“No. This is my house, my home.”
He had to have known she would say it, just as she had the other ninety-one times. So why did he look so sorrowful as he offered her his elbow?
She tucked her hand into the crook with an exhalation blustery enough to rival the wind off the Chesapeake. “I am a woman of three and twenty. I am perfectly capable of maintaining my own living, and Mother Hughes needs me.”
He sighed, led her down the walk for a few steps, and then turned toward the drive.
Marietta dug in her heels. “You said a walk, Granddad. Why would we need to go to the carriage house?”
“We are walking to the carriage house. We need to talk, and that is the safest place.”
No, no it wasn’t. The carriage house was anything but safe. “We can just keep going down the street—”
“Marietta. Come.”
Her throat went dry. He hadn’t used her full name in so long…and that spark in his eyes was like a fuse. “What is it? Is something wrong? Grandmama? Mama, Daddy?”
“Something is wrong, but not with them. Please, Mari. For once in your life, stop fighting and do what I ask.”
He looked so serious, the lines in his face deepening. She nodded and complied, even though her corset seemed tighter with each step they took.
She had managed to avoid the carriage house and stables for more than a year and would have been happy to make it two. Not that any sour memories were connected to this particular building. It was the similar one at her parents’ that made her teeth grind together.
And the arrogant, infuriating man who had once mucked stalls there and now stood in her outbuilding, pitchfork in hand. She should have dismissed him years ago. Should have refused her brother’s pleading. Should have slapped that patronizing smile from Walker Payne’s face the first time he put it on.
“Morning, Walker.” Granddad said it with sobriety rather than cheer. Unusual for him.
Walker went still. He used his coat sleeve to wipe his forehead as he turned, a bit of a flush in his pale brown skin, an icy calm in his strange silver-blue eyes. “Mr. Lane.” His gaze landed on her. “Princess.”
Marietta withdrew her arm from Granddad’s so she could fold it with her other over her chest. “Are you still working here? I’d have thought you would have run off by now, looking for the next rush of adventure.”
Rather than rising to the bait or mentioning the wife and child that kept him chained to her household, he looked back to Granddad. “Are you sure about this, Mr. Lane?”
Were she a cat, her hackles would have risen. Whatever Granddad wanted to say to her, Walker obviously knew about it.
“It’s the only way.” Granddad drew in a long breath and caught her gaze. “Mari, I need to know where you stand. On the war.”
Of all the… “You question my loyalty? And in front of him?”
“Walker is family.”
“One’s great-grandmother being your housekeeper does not make one family!”
Walker, for some reason known only to the convoluted workings of his self-important mind, smiled. “How sorely I’ve missed you, Yetta.”
A breath of cynical laughter slipped out. He was no doubt as unhappy about his presence here as she was but just as bound by his word to Stephen.
“Could you children stop snapping at each other? We only have a few minutes.” Her grandfather led her deeper into the building, where the nauseating scent of hay and horses filled her nose. “Mari, I have no choice but to question you. Baltimore, all of Maryland, is a house divided. You married into a family with firm Southern roots—”
“Really, Granddad. Mother Hughes has been questioned enough on this subject. She may be from New Orleans, but her husband was as solid a Union man as you.” Her arms slid down to wrap around her middle. Just an attempt to keep her hands warm, that was all.
“I am asking about you, Mari.”
Why was she born to live through this blasted war? All she had wanted was to go to the theater, to entertain her friends, to dance until her feet ached. A world that seemed so far removed now. “My brother gave his life for the Union. How can you question where I stand?”
“Your cousin gave his life for the Confederacy in the very same battle. How can I help but question?”
Again tears stung…though tears for Stephen seemed somehow different than those born of regrets for Lucien. “Stephen was my best friend.” Her only friend, when it came down to it.
Granddad slid closer. “Does that mean his cause is your cause? One you believe in enough to fight for? To risk dying for?”
Her arms went limp, and icy air nipped at her fingers. “You are scaring me.”
“I mean to. Walker?”
Her brother’s friend nodded and motioned them to follow him. “This way.”