Her forehead hit his shoulder, and she shrieked. Immediately, he whirled about brandishing a pistol beneath her nose. When she recovered from the shock, she looked up into unfriendly eyes of an unusual pale green. The man wore a black peruke topped with a stylish hat festooned with pheasant feathers. And he was tall; nearly as tall as Latimer. He lowered his weapon and took hold of her arm, his gaze softening.
“Forgive my barbaric rudeness, milady. I thought one of the rabble thronging the streets had taken it in his head to accost me. Never would I have imagined such a beauty at my back.”
“I apologize,” she said while taking in the costliness and superb tailoring of his clothing. “I tripped. It was clumsy of me.”
“How fortunate for me that you did.” Ceressa warmed to his voice; smooth and cultured and unexpected. Though he exuded a touch of arrogance, he wasn’t offensive, and had she not been so frightened, she might have laughed at the way he pressed his scented handkerchief to his nose to block the unpleasantness of the odiferous crowd. The man still possessed her arm, and Ceressa tried to gently pull free. Tightening his hold, his eyes locked with hers. Where, where, where is Latimer?
“I really must find my maid. We were parted by the crowd, and I know she must be frightened half out of her mind.”
“Perhaps I could be of assistance. Might I ask your name?”
Panic pumped through her veins.
Ceressa’s mind spun wildly with the answer. She was Latimer’s wife, at least in name, so she replied, “Ceressa Kirkleigh, wife to Latimer Kirkleigh of Tidelands.”
The man shocked her by cursing then halted himself as though remembering his manners. Sweeping off his hat, he bowed. “Forgive me for my uncharitable words. Indeed, it is a pleasure to meet you.” Straightening, he looked at her as though she’d sprouted warts. Had news already reached the colony that she was a wanted woman? Certainly that couldn’t be, she reasoned.
“And you are?” she asked, aware that her voice quavered.
“Torrence Willshire, Lady Kirkleigh, assistant to our royal governor, Sir William Berkeley.” His name meant nothing, but his mention of the governor interested her greatly. Willshire was examining her again, a little too closely for her comfort.
“I’m glad to make your acquaintance,” she said even as she silently apologized to the Lord for a bit of dishonesty. Sometimes the social niceties were tedious.
It was time to get away from this man, she decided, even if she had to leave the sleeve of her shift in his hand. His intense scrutiny of her person was unsettling.
“If truth be told,” Willshire said, “I’ve eagerly awaited your arrival.”
“Why?”
“News travels quickly, and Kirkleigh’s man, Harrell, let it slip at Lawrence’s ordinary that Kirkleigh was in London in search of a bride.”
Why was Latimer’s decision to marry of such interest, she wondered? Bacon had made a similar comment. “I, for one, never thought he’d speak vows with any woman. Everyone knows Latimer Kirkleigh avoids any permanent attachments. I’m sure that you will soon find that the two of you are horribly unsuited.”
Torrence Willshire was fast becoming an irritation she could do without.
“I can look at you and see that you appreciate the finer things of life. As do I.” To her horror, he took hold of her chin and tilted it upward. “Mayhap I can make you forget those vows you spoke to Kirkleigh.”
Outrage warred with fear as she absorbed his words. Before she could jerk away, Willshire’s hold upon her was broken. She stumbled backward then managed to regain her balance. Latimer thrust his fist into Willshire’s face. A crowd had gathered about them, broken apart as another man, this one of medium height and a solid build, rushed toward the fighting men. Ceressa nearly fainted with relief when she spotted Mariette behind the new arrival.
Willshire dropped to his knees with a groan, but Latimer hauled him to his feet. He drew back his fist as though to hit him again until the man with Mariette caught hold of Latimer’s arm. Latimer released Willshire, who once more collapsed, this time with a resounding thud. The governor’s assistant now wore ruined clothes, had lost his hat, and no longer looked the dandy. Two men hoisted him and dragged him away.
