As her father’s expression turned serious, and he struggled to find words, her heart sank. Please, Papa, she thought, please do not condemn us.
He finally gave a small smile. “Of your marriage,” he finished. “My, er, felicitations. Your mother is upstairs, Amanda. Wait here a few minutes and then come into the parlor. I’ll ask her to arrange refreshments.”
Relief filled her. At least her father seemed accepting. But the biggest problem remained with her mother. Perhaps her mother would at least be civil.
She could hope for nothing more.
Ten minutes later, she and Jeffrey entered the formal parlor. Spine rigid, her mother sat in the embroidered chair facing away from the empty fireplace. Amanda’s mouth nearly fell open.
The pretty room, once filled with delicate china figures and expensive furniture, looked as threadbare as the almshouse. Only her mother’s chair and the sofa remained, along with two inexpensive tables her mother had once planned to replace with quality furniture.
She scanned the walls, where the faded silk wallpaper contrasted sharply with several blank squares. Gone too, were the expensive paintings they had brought with them from England.
Amanda exchanged glances with Jeffrey, who gave her a reassuring smile. He’d known, she realized. Facing financial hardship, her parents had sold most of their possessions.
But most startling was her mother’s pinched expression, as if she’d suffered greatly with worry. Amanda’s heart lurched. She should have insisted on this visit much earlier, to assuage her mother’s concerns.
“Hello, Amanda,” her mother said. She gestured to the sofa against the wall. “Please sit.”
No acknowledgement of Jeffrey. Her heart began beating faster. Jeffrey sat beside her, took her hand and covered it with his own. The gesture of support provided a small comfort.
Amanda steeled her spine. “Hello Mother. Jeffrey and I came to call, to inform you and Papa of our marriage...”
A dismissive wave cut off her next words. Her mother fixed her with an icy glare. “I have heard of your union. On the streets, from town gossips. As if my own daughter, my own flesh and blood, was nothing better than a strumpet to be discussed in tavern halls.”
Standing by the empty fireplace, her father cleared his throat. “Now Mother, do not be so hasty to judge. Perhaps some tea first, and then we can discuss...”
“We have none, and if we did, I would not serve it to...” Mrs. Reeves bit her trembling lip, as if struggling to hold back foul words. “Them.”
Drawing in a deep breath, Amanda struggled for courage. “We did come to tell you ourselves as soon as we were able.”
“No banns in the church! Not even a proper church wedding!” Mrs. Reeves narrowed her gaze. “How could you, Amanda?”
Her heart sank to her stomach. Amanda looked at her lap, feeling as chagrined and ashamed as when she’d been caught in the garden with John.
Jeffrey squeezed her trembling hand. “’Tis my fault, Mrs. Reeves, for I was so besotted with your daughter, I made haste to hurry her to the altar. We married in another township, and a pastor did officiate. According to the church, we are married.”
As Amanda finally looked up, her husband gave her a tender smile. “I insisted she run away with me to marry.”
Papa tilted his head, looking curious. “And you agreed to this, Amanda?”
“He gave me no choice,” she said dryly. “Jeffrey can be most persuasive.”
“Indeed. I stole her away before she could steal away the very heart of me.”
Jeffrey gave Amanda a conspiratorial wink as her mother looked upward as if beseeching Heaven. Choking back a startled gasp, Amanda bit her lip.
Her father looked pleadingly at her mother. “You see, Mother? All is well. The young people are properly married. There is no reason to fret.”
Encouraged by her father’s words, Amanda added, “All was done within the law, Mother. And in a proper church. I do hope you will be happy for us and give us your blessing.”
“My blessing?” Mrs. Reeves leaned forward, her mouth thinning. “You shall never receive my blessing, Amanda. I warned you. You have greatly disappointed me in your deportment. I’d sooner bless a trollop than the daughter who betrayed us by marrying the radical upstart who ruined us financially. You would have been better off marrying a daft pauper in the almshouse than him. For shame! Did I not warn you of the pleasures of the flesh would lead you to ruin?”
The delightful scones she’d consumed at Elizabeth’s turned sour in her stomach as her mother continued to rail. Through the entire discourse, Jeffrey remained calm, his expression mild. Now his mouth thinned. Finally he held up a hand.
