Page 2 of The Enchanted Land

She and her mother had lived alone for fifteen years in Trahern House.Trahern House. The very name made her homesick. Trahern House was one hundred seventy-five acres of green, rolling countryside with a duck pond, bridle paths, and woods. Her mother had indulged Morgan’s every desire. She longingly recalled her pretty little mare, Cassandra.

Her mother had told her she was plain, but she knew her mother had wanted her to be plain. Her mother had never allowed male visitors at the house. She had told Morgan that men cared only for pretty faces, and that Morgan was better off plain. If she were plain, she could live her life in peace, at Trahern House. And Morgan had never wanted to live anywhere else.

Yet her mother’s unexpected, early death two years ago had cast Morgan into her uncle’s house. And the will had been a second, terrible blow. Why hadn’t her mother told her that her father really owned everything? She knew that Trahern House had belonged to Morgan Trahern, her maternal grandfather, so she assumed her mother had inherited it. What had happened, that the house and lands were given to Grandfather Morgan Trahern’s son-in-law rather than to his own daughter?

Morgan looked back at the mirror. Her eyes were cold as she said, aloud, “You may have been my father, Charles Wakefield, but you have not treated me like a daughter. You took away the only thing I had—Trahern House. And you have required an ugly thing of me to secure it.” She drew closer to the mirror and her voice was hard, a deep whisper. “But you never knew your daughter. She is strong. I vow here and now that neither you nor any other man,” and here her mind touched briefly on her Uncle Horace, “will ever stop me from getting what I want.”

She stared at herself for a few seconds and was startled to see her normally blue eyes turn a deep green. What did it matter that she didn’t have physical beauty? As her mother had told her many times, she had inner beauty. And that was what mattered. Physical beauty was for silly women who wanted only to catch a man. And the last thing Morgan wanted was a man.

She turned again to the bed and the dress, thinking that tonight, for just this one night, she would like to be pretty. Because tonight, Morgan was going to have to do the very thing she had never wanted to do. She was going to have to catch a man.

She sighed and began to dress, pulling her hair back from her face and slipping into the loose, plain dress.

“You look lovely, my dear,” Uncle Horace said as he entered and extended his arm to her.

But Morgan saw the complacency in his eyes, the satisfaction. Of course, he is pleased, she thought If I were beautiful, in a low-cut, red satin dress, some man would carry me off to New Mexico and he’d lose all the money. But she knew her uncle had no reason to worry about that tonight.

They arrived early. Few others were there yet. Morgan was glad. She would have a chance to appraise the people as they arrived. She must consider them all carefully: she could not afford to make a mistake. Her spine stiffened.

As they entered the glittering ballroom, Horace led Lacey and Morgan over to their host and hostess, Matthew and Caroline Ferguson. Morgan had met the Fergusons several times before.

“Morgan, I’m so glad you are here. You get out much too seldom.” Caroline Ferguson smiled.

“Well,” said Horace, “our little Morgan much prefers the solitary life, with her books and her walks through the garden.”

Morgan shrank as Horace’s hand touched her shoulder, but she managed a smile for the Fergusons.

As the little party was walking away, Cynthia Ferguson made her appearance. Cynthia was beautiful, knew it, and made sure everybody noticed it.

“Why, Morgan,” she drawled, “you dear thing. I’m so glad you could come to our little party. My, what a … charming little dress.”

Morgan thought she might strike Cynthia. Cynthia had on a low-cut gown of mauve watered silk, set off by tiny jet beads around the bodice and hem. Morgan bit her tongue and held her pride. “Thank you, Cynthia. I am glad to be here.”

“You just make yourself at home. I know all the boys are going to fill your card and I’ll never get another moment to speak with you again all evening.”

As Morgan walked away, she heard Cynthia murmur to her mother, “I had no idea silk could look likethat.” Morgan did not hear Mrs. Ferguson’s reply.

Horace seated Lacey and Morgan and went to speak to some men friends in a corner of the room. Then Lacey saw some of her friends, and after Morgan assured her she would be all right, Lacey left.

Morgan sat back, enjoying the quiet and the chance to survey the guests. She moved slightly, sitting so that she was in the shadow of a curtained doorway.

As each man entered, she looked him over carefully. It had been strange to learn that an entirely different world existed outside Trahern House, a world which included men. In this new world, Morgan felt awkward and out of place. It was incredible that her personal value could be assessed by such things as clothing, physical beauty, and whether or not she made a good match.

She saw Brian Ferguson enter and considered him for a moment. Tall, slim, handsome, he was about twenty years old. He would probably not want to leave his comfortable home and travel to the wilds of New Mexico. He was an only son and would inherit his father’s plantation. She must look for a second or third son, one who would need money, and who would lose little or nothing by moving to New Mexico.

The music started and couples began to dance. Morgan sat in the shadows, wishing she were back at Trahern House and not sitting here, awkward and lonely. Older women began to take the chairs near Morgan. They paid little attention to her, except for occasional glances of pity.

Morgan listened carefully as the women pointed out various people to one another and exchanged gossip about them.

“That Cynthia Ferguson—whatever can her mama be thinking by letting her daughter wear a dress cut so low?” asked a gray-haired woman dressed in black.

“Her mama is thinking very carefully of trying to get that handsome Mr. Seth Colter for her son-in-law,” explained another.

Morgan’s eyes followed their glances. She saw him standing not too far from her, and her eyes widened at the sight of him. Seth Colter certainly was good looking, but, somehow, he was not conventionally handsome. For one thing, he was too big. He was probably one or two inches under six feet, but the width of his shoulders and the thickness of his chest made him look terribly powerful. His chest tapered to slim hips and legs, but the muscles in his thighs bulged under snug pants. Morgan blushed and looked away. What in the world was she doing, staring at a man’s thighs? She smiled as she thought of what her mother would say!

The women beside her kept talking and she forced her eyes around the room again. She considered every man, most of whom she knew nothing about. She began to listen more attentively to the women. Again, she found they were talking about the man her eyes had so carefully avoided for the last fifteen minutes.

“Well, I don’t understand it, either. He has everything. Nora and William Colter have given their lives to that plantation, and everything will be his someday.” The lady in black was talking.

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