“Have you a matter to bring before the Council?” the speaker asked. Sir William frowned.
“Yes, I do. I wish an explanation of what we just witnessed.”
“What is there to explain, Lord Kirkleigh?” Sir William asked ponderously, leaning forward while steepling his fingers.
Ceressa held her breath.
“How a man who was brought to you as a prisoner yesterday can so easily resume his seat among the councilors.”
“Whose side are you on, Kirkleigh?” The angry question was hurled at him by someone unseen, too cowardly to stand and be identified.
“I’m on the side of justice. This spectacle has failed to serve justice. Nathaniel Bacon is making a mockery of the process.”
The earlier roar evolved into thunder as those gathered protested and praised in unison. When the sergeant at last restored order, the governor came to his feet, glaring at Latimer.
“I believe I’m in the best position to determine what is mockery. I suggest, Lord Kirkleigh, that if you wish to retain your seat as a burgess, you allow this session to proceed with important issues.”
“What could be more important than discussing the matters that have brought Nathaniel Bacon into our midst? I have a duty to the men of Surry County, and I will be heard.” Latimer’s determined words stirred Ceressa’s heart, but she was terrified that he’d be thrown out or worse, arrested.
“Then have your say and be quick about it,” Sir William demanded testily as he retook his seat.
“You’ve pardoned Nathaniel Bacon of treason. This is an open invitation for continued rebellion. Never has there been greater need to address the concerns of this colony. If we don’t, we risk the loss of human life, the destruction of our homes, and the ruin of property—the disintegration of the very fiber of our existence. Worst of all, we invite the scourge of intolerance into our lives to destroy and kill. It’s not just the natives killing our people—we are doing it to ourselves by our inability to compromise. I ask that we begin this session by removing unstable influences.” Latimer looked directly at Bacon, who was smirking, and Ceressa trembled. “And encourage the truth, whether we wish to hear it or not.”
The applause and ayes were deafening. Several minutes elapsed before the sergeant re-established order.
“Your suggestion will be taken under advisement,” Sir William replied in a manner that assured Ceressa he had no intention of doing anything. “Now, if we could proceed without further interruption—”
Ceressa knew before Latimer actually took a step that he would leave. It was a certainty that the governor and the councilors would do nothing to tackle the current unpleasantness or restore the confidence and strength that ignorance had eroded.
Latimer was cheered as he strode from the hall. Ceressa followed him, not bothering to excuse herself as she vacated her seat.
****
“Latimer! Latimer!”
Ceressa’s cry penetrated Latimer’s tumultuous thoughts bringing him to a halt a few steps beyond the State House. She ran toward him, her skirts and petticoats lifted high to aid her breathless dash while revealing shapely ankles. When she reached him, she stopped beyond his range of touch as she drew in deeply of air. Several curls had loosened and now coiled unhampered about her face. Her dainty lace collar was turned askew. The sight of her only added to the riotous turmoil within him. Once more, he wondered why God, wise and all-knowing in all ways, had chosen him, of all the men in London, to save Ceressa Quarles from Charles Herrington.
“I told them I was no good at this,” Latimer fumed. “I don’t know how to be tactful and diplomatic. Doesn’t Sir William know that Bacon is making a fool of him? It’s an outrage and a travesty, and I won’t be a party to it.”
“Latimer,” Ceressa said, her breathing now normal, “you don’t have to be. You were wonderful. I was so proud of you.” A shy smile spread as she moved closer, and Latimer cupped the side of her face, bringing it nearer his own with every intention of kissing this lovely, infuriating, sweet, opinionated, and warm-hearted woman. She was a vexing chameleon that brought forth rage and yearning.
To his surprise, Ceressa pulled free, putting a small distance between them. “Someone might see us,” she offered as an explanation for her abrupt action.
“Why should that be of concern?”
“It’s just that one’s reputation—”
“Reputation be hanged. Don’t you know me well enough to realize that I’m not in the least concerned about reputation? The things that really matter are what’s in one’s heart and soul. If you are so worried about reputation, why did you go to Charles Herrington?”
