Sir Geoffrey shook his head as he hopped on one foot and clapped his hands with the music. How bizarre they were dancing to so lively a tune when their conversation was so disturbing. Ceressa could feel the pressure of tears.
“I’ve given up hoping for more between us. He’s asked to meet with me before he leaves tonight, and I already know what’s going to happen. We’ll rant and rave and argue. I’ll end up saying something regretful, and he will, too, and then we’ll both storm off, and I won’t see him for another seven years. It’s bad enough that he’s cast his lot with barbarous malcontents, convicts, and thieves who have flocked to the colony. I know Latimer is unhappy, and I am the cause of most of it. I’ve prayed to the Lord to grant patience and wisdom when dealing with my s—” He halted, then continued, “brother’s son. I’ve no right to beseech God for help when I’ve sinned so unforgivably. Yet, I can’t stand by and watch Latimer make the same mistakes. Why is he so angry with me for simply wanting…forgive me, Ceressa. Enough of this troubling talk.”
Biting her lip, Ceressa forced back questions that hovered. She had no wish to add to his sorrow and regrets. The music ended, and Ceressa rose up on her toes to kiss Sir Geoffrey’s weathered cheek. He gave her a tired, sad smile as he folded his hand over hers. He seemed so defeated and heartsick that Ceressa uttered a silent prayer that the Lord would unburden his soul.
“I have longed to see you find a good man, Ceressa; a man who could match you in spirit, intelligence, and goodness of heart, devoted to God and living a life according to His will. Forgive me for meddling, but Montvale doesn’t quite measure up to my expectations of the man you should marry. He loves his poetry and his books, but that’s hardly a basis for marriage. Reva overheard Lady Smythewick tonight tell the viscount’s mother that a match between the two of you would be most suitable. Have a care.”
“I have no intentions of marrying anyone. The viscount may stir my intellect but little else. Don’t concern yourself. And stop blaming yourself for the trouble between you and Latimer. You raised him and his sister after your brother lost his head to Cromwell’s executioner. You’ve done all that you can. The rest is up to Latimer.”
“And God,” Sir Geoffrey added. Ceressa smiled up into his haggard face. She understood his concern over Latimer, but Latimer was a man nearing a score and ten and had been on his own for some time. Looking to her side, she noticed that Lady Smythewick approached, and she stepped away from Sir Geoffrey. Certain the dowager had decided it was her turn to dance with the host, Ceressa gave a curtsy, and then cautiously moved away.
Her heart sank when she felt a light tap, dread engulfing her as she turned and had her worst fears confirmed. Slowly, she forced a smile, her heart sinking as the viscount opened his mouth. Before Montvale could utter a word, though, Latimer joined them. As Ceressa met his gaze, her heart soared, and her pulse raced. Without apologizing to the aggravated viscount, Latimer led her toward the other dancers, slipping her into place, his hand on her waist. She felt bereft when he released her as he bowed. She automatically curtsied.
“I’m beginning to understand,” he said, as he raised her arm with his as the first steps of the dance began. His eyes were mocking, and his voice vibrated along every nerve as though they were the plucked strings of a violin. She pretended to concentrate on other dancers, but when he placed his hand on her waist and drew her closer than the dance steps necessitated, she had no choice but to look up.
“What is it you understand?”
He would never permit her to ignore him for the duration of the dance. Pulling her around suddenly, she lost her balance and fell against him. His gaze bored into hers even as she attempted to perform the steps.
“I saw you kiss him. You must be my uncle’s mistress. That’s why you won’t tell me who you are.”
“I most assuredly am not,” she uttered in outrage, then glanced around to see if anyone heard Latimer’s ridiculous accusation. Lowering her voice, she added. “If you had sense, you would know that a God-fearing man such as Sir Geoffrey would never engage in a relationship of that nature.”
“I don’t believe you. Not that it matters. He’s no better than the rest of us sinners. I can admit I’ve done wrong.”
“And that makes it right?”
