Shades of Gray: A Novel of the Civil War in Virginia (40 page)

“Perhaps
God
shall obey your cursed
truce, but
I
shall not,” Andrea hurled back.

Hunter stopped dead in his tracks. Even Victoria
ceased her sniveling for a moment to glare through imagined tears and hear what
was going to happen next.

Hunter swiveled on the stairs and gave her a
stern look. “I will settle with
you
properly later.”

Victoria grinned over Hunter’s shoulder with a
look of sweet victory once he continued up the stairs. Andrea smiled back,
pointed her cane like a shotgun, and mouthed the word
pow
while pulling
an imaginary trigger.

Victoria let out a blood-curdling shriek that
caused Hunter to stop and turn around again. But by the time he did, Andrea was
leaning nonchalantly on her supposed instrument of carnage and smiling
innocently.

* * *

Hunter’s declaration of “settling” with her
later gave Andrea an uneasy feeling about when and in what manner that threat
would be carried out. She attempted therefore to avoid him, but he discovered
her in the far reaches of the garden sitting on a crude bench under the bowers
of an overgrown grape vine. He appeared without warning, his hands resting on
top of the natural doorway, his body leaning forward as he talked.

“You wouldn’t be trying to avoid me, would you?”
He greeted her somewhat cheerfully.

“Why would I do that?” Andrea averted her eyes
from the muscles his stance produced.

 “Well, I’ve come here to ask”—Hunter cleared
his throat—“
demand
the truce that was earlier mentioned.”

Andrea’s eyes glazed over. “A truce?”

“Yes. And
the truce will begin tonight when the three of us dine together.

Hunter removed his hands from above him and
turned to leave.

“I find the thought slightly less pleasant than
being buried alive,” Andrea said just loud enough for Hunter to hear. Then
louder, “Sir, permit me to thank you for your most courteous invitation, but I
fear I have no appetite and therefore must regrettably decline the
honor
.”

Hunter returned in an instant as if fully
expecting her predetermined refusal. His look was now that of a warrior
preparing for battle.

“Dinner is at seven. I insist you attend, hungry
or not.” He looked her in the eye and repeated his mandate. “Think of it as a
privilege
,
and see that you are there.”

Andrea
coughed as if his words actually choked her. “I regret I must plead ignorance
of the privilege of the invitation,” she said coldly, abandoning her feigned
indifference to the idea. “It is my understanding that your houseguest is
prouder than Lucifer of her family name, but frankly, I see no reason for the
tribute.”

“Be that as it may, it would be most
advantageous to your personal well-being if you were to heed my wishes
voluntarily
.”

Andrea blinked in surprise. “Would this be an
order, Major?” She tried to keep her voice from shaking with agitation. “For if
it is, I must earnestly beg you to reconsider.”

“I do not order it, Miss Monroe. But I advise
it. Strongly.”

“Pray don’t call me Miss Monroe!”

Hunter gazed at her, somewhat bemused. “That is
your name is it not?”

“My name is Evans. I shall answer to no other!”

“As you wish,” he said curtly. “May I remind you
that dinner is at seven?”

Andrea cleared her throat. “I … believe I
declined the invitation.”

“I don’t recall offering you that option Miss
Evans,” Hunter said, his voice growing strained. “The invitation is for an
appearance at a dinner table, not an appointment with a hangman’s noose.”

Hunter’s tone made it clear he believed the
latter a more appropriate response to her behavior, and Andrea did nothing to
hide from her expression that it was one she found exceedingly more desirable
to endure.

“Heed my words, for they are not spoken in
jest.”

Andrea bit the side of her cheek, contemplating
his ultimatum and the possible penalties. She decided she would rather cast her
lot with the fate of his punishment than spend another minute of her life in
the presence of Victoria Hamilton.

“Then, Major, may I at least go on the record
stating that if I had the choice of dining with your houseguest or riding a
hundred yards through a hell storm of Confederate lead, I would, without
hesitation, choose the latter?”

Hunter blinked at her impudence and stared at
her so intensely Andrea felt she was being burned alive by his eyes—yet this
did not stop her. “Make that on a
balky
horse. A balky,
three-legged
horse. A
blind
, balky, three-legged horse.”

