To Whisper Her Name (13 page)

Olivia nodded. “Clever.”

“That’s my husband.”

They both laughed.

“Oh, Livvy, look!”

Olivia lifted her gaze. Two foals, one a reddish brown, the other black and white, chased each other around the paddock, kicking their spindly back legs as if trying them on for size. Beyond them in the meadow were two mares keeping watch, each identical in color to one of the foals. Their mothers, Olivia presumed. The foals raced round and round, stopping only briefly to prance and stomp and survey the meadow as if they were rulers in a kingdom.

And despite her dislike of the animals, Olivia smiled. Until the black and white foal leaned over and nipped his friend on the neck. She exhaled. “He’s biting the reddish one!”

Elizabeth laughed. “They’re only playing.” She leaned close. “And a horse that color isn’t called reddish, dear. It’s called chestnut.”

“Chestnut,” Olivia repeated, tucking it away in her memory.

“Oh my …”

“What?” Olivia asked, watching the
chestnut
foal nip the other one back.
Good for you …

“Livvy —”

Olivia turned in time to see Elizabeth’s eyes close and managed to grab hold of her just as she sank to the ground. Olivia went down with her. “Aunt Elizabeth! Are you all right?”

“I can’t … breathe,” Elizabeth whispered, fingering her collar.

Olivia unfastened the top two buttons of Elizabeth’s shirtwaist, not
liking the paleness of her complexion. “We need to get you back to the house.” She tried to coax Elizabeth into standing but failed. She looked around for a servant. Not a one in sight.

Elizabeth went limp in her arms.

“Aunt Elizabeth?” Olivia patted her aunt’s cheeks. “Stay with me!”

No response.

Panicking, she screamed for help. But no one came. Her heart sank. She screamed again. “Somebody help me!”

After what seemed like an eternity, a man came running from the stable. “What happened?”

“I don’t know.” She fanned Elizabeth’s face, watching for any sign of her coming to. “We were just standing here, talking, and then …” Olivia looked up, and when she saw the man’s face, all the words in her head seemed to muddle at the back of her throat.

But when she glimpsed the rider on the black stallion cresting the hill, remarkably, her speech returned. “Please!” she begged him. “Help me get Mrs. Harding inside the house! Quickly!”

A
s Ridley Cooper lifted Elizabeth into his arms, Olivia ran ahead, working to wrap her mind around seeing him again. And here. At Belle Meade. She’d thought him long gone. Never slowing, she lifted her skirts and raced up the front steps to open the door, then looked back to find Mr. Cooper close behind her — and the general’s stallion flying down the hill.

Olivia pointed. “Upstairs, please. To her bedroom.” Calling for Susanna, she led Mr. Cooper up the winding cantilevered staircase, moving as quickly as she could, Mr. Cooper staying right on her heels. Winded, she turned left down a short hall. “This way. Through here.”

Taking care, he maneuvered through the doorway and gently laid Elizabeth on the bed. Her head fell limp to one side. Olivia pushed the servants’ call button on the wall and poured fresh water from the pitcher into the basin, then doused a cloth. Wringing it out, she turned back only to find Mr. Cooper with his finger pressed to Elizabeth’s neck.

“What are you doing?” she asked.

“Checking her pulse.”

“You’re a
doctor
?” She came alongside him, hearing both the disbelief in her own voice and his sharp exhale.

“Not hardly, ma’am.” He glanced up, a shade of humor in his eyes. “But a man I knew during the war was. He taught me a few things while we were in” — he stopped and focused back on Elizabeth — “while we served together. Her pulse seems fine.” He leaned down. “So does her breathing.”

Olivia laid the cloth across Elizabeth’s forehead and eased down onto the bed. “I don’t know what happened. She was fine one minute. Then the next, she said she couldn’t breathe.”

“Best I can tell, ma’am, she just fainted. Could’ve been the heat, or maybe too much sun. Give her a minute. She’ll come around.”

Hoping he was right, Olivia grabbed a magazine from the bedside table and fanned Elizabeth’s face for a moment, then leaned down. “Aunt Elizabeth,” she whispered, taking the cloth from her forehead and pressing the cool against her cheek. “If you can hear me, please wake up.”

Not a twinge.

Olivia’s heart dropped. This was her fault. Their “brief walk” had turned out to be much longer than she’d planned, and apparently Elizabeth’s health was far more fragile than she’d thought. What if the doctors were right?

Even thinking that what General Harding had told her might be true threatened to peel back another precious layer of hope.

Mr. Cooper shifted his weight beside her, and Olivia lifted her head.

“Thank you, Mr. Cooper, for coming to our aid. I very much appreciate your help.”

His smile stayed mostly hidden behind that unruly growth of beard, but an unmistakable kindness moved into his eyes. “You’re most welcome, Mrs. Aberdeen.”

