Distant Dreams Read online

  She watched now with no less confusion as a bevy of young women suddenly began swimming around him in adoration. She mentally calculated that he must be twenty-two, knowing him to be seven years her senior. Still studying him, she caught her breath when he flashed her a smile. How utterly awful to be caught watching him! Now he not only knew she was watching him, but by the way she felt her face flush, he would know how embarrassed she was at being found out.

  Fully expecting him to torment her further, Carolina made her way to where her father spoke with Leland Baldwin. Surely James wouldn’t attempt to disgrace her in front of his father.

  “Are you having fun, my dear?” her father asked with a wide smile.

  Carolina knew he understood her misgivings about being forced to come to the affair. If they wanted to marry off Virginia, it was all well and fine, but there seemed to be little or no reason to drag her along behind. Seeing Leland Baldwin’s anxious expression, Carolina nodded. “It’s a lovely party.”

  “Now don’t feel shy about dancing, Miss Adams,” Baldwin said. “Even if you are the youngest girl here.”

  Margaret and Edith appeared, and Carolina was forced to endure their scrutiny and suggestions for male companionship that evening.

  “Sarah Armstrong’s brother, Daniel, has been asking after you, Carolina,” her mother said softly. “I believe he would very much enjoy a dance.”

  “He’s a splendid young man,” Edith offered supportively. “He recently graduated from the military academy, and he looks positively handsome in his uniform.”

  Carolina prayed for patience and the ability to endure the driving force of not one mother, but two. Her decision was made for her, however, when she spotted James making his way toward them.

  “If you would introduce us, Mrs. Baldwin, I would be happy to share a dance with him.” Carolina knew she sounded rather flustered, but she had no desire to face James Baldwin again.

  James watched his mother leading Carolina across the ballroom. They had their heads together as if planning a very important strategy, which as far as James could tell from his dealings with women, they probably were. He smiled to himself and was pleasantly interrupted by a feminine voice.

  “Hello, Mr. Baldwin,” Virginia Adams purred.

  James turned and gave a bow. “Another Miss Adams, I see. Good evening.”

  Virginia smiled demurely and used the fan to her advantage to gaze at him coquettishly from over the rim. “I was hoping to congratulate you on your recent graduation.”

  “That’s very kind of you.” James studied Virginia for a moment and found himself comparing her to her sister. He was, in fact, so lost in this comparison that he didn’t hear what Virginia said next.

  “I’m sorry”—he smiled in a way that endeared him to young women—“I’m afraid my mind was rather preoccupied. I didn’t hear what you said.” He spoke the words in a manner he knew would be flattering to Virginia’s sense of pride.

  “I merely said it was a lovely night for a party,” Virginia replied.

  “Perhaps you would enjoy a dance?” he asked. “I would be honored if you would allow me to escort you to the floor.”

  Virginia smiled again and snapped the fan shut. “I would be simply delighted, Mr. Baldwin.”

  They joined in a lively reel, and James thought himself quite fortunate to have attained the company of Virginia with no more trouble than a few well-placed words. He reminded himself of his duty to the family and reveled privately on how easily entertained Virginia seemed to be. But disturbingly enough, it was Carolina Adams who imposed on his thoughts even as he danced with her sister. She was nowhere to be seen, and he wondered where she had disappeared to with his mother.

  “Oh, look!” tittered Virginia. “There’s Sarah Armstrong and Boyd Harris together. I heard they might become engaged soon.” She waved to the couple. “Isn’t Mary Lindsay’s gown divine? It was shipped here all the way from Paris.”

  Virginia went on and on, filling him in on gossip about everyone on the dance floor. James’ mind wandered in his complete indifference to Virginia’s prattle. He thought about what Carolina had said concerning thermodynamics. He was still stupefied that a female even knew of such things, much less took an active interest in them. He would have liked to talk to her more about her ideas. Incredible! But now that he thought of it, Carolina had always had a unique turn of mind. As a child of five, she had forever barraged him with questions. Jimmy, why do the clouds move when there is no wind? Jimmy, what makes the ground steam after the rain? Why are butterflies different colors?

