Oh, no, now what?
She paused, precariously, glancing back toward Lavender’s room. Perhaps she would need to somehow shinny down the vine from her veranda.
Great-aunt Sophie’s voice sounded clearly in the hall. “Karlton is home. He arrived last night.”
Father was home! Oh, joy! But the angry tone of Geneva’s voice and the alarm in Great-aunt Sophie’s halted her thoughts. Something was dreadfully wrong.
“If you’ll not pay heed to me, Geneva, I shall need to go to him with this letter.”
“It’s my marriage. Karlton has nothing to do with it. Whether he approves of Felix or not won’t alter our plans for the wedding.”
Emerald knew how much Foxemoore meant to Lady Geneva. She was a bright woman, who had expended her energies into making Foxemoore into one of the largest sugar-producing plantations on Jamaica or Barbados. At least two rich planters had wanted to marry her, but Geneva was wed to Foxemoore and determined to make the Harwick name as respected as the Buckington nobility in England.
“If I ever marry,” she was reported to have told the family, “it will be to a man whose position strengthens Foxemoore.”
Emerald had heard that Geneva’s marriage to Felix would give them control of Foxemoore. And if Felix inherited the earldom, Geneva would become a countess.
Great-aunt Sophie’s voice shook. “You are making a mistake ignoring this letter. There is Jette to think of.”
“And I wish to adopt Jette. Felix agrees.”
“You’re forgetting what Baret might think. After all, Jette is his half brother. They had the same father.”
“And their father is dead.”
“Jette will never take to Felix. You can’t destroy childish memories of his father.”
“The child dreams too much.”
“Let him dream if he wishes. It is the way of small boys. His father was a great seaman.”
“Seaman!” There was a tinge of bitterness in her voice. “A buccaneer! I told him not to go to sea that last time. I begged—”
Geneva’s voice stopped abruptly, and when she spoke again the old calm that Emerald remembered was back. The strength of will sounded in her dignified voice. “Come, Sophie, must we speak of all this on the eve of Felix’s arrival? He’s an important man in London, a counselor of His Majesty. He’s quite confident once we’ve married and brought Jette to Buckington House that the earl will agree we should adopt him as our own.”
“No one can replace the image the child has of his real father. It’s a mistake to try. So you think me foolish and meddling, do you?”
“Never mind Jette for now. It is Felix we are discussing. That letter!” came the scornful tone. “It’s from an old busy-body in London. It’s absolute nonsense.”
“Doubtless you wish to think so. Lady Thelma is a decent woman. So do you intend to ignore it?”
“Can I do anything else? It’s quite absurd. It’s purely Shakespearean.”
“Shakespeare knew the vices of human nature quite well. I suspect he would look into Felix’s heart as though it were transparent. You ought to read him more often.”
Geneva gave a taut laugh. “I suppose you recommend Macbeth in this instance?”
“It will do quite well where Felix is concerned.”
“Poor Felix. He doesn’t know what he’s coming up against in this family. He’s not only inheriting an eight-year-old child who has already decided to dislike him but now a great-aunt who chooses to believe foolish gossip from one of London’s worst dowagers.”
“I am certain Felix feels quite a match for the Harwicks as well as the gossip in London. His confidence is quite offensive.”
“Do shut the door, for goodness’ sake! In a moment you’ll arouse everyone.”
“Is this the gratitude I receive in my senior years? And after I’ve invested my entire life in you, giving up my own plans for remarriage and a life of my own?”
“Sophie, that’s unfair. You know I adore you, only—”
“If anything happens to you in London—”
Geneva’s laugh cut in. “Some people will believe anything if it’s whispered. That includes you, dear, if you believe the hysteria of a nasty letter. Burn it, tear it up—do anything with it you like, but don’t come to me on the eve of my wedding with gossip. I won’t listen. It’s gone too far.”
“To back out? Far better to admit you were wrong than ruin little Jette’s life. And your own. You’re still young, Geneva. And his first wife did die, you know.”