Latimer’s manner was irritating. “Of course not,” he had the grace to admit. “I was saying I have no problem telling the truth even when doing so is to my detriment. You would rather lie than confess to an improper relationship with my fa—uncle.”
Had he been about to say “father?” She was unable to consider that oddity when the enormity of his preceding words struck. “I would have preferred dancing with the viscount who wouldn’t have spent our time insulting me.”
“I sincerely doubt that.” His audacity made her want to slap him.
“If only you knew—” she said then shut her mouth. Let him make a fool of himself. Once she revealed her name, he’d be left shame-faced and humiliated. Latimer was arrogant and rude, the sort of man her parents had cautioned against. To think she’d been misguided enough to be infatuated with the jackanapes for seven years.
“If only I knew what?” he goaded as they marched forward in time with the music.
The pressure of his hand on her waist increased, and she imagined she could feel fingers digging into flesh, which angered and offended. “You’re hurting me.”
She found herself pulled around to face him, his look fierce. She opened her mouth to berate his atrocious behavior and poor manners until she realized he was as frustrated as Sir Geoffrey. What happened to cause these two such pain and antagonism, that the mere mention of the other caused them to dissolve into an apoplectic fit? These two needed the peace that only God could give. That Latimer could believe she was involved with Sir Geoffrey was beyond her comprehension. It was time she ended their partnering on the ballroom floor. “Given the foolishness of your words, I want nothing more to do with you.”
Breaking free, she lifted skirts and commenced toward the opposite side of the ballroom. To her consternation, he grasped her elbow and forced her forward. His strides were long and purposeful, and she grew breathless as she kept apace. When the viscount made the mistake of attempting to speak to Ceressa, Latimer nearly knocked the man down, pushing past him in a most ungentlemanly manner.
The years Latimer had spent in the Virginia colony had turned him into a raving beast. There was no choice but to go with Latimer or risk a scene, heaping further misery upon Sir Geoffrey.
Exiting the ballroom, he led her through several rooms before entering the garden. Latimer stopped suddenly, and she crashed into him. Grabbing hold of his sleeve, she attempted to keep herself upright. He put an arm about her waist. There was no light in this section of the garden that would allow her to see his expression, but his tone clearly conveyed mood.
“I brought you here to warn you. If you are so bereft of sense as to imagine yourself taken with Geoffrey Kirkleigh, divest yourself of such a notion. You might think him gentlemanly and courtly; a fine man and good Christian, but he is anything but. He is a liar, a man given to deceit, twisting and bending and manipulating to his advantage. And though you seem young, you have the beauty and manner of a courtier and are accustomed to intrigue. You would do well to stay clear of Sir Geoffrey.”
Ceressa’s mind reeled beneath Latimer’s words, and her legs threatened to give way, though she was clasped close by his arm. Grasping her chin, he forced her face up, his own hovering just above. She breathed deeply of his manly scent, an oddly intoxicating blend of tobacco, heated flesh, fresh linen, and sandalwood. Had Latimer lost his mind? Why was he saying such things about Sir Geoffrey? Light-headed and woozy, she feared she would swoon. Then she found her arms grasped by strange, unforgiving, harsh Latimer, and he shook her slightly.
“Who are you?” His voice was rough with demand.
The nerve of him. She hadn’t done anything. It was he who’d made all the wrong assumptions. But then she’d withhel
d her identity. He’d warned her earlier that he was not in the mood for any game.
“You remind me of a young girl I once knew.”
Terror beat against her heart as she wondered if her identity was to be revealed. Taking hold of a loosened tendril, Latimer twined it about his strong, lean finger.
“I remember her hair smelled of roses.” His voice was thick with emotion as though he struggled with inner turmoil.
He pressed his nose to the lock of hair. Of course it bore the scent of roses. It was her favorite. She was suddenly, horribly afraid and thrilled that he might realize who she was. To her dismay, he released her hair and straightened.
“You cannot be that girl.”
