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    Louisiana Iris
    February 23, 1859, New Orleans
     
    Jasper was home! Margaret felt as if her heart might stop beating. He'd been gone for three years in Europe. How could she not know he was coming home? Nearly knocking over her chair, Margaret hurried over to Jordan’s side. “What type of a cruel trick is this?” She fumed.
    Jordan Bradford looked down at his cousin. Giving his wife a kiss to the cheek, he took Margaret by the arm and led her to the beverage table. “I did not know if he was coming for certain.” Smiling his devastating smile, the handsome man placed a glass of lemonade in the flustered woman’s hand. “Calm yourself woman. You're turning several shades of red. He is just a man after all. I assure you he did not create the heavens and the earth.”
    Margaret sighed and took a deep breath. He was right of course. Still, though Jasper McMahon was not more than a man, to her, he was the only man. “I look awful. I swear, the next time Mama tells me to dress more the part of a lady, I’ll listen.” Smoothing the crinkles out of her cotton lilac frock, Margaret frowned and began pulling on the single pigtail flowing over her shoulder.
    Always somewhat of a tomboy, she’d only just come in from wading in the river a short time earlier. There was still silt under her nails and her mother would kill her if she saw it. Especially since she had bothered to put on only a plain, lilac calico dress and today they were hosting Jordan’s birthday party.
    But all of that didn’t matter right now. What did matter was that she looked a mess, and this wasn’t the way she wanted to present herself to Jasper after several years of absence.
    She’d been in love with Jasper since she was a child. The problem, however, was he simply didn’t take her seriously. However, she was not the thirteen-year-old girl he left years ago. Having just turned eighteen last month, gone was the freckle-faced, girl and, as her mother would say, here now stood a green-eyed woman. “Come on dance with me while I try to get my thoughts together.”
    “Is that even possible?” Jordan teased, all while maneuvering them both toward the ballroom. “You look downright perplexed.” He commented at her furrowed browed face.
    “Wilbur won’t stop being my shadow and he’s vexing me,” Margaret said, smiling up at Jordan. It was a half-truth, one she knew he wouldn’t fall for. She would have done better passing off her rattled nerves on Samantha, Jordan’s wife. The two did not see eye-to-eye on anything and Margaret could not figure out why her cousin married the woman.
    “Everyone vexes you. What is the real issue?”
    “How can I ever compare to her?” Margaret quipped, inclining her head toward a pristine, red-haired beauty. Margaret nearly trampled Jordan’s toe whilst they waltzed.
    She’d observed Bernadette Walker entering the room only moments ago—gorgeous, perfect, flame-haired Bernadette. Margaret felt her heart sink. How could she forget? Hadn’t she always been there by Jasper’s side?
    Jordan frowned now himself. Margaret had become one of his closest friends as they grew older and he didn’t like to see her upset. “Don’t doubt yourself.” “How can I not? Have you seen her?” Of course he’d seen Bernadette, and yes, she was beautiful but not as lovely as his own wife or Margaret. “I wouldn’t let her intimidate you. It pains me to admit it, but you are just as lovely.”
    Margaret ignored him. “What would you know about it anyway? You still have every woman swooning at the sight of you.”
    “This from the woman who has a state full of suitors. Did you ever think that maybe you should stop turning them all down?”
    It was true. She did have more than a few men vying for her hand. She’d liked more than a few of them, too. It was just none of them were Jasper. She was lucky that her father was letting her make her own decision or she would have been married long ago.
    As Jordan swirled