“Of course she died. Felix said she was ill for many years. We can be pleased the poor woman is now removed from affliction. He said she suffered so.”
“Did she now? The letter says she died quite suddenly. And without a physician.”
Geneva gave a laugh. “You always imagine the worst. Just like Beatrice, always suggesting a slave uprising on Foxemoore. Sophie, I fear your imagination has gone too far this time. Do you actually expect me to believe Felix would deliberately refuse to call a physician?”
“Tsk! Did I say that?”
“You hinted—”
“I didn’t hint. I said he may have deliberately eliminated his wife in order to marry you.”
A gasp came from Geneva, followed by a moment of silence.
Outside in the hall, Emerald’s fist went to her mouth.
“I’ve never heard anything so wild and ridiculous. Give me that letter, Sophie. I shall burn it myself.”
“No—”
There followed a small thud, as though a chair had tipped over in someone’s haste to stand.
“There!” came Geneva’s breathless voice a moment later. “It’s reduced to ashes. Have you mentioned this to anyone else?”
“No,” came Great-aunt’s weak voice.
“This is my concern. I’ll hear no more of this nonsense.”
“I think you’re making a dreadful mistake. Felix doesn’t love you.”
There was a startled gasp, then something fell and shattered.
Geneva’s voice shook. “That will be quite enough. You may go now.”
“I was already leaving,” came the crisp reply.
Emerald quickly stepped back, but there was no place to hide. She cast a glance over her shoulder, too late.
“Emerald!”
Emerald turned swiftly and faced her father’s cousin, standing in the chamber doorway. She desperately hoped that her expression was hid in the shadowy hall.
Unlike that of her golden-haired sister, Beatrice, Geneva’s hair was a light auburn. Her skin was so pale that tiny veins showed in her temples. It was whispered that as a young woman she had lost the one man in London she had loved and that she had never loved again until meeting Felix. By the time Geneva had returned to Foxemoore she had been betrothed.
Emerald had always considered Geneva to be a more gracious woman than Aunt Beatrice, but perhaps that was only because Geneva treated her with a trifle more kindness.
Emerald felt the pale blue eyes rivet upon her as though trying to detect whether or not she had overheard. Her heart pounded. She must not know.
“I … um … was just leaving Miss Lavender’s room,” she said, her voice oddly calm.
Geneva made no reply and watched her in the shadows.
Emerald added, “I … also wished to inquire about Jette.”
Although Emerald looked upon Jette as a nephew, he was far removed from her bloodline. She got on well with him and knew that he was not looking forward to the marriage. Geneva had raised Jette from the time he was three years old, and brought him to Foxemoore soon after the death of his father, Royce Buckington. The child’s mother was unknown.
Jette had told Emerald that he did not want to journey with Geneva and Felix to London. Geneva knew this as well, and her expression showed tension over the matter of Jette’s response to Felix.
“As a matter of fact, Emerald, I’m pleased you’re here. Jette has learned your father is home from sea and wishes to spend the night at the
Manor. I’ve granted him permission, hoping to appease him. You know how upset he is about the wedding on Saturday.”
Emerald felt embarrassed. “Yes, he is rather nervous about getting a new father.”
“Make certain Minette brings him back to the house early in the morning. He’ll breakfast here and then remain with his new governess until Lord Felix arrives.”
“Yes, I’ll see to it at once.”
Geneva turned to walk to her room, then paused. She looked back at Emerald with a softer expression. “You look lovely in your new dress. Did Karlton bring it to you from his voyage?”
Emerald felt her face warm. What could she say? “It’s not mine. It’s borrowed. It—it belongs to a friend of my father.”
“I see. It does wonders for you. I never realized how pretty you are.”
Emerald stared at her, taken aback. It was painful to discover that a mere casual compliment coming from Lady Geneva could please her so much. Realizing she hungered so deeply made her vulnerable.
Geneva too seemed a little uneasy and hesitant. “You may go now, Emerald.”
“Yes … yes, of course. Good night.”
“Good night,” came the cursory reply.
