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a spoiled little brat, aren't you? Let me put you on notice, Miss Lindsay. I have tolerated quite a bit from you today because I realize that you are, understandably, upset. I will not tolerate any more. Very soon I will be in the position of father to you, and I mean to exercise a father's prerogatives and discipline my new daughter. In other words, any rudeness on your part will be more rudely dealt with. Do I make myself clear?"
    "You think you can discipline me? Just you try it!" Jessie's head came up and her shoulders squared challengingly. Outrage shimmered in her eyes and in her voice. "The people here will tear you apart! They're my people, just like this is my house! Just you try lifting a hand to me!"
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    "After the wedding, it will be my house," he pointed out quietly. "And the slaves will belong to me. If you have a care for them, you won't encourage them to lift a hand against their new master."
    The point he made was so valid that Jessie nearly choked.
    "You're vile!"
    "And you're pressing your luck. If you keep it up, you'll regret it, I promise you." He took a puff of the cheroot again. "Come, Miss Lindsay, can't we cry friends? I mean to marry your stepmother, and nothing you can say or do is going to make me change my mind. But there's no need for you and me to be at constant loggerheads. I have no intention of playing the heavyhanded steppapa unless you force me to it."
    "Steppapa! You—I . . ."
    Before Jessie could find the words to adequately express her feelings, the front door opened and Celia stepped onto the veranda. She saw Stuart immediately and crossed to him, smiling. Partially hidden by the shadows, Jessie at first escaped her notice.
    "You've been out here so long, Stuart! I was getting quite worried about you!"
    "I've been furthering my acquaintance with your delightful stepdaughter." He indicated Jessie with the cheroot. Celia looked in Jessie's direction with a notable lack of enthusiasm. "So you're home at last, are you? Well, you've missed supper. Sissie's already cleared away. Perhaps in future you can contrive to be more prompt."
    "I'm not hungry." The sullenness that Celia always seemed to conjure up was there in Jessie's voice. Jessie heard it herself, and 39

    hated it. It made her sound weak, when what she needed was to be strong.
    "Why, I do believe that's the first time I've ever heard you say that! Really, dear, that's so encouraging! Perhaps, after all, we may be able to whittle you down to a manageable size. Gentlemen don't like ladies who are overplump, you know. But really, you should eat something. If you run along to the cookhouse, I'm sure Rosa will fix you a plate."
    "I said I'm not hungry!" Cheeks burning at having a stranger's attention called to her size, Celia glowered at her stepmother. Celia shrugged prettily. "Well, you must suit yourself, of course. Come along inside, Stuart. It's growing chilly out here." Celia took Stuart's arm. He smiled lazily down at her, dropping his half-finished cheroot and grinding it out with his boot as he straightened away from the pillar at last. Jessie saw the potent charm of that smile, the intimacy of his black head bent over Celia's fair one, and felt her temper snap. They were dismissing her, treating her as if she were a child, when she—she, not Celia and certainly not he—was the rightful owner of Mimosa!
    "There's something you don't know about my stepmother, Mr. Edwards," she said coldly to their retreating backs. If she had expected to freeze them in their tracks, Jessie was doomed to disappointment. They kept on walking as if they hadn't heard, totally wrapped up in each other.
    "Mr. Edwards!"
    He threw her an impatient look over his shoulder, but it was Celia who answered.
    "Really, Jessie, you are being too tiresome! If you have something to say, you may say it to me in private in the morning."
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    "I have something to say to Mr. Edwards." Jessie walked determinedly forward, moving into the light cast by the open