  She had really wanted to know the answers, too, and would give him no rest until he’d come up with something. No wonder he tried to pay her back with incessant teasing. Back then he had dismissed it as childish curiosity. But now . . . he wasn’t so certain. It seemed to him just from that brief encounter in the library that Carolina Adams was hardly a child any longer. And thus, her curiosity must be something else. Intelligence, wit, and mental acuity seemed rare in a woman, and yet here was a woman with a brain— or more accurately, a woman with the desire to use her brain. It was an intriguing notion. And Carolina Adams was an intriguing woman—or rather, girl.

  But again, James had to force his thoughts back to the present moment and to the woman in whose company he now was. Intriguing fifteen-year-old girls with older unmarried sisters could have no place in his life. He would—and could—find contentment with Virginia. It was only his rebellious nature that was making his thoughts stray toward anyone else. Thus he threw himself with great zeal into the dance.

  When a waltz—that most scandalous of dances—began, Virginia looked up at him hesitantly, then put her hand in his and waited for his lead. James put a gloved hand lightly to her back and guided her in a rotating whirl around the room. Virginia stepped lightly, with grace. Her smile was bewitching. Any man would be crazy not to feel blessed to have the attentions of one such as she.

  “I suppose I should have allowed another to take this number,” James said with a roguish glint in his eyes. “Have I threatened your reputation?”

  Virginia laughed softly. “I suppose one waltz will not ruin me this night.”

  James offered her a warm smile and led her gracefully through the room of twirling couples. He liked the waltz for a variety of reasons. One, it put the couple very close—face to face—and it was much easier to talk if one desired to do so. Then, too, for all its movement and constant flow in and out of other whirling partners, it was a dance that seemed to exclude the others in the room.

  Virginia’s cheeks were pink from exertion, and her eyes were glowing bright in anticipation of what was next to come. James found her by far the most beautiful woman in the room. Clearly more womanly and exquisite in appearance than her sister. He tried to find some flaw in her face, some single thing on which to fault her, but he could not. Her complexion was smooth in an alabaster radiance, her nose delicately upturned, and her brows naturally arched above smoky blue eyes. Weren’t Carolina’s brown?

  He pushed back the reminder of warm dark eyes and resumed the silent scrutiny of his dance partner. Pulling her a little closer, he was rewarded with her look of astonished pleasure. Yes, this was how it should be. He need desire nothing else.

  “I do declare, Mr. Baldwin, we are very nearly close enough to share secrets.”

  James’ lopsided boyish smile invaded his serious expression. “Do tell, Miss Adams. Is there a secret you wish to share?”

  Virginia lowered her face slightly and raised her eyes in a manner she must have known to have a devastating effect on suitors. “Perhaps,” she said rather breathlessly, “if we knew each other better.”

  “Then we must make it so,” James replied. “I think I might enjoy hearing secrets from one as lovely as you.”

  When the music ended, Virginia excused herself. James watched her sweep from the room, captivated by her elegance and grace. She had proved delightful company. No talk of locomotives or mathematics here, he thou
ght, with a curious glance to see where Carolina might have taken herself.

  As the music once again played a popular tune, James spotted Carolina on the arm of Riegel Worth, an old school chum. She seemed bored with his oafish attempt at sociable dancing; nevertheless she remained perfectly companionable and attentive. James thought to rescue her when the music ended, but she looked up and met his gaze; then, as if reading his intentions, she latched quickly on to the arm of Riegel and pointed him in the direction of the refreshment table. Laughing to himself, James dismissed thoughts of interrupting her respite and made his way toward the veranda for a breath of fresh air.

  “James! I thought I’d lost you to this houseful of beauties,” Leland joked with a hearty laugh. “Have you made your greetings to the Adamses?” he asked, nodding toward that very pair who were with him on the veranda.

  “Good evening, Mrs. Adams,” James said, giving a formal bow. “Mr. Adams.”

