“I’m not little,” Zac protested.
“—is Zachary Taylor Randolph, the youngest and last of the Randolph boys. I don’t know what Pa would have done if he’d had any more sons. He had run out of Virginia presidents.”
Rose didn’t dare laugh. Being saddled with presidential names must have been a serious hardship for growing boys. No wonder Hen and Monty used nicknames.
“I’ve been looking forward to meeting you,” Rose said, making an attempt to smooth over the rift. “Believe it or not, I’m usually rather mild-mannered.”
No laughs, not even a smile. Just silent, stoic, forced acceptance. Oh well, they had to begin somewhere.
“Hen, you and Jeff set up the table and chairs,” George directed. “Zac, you and Tyler clean up the floor. Monty, the dogs are yours so you get rid of them. I’ll clear away the broken dishes. All of you will be washed and wearing a clean shirt when you come back. And you’ll eat like you were brought up to eat.”
“I’ll be damned if I will,” Monty stormed, his temper flaring as quickly as it had subsided. He whistled to the dogs as he stomped out of the room. The animals weren’t quite through, but Tyler got a broom and soon convinced them they’d be happier outside.
“Sure don’t see any need to wash the floor,” Zac said as he picked up a bucket to get some water. “It’ll just get dirty again.”
“No, it won’t,” Rose said. “You’re going to scrape your boots next time you come inside.”
“Do you mean to take all the pleasure out of eating?” Hen asked.
“Would you have come to your mother’s table reeking of horses and tracking mud all over?”
Hen made no reply, but Rose could tell she had unwittingly touched on a sensitive subject. Nothing about Hen seemed to change, but his expression became set in stone. Rose made a mental note not to mention the late Mrs. Randolph until she had a chance to ask George about his mother.
She looked at him gathering up broken bits of plate and glass. She couldn’t tell what thoughts were going through his mind, but she saw a fairness in him, a willingness to support her because he felt she was right. He didn’t seem pleased, but then he didn’t seem angry anymore. He just didn’t seem to feel anything.
Didn’t the man have emotions?
Oh well, she didn’t have time to worry about that just yet. She had a meal to fix. She’d think about him tomorrow, but George Washington Randolph was a puzzle she intended to solve very soon.
George felt the last of his anger ebb away. He hadn’t expected Rose’s arrival to be without incident, but he’d never expected her to defy the lot of them the first night.
Her actions had surprised and angered him. They’d also offended his sense of what was suitable behavior for a proper female. It infuriated him that anyone would treat his family like a pack of mannerless ruffians. They were Randolphs of Virginia, related to governors, college presidents, cabinet ministers, a Chief Justice of the Supreme Court, a United States president.
Even Robert E. Lee.
Who was she but the daughter of some Yankee officer, a girl he had rescued out of the kindness of his heart? It would serve her right if he sent her packing. He wouldn’t be dictated to by a woman he had hired to cook and keep house.
But the way she looked at him when he entered the room had melted much of his anger. She was as mad as a cornered bobcat, but she was also scared of what he would do, what he would say, what would happen if he turned her off. But she hadn’t backed down. As with Luke Kearney, she knew how she wanted to be treated, and she wouldn’t settle for less. He had to admire her courage.
He couldn’t hold her defiance against her. His determination to keep a safe distance had caused him to be thoughtlessly rude. He had meant to be late. He thought he would be less affected by her presence if the boys were already at the table.
He had gotten that one wrong.
When he saw them ranged against Rose, he had wanted to protect her, to shield her with his body. He had to consciously stop himself from taking her into a protective embrace.
The strength of his feelings had so surprised him, he had wanted to withdraw, to let them fight it out while he got himself under control. But doing that had caused the present trouble. He had no recourse but to find a way to be fair to Rose, to be objective about his brothers, and to keep his feelings under control. He had done it in the army. It was hard with his brothers. Harder with Rose.
The men under his command hadn’t looked at him out of soulful eyes, engaged his chivalry by their helpless condition, or aroused his physical need with the alluring curves of their bodies.