Looking at him, so many thoughts came to mind. Seeing the way he looked at her now — fully in the eyes, like they knew each other well instead of being near strangers — revealed a lack in decorum and gentility in his breeding, a forwardness that did more than flirt with the boundaries of propriety. Her face grew overly warm.

“Livvy?”

Olivia turned back, feeling a trickle of relief at hearing the voice and at being released from his gaze. “Aunt Elizabeth.”

Elizabeth’s eyes fluttered open. “What happened?”

“Apparently you fainted.” Olivia took hold of her hand. “And it’s my fault. I’m sorry. I let you walk too far.”

“Oh no, dear.” Elizabeth took a breath, shaking her head. “It’s no fault of yours. I’m sorry to be such a bother.”

Steps sounded on the staircase — too light to be the general’s — and seconds later Susanna rounded the corner, tea service in hand. “Gracious!” She stopped short at the foot of the bed. “What’s goin’ on in here? I thought y’all was just ringin’ for tea, ma’am.”

Olivia rose from the bedside. “Mrs. Harding and I went out for a
walk, Susanna, and …” She briefly bowed her head. “I’m so sorry. I must have tired her out because she fainted dead away.”

Susanna plunked the tea service down on a side table, and Olivia jumped, keenly aware of Ridley Cooper’s quiet attention. She’d only had brief interactions with Belle Meade’s head cook, but she had an inkling that, once riled, this little woman could be formidable.

Hands on hips, Susanna shook her head, looking between Olivia and Elizabeth. “How many times am I gonna have to say this? No … more … faintin’, Missus Harding!”

Mrs. Harding?
Realizing Elizabeth was the target of Susanna’s wrath and not her, Olivia let out a breath. She glanced at Ridley Cooper, then looked between the two women. “Are you saying she’s done this before?”

“Done this before?” Susanna huffed. “Lawd, Missus Aberdeen. This woman done put the fear of God in all of us so many times I can’t keep count. She got up from a chair last week and fainted dead away right there. Thank the Lawd Betsy was there to catch her.” She smoothed a loving brown hand over Elizabeth’s forehead. “It just be tired blood, is what I’m guessin’. She get stronger, in time. She just gets to thinkin’ she can do more than she can. We got to look out for her is all.” Susanna winked at Olivia. “Slow her down some. But she gonna be fine.”

Elizabeth got a sheepish look. “I’m sorry, Livvy. I should have told you, but I didn’t want you to worry. Not with everything else you’ve had pressing on you.”

Olivia leaned down. “You about scared me to death,” she whispered, smiling, though more on the outside than in. “How long have these … spells been occurring?”

Elizabeth shrugged. “Not too terribly long.”

Susanna cleared her throat.

Elizabeth sighed. “About three years now, I’d say. Off and on.”

Three years
. Olivia smoothed a frown before it fully formed. That was a long time to struggle with “tired blood.”

“Just what’re
you
doin’ up here, sir?”

Hearing Susanna, Olivia looked up to see the head cook eying Ridley Cooper with suspicion, and she hurried to intervene. “This is Mr. Cooper, Susanna. He’s …” she faltered. “He’s an acquaintance of mine.” She caught the slight smile he gave her but ignored it. “He found us in the yard and was kind enough to carry Mrs. Harding inside.”

“Is that right, Mr. Cooper? An acquaintance?” Susanna’s dark eyebrows arched in question. “You make it a habit of rescuin’ women, do you, sir?”

Mr. Cooper smiled, but said nothing, and Olivia got the impression maybe he and Susanna had met before.

Heavy footfalls thundered up the stairwell, and Olivia — knowing to whom they belonged — braced herself. Not only to explain to the general about having taken Elizabeth for a walk, but to explain Ridley Cooper being in his bedchamber.

True to form, the general strode into the room looking every inch the military commander that he was. He glanced at Elizabeth first, anxiety lining his features, then at Olivia, his concern quickly melting to censure. “So it
was
my wife I saw being carried into the house, Mrs. Aberdeen.”

Olivia nodded, hearing accusation in his tone. “Yes, sir, it was. But I can expl —”

“General …”

All eyes turned to the bed.

“My dear, Olivia is not to blame.” Elizabeth smiled as Susanna propped a pillow behind her head. “It took every ounce of charm I could muster to persuade her to allow me outside.” Elizabeth’s voice, though soft, possessed an insistence that demanded attention. “I was eager to show her your handiwork, my love, and then simply got carried away.” Her laughter came out feather light. “Apparently I stayed too long in the sun. Please forgive me for worrying you. For worrying all of you.” Her gaze swept the room. “And to you, Mr. Cooper, my thanks for your assistance.”

General Harding turned, as though only now realizing Ridley Cooper was in the room. “Mr.
Cooper
?” He frowned. “I’m to understand that
you
carried my wife into the house?”