“I am sorry I’m not in the position to offer you
that opportunity at this time,” Hunter said interrupting her tirade in a
perfectly calm voice. “But perhaps in the near future that arrangement can be
made.”

Andrea felt a stinging sense of defeat at his
latest comeback. He was learning to spar with her a little too well.

“Ah-h, Miss Evans.”

“Yes, Major?” she snapped.

“Let’s try not to have a battle of wits like
this tonight.”

“You mean with Victoria?”

“Yes, I mean with Victoria.”

“Trust, sir, that won’t happen,” she said in a
reassuring voice.

“Good.” Once again Hunter turned to leave.

“I would never pick a battle of wits with an
unarmed person!” Andrea yelled after him.

She watched him stop for a moment, but he did
not return. He shook his head and mumbled something unintelligible under his
breath, then strode back to the house, his gait—and his tightly clenched
fists—portraying an emotion he seemed unable to suppress.

Chapter
39

“Vengeance is mine, I will repay sayeth the Lord.”

– Romans 12:19

Hunter paced the dining room awaiting the
arrival of his two houseguests. He tried to think optimistically, that anything
other than a dismal failure would be a splendid success. And success would mean
peace. And peace would mean his household would no longer be the scene of
constant skirmishes and conflicts that he inevitably had to quell. Yet his
heart pounded as if preparing to face a foe of unknown strength.

Victoria arrived first, walking into the room
with the arrogance and sophistication of an empress among her subjects. Hunter
escorted her to the table, and then turned to see Andrea standing warily at the
doorway, her gaze sweeping the room as if calculating the terrain of an
unfamiliar battlefield.

 “Miss Evans, Miss Hamilton,” he said while the
two women eyed each other from across the table. “I’m hoping we can enjoy a
meal together and would be much obliged if you’d each cease and desist your …
warfare.”

Hunter’s eyes fell on Andrea at the end of his
sentence, who made no effort to conceal her disdain.

Still, as his gaze swept over her, he could not
help but admire what he saw. Clothed in a rose-dotted muslin, severe in its
simplicity, she looked unpretentious and charming.

Victoria, on the other hand, was dressed in a
shade of shimmering silk that would be hard to describe and even harder to
admire. The differences in them were even more apparent tonight. One had
elegant Virginian breeding and upbringing. The other, he mused, possessed the
look, bearing, and character of such.

“I’ll have no more of the disruptions such as I
witnessed today. Do I make myself clear?”

“Oh, but, Alex, that wasn’t my fault.” Victoria
put her hand on Hunter’s arm and blinked flirtatiously. “You heard what she
said to me.”

Hunter glanced at Andrea and determined that the
version of events running through her mind was on a collision course with
Victoria’s. The room turned from chilly to stifling hot with the intensity of
contrasting views. “I did not place the blame on anyone,” he quickly noted. “I
only demand it not happen again.”

Andrea sat down stiffly with the air of one
being forced to watch a beheading, refusing to give him the benefit of even a
simple nod. She made it clear she had gone so far as to submit to his demand,
but it was obvious she had no intention of feigning fondness for the woman on
the other side of the table.

* * *

Andrea took a deep breath while Hunter helped a
rabidly mirthful Victoria into her chair. She stared at the food Mattie and
Izzie served like it was steaming carrion, and prepared to face an evening that
promised to be anything but enjoyable.

As a defense
to the babbling Victoria, Andrea focused her attention on the view out the
window, letting her mind wander to happier times. She had no idea how much time
had passed when a loud voice interrupted her thoughts.

“Can you attempt to come back from your remote
regions of thought and join us?”

Andrea turned her gaze to Hunter, then to
Victoria and back again with a feigned look of confusion. “I’m sorry, sir, are
you speaking to me or Miss Hamilton?”

Hunter’s hand tightened into a fist around a
knife. “Is our conversation boring you, Miss Evans?”

It was evident to Andrea that Hunter was
somewhat perturbed. Since she did not wish to appear rude by answering in the
affirmative, or lie by answering in the negative, she did not respond at all.