“If I may say a few words, Mrs. Reeves?” He gave a cold, cynical smile. “And give you a chance to draw in a breath and ponder a few more insults?”
For once, Amanda’s mother was speechless.
Never had he met a more coldhearted witch. How could such a wretched prude of a woman have birthed his fiery, passionate Mandy?
As her mother castigated Amanda, Jeffrey had watched his wife’s composure crumble. With considerable effort, he reeled in his temper before speaking again.
“I understand your deep concern for your daughter.” Knowing Mrs. Reeves would remain ignorant of his sarcasm, he pressed on.
“I have a business proposition. I understand the impact the boycott has had on your store.” Though he itched to shout at the Reeves’, he kept his tone civil, but placed his palm over Amanda’s trembling hands.
She was all he cared about, not her parents or their financial welfare.
Mrs. Reeves turned a cold eye on him, acknowledging him at last.
“The boycott your boorish friends advocated,” she began.
Ignoring her, Jeffrey pressed on, directing his attention to the quieter Arthur Reeves.
“My sister is away, visiting her in-laws and purchasing an oak and pine loom in South Carolina to make cloth. There are men confined to the parish almshouse who desire to be apprenticed to a local weaver, and women who want to spin wool. I promised Meg if she taught the women to spin, and found a weaver agreeing to apprentice the men, I’d secure a worthy merchant to display and sell the items they produce. I can think of no better shop than yours.”
Sour disdain remained in Mrs. Reeves’ expression, but Amanda’s father looked intrigued. Jeffrey added, “’Tis no paltry sum the goods will bring into your shop, for colonists will now be desiring to purchase local cloth. ’Tis a good business arrangement for all.”
“It does sound like a most fair arrangement,” Arthur ventured, but his wife sniffed.
Enough of this. Jeffrey turned to Amanda and forced a smile. “Mandy, I need to discuss a private matter with your father. Why do you not go into the shop with your mother and find a shelf to display the wares?”
Mrs. Reeves started to protest, but fell silent beneath her husband’s scowl.
When his wife and mother-in-law left the parlor, Jeffrey turned to Arthur Reeves. No need to mince words now.
“I know of the money you owe Dunmore. I’ve arranged with George Wythe to settle this, and all the debts you incurred before Mandy became my bride.”
Arthur Reeves’ eyes widened as if Jeffrey had suggested deeding all the colonies over to his possession. “’Tis a considerable sum for a blacksmith to pay.”
Aye, he thought. Enough to make the town drunk on ale. “I am not a mere blacksmith, Mr. Reeves. I have a goodly amount saved from my labors and my business dealings.”
Then, because he knew a man’s pride was a delicate matter, he added, “Consider the money a means to make amends for stealing away your lovely daughter, without seeking your permission first.”
Amanda’s father brightened. “That is a most, er, fair agreement, Mr. Clayton.”
“Jeffrey,” he corrected, “Seeing that we are relations.”
“Yes.” The man nodded, then bristled. “You did take away our daughter without permission and caused us grav
e concern.”
“I had deep feelings for Amanda, and found myself in a situation where ’twas best for all concerned to conduct the wedding in private. I assure you, I intend to make her happy, and provide handsomely for her.”
“I should hope so. Though there is still the matter of your reputation as a radical. We had hoped for a better match for our Amanda.”
Jeffrey’s temper slipped a notch. “Aye, I am certain you did, but the matter is done and we shall move forward.”
“I suppose ’tis best. Though I do not know what Lord Dunmore will make of the match. You have caused us considerable trouble, Mr. Clayton.”
“When your debt is settled with the governor, you will have no further cause to worry.”
“Financially, yes, but my wife, er, we both are most concerned as to how we can hold up our heads among polite society because of your association with her.” Arthur Reeves shook his head as if Jeffrey were a criminal sentenced to hang. “’Tis most distressing, knowing Amanda’s streak of rash behavior. I was lax. I should have disciplined her for her waywardness.”
Discipline? Such as taking a cane and beating her? Jeffrey’s temper frayed.