It was all Olivia could do not to intervene again on Mr. Cooper’s behalf. But knowing the general as she did and knowing how angry he was going to be — and already was — with her, she didn’t dare.

“Yes, sir,” Mr. Cooper said. “That’s right.”

Stoic, the general faced him square on and Olivia cringed, bracing for another confrontation.

“Then may I offer my thanks, Mr. Cooper.” The general extended his hand. Olivia’s jaw went slack. “It appears as though you’re going to be a welcome addition here at Belle Meade.”

“Thank you, sir.” Ridley Cooper gripped his hand.

Olivia could only stare.
Welcome addition?
How had this man — termed a
vagrant
by Harding the other night in his office — managed to become a welcome addition?

Her surprise must have played openly across her face because as soon as the general turned, Ridley Cooper cut his eyes in her direction and smiled, almost as if to say,
So much for what you said about the general not hiring
.

She recalled what she’d said to him that day in the carriage and her stomach knotted. He had every right to toss those words right back in her face. Just as Charles would have done. She looked away, grateful Mr. Cooper didn’t know the truth about her personal circumstances. She hoped, too, that he hadn’t learned about her not being given the position of head housekeeper. Although the chances of him already knowing were good. News like that always traveled swiftly through the servants and hired help.

Once he knew those things, she’d be smaller in his eyes, she knew. And for reasons she couldn’t explain, she didn’t want Ridley Cooper to think about her that way.

General Harding crossed to where she stood, his gaze unflinching. “If you’ll kindly step aside, Mrs. Aberdeen, I’d like to see to my wife’s health.”

Olivia Aberdeen left the bedroom quickly. She’d seemed nervous from the moment General Harding had entered the room. Intent on speaking with her, Ridley followed her into the hallway, then heard the general call his name.

He paused long enough to see Mrs. Aberdeen descending the stairs. “Yes, General?” He stepped back inside the room.

“How’s our little mare coming along, Mr. Cooper?”

The question took him by surprise. Not that the man’s interest in the horse was unexpected, but his timing certainly was. General Harding had just made a point to tell Mrs. Aberdeen — in a rather biting tone — that he wished to see to his wife’s health. Yet now, not a minute later, he was discussing business?

Ridley read similar surprise in Mrs. Harding’s face, except her expression also held shades of disappointment. “It’s only been a
couple of days, General, so it’s too early to tell. First order of business is to get her leg healed. I’ve been salving her wounds and changing bandages a couple of times a day. We won’t know anything on that count for at least a week.”

“And you’re keeping track of your expenses?”

Ridley tasted a bitterness in his mouth. “I told you I would. Our agreement hasn’t changed.”

Harding held his gaze. “And if, by chance, I’d like to —”

“Anytime you want to see the ledger, the book is in Uncle Bob’s cabinet. Where it always is, sir.” Ridley heard a door close somewhere downstairs. “Now if you’ll excuse me, General, I need to get back to work.” For a brief second, he thought Harding was going to make objections, but the general just nodded and turned away. “Ladies,” Ridley added, nodding to Mrs. Harding and Susanna. He took the staircase down, frustration dogging each step.

He didn’t appreciate his word being questioned. Especially by a man like Harding. A man who had built his estate on the back-breaking work of others. A man who wouldn’t possess what he did right now, especially in terms of thoroughbreds, if not for the loyalty and integrity of a man he’d once held as a slave.

Descending the winding staircase afforded Ridley a better view of the foyer than he’d gotten on his way up. And — he whistled low — this place was something to behold. Portraits of thoroughbreds claimed nearly every inch of wall space. Some included a groomsman holding the lead rope, others pictured only the horse. A bronze and crystal gasolier hung from the ceiling, and the finest of furniture decorated the spacious area below. All of it screamed
wealth
.

But the mansion wasn’t what he wanted to see right now. He paused at the base of the stairs, wondering which way she’d gone.

Mrs. Aberdeen had seemed embarrassed when she’d left a moment earlier, and he knew why. Harding obviously blamed her for what had happened to Elizabeth, and General William Giles Harding could be an intimidating man. What he couldn’t figure out was why the general had seemed so intent on pinning the blame on her when the outcome clearly wasn’t her fault.

The foyer opened to four different rooms, and he briefly peered inside each one as he crossed to the front entryway. All proved empty of people, but full of things. He turned to leave when a portrait in one of the rooms caught his attention. He stepped closer.

It was of the general, he was certain. But the likeness had been captured several years earlier. Twenty, at least. With not a trace of a beard. Striking, what difference a beard could make in a man’s appearance. A companion portrait of Mrs. Harding hung beside it. Her likeness, too, exuded a youthfulness that her countenance — though still attractive — no longer claimed. And the portraits had been hand colored, no less. Beautifully so.