Richmond's normal business day ended at three, with a large dinner, the main meal, served shortly thereafter. The schedules didn't apply to households of those who worked for the government, however. Ashton seldom had to worry about planning menus with her black cook — a blessing, since it bored her. Most weekdays, James arrived home well after seven-thirty, the customary hour for a light supper.
On this particular autumn afternoon, Ashton again did not expect him until late. She spent an entire hour making herself attractive and was ready to leave at two; one hour remained of the period reserved for formal calls. Homer brought the carriage around, and they left the two-and-a-half-story house on Grace Street, in a respectable area which was nevertheless a bit too far from downtown to be fashionable.
The day was mild, but Ashton sweltered. The risk she ran was enormous, but she had been driven to it by a number of things, including her husband's timidity and her growing frustration with their inability to penetrate Richmond society. She knew two reasons: they lacked position, and they lacked real wealth. James had failed her on both counts, just as he failed her whenever he tried to satisfy her with his wretched little instrument.
She leaned back against the velvet of the closed carriage, staring out the window into the dazzle of the day. Did she dare go through with this? It had taken a week merely to locate the man's address, then another to phrase and properly polish a note announcing the date and time of her call 'regarding a commercial matter of mutual interest.' She could imagine the amusement in his eyes when he read that.
If he read it. She had received no reply. What if he were out of town?
She had sent the note via an anonymous black boy she had hired on a corner opposite Capitol Square. How did she know the boy had delivered the wax-sealed envelope? Preoccupied with these doubts and with anticipations of disaster, she didn't hear the clopping rhythm of the carriage horse slow, then stop.
Over the hoot of a train at the Broad Street depot, Homer called: 'Here's the corner you wanted, Miz Huntoon. Shall I pick you up in an hour?'
'No. I don't know how long I'll be shopping. When I'm finished, I'll catch a hack or stop and see Mr. Huntoon and come home with him.'
'Very well, ma'am.' The carriage pulled out behind a white-topped army wagon. Briskly, Ashton entered the nearest store. She hurried out a few minutes later with two unwanted spools of thread. After a quick survey of the area to assure that Homer was gone, she hailed the first passing hack.
Perspiring, her heart racing, she got out in front of one of the lovely high-stooped houses on Church Hill. It was located on Franklin, a few doors from the corner of Twenty-fourth. The imposing residence looked closed against the warmth of the afternoon, asleep under the maples just starting to lose their green.
Glancing neither right nor left for fear she would see someone watching, she climbed the stoop and rang. Would there be servants —?
Lamar Powell answered personally. She nearly swooned from excitement.
He stepped back into the shadow. 'Please come in, Mrs. Huntoon.' She did; the door closed with a tick like that of a clock.
The foyer was cool. Rooms were visible through doors on either side, rooms with opulent woodwork, furniture, pendant crystal. One night recently, James had again brought up Powell's name, saying he had made inquiries about him. 'It appears the fellow lives on nerve, self-promotion, and credit.' If the snide remark had any truth to it, Powell's credit must be enormous.
He smiled at her. 'I confess I was surprised to receive your note. I wasn't sure you'd keep the appointment. On a chance, I sent my houseman off fishing and stayed home. There's no one else here.' He gestured with one of those slender, curiously sensual hands. 'So you needn't worry about being compromised.'
Ashton felt awkward as a child. He was tall — so very tall — and appeared perfectly relaxed in his dark breeches and loose white cotton shirt. He was barefoot. 'It's a splendid house,' she exclaimed. 'How many rooms do you live in?'
Amused by her nervousness, he said, 'All of them, Mrs. Huntoon.' He grasped her arm gently. 'When we were introduced at the Spotswood, I knew you'd come here eventually. You look lovely in that dress. I suspect you'd look even lovelier without it.'
Never hesitating, he took her hand and led her to the stairs.
They ascended silently. In a room where slatted blinds striped the bed with light — she noticed the top coverlet was already turned down — they began to undress; he calmly, she with jerky movements generated by her nerves. No man had ever put her in this state before.
The silence lengthened. He helped with her bodice buttons, kissing her left cheek with great gentleness. Then he kissed her mouth, slowly moving his tongue over her lower lip. She felt as if she were sinking into a bonfire. Began to hurry, fumble —
He pushed at the lace straps on her shoulders, baring her from the waist upward. His touch careful, tender, he lifted first one breast, then the other, gently pressing his thumb against each nipple. He bent forward, still smiling in that curiously remote way. She flung her head back, eyes closed, loins damp, expecting to feel his tongue.
He smashed his open palm against her head, knocking her onto the bed. She was too terrified to scream. He stood with one leg against the tangle of her skirt, smiling.
'
'So there is no doubt about authority in this liaison, Mrs. Huntoon. I knew when we met that you were a strong woman. Reserve your displays of that quality for others.'
Then, swiftly, he bent and began to strip her of the rest of her clothing.
Her terror transformed itself to an excitement that was so intense it resembled insanity. She ran wet as a river when he slipped off his cotton drawers. He was oddly shaped, smaller than she had expected, given his stature. He pulled her legs apart and bored into her without closing his eyes.
She couldn't believe what began to happen to her. She beat the twisted damp sheets, excited to frenzy by his having struck her. She began to cry as he quickened the tempo; that had never occurred with other lovers. Tears flowed down her cheeks, and when he gave her the last ramming thrust, she sobbed, screamed, and fainted.
He lay propped on an elbow, smiling, when she woke. She was sweaty, spent, frightened by her loss of consciousness. 'I passed out —'
'
She swallowed. 'Ever.'
'Well, it won't be the last. I've been watching you sleep almost twenty-five minutes. Enough time for a man to renew himself.' He pointed. 'Put your mouth on me here.'
'But — I've never done that with any —'
He seized her hair. 'Did you hear what I said? Do it.'
She obeyed.
They came to the next consummation a long time later. She slept again, and on the second wakening found herself free of earlier terrors. She thought vaguely of collecting the souvenir of this occasion but was too drowsy; she preferred to rest comfortably against his side.
The barred light changed, darkened. The afternoon was running out. She didn't care. What had transpired in this room, the secret things, had transfigured her emotionally but at the same time had destroyed a long-cherished sense of her own sexual enlightenment. She had had more than her share of lovers. Her souvenir collection proved that. But Lamar Powell had taught her she was a novice, a child.
Slowly, however, the second reason for the visit asserted itself. 'Mr. Powell —'
His laughter boomed. 'I should think we know each other well enough to use first names.'
'Yes, that's true.' Scarlet, she flung a wet strand of black hair off her forehead. His humor had cruelty in it. 'I wanted to speak to you about business. I control the money in my household. Do you still have room for another investor in your maritime syndicate?'
'Possibly.' Eyes like opaque glass hid whatever he was thinking. 'How much can you put in?'
'Thirty-five thousand dollars.' Investing that amount would leave only a few thousand in the event the scheme failed. But she didn't believe it would fail, any more than she had believed Powell would not bed her if she called on him.
'That sum will give you substantial equity position in the vessel,' he said. 'And in her profits. Does your