Emerald walked past her, careful not to cast a curious glance into the bedroom. Great-aunt Sophie had chosen not to let her presence be known.
Then they didn’t suspect I overheard, she thought.
“And Emerald—” interrupted Geneva.
She turned, managing a studied calm. “Yes?”
“Mr. Pitt has informed me that we have some escaped convicts. A Jamie Bradford, for one. He said you knew him well. Is this true?”
Emerald’s heart thundered as she wondered how she could answer. “Jamie is a friend of Ty,” she stated. “I know him well, yes. He’s no convict though and would never plot with Ty to create an uprising among the slaves. Mr. Pitt is a cruel man, and I would go so far as to say he’s lying about him.”
“Mr. Pitt is a good overseer. He’s doing his duty to the family in hunting down the runaways.”
It was on the tip of Emerald’s tongue to protest, but she said nothing and felt the perspiration break out on her forehead.
“If Jamie Bradford was a friend of yours, I am sorry, but he’s a wanted man,” said Geneva. “If he contacts you, it’s your duty and obligation to send word at once. Ty will be coming back tomorrow from Brideswell with Jonah.”
“He was branded,” came Emerald’s tight voice, and her eyes met Geneva’s evenly.
Geneva let out a breath, as though the entire incident, as well as Emerald’s relation to it, was a trial.
“An unfortunate situation. Mr. Pitt said he ran away and, when located, put up a struggle. He tried to kill our overseer and was taken to Brideswell with Bradford. If the magistrate deemed a branding necessary, then there is little I can say about it.”
“It was not necessary, Lady Geneva,” Emerald found her shaking voice saying boldly. “It was inhumane. And I doubt that Ty tried to kill Mr. Pitt—I’m quite sure it was the other way around.”
A sharp voice interrupted from the doorway of Geneva’s bedchamber.
“That will be quite enough, Emerald. You may go now. Karlton is waiting for you at the Manor. He came home last night.”
The voice belonged to Lady Sophie, her father’s aunt. She was an elegant woman in her seventies with immaculate white hair and bristling pale eyebrows. Dressed in dark satin with pristine white lace at the throat and wrists, she overwhelmed Emerald. She had never spoken more than a dozen sentences to Emerald at one time in her entire sixteen years.
For a moment Emerald had the notion that she should curtsy, as though to a countess. She held back the lump in her throat. Something within her was deeply hurt, and she believed that the wound would never heal.
Keeping her head high, she turned and walked down the hallway. She reached the grand staircase, polished and gleaming, and came to the wide hall below and the large mahogany front door. The serving man Henry appeared but, seeing she was not a family member, went on about his business instead of opening the door.
Emerald planned to depart by way of the servants’ entry at the back. She passed through the cook room on the way.
Grand preparations for the wedding were already under way. An outdoor supper was to be held on the front lawn. She saw a dozen fowl plucked and ready for the smoking pit, and sweet cakes and breads were baking in the stone ovens, sending off a mixture of aromatic smells. But she had no appetite and went out the door to be greeted by the late afternoon wind.
I must get home to Father, she told herself.
She quickened her steps and hurried across the backyard and around the side of the large house to where Minette waited with the buggy.
Her brooding amber eyes fixed on Emerald. “Is Lavender going to help us?”
“No,” said Emerald dully, her weariness showing.
Minette scowled and glanced over her shoulder at the big white house.
Emerald climbed onto the buggy seat. “We’ll take the main road home even if it’s longer.”
“It’s going to rain,” said Minette, looking up at the gray sky.
“I don’t care. Anything to avoid Mr. Pitt coming from the slave huts.” She picked up the reins.
“Aye, I saw him riding that way,” said Minette coldly. “To stop the singing, no doubt.” She looked at Emerald with flashing eyes. “He’s dared to tell Mathias the Singing School should be shut down. Said that Lord Felix would do it when he came.”
“Mathias will never close the school,” said Emerald, staring ahead and giving the reins a flip. The horse trotted down the road as the dried fronds on the tall palms rustled in the wind.