Something raw and painful twisted inside Ceressa. What did he mean by that statement? That she, the grown version, was a disappointment, falling far short of his expectations of what Ceressa would now be like? She was wounded by his words and hurt almost beyond bearing. Averting her face, Ceressa fought back a wayward tear. It escaped, and Latimer was too quick in detecting it. He ran his thumb across her cheek and her heart lurched.
“Why do you cry? I didn’t mean to upset you.” His voice was gentle and was her complete undoing.
“If you don’t mind,” she began unsteadily, still fighting the urge to weep, “I’d like to return to the ballroom.”
“No, please. I’m sorry. I’ve upset you. I wish that you would stay here longer. I feel that I must learn more about you. And there’s much you don’t know about me. In fact, you may prefer not to know too much.”
She sensed he was teasing and the mood lightened. But even so, she had to get away. “Please, I need to go.”
A silence fell between them, broken when he released a deep sigh. “I prefer to remain here. There’s nothing within that beckons me. I believe you can find your way on your own.” He released her, bowed stiffly, and then quickly walked away opposite the way they had come.
She stood there listening to the sound of steps upon the path until they faded. Uttering a frustrated groan, Ceressa sat down upon a stone bench, silently railing her contribution to an emotional upheaval that had spiraled into a waking nightmare. She’d accomplished nothing. Latimer’s return to Virginia couldn’t happen soon enough.
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If I want Latimer to go back to Virginia, why am I crying? Ceressa demanded fifteen minutes later as she still sat. She was weighted by an inexplicable paralysis that refused to let her stand, much less walk. It would have been better to have told Latimer the truth from the moment he’d dislodged the piece of toast. When he did discover who she was, he’d think her deceitful and would no longer cherish the memory he had of her.
She couldn’t remain in the garden sobbing all night. She was chilled to the bone. Sir Geoffrey was likely wondering where she’d gone. The last thing she needed was to cause the man worry by learning she’d had an unpleasant encounter with Latimer. Tucking back the loosened curls, Ceressa came gingerly to her feet and walked. She hoped no one would notice one woman with reddened eyes and disarrayed locks. She knew the dear maid who’d taken such pains with her coiffure would have the vapors if she could see her now.
What worried her most was encountering Latimer. How could he be such a blind idiot, too stupid to see who she was? Such thoughts were most displeasing to the Lord, and Ceressa silently begged forgiveness. But Latimer should have known who she was even if it had been seven years. He should have known.
Slipping inside the main house, Ceressa entered a dimly lit, unoccupied room. Hurrying across the space, she let herself out. She’d taken but two steps when she heard raised voices coming from the room opposite the one she’d just exited. One of the voices belonged to Sir Geoffrey. And just as angry was the unmistakable voice of Latimer. This discussion was one of a personal nature, and she had no right to listen. Her mother had told her only calamity befell those who eavesdropped. But she had to hear what they were saying. Perhaps she could discover the reason they despised each other and help them resolve issues.
“I should have known you had something to do with her change of mind,” Latimer said, fury lacing his words.
Pressing her ear to the door, Ceressa prayed no servant or roaming guest would come upon her in so compromising a position.
“You doubtless think it amusing that I have purchased enough clothing to fill two trunks for a bride who will never make it to the altar with me.”
“I merely convinced her that Virginia would not be suitable for a young woman of so delicate a constitution,” Sir Geoffrey replied.
“Delicate constitution?” Latimer’s voice raised. “She’s nearly as tall as I and would be twice my size at the waist were it not cinched.”
Ceressa was possessed of a wild urge to giggle, but she bit her lip to keep from uttering a peep.
“It’s most interesting that she was suddenly proposed to by an old friend of yours.”
“Well, he is a baron, even though he’s got gout and rheumy eyes.” At that moment, Sir Geoffrey sounded like his sister. “She would not have suited, Latimer. You would have been most unhappy.”
“I wasn’t marrying for happiness. I was marrying to provide a mother for my niece. And hoping, eventually, for some emotional and physical companionship.”
Ceressa blushed, fairly certain of what Latimer’s definition of physical companionship would entail. Her mother had long ago explained that aspect between a husband and wife.