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Latimer instantly regretted his words as fury filled Ceressa’s eyes. “You know why I went. You’re angry over what happened in there.” Ceressa pointed to the State House. “And you’re taking it out on me. Exactly what I’d expect from someone as low as you. Sir Geoffrey would never behave in so deplorable a manner.”
“Once again, I must apologize for not being the gentleman my sire is.” Latimer knew his words reeked of sarcasm.
“Leave Sir Geoffrey out of this. Your continual debasement of him is unnecessary and juvenile.”
“I’ve been accused of many things, but behaving childishly is not among them. And you’re the one who brought him up; that incomparable paragon of virtue. To hear you talk, one would think he walks about with wings of gold.” The last thing Latimer wanted Ceressa to know was how badly it hurt when she flung Geoffrey’s goodness in his face.
But at least he was bringing a mother to April.
Turning, he walked away, uncaring if he rejoined the session. Let them ignore the obvious and dig their own graves. Let them appease Nathaniel Bacon and set into motion the wheels of revolution that once moving would not stop until blood was spilled.
“Where are you going?”
Latimer continued to walk, coming to a stop by the graveyard beside the church. Looking down at the various markers and headstones, he wondered about the lives of those whose earthly existence had been reduced to letters and numbers engraved in stone. Had they hurt and struggled and longed for what they couldn’t have? Had they wholeheartedly placed their lives and those of the ones they loved in God’s hands? Had they known peace—had they known joy?
“What gives you the right to insult me then just walk away?”
Latimer looked over at Ceressa. “I believe I was insulting Geoffrey.”
“You act as though you’re the only one who has suffered an injustice. You’ve showed more concern today over Nathaniel Bacon’s pardon than you’ve shown me in three months.”
Latimer’s muscle twitched in his jaw, and he clamped hard on his mounting anger. “Need I remind you,” he began slowly and carefully lest he rage at her, “I kept you from hanging. I kept you from being attacked by a throng of malodorous drunks who wanted to see your neck in the noose.”
“God did that—not you. Having studied for the ministry, you surely must know you were merely His instrument of aid. And you may recall that having been used in such a manner by our Lord, you’re not to remind me daily that your heroism saved my life.”
Latimer felt the full sting of her comment.
“I do believe the Bible tells us, ‘Pride goeth before destruction, and an haughty spirit before a fall.’ I bemoan the fact that I’m dependent upon you; that I’ve brought chaos into your life; that we married under the most unpleasant of circumstances and for all the wrong reasons. I am reminded of that daily as well.” Tears swam in her eyes, and unthinking, he reached out and drew her into his arms. She ineffectively resisted, and at last, as though drained of all energy, she pressed her face to the satin of his waistcoat. Shudders assailed her as she sobbed.
When she grew still in his arms, he dared to speak. “Do you feel better?”
Ceressa raised her eyes, liquid pools of violet-brown, and regarded him incredulously. “I’m not a child. I don’t need looki
ng after.”
“If ever anyone needed looking after, it’s you,” he returned with gentle teasing, all his anger washed away with her tears.
“Do you have any idea how I feel about you?”
“I have a feeling the colonists think more of Sir William than you do of me.”
“You see! You’re assuming again. You have no idea how I really feel.”
“If I return to the assembly and say nothing, would you consider telling me?”
“I can’t imagine that you would voluntarily remain silent.” Ceressa gave him a lopsided, teary smile.
His own laughter took him by surprise, and unexpectedly, Ceressa joined him. When their hilarity subsided, Latimer took hold of that chin, fully determined to sample the sweetness of her lips. Yielding to his impulse, he tasted them, dampened by the tears of frustration she’d shed only minutes before. Ceressa responded heartily, and he eagerly drowned in the sweetness of her mouth and dared to pull her closer.
“Latimer Kirkleigh, you detestable, unconscionable lout.”An unnervingly familiar voice intruded into their private idyll.