Ceressa focused on the young man who’d ended the fray. He grinned at her, pushing back an unruly lock of dark, curly hair that had fallen over his eyes. Exuding an air of vitality, he stepped forward with hand extended. As Ceressa took it, she noted that his flesh was as bronzed as Latimer’s and his clothing, though simple, was clean and in good repair. He bore none of the unpleasant odors that clung to the crowd and appeared most gentlemanly in manner and bearing. There was no mistaking that Mariette’s blue eyes were fixed upon him. How had they come to be together?
“It’s good to meet you, Lady Kirkleigh. I hope you’re not too upset by all this.” He released her hand and turned to Latimer. “He’s certain to shoot you now.”
Latimer snorted then directed his gaze to her. His jaw tensed. He couldn’t possibly think she’d encouraged that roué.
Without speaking, and ignoring the etiquette of introductions, Latimer grasped her arm. Angered, Ceressa wrenched free, certain her poor arm would be black and blue by the morrow’s morn. Latimer walked away.
“Why are you angry with me?” Ceressa now ran in her efforts to match his long strides. She was hungry, tired, and shaken, and he had no thoughts for any save himself. Tears threatened, but she was determined not to cry.
Latimer remained silent, so she tried a different approach. “Where are we going?” It was impossible to ignore the chaos that surrounded them—the yelling and shouting above the rattling of carts and carriages was almost as terrifying as Bacon.
“Don’t worry.” Looking around, Ceressa noticed cottages of brick and thatch. Ahead of them, in the center of the town, raised the imposing tower of a church. Beyond that was a wooden palisade, obviously the James Cittie fort.
Latimer was forced to slow by a man herding ten bleating goats, allowing Ceressa to look behind her. Mariette was in animated conversation with the young man who’d ended the fight between Latimer and Willshire. A pretty blush brightened Mariette’s cheeks.
“Who is the man with Mariette?”
“Bengie.”
With the goats and their herder now passed, he resumed his rapid pace. Ceressa refused to suffer through another minute of his humiliation as she grabbed his arm, dug her heels into the dirt, and forced him to halt. She met his glare with one of her own.
Suddenly, her world upended; Latimer was no longer in focus, and her breathing grew shallow. Her head ached, and her stomach rumbled with emptiness. Then blackness engulfed her as she fell against Latimer.
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Latimer caught Ceressa in his arms, raging inwardly at her cumbersome gown as he lifted her. She moaned, her face falling against his chest. Mariette cried out as Benjamin Harrell rushed toward him.
“I’ve got her,” he assured his young estate manager. “She’s most likely hungry and overheated. Who wouldn’t be, dressed like this and with the sun as sweltering as though it were August?”
“Lawrence’s is but a few steps away. If we take her there, we can all get something to eat and drink. The Lady Ceressa isn’t in the family way, is she?” Bengie asked in a whisper. Latimer forced back a sarcastic retort, aware that Bengie would have no way of knowing his marriage had yet to be consummated. It was a thorn in his side, but it was of his own making, and he didn’t care to discuss it with anyone, not even his trusted friend.
“She just needs water, a seat somewhere cool, and some food.”
Mariette was clearly alarmed, her sweet eyes large and fearful.
“Ceressa is going to be fine,” he assured the distressed girl. “Lawrence’s it is.”
“Put me down,” Ceressa weakly demanded, having regained her senses. “I won’t be carried about like an invalid.”
“Very well.” Upon doing as she requested, she re
eled and clutched his sleeve. That imp of mischief that resided within him was secretly gratified by her unsteadiness. But as he gazed down at her, an unexpected surge of tenderness swept him. He’d had no right to be angry with Ceressa because of Willshire’s open flirtation. His dislike of the overbearing, insufferable aide to the governor was his problem.
He should’ve introduced Ceressa properly to Bengie, but his temper had prevented him from exercising any semblance of civility. Poor Bengie, so the lad had shared, had been traveling back and forth between Tidelands and James Cittie once a week hoping for the arrival of his ship. Now Latimer owed an apology to both Ceressa and Bengie. How was it Willshire could turn him into a snarling wolf?
Lawrence’s ordinary overflowed with patrons, so Latimer was relieved when a group of his Surry County neighbors spied him and motioned them over. One, Bartholomew Carruthers, nearly two score and ten in age, but still in possession of a vitality and appearance that belied his years, left his seat to meet them. Latimer shook the hand of the silver-haired man.
