother, “‘I'll have you know, Suzanna LeGrande, that my good friend Ty Bellinggrath is the respected scion of an old Virginia family. He excelled in his studies at the institute and is considered quite a catch.'” Suzanna laughed and added, “I can just imagine what he looks like. Matt is so anxious to marry me off he's scraping the bottom of the barrel now.”

Inside the wide foyer of Stratford House, the slender, still handsome Jennie Grayson waited to welcome her. “We're awfully glad you could come this morning, Suzanna,” she exclaimed with a warm smile. To her daughter, she said, “Cynthia, dear, why don't you take Suzanna upstairs, where the two of you can relax for an hour before lunch?” Her attention shifted back to Suzanna. “After we've had a leisurely noontime meal, we'll go over the party menu and give you our ideas regarding the decorations. You're always so innovative, the final decision will be yours.”

In Cynthia Ann's bedchamber, a spacious room at the front of the mansion, the two friends gossiped and laughed and shared secrets. With their slippers and crinoline petticoats kicked off, stays loosened, they lay on their backs atop the canopied feather bed.

“Read my palm, Suzanna,” Cynthia Ann said suddenly, turning onto her stomach and holding out her hand.

“Again? I just read it last week.”

“I know, but perhaps something has changed since then. Maybe Davy is going to propose after the party.” Her brown eyes danced at the thought of marrying her gallant sweetheart.

“I don't understand you, Cynthia Ann Grayson,” Suzanna said, toying with the lace jabot at her throat. “Why would you want to get married and ruin your life? Married women don't have any fun, nor thrilling adventures. Worse, no one pays any attention to what they have to say. They're expected to keep silent on any controversial issue as though they don't have a brain in their head. Such a life couldn't possibly be fulfilling.”

“It would be if…”

“I shall never marry. Why should I? I have no need of a husband to take care of me. I can and will take care of myself. And I'll be free to speak as I please and do as I please without having to seek permission from some domineering male.”

Cynthia Ann just shook her head and laughed. She'd heard it all before. She felt certain that Suzanna would change her mind about marriage when the right man came along.

“You have exactly twenty-five minutes to make yourself presentable,” said an annoyed Matthew when Suzanna raced up the front steps of Whitehall at 6:35 that evening.

Laughing, she patted her brother's stern cheek and said, “I need only twenty, so I'll have five to spare.”

He exhaled heavily and followed her inside the well-lit mansion. While he turned toward the paneled library to join their mother, Suzanna climbed the stairs, struggling to unhook her dress. In her rose-and-cream suite at the head of the staircase, Suzanna's ever-patient personal maid, Buelah, waited to help her young charge get dressed.

Impressive in her black-and-white uniform, the stout, six-foot-tall Buelah didn't scold the girl she often called “my baby.” She admired Suzanna's free spirit and always laughed at her antics. Besides, she knew that with her help, Suzanna would be dressed and ready within fifteen minutes.

“Your tub is drawn and waitin',” said Buelah. She took Suzanna's arm, turned her about and made quick work of unhooking her dress.