Beloved Enemy. Mary Schaller

request, now this. Obviously, the ball was over for her, but she would leave with as much grace and dignity as she could muster.

      At least, she had had a very lovely time, quite the nicest she had experienced in over two years—even those embarrassing moments spent in the alcove. The music had been excellent and she had enjoyed surveying the new fashions in ball gowns. She still had the caramels in her bag that she could savor over the next few weeks. She prayed that Rob would be chivalrous enough not to betray her secret proposition. She cast him a sidelong glance. He returned hers with a cool expression behind his mask. At least, he did not publicly rebuke her, nor claim her ruination. Now that she was literally unmasked, Julia realized that she would have died on the spot if he said anything.

      Gathering the remnants of her composure, she replied to Melinda, “Just look at the time! I had no idea how late it had grown. I must find my sister immediately. Please make our adieus to your parents, Melinda.” She turned to Rob. “Please forgive me, Major Goodfellow. Forgive me for everything. I fear I have kept you from dancing with our charming hostess.” She pulled her shawl tighter around her shoulders. “Lovely party, Melinda,” she murmured.

      Julia turned away before a hovering tear could roll down her cheek below her mask. She dove into the press of people where she spied her sister conversing with several more admirers.

      Sliding her arm around Carolyn’s waist, she whispered in her ear. “The cat’s out of the bag. Melinda knows we are here. We have got to go now before she takes it into her flighty head to make a scene.”

      Carolyn squeaked a little “oh!”, then smiled at her companions. “Oh, dear, gentlemen, I fear I have over-stayed my time, and my mama would skin me alive if she knew. We have to leave your fine company, but with much regret.”

      “Miss Carolyn,” protested one of the men.

      Julia stepped into the breach. “I am so sorry, sirs, but I fear my sister speaks the truth. It has been a very great pleasure to have met you all. Come on, Carolyn.”

      Before the officers could say anything else, Julia pulled her sister out to the front hall. Once in the cloakroom, Julia sent word for Perkins to meet them outside the front door. The maid in attendance couldn’t understand their haste in departing when some of the guests were only just arriving after late supper parties.

      “My sister is feverish,” Julia quickly confided to the servant, “and we don’t want to infect anyone, do we?”

      The young woman backed away. “No, miss, we surely don’t.”

      Once they donned their cloaks, they swept past the doorman and down the steps to the windswept street. Perkins awaited them on the curb with his lantern held high. He looked both surprised at their early departure and greatly relieved.

      “Now, this is the first bit of good sense that you two have shown all day. Let’s be off before the provost’s patrol comes round. We don’t have passes to be out this late.” He started briskly down the sidewalk. Julia and Carolyn hurried after him.

      Though Julia was a Confederate, Rob discovered that he could not be angry with her, despite his deep aversion to the Rebels. She had not deliberately deceived him, but had merely sidestepped his questions with quotations from A Midsummer Night’s Dream. He regarded Melinda, who returned him a smile of pure triumph.

      “They’re playing a waltz, Major,” she hinted. She tried to take his useless arm again.

      Rob stepped back, leaving a small but definite space between them. “I do not dance, Miss Winstead. In fact, I find that the pleasure of the evening has somewhat palled. Since I will no doubt be sullen company for you, I beg you to excuse me.”

      Melinda gasped. Rob roamed throughout the rooms, looking for Julia and her sister, but both the Chandlers had vanished. Questioning the doorman, he learned that the two young ladies had left only a few moments ago. Rob stepped out onto the front landing and surveyed the street, but the sidewalks on both sides were bare save for a mangy cat that slunk down the far wall in search of a garbage rat.

      The cold air sharpened Rob’s senses. Melinda’s spiteful words to Julia had angered him. Even though the lovely Miss Chandler was a Confederate, she was also the most intelligent company he had enjoyed in quite some time. China doll-like Lucy Van Tassel paled in comparison to Julia’s accomplishments. Lucy never opened a book, much less quoted Shakespeare. Nor had she ever displayed any particular talent other than gossiping and changing her clothes five times a day. For the first time since her abrupt termination of their engagement, Rob realized how lucky he had been to escape a lifetime with Lucy.

      Not that he was interested in Julia, he told himself. She was a Southern sympathizer, and therefore, beyond further consideration from him. She had been merely a charming diversion on an otherwise deadly evening. Yet, she had looked so wounded by Melinda’s words. He, like a tongue-tied dolt, had said nothing to champion her honor, especially since he was so acutely aware of her innocent virtue. Julia must think that he concurred with Melinda’s sentiments against her. In fact, he abjured them. But he had not been quick enough to tell Julia that, nor to bid her a proper good-night. He should have done that much, at least.

      Rob stared down the street again. The skulking cat had disappeared. The only signs of life were the music and laughter inside the Winsteads’ house behind him. Rob opened his timepiece and read its dial by the flicker of the gas lantern over the front door. Nearly midnight. He snapped shut the watch with a snort. Three hours at the ball were up; his time was now his own.

      He would make amends to Julia right now, before any more time passed. The Chandler sisters had only left a few minutes ago. If they lived nearby, he might be able to catch up with them in time to give the lovely lady a proper apology. But which way did they go? He turned back inside to get his greatcoat.

      “The Chandler house?” the doorman repeated Rob’s question. “They’s Seesech, Major, sir. Those kind of folks stay to themselves, they do. You don’t want any part of that family.”

      Rob swallowed his impatience. “Miss Julia dropped her fan this evening. I wish to return it,” he fabricated, itching to be off now that he had made up his mind for action.

      The doorman gave him a fishy look. “The Chandlers were not invited to this here party. That’s a fact.”

      Rob controlled himself. He had never before spoken directly to an African servant, and he was afraid to press the man lest he lose his temper. Instead, he lowered his voice as if to impart a great secret. “Miss Julia and her sister, Carolyn, came in disguise. They haven’t been to a party in years. No harm done—except, of course, Miss Julia losing her fan.” He hoped the man wouldn’t ask to see the nonexistent item.

      The doorman considered Rob’s explanation for a moment, then nodded. “That’s what old Perkins said down in the hall. Said old Mrs. Chandler would have had a fit if she knew what her girls were up to, but I didn’t think he meant this party. Miss Julia, as I recollect, was a nice enough child, very polite to everyone. If she lost her fan here, I expect she’ll feel mighty low about it.”

      When the man paused for breath, Rob added fuel to his plea. “I hope for Miss Julia’s sake that the fan does not belong to old Mrs. Chandler.”

      The doorman shook his head. “Lordy, that child will be in a world of trouble if that be the case. You go along now, Major, sir, and see that Miss Julia gets it back right quick.”

      Elation made his blood flow faster. “Which way do I go?”

      The doorman pointed to the right. “Down to the corner, turn left. That’s Prince Street. Go on two blocks. The house is in the middle on the left side. Red brick with black shutters. Got a double door in front.”

      “And the number on the house?” Rob prodded.

      “Now how am I expected to know that, Major, sir? I’m not allowed to read, you know.” The doorman’s face turned as blank as an ebony mask.

      Rob considered bribing the servant with a twenty-five-cent piece, but thought better of the idea. He might be insulted