  “James, your father tells me you are leaning toward a career in the railroad,” Joseph said enthusiastically. James felt a flood of relief as the man continued. “I have great interest in the locomotive myself.”

  “It’s a booming business,” James related. “I feel confident this is just the beginning of something truly great.”

  “I couldn’t agree with you more,” Joseph confided.

  “James, I saw you dancing with Virginia Adams,” his mother said as she joined the group. “You make a handsome couple.”

  “She is quite a beauty!” Leland exclaimed. “You’d have to go far to find another as lovely and well suited to becoming a wife.”

  James looked up to catch a glimpse of pink satin as Carolina Adams passed the entrance to the ballroom on the arm of a uniformed young man.

  “Quite so,” he said enthusiastically. “Why, it is uncanny how one family could have produced such a brood of lovely sisters. A man would be fortunate to marry any one of them.”

  Margaret seemed pleased at this but quickly added, “You are too kind, but, of course, our Virginia must marry first since she is the eldest, and then we will consider suitors for Carolina. It would hardly be fair to allow the younger ones to outwit their siblings for proper marriages.”

  It seemed a silly and antiquated tradition to James. But he had no inclination to argue the point. Besides, Virginia was the one he’d been instructed to consider. There was little sense in giving further attention where . . . anyone else was concerned. Virginia was clearly a beauty not to be ignored, and her head wasn’t bulging with unfeminine notions about science and railroads.

  Leland, seeming to rescue James from making further comment, said, “I know we’d be quite happy if our James and your Virginia should find each other to be of interest.”

  “As would Mrs. Adams and myself,” said Joseph.

  James knew with those words, however subtle, a bargain had been all but struck. He made no protest. He and Virginia Adams would indeed make a fine couple. They would raise their own brood of beautiful children. And he could still happily pursue his love of the railroad.

  12

  York Adams

  York Adams reached a hand up to his cheek and pulled it away crimson with blood. His blood. He stared evenly at the man who’d just now inflicted the wound.

  “So you’re no longer a pretty rich boy,” the man chuckled.

  “Your guard must have fallen off your rapier, Bedford,” York panted. They had already been hard at this twenty minutes. It had been a brutal match, but York had never expected to see blood drawn.

  “Did it now?” sneered York’s opponent.

  “I would give you the benefit of the doubt, at least, considering that this was intended as a gentlemen’s exercise.”

  “That’s the trouble with you plantation gentry,” the man countered. “You believe the entire world runs on gentlemen’s rules of order. Well, I’ve news for you, Adams. The world is neither interested in nor concerned overmuch with your rules.” Bedford smiled, but not in a friendly manner. “I would make this exercise a bit more sporting.”

  “You must be crazy.”

  York looked at the man, clearly seeing the hatred in his eyes. Hatred that York felt was undeserved and unearned. Bedford was new to the university, but since his arrival he had been hostile toward

  York and several of his friends. It had been subtle at first, and York had sought to befriend the man. But finding no success in that, he had deemed it best to ignore him. York had never been able to figure out the cause of the man’s animosity beyond vague regional differences, for Bedford was from New York. But when Bedford had suggested the fencing match, York, viewing it as an overture of friendship, had accepted. Now he saw that friendship was the farthest thing from the man’s mind.

  “Well,” taunted Bedford, “are you going to fight like a man, or would you hide behind your mother’s skirts, you southern dandy?” As if to punctuate his words, Bedford lunged again with his unshielded rapier.

  York sidestepped, avoiding the thrust, but now he was angry. York lifted his rapier and prepared to continue the fight. “I see now you had no intention of this being a friendly bout. No doubt you have no idea at all what it means to be a gentleman.” Popping the guard from his rapier, York lunged forward, catching the man’s shirtsleeve. It tore the material in a quick sweep but drew no blood.

  The man stepped back and stared hard at York for a moment. “Your quaint little world leaves no room for growth. Things are very seldom what they appear, Adams. You can never trust appearance in any form.”