“Amanda is a good, gentle soul who deserves happiness.” He gave a tight smile. “I assure you, I intend to make her happy. I apologize for any inconvenience our elopement may have caused, but she is my wife now, and my concern. My concern alone.”
He took a deep breath. “And if you ever touch my wife, other than to offer a kiss on her cheek, you will suffer the consequences.”
Arthur Reeves turned white as a bed sheet. His mouth gaped open and he stuttered. Not waiting for a rebuttal, Jeffrey stood, unable to contain his rage any longer. He spied a stubby candle on a scratched table and picked it up. “If you ever attempt to beat her again, I’ll break you like this.”
Holding the man’s gaze with his own, he snapped the candle in half. Gasping, Arthur put a shaky hand to his throat.
Letting the broken pieces fall, he narrowed his gaze. “No one, and I mean no one, hurts my Mandy.”
Then he offered a thin smile. “That is all I wish to discuss with you. I advise you to go downstairs and take your wife to George Wythe’s house. He’s expecting you to call, and he will discuss with you the details of the financial transactions.”
While Reeves scurried downstairs, Jeffrey sat down, fisting his hands and reciting the ranging rules. For Amanda’s sake, he had to control his fury.
As footsteps fell on the hardwood floor, he looked up. Arthur Reeves stood in the doorway with a worried-looking Amanda.
“Is all well, Jeffrey?”
“Aye.” He forced a smile. “Is your mother downstairs still?”
“She needed to sweep the store.”
The witch could not be parted from her broom for long. Jeffrey looked at Arthur Reeves. “’Tis best you leave now, for George has the papers ready for you to sign.”
Her father patted her hand. “Amanda dear, all is well. Your husband has made a most generous offer to settle all our debts.”
Amanda’s eyes widened. Jeffrey gave a brusque nod.
“He is quite an, er, impassioned gentleman, but I believe his affections are sincere for you. He told me he had deep feelings for you for some time and desired only to make you happy.” Hesitating a moment, the man leaned forward and brushed a quick kiss against his daughter’s cheek.
When he went back downstairs, Jeffrey finally relaxed. “Why don’t we go to your room and gather the rest of your belongings? ’Tis an opportune time, while your parents are not here.”
And while her mother the witch, wasn’t present to harangue her more.
Amanda brightened. “Yes. I would like that. There are a few hidden treasures I need to bring with me.”
“Such as a volume of Voltaire?” he teased, enjoying how her cheeks pinked.
“’Tis tucked beneath my favorite reading chair. The chair, and my dressing table and the washstand are good quality imports from England,” Mischief played in her smile. “I would insist on bringing them as well, were I not confident my husband would use them as firewood.”
Jeffrey laughed, glad to see her good humor restored.
He followed her up the narrow stairs to her bed chamber. But as she opened the door, Amanda gasped.
Anger snaked through him as he joined her inside the room.
Only the bed and a scratched dresser remained. Shelving that must have held precious ornaments had only clean spots where those objects once rested.
The Reeves had every right to sell their belongings. But to take away Amanda’s personal possessions? He inwardly cursed not instructing Jake to bring all her things to the farm, instead of only a small trunk of clothing and toiletries.
Color drained from her face. Her lower lip wobbled as she looked around the room. His chest felt hollow as he watched tears glisten in her eyes, but she blinked them back and forced a brave smile.
“It appears a trifle empty, does it not? It will take much less time to pack now.”
Jeffrey’s hands trembled as he fought against taking her slender, pale hand and leading her out of this hated house.
But she needed closure.
One hand touching her bare throat, the other resting upon the bare dresser, Amanda gave him a pleading look. “I hid my emerald necklet here. My grandmother gave it to me when I was but ten and two. She had worn it when presented to the King. Surely it must be here. Mother would never sell it. ’Tis a family treasure.”
Throat tight, he watched her search the chipped, battered dresser. Hope flared on her face each time she wrenched a drawer open, then her gaze dulled as she found it empty.
Dropping to her knees, she paused, fingers upon the last knobs. Amanda took a deep breath, bowing her head. Then she gave a hard tug. The drawer stuck firm, resisting her efforts. With each successive attempt, her breathing grew shallower.
