THE BETTER PART OF VALOR. Morgan Mackinnon

      Chapter 6

      Cresta knew things were still very wrong when she did not see Myles for breakfast the next morning nor was he waiting for her at lunch. She ate by herself, noting with interest that single young ladies in the casual dining room received far less attention than did young ladies who were dining with a gentleman. Requests for water, wine, and coffee were slow to appear. She was thinking to herself that this was rather like entering a posh restaurant as a single lady, only to be seated near the kitchen or next to the restrooms.

      Rather than worry about the Lieutenant Colonel being in a snit, Cresta spent her afternoon in the writing room, making notations in her notebook and reading a little. There were copies of Alcott’s Little Women, newly published in 1868 and 1869, so she contented herself with those and was soon lost in the enchanting world of the March family, surviving the Civil War with Papa gone and the girls growing into young ladies. It had always been a favorite of hers. She leaned back in the comfortable upholstered chair and closed her eyes. She’d always been jealous when Jo found her tender, gentle Professor Bhaer and sometimes wished for a Professor Bhaer of her own. An intelligent, well-read man who could be honest without being insulting.

      Cresta started awake, slightly embarrassed she’d fallen asleep in her upholstered chair in the reading and writing room. Whatever would people think? She sincerely hoped she had not been sleeping with her mouth agape, drool dribbling down her chin. She quickly determined, with relief, that had not been the case. Seeing the clock on the mantle, she was startled to find it was late. Already after 7:00 p.m. The informal restaurant was not open beyond 9:30. By the time she got to her cabin, freshened up, and changed, it would be 8:00 p.m. But that would be all right. Besides, if one missed a meal in the restaurant, one could always order a light tray from the steward and eat in one’s cabin.

      She reached the informal restaurant slightly after eight o’clock. She didn’t see Keogh anywhere around so concluded his ego was still sticking in his craw. When she asked to be seated, she found herself behind a potted plant. Practically catching a waiter on the fly, she ordered two glasses of white wine. That way, she wouldn’t have to wait an hour to order her second. On this evening, she would just opt for the buffet, whatever it offered, because she would not require a menu or any thought. Feeling lazy, not ready to go to the buffet just yet, Cresta took out a small book of poetry she kept stashed in her handbag and began reading while sipping at her wine. She found a poem by Elizabeth Barrett Browning, one of her favorite poets, entitled “The Lady’s Yes.”

      Yes, I answered you last night;

      No, this morning sir, I say.

      Colours seen by candle-light

      Will not look the same by day.

      Her attention was caught by a young woman’s giggle. “Oh, fie, sir. You are making that up!”

      Cresta’s shock came when she recognized the masculine voice replying.

      “I assure you, Miss Haynes, it is perfectly true. Cavalry officers are not allowed to lie to a lady.”

      The Irish accent was mellow, which meant he’d been drinking. The table occupied by a young lady of no more than fifteen or sixteen was on the other side of the potted plant. Cresta put down her book of poetry and not so subtly pulled aside a fern leaf. Keogh saw her at the same time she saw him, and his jaw dropped. Cresta let the leaf slap back into place, calmly rose, walked over to the buffet, and put some food onto a plate. She didn’t know what she’d selected, but it did not matter.

      As she returned to her table, Myles rose, telling his charming (very young) dinner companion he’d be right back.

      “Cresta…”

      “Yes, Lieutenant Colonel?” She seated herself and spread her napkin on her lap.

      “I…she…it is not what it appears.”

      Cresta took a bite of salad. “It appears as though you are having dinner with a young lady. Why is that so strange?”

      “Because. I mean, you and I have…”

      She cut him off. “You and I have nothing, Colonel. We shared a table a few times and we talked. You have nothing to feel guilty about.”

      “I know that. It is just that… Well, I looked for you this afternoon and you were not around. I have something to explain to you.”

      A voice from the vicinity of the opposite side of the potted fern intruded.

      “Lieutenant KER-nel? Oh, MY-les?”

      Cresta was eating without knowing what she was eating, so it was time for her to put down her fork and rise.

      “Your companion seems to be in need of your services. Good evening.”

      She turned and exited the restaurant, not caring if he was watching her or not.

      *****

      Cresta determined the whole situation was her fault. She stepped in where she should have kept quiet, and although her intentions may have been innocent, the resulting consequences had not been anticipated. She should have thought about what she knew of Keogh and realized his honor and valor on the battlefield were one thing but his ego when it came to a woman was fragile. When with a woman, a man like Myles Keogh wanted to be in control, be the strong one, be the brave one. She’d managed to trample all over his self-esteem with tackety boots. Now he was off having dinner with Miss Haynes.

      She was not going to approach him until he was ready to listen, but neither was she going to go out of her way to avoid him. She stuck to her regular schedule, but it was two more days until she saw the Lieutenant Colonel.

      Since he had not been visible in the informal restaurant nor in the on-deck bar, Cresta concluded Myles was either spending time alone in his cabin (not likely), in the formal dining room (possible) or in the gentleman’s game room, lounge, brothel, and smoking den (probable). She momentarily wondered if he and the Master of Illusion were seeking feminine companionship together. As if someone was reading her thoughts, the Master of Illusion, at that moment, entered the reading and writing room.

      “Ah! Missus Leigh, I do believe! Would you mind if an old reprobate like me sat down?”

      When she indicated she did not, the rascal promptly produced two small glasses and a flask of liquid from inside his jacket. Cresta thought it was scotch, so she sipped as they talked. He asked where she was from, and Cresta replied she lived in Fairfax County, Virginia.

      “Virginia. Lovely place. King’s Dominion is delightful. Do you still have family in the vicinity?”

      Cresta frowned and took a slightly bigger sip of scotch. “My mother still lives in the vicinity. I have an aunt and an uncle in the southern part of the state. And some cousins. Where are you from if I may ask?”

      “Why, here and there, everywhere and nowhere. I have no family to keep track of or to keep track of me. I am a free spirit. A prestidigitator. A magician. An illusionist. A man of many times and places. Let us drink a small toast to the City of Paris. This is April, and it would be such a shame if this vessel were to strike an iceberg in the North Atlantic and sink. Don’t you think?”

      “It would be dreadful, but…”

      The Master was pouring more scotch, and Cresta found herself wondering just how much liquid that flask of his could hold.

      “Yes, indeed. Shame that in this time, we must endure the endless ocean voyages that get us from place to place. It would be so much quicker if we could simply fly. Eh?”

      Get a grip. Cresta felt a trickle of sweat run down between her breasts. He was speaking metaphorically. As in, wouldn’t it be lovely if we could sprout wings and fly like a bird?

      The Master leaned forward and refilled her glass once again. “You like poetry.”

      “Why yes, I do. How did you know that?”

      “I