“Our conversation,” Hunter repeated in a louder
voice. “Do you not find it interesting? Or are you just disinclined to talk in
our
presence?”

Andrea took his comment to mean she should feel
disinclined to
be
in their presence and was instantly offended. “No,
indeed, it’s quite”—she sighed like she was trying to suppress a
yawn—“captivating.”

Hunter leaned toward her and whispered in a
lethal, threatening voice. “Miss Evans, if you are trying to conceal your
displeasure, may I have the honor of informing you that you are failing
miserably?”

Andrea had no time to answer before Victoria
interrupted in a shrill, excited voice. “Where did you get that? How came you
to have it? And why?”

Surprised, both Andrea and Hunter followed her
gaze to the ring on Andrea’s finger. Victoria shifted her attention to the
similar ring on Hunter’s hand, then fastened her eyes upon Andrea accusingly,
drumming her fingers on the table impatiently, waiting for a reply.

Andrea cleared her throat. “Daniel Delaney.
Daniel . . . was a friend of mine.”

“But he was a Yankee!”

Andrea’s gaze went to Hunter’s and Hunter’s went
to hers. Victoria’s flicked from face to face.

Hunter recovered first and turned his attention
to Victoria. “Daniel and Miss Evans were friends before the war, Victoria. Such
a twist of fate cannot be helped.”

“But that ring is priceless,” she gasped, as if
that justified the immediate retrieval of the heirloom from Andrea’s finger.

“Nonetheless,
it was given to Miss Evans. And agree with them or not, Daniel’s wishes need to
be respected.” He looked at Andrea severely, letting her know by his tone that
his words applied to her current presence in his home as well.

Victoria
became absorbed in another glass of wine, taking her mind off the ring, but her
attention soon returned to Andrea. “Since it is Alex’s wish that we get to know
each other, perhaps you could enlighten me about your past. You hail from
Maryland, do you not?” She spat the name of the state like it was some sort of
incurable disease. “Why, I’m only surprised you don’t drink whiskey and chew
tobacco.”

Andrea responded coolly. “But I do drink
whiskey, Victoria, preferably right out of the bottle. You should try it in
preference to the wine that you drink by the—”

“Miss Evans!” Hunter’s voice boomed.

“Pray don’t tell me you believe that because I
don’t know how to run barefoot and drink whiskey out of a bottle,” Victoria
said, shivering and rolling her eyes, “that I am somehow deficient.”

“It is not for
me
to determine in what
you are lacking.” Andrea rested her gaze on Hunter as if that job belonged
solely to him.

Victoria looked at Alex with a mortified
expression, then put her hand to her head. “Alex, I have
tried
to
overlook her homespun ways and uncouth manner, but  really, must we attempt to
have a reasonable conversation with her? I do not believe she is capable.”

“And you are?” Andrea raised her eyebrows.

“La, my dear. I have been tutored in the
delicate nature of being a lady, a concept obviously not familiar to you.” She
paused and then added with her nose in the air, “Of course, it’s not your fault
that you lack the breeding and cultivation of a Virginian.”

Andrea looked at Hunter, expecting him to put an
end to the dispute, but with all his warrior’s blood, he appeared bewildered at
the catfight occurring before him and seemed equally unsure of just what should
be done to stop it.

Instead of getting angry, Andrea felt a sense of
calm indignation. “You are right, Victoria,” she said in a conciliatory voice.
“I admit, I don’t have your delicate nature or cultured breeding.” She paused
and stared down at her hands folded on her lap. “I know that inherent within
you are a distinction and superiority, which I, and others like me, can only
aspire to.”

Andrea thought she saw Hunter roll his eyes
toward heaven—something uncharacteristic for him—but she did not stop .
“Perhaps, if you’d be so kind, Victoria, you could answer a question about the
refined Virginian culture that I … that I know so little about.”

“Miss Evans—”

“Oh, stop, darling,” Victoria hushed Hunter.
“The poor girl wants some advice.” She lowered her eyelashes, obviously
flattered by the request.

 “Isn’t it true,” Andrea said, leaning toward
Victoria to ensure she caught every word, “that women of your refined,
Virginian lineage are—”