Minette frowned but said nothing and drew her worn cane hat lower over her head. Her long hair fluttered like ripened wheat.
Emerald too was frowning. She knew an uneasy moment. What would her father say when she returned to Foxemoore after being away? She would need to do some explaining for spending the night at the lookout house. He would not be pleased over her making a spectacle of herself trying to stop the public condemnation of Ty. Worse yet, he would hold no sympathy for her wish to marry Jamie. But now that Lavender had failed her, she must try to convince her father to intervene in his plight.
10
STRANGER ON THE ROAD
The dirt road was hedged with palm trees, and pools of shade dotted the path of Emerald’s buggy. Last night’s rain had only added to today’s sultriness, and the breezes rattling the palm branches did little to cool her. The air reeked of wet earth and tropical flowering vines. Nettlesome insects were thick, and she was grateful for the thin veil on her widebrimmed hat that helped protect her face.
Her troubled thoughts left her own plight to mull again over the conversation she had overheard between her great-aunt and Geneva.
Impossible. Geneva is right—it can’t be true about Lord Felix, she thought. After all, Sophie was a brilliant woman in her younger years, but she must be nearing her seventy-fifth birthday. Perhaps she’s begun to imagine things.
But had she imagined the letter from London? Then again, whoever this woman was who had sent it, she too could be aged and, as Geneva insisted, a “gossip.” And yet …
Emerald remembered that her father had disapproved of his cousin Felix. The man was overbearing and managed to manipulate others by pretending a false interest in family concerns.
What if it were true? What if Felix had forced the matter of his ailing wife in order to marry Geneva?
Like a harbinger of ill to come, sullen clouds threatening a sudden tropical storm were blowing in over the sea, black racing clouds that erased the sun and darkened the late afternoon sky.
She gave a light flick of her whip, and the horse quickened its trot down the road. The tall cane rippled in the wind like green waves.
A drop of rain wet her hand.
She had heard that Lady Geneva could be stubborn. If a decision was deemed to be the right on
e, there was little room for compromise. Emerald had always secretly admired Geneva’s strength, even when she would not accept Emerald into the family. And she had never admired her more than when she had lost the man she loved. Geneva had gone on with life, head unbowed by discouragement. And yet, although her spirit of determination could be a strength, if pursued with a wrong motive it could also become a flaw.
“Just why would Geneva marry Felix?” she murmured thoughtfully to Minette at her side.
Minette appeared in no pleasant mood. She gave her a dry look. “Because she’s misguided enough to love him. I can’t say I blame her, though. I’d marry too, if a man could make me respectable.”
Emerald gave her a look that rebuked her, but Minette met her gaze evenly. “I’m going to marry a Frenchman. You’ll see. No slaves for me, even if my mother was African. And I’m going to have me a whole trunkful of silks and lace frocks, and a dozen pert hats, and silk stockings—”
“Will you hush, Minette? We’ve more to worry about now. I overheard something dreadful back at the house.”
“It’s no great wonder to me. The house is full of mean folk.”
Shall I tell her? wondered Emerald and scanned her face. She decided against it. Minette was in no mood to hear. She would need to keep the dreadful words she had overheard to herself until she knew what to do about them.
Her father was home. Surely she could tell him.
Emerald believed that Geneva would go through with the wedding, despite Great-aunt Sophie’s warning. And Lord Felix sounded like the kind of man who knew exactly what he wanted.
Blinking against the raindrops, she glanced up at the rolling clouds, then lowered her veil again. “If it rains, it will ruin the wedding supper on the lawn.”
For a moment she was inclined to earnestly pray that a hurricane would come and sweep everything away—including Geneva’s marriage.
Emerald drove the carriage past the breadfruit trees planted years earlier by the Spaniards to feed their slaves. Parrots squawked peacefully in the branches.
Suddenly, pounding hoofbeats from behind cut through the lazy somnolence like bold intruders determined to change events. Startled, her thoughts were diverted as the horses thundered closer.
Buccaneers Series Page 10