His heart beating fast, Jeffrey looked at his wife and saw not a woman kneeling before a battered dresser, but himself, forced to his knees by British soldiers as his house burned.
Heat from the roaring inferno licked his face as he struggled with impotent force to surge upward, run inside and retrieve cherished family heirlooms. The soldiers’ mocking laughter thundered in his ears, accompanied by the steady snap and crackle of flames eating through timber and time.
He could stand it no longer and crouched down beside her. “Here, allow me.”
Praying that something would be inside, he sucked in a deep breath and gently opened the last drawer. Amanda stared at the empty interior with a crestfallen expression. She ran her hands along the surface, her nails digging into each crevice.
“It must be here, mayhap it fell between the boards. I hid it well, I’m certain I did.”
Jeffrey caught her wrist in a gentle grip. “’Tis of no use, Mandy. There is nothing here, sweet.”
Shoulders slumped, she dropped her hands.
“The necklet was admired by Royals. The King himself commented on how comely she looked. I have no treasures left to remember my grandmother. Mother has even sold the family portraits.”
Heartsick, he watched her gather her shredded dignity. As they stood, Amanda dusted off her hands.
“’Tis no matter. They are only things, not people. Nor animals. The jewelry will go to a goodly family, I am certain, a girl who will wear it and admire it for how pretty she looks...”
Then she dropped her head, her shoulders shaking. Cursing her parents, Jeffrey gently gathered his wife into his arms, cradling her head against his shoulder. “Let it out, Mandy,” he whispered, stroking a hand down her spine. “’Tis not shameful to cry.”
For a few moments, she sobbed into his shoulder as he continued to hold her close. Finally, she raised her tear-swollen gaze. Jeffrey offered his handkerchief, smiling tenderly as she wiped her eyes and blew her nose.
Then he gently stroked his thumbs down her cheeks, wiping away the lingering wetness. Jeffrey did not know how else to comfort
her. He bent his head and kissed her temple, then gently touched his mouth to hers, hoping to ease her pain.
Amanda lifted her face on a sigh. Encouraged, he kissed her again, moving his mouth leisurely over hers. Pleasure sharpened as she parted her lips and delicately touched her tongue to his.
He deepened the kiss, cradling her head in his hands, sipping at her mouth, delivering the tiny nips and licks he knew she enjoyed. Finally they broke free.
Passion darkened her eyes, but she looked troubled.
“Jeffrey. What are we doing?”
Concerned at her tone, he cupped her chin. “What is wrong, Mandy? Do you wish to leave and go home?”
Indecision flared on her face. She glanced around, bit her lip and then he saw defiance spark.
“No, husband. We are married now, and as you have said, there is no sin in a married couple showing physical affection.” She threaded her arms around his neck. “I have a desire for you to demonstrate much more of that affection, husband.”
Joy filled him, not at the sensual promise in her eyes, but at her declaration. It was as if she’d finally begun to break the shackles her prudish mother had placed upon her wrists.
With a coy smile, Amanda removed the pins holding her hair fast, letting the locks tumble down to her waist. She reached up and kissed him. Her mouth was warm and silky. Jeffrey fisted a hand in her hair, his mouth moving over hers. The wet warmth of her silky lips enflamed him. Inside his breeches, his cock hardened to stone.
Then she pulled away, a naughty smile touching her kiss-swollen mouth. Amanda toyed with the ribbon fastening her bodice.
“Here?” he asked, a bit doubtful.
“’Tis a fine feather bed. Wouldn’t you like to test the mattress? ’Tis most comfortable.”
Remembering the challenge he’d issued in his own bedchamber when he caught her snooping, Jeffrey laughed.
“But I do need your help, husband. May I ask your assistance in loosening my stays?”
His gaze shifted to the swell of her breasts. His blood surged hotly as he remembered another dress tightly laced and how he’d unfastened it, her breasts threatening to spill over like rich, ripe fruit. He had wanted to take her there on the bed in the Raleigh, only his tight control preventing him from plunging into her hot sweetness.
The Patriot's Conquest Page 19