“I guess you can tell that all manner of insanity has taken hold.”
“So I see. You’re going to fill me in?”
“Just as soon as you’ve had something to eat and drink. Latimer”—Carruthers had noticed Ceressa—“is this?”
“My wife, Ceressa,” he responded without hesitation although he could feel her fingers digging into his arm. “Ceressa, this is my friend and nearest neighbor, Bartholomew Carruthers. He owns Carrumont, which adjoins Tidelands.”
“At last our wild Latimer is tamed and by one of unsurpassed beauty. A true honor it is to meet you, Lady Kirkleigh.”
“Mr. Carruthers,” she said softly. Latimer noticed that she was still very pale. “What a pleasure to meet you.”
“You look all but done in, Lady Kirkleigh.” There was no mistaking the genuine solicitousness in Carruthers’ voice, making Latimer feel like a cad given the way he’d treated Ceressa earlier. “Come take a seat with us. You could use a cool drink, I’m certain, and some filling food. I’d say Lawrence’s lemonade is what you need and some of his wife’s rabbit stew. Come along.”
Latimer led Ceressa to the table, and the men rose, their eyes on Ceressa and Mariette. A young boy brought extra chairs, which were squeezed in among the others already at the table.
“Before we plunge into a rabid political discussion, I’d like you to meet,” Latimer said as he turned his gaze upon Ceressa, whose lips trembled and face still held no color, “my wife, Ceressa.”
“Lady Kirkleigh, we are indeed favored to have so lovely a lady in our midst, but the times are so distressing, I fear our welcome will not be as generous as we would like, but we are most relieved to see our Latimer properly settled.”
“Ceressa, this gentleman with the wagging tongue is Clayton Crimmons. And we have Arthur Allen, Tribley Beryl, Wilfred Haverly, Atteridge White, and Cephas Marlington. And this lad,” he indicated Bengie, “is the only man in Virginia who can keep me on course. I couldn’t run Tidelands without Benjamin Harrell.”
“How good to meet all of you,” Ceressa murmured. Latimer took the seat wedged between hers and that of Tribley Beryl while Carruthers took another. Bengie and Mariette drew their chairs off to the side, deep in conversation.
Latimer wondered if the girl had already snared the heart of his estate manager. If so, he couldn’t fault the lad for being captivated by sweet blue eyes and a profusion of chestnut curls.
He’d developed a fondness for violet-brown eyes and wheat-colored tresses, and this fondness only showed signs of deepening. Putting an arm about Ceressa’s shoulders, he drew her close hoping the gesture would be seen as a reassurance. She immediately stiffened, which re-ignited his ire and made him more determined to keep her near.
Lemonade and a meal for the four new arrivals was requested of the serving wench, and it wasn’t long before the boy who’d brought the chairs returned with tankards, steaming bowls of stew, a roasted chicken, and a loaf of crusty bread. The conversation quickly turned to the topic uppermost in everyone’s mind. It was Marlington who delivered the first shock.
“Bacon was elected a burgess from Henrico County. He was here late last night with Lawrence and Drummond plotting and planning. Slipping away just after midnight, he and his scurrilous lot stole a sloop.”
“Who are Lawrence and Drummond?” Ceressa asked. Latimer glanced at her, relieved to see the color back in her face. But with the return of good health, she would be back to her usual curious, opinionated self. There was no telling what she might come out with.
“Richard Lawrence is married to the woman who owns this tavern,” Latimer explained, “and as unbelievable as it seems, is Oxford educated and a former burgess. William Drummond was once a royal official in the North Carolina colony. Both he and Lawrence are fanatical supporters of Bacon.”
“Apparently, this was one plan of Bacon’s that failed,” Haverly said. “He’s the governor’s prisoner now. And Berkeley promised Bacon’s wife he would hang him when he caught him.” Latimer glanced quickly at Ceressa, who had paled again. It was understandable talk of hanging would distress her. He reached beneath the table and squeezed her hand reassuringly.
Latimer remained silent as he took several spoonfuls of the delicious stew, and then broke loose a leg of the roasted chicken, the scent of herbs clinging delectably to the meat. He placed it on Ceressa’s plate then removed the other for his consumption.