  “You talk too much, Bedford,” York decreed, making a wide sweep with the rapier.

  “I couldn’t agree more,” a voice said, coming from behind York. At this, both York and Bedford came to attention. It was their fencing instructor.

  “Sir,” they responded in unison.

  “Fencing has never been dependent upon the tongue, gentlemen.” The man stepped up to York and noted the cut. “Mr. Bedford, that will be twenty demerits for wounding a fellow student. I believe that brings you to a total of one hundred. Will you pay a fine or do the time?”

  “I protest, sir!”

  “Indeed?” The instructor did not seem surprised. “Did you or did you not intentionally mark this man’s face?”

  Richard Bedford glanced at York with a smirking air. “Is it my fault he is a poor swordsman? He did not protect himself, and I was unable to stop the assault.”

  “And whose idea was it to remove the shields from the rapiers?” demanded the instructor.

  “We both agreed,” said York quickly. He’d show that northern scalawag how a true gentleman—a southern gentleman!—behaved.

  Bedford glowered at York but said nothing.

  “It is understood when you enter this classroom that the utmost care is to be given the opponent. I see no reason to be lenient to either of you. You both knew the rules. Your demerits will stand, Bedford, and I will see you at the end of the day. Mr. Adams, you too shall have twenty demerits. Now, I suggest you take care of that cut.”

  “Yes, sir.” York watched the instructor walk away, then turned to Richard Bedford. “I demand to know what your grievance is against me!”

  Bedford shrugged, as though his earlier hatred meant nothing. “I forgot myself. I simply got caught up in the heat of the moment.” He brushed back sweat-soaked blond hair and noted the cut in his sleeve. “This shirt cost a pretty penny. I suppose it matters little to one of your status. No doubt you’d simply order another one made by your slave labor.”

  “Is that what this was about? Shirts? If that is so, take your choice from among my own. A simple shirt is not worth a fight.”

  Bedford laughed. “You take everything far too personally, Adams.”

  York narrowed his eyes. “Wasn’t this personal?”

  Bedford’s face grew menacingly dark. “No,” he stated in a voice of icy calm. “If this had been personal, you would have known it.”

  York’s confusion over Bedford’s actions followed him into his
lecture on “Political Debate and the U.S. Government.” He always looked forward to this class because it provided a forum for discussion on some of the many political views of the day. In his last two years at the university, York had discovered within himself a passion for politics, and now in his last year, he had settled upon politics to be his future direction. The fencing session, however, took away some of his zest about the class. York had always managed to steer clear of trouble in school. He was generally well liked by his peers and his professors. Thus, Bedford’s unwarranted antagonism was disturbing indeed.

  “Gentlemen, we will come to order,” a stately older man said, taking the podium.

  York quickly found an empty seat and tried to focus on the professor’s introduction of the subject. Professor Samuel Bainbridge was the best in his field, and York felt honored to have a place in his class.

  “We find ourselves as subject to no man, save that one man whom we elect,” began Bainbridge in a practiced orator’s tone. “The monarchy is dead in this country, although some might debate that fact given our current President, King Andrew the First.” Laughter followed this, though York could not truly agree.

  York liked Andrew Jackson, a longtime friend of his father. Jackson understood the needs of the plantation owner, and York admired the way he’d handled foreign affairs. Joseph Adams had told his son that Jackson was often more bluff than gruff, and never was it so true as when dealing with opposing nations and international breeches of agreement. One of York’s favorite stories, in fact, centered around the 1832 affair of Naples, in which King Bomba had issued multiple excuses for not paying the United States due monies. Jackson had taken the affair in stride and sent his commissioner to Naples to personally receive the payment. It was in true Jacksonian style that he also sent Master Commandant Daniel T. Patterson and five men-of-war ships. The ships sailed boldly into the Bay of Naples, firing their cannons, but only as an honorary salute due the king, Jackson had stated. The apparent bluff worked, as the commissioner sailed home with the money due the U.S., and Jackson established himself as a man to be reckoned with.