“I have no time for this,” Sir Geoffrey said, and she heard footsteps as though one was pacing. Ceressa dared not look within for fear she’d cause the door to creak and reveal her presence. The last thing she wanted was to be subjected to Latimer’s angry eyes and cruel words. It was enough that her childish dream now lay in ashes.
“Then make time,” Latimer responded harshly, “because I’m due at the ship in two hours. We sail with the tide.”
“I’ve already made my recommendation.” There was a loud snort from Latimer.
“Your recommendation? Marry the child of Jonathan Quarles? She’s barely out of the nursery. I would frighten her. I want no timid, reclusive, bookish girl jumping out of her skin at the least bit of noise or cry of a wild animal. Then I’ll have two children—even if one will already be trained to make use of the chamber pot.”
Ceressa had to clamp a hand over her mouth to keep from giving that beastly man a piece of her mind. Never had she been subjected to such disrespect.
“And why would she consent to go to Virginia?” Latimer continued. “It’s unlikely she would willingly leave behind her family and her home. I wouldn’t ask that even if I were to listen to you.”
“Ceressa is a woman possessed of rare qualities, Latimer. And uncommon intelligence. She has fire and spirit. And she is devoted to our Lord.”
“Ah—that’s what this is all about. You think if I marry Ceressa I’ll become a dutiful Christian, and in your eyes, all will be forgiven.”
“I only wish you to know His peace.”
“That will hardly happen. I’m not going to marry a helpless, clinging child.”
Ceressa’s hackles rose, making her wish she was in possession of a saber simply to prove she could take care of herself. Just in case he’d forgotten he’d taught her to fence.
“She’s not the child you knew,” Sir Geoffrey assured. “I could arrange a proper introduction, and things could be settled quickly. As soon as Jonathan returns, I’ll speak to him, and Ceressa could sail by the end of April to join you in Virginia. I believe she harbors a great affection for you.”
“A great affection? A dog harbors great affection for its master. I want no puppy lapping at my hand and following on my heels. I would despise a simpering female awaiting my approval or a kind pat. I don’t have the time or the leisure to indulge a spoiled child. Nay, I’ll have none of this.”
Ceressa trembled, shocked that Sir Geoffrey was suggesting Latimer marry her. Just a short time earlier, her godfather had been warning
her away. Now, he was using her as a pawn in a marriage game. More games, she thought wearily. Those idyllic childhood days spent at Kirkleigh Hall now seemed a horrible dream, made so by Latimer’s callous words. Hot tears stung, threatening to spill over. Biting hard on her lip, she banished emotional pain with the taste of blood.
“Don’t throw away this chance. I wouldn’t suggest this if I didn’t think you would be happy.”
“I will never know happiness.” Latimer’s voice echoed. “I have suffered since learning that Cameron was not my father. You allowed me to believe I was another man’s son. Wasn’t it bad enough that you seduced my mother while your brother was fighting to keep the rightful king on England’s throne?”
“I never meant for such to happen, though I make no excuses for my behavior. I was but a shy youth when Florence became Father’s ward, but I loved her from the moment I saw her. But Father groomed her to become Cameron’s wife, precluding any chance I might have at finding happiness. Every day, I relive my selfishness when I encouraged Florence’s dependency upon me. She was weak and vulnerable during that time when she received word that Cameron was missing after the battle of Naseby.”
“And your lust brought about her death.” A deafening silence filled the room, and Ceressa had to stifle a sob. Latimer was actually Sir Geoffrey’s son, conceived with the countess of Sturbridge while Cameron Kirkleigh had been fighting with Charles’s Royalist army.
“Latimer,” Sir Geoffrey spoke, his voice hoarse with emotion, “this is not what I hoped when I shared the truth with you. I thought by revealing the fact I am your father, it would help you understand why I’m so concerned over whom you take to wife.”
“I understand you resented Cameron; you envied his earldom and holdings, and you coveted his wife. At least the man accommodated you by dying young. But his death didn’t allow you to have what you wanted, for by then I’d made an entrance into the world and in doing so, took my mother from it. How ironic.”
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