“I once favored Bacon’s methods,” Beryl confessed. “But I realize now I should’ve listened to you, Latimer. You spoke reason when no one else did.”
“That’s a fact,” Marlington agreed. “I accused the governor of inaction not so many months ago as we all stood outside Lawn’s Creek Church. It was you, Latimer, who said that civil strife would divide the colony as badly as Cromwell divided England and there were dark days ahead. Your words were prophetic.”
Latimer chuckled as he pulled off a chunk of bread and handed it to Ceressa, who promptly accepted it and slathered it with butter from the crock. “I recall the conversation. I believe that was when you suggested I accept Sir William’s appointment to his Council. I told you I had no desire to involve myself in the treacherous machinations inherent in politics.”
An unnerving silence fell, Latimer’s friends looking uncomfortable as they glanced at one another. A warning sounded in his head while an uncanny sixth sense presaged unwelcome news. He looked over at Carruthers, who would never lie to him. “Bartholomew, how went the opening burgess session?”
“I’ve heard it was disorderly, thanks to Bacon.”
“Weren’t you there?”
“No.”
Latimer met the man’s eyes, uneasy with what he saw. “Weren’t you re-elected a burgess for Surry?”
“No, I wasn’t. I didn’t put my name up this time. I, as well as the others”—Carruthers gestured to those gathered about the table—“decided our perspective on matters could be best presented by someone new.”
“Someone new has been elected?” Latimer placed his spoon aside with amazing calm as he awaited the answer.
Ceressa dropped her half eaten bread in her plate. She, too, sensed something amiss.
“Ah, yes, we have,” Beryl said, then cleared his throat. “We weren’t sure he’d be back in time.”
“You elected someone who wasn’t here?” The stew settled heavily in the pit of Latimer’s stomach.
“Uh, yes, we did,” Haverly said, glancing nervously at Carruthers, who nodded his head reassuringly.
Latimer leaned against the spindle-backed chair, crossed his arms, and regarded his friends, already knowing the answer before he asked. It was written on the faces of all those present.
“Might I ask who the gentleman is?”
It was Carruthers who finally broke the uneasy silence.
“You.”
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Ceressa was still angry at Latimer for the abrupt departure from
Lawrence’s. Once the men announced that he’d been elected a burgess, an honor to her way of thinking, he couldn’t get away quickly enough. Now, they walked in uncomfortable silence while crossing what Bengie identified as the State House green. Just beyond the green, Latimer paused before a neat cottage of wattle and daub and opened the wooden gate. There were massive brick chimneys at each end of the story and a half dwelling, and the gabled roof was steeply pitched. Ceressa marveled at the small glass windows, a luxury she’d seen little of since her arrival. Stepping aside, Latimer allowed her to precede him up the oyster shell walk. The sun reflected off the glass, waves of dull gold shimmering on the surface. The door opened, and a kindly faced woman bustled out to meet them.
“Well, if this isn’t a wonder,” the woman declared. “Bengie was saying just this morn that you’d be arrivin’ today. Said he felt it in his bones. Thank the Lord you are here and safe. My Daniel is at Tidelands makin’ sure things are just the way you want before bringin’ home your new bride. And here she is—such a pretty lass, too.”
Ceressa smiled at the woman who curtsied as low as her bulk would allow.
“Ceressa, this is Kate Munroe, my cook and housekeeper. She and her husband, Daniel, live here in James Cittie and oversee my property.”
“Lady Kirkleigh, it’s so good that you’re here. Come in and get settled. I’ve just a small bit to do to finish dinner.” Ceressa followed Kate into the cool, shadowed interior. Once inside, the housekeeper scurried off to a room on the right while Latimer moved to the opposite side of the central staircase into an informal parlor. Light poured through the windows and streaked the wooden floor. Braided rugs were scattered about, two settles fronted the unlit hearth, and upholstered wingbacks, certainly imported from England, also graced the room. There were several side tables bearing candlesticks, and a highly polished, cloth-covered table accompanied by four ladder backed chairs was tucked into a corner. Above the lintel hung a painting, and Ceressa recognized the woman as Latimer’s sister, Constance.
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