Whirling around, Latimer placed Ceressa behind him as he prepared to face Phyllis Carruthers. The woman’s stance and expression clearly conveyed her outrage. For one wild moment, he almost wished he was facing some offended follower of Bacon rather than this hissing, spitting wild cat with vengeance on her mind.
****
Ceressa stared numbly at the woman who had joined them in the graveyard. She was possessed of an exotic beauty with ebony locks carefully coiled and curled and flashing eyes of gray. She was tall and slim, reminding Ceressa she was short and much rounder in certain places.
“Phyllis,” Latimer said while Ceressa dug her nails into his arm, frightened by the fierce look in the beautiful woman’s eyes, “it’s good to see you. Ceressa”—he turned to her—“may I present Mistress Phyllis Carruthers, Bartholomew’s daughter?”
“Oh,” was all that Ceressa could manage while Phyllis Carruthers regarded her with searing malice and a hideous twist of her lovely mouth. It was as though the woman considered her a vile rodent.
Latimer grasped Ceressa’s hand as he walked over to the dark-haired woman whose gray eyes now conveyed coldness and displeasure. Ceressa sensed that Latimer and this woman were more than casual acquaintances.
“This must be the bride, fresh from London.” Her words dripped venom as she intentionally bypassed all attempts at civility. The flames of anger flared beneath Ceressa’s breast while she prayed that she would hold her tongue.
Jerking her gaze back to Latimer, Phyllis snarled. “You did this to humiliate me because you know Torrence favors me.”
“Phyllis, humiliating you was never my intent. You also know I never indicated things would move beyond friendship between us. Your interest in Willshire is your concern, and I have no right to interfere.”
Ceressa tensed, trying to extricate her hand from his grip. How friendly had Latimer been with this unpleasant woman?
“Why did you marry her?” Phyllis demanded as though Ceressa wasn’t present. “You couldn’t possibly love her.”
Ceressa gasped, but Latimer kept his gaze focused on the irate woman.
“She can’t mean to you what I do. Your uncle forced you to do this.”
“I did this of my own will.”
“She’ll never make you happy.”
“I’m satisfied with my decision,” he said coldly. Latimer didn’t sound convincing, Ceressa thought, her inner fury mounting.
“You’re a liar, Latimer Kirkleigh,” Phyllis screeched, making no effort to comport herself in a ladylike manner. “And I despise you.”
“I had hoped we could remain friends,” he said evenly.
“Friends?” Phyllis repeated as though the word left a bad taste in her mouth. Ceressa saw the muscle twitching in Latimer’s jaw. “Never, never, never.”
“That’s your choice.”
“I thought you cared.” There was a piteous warble to her voice, and Ceressa almost felt sorry for her. Almost.
“I do. But not in the way you imagined.”
“I’ll be the laughing stock of the county,” she said and sobbed. “Everyone thought we were to marry. I thought—” She suddenly stopped herself and seemed to gather her composure. “Never mind. I hope you and your London chit are happy together.”
“You will never again insult my wife,” Latimer replied, his voice laced with steel.
“And if I do, what will you do?” Phyllis goaded, moving purposefully up to him, while raising her chin haughtily.
Ceressa had taken all she planned to take from this irrational, arrogant woman. “It’s not what he’ll do, it’s what I’ll do,” Ceressa announced, wrenching her hand free of Latimer’s grasp.
Moving in front of him, she stood before Phyllis who was suddenly speechless, most likely for the first time in her life. “All I need is the Lord and a sword, which I’ll use to lop off that hair you most likely prize. I almost did that once to my fencing partner, and he’s never forgotten the fright I caused him. I don’t need Latimer to fight my battles. You’d do well to remember that, Mistress Carruthers.”
Phyllis had no reply. Lifting her voluminous pink skirts, the woman turned around, walked a few steps then turned back, her chest rising and falling dramatically with her heavy breathing. “I hope the two of you are miserable for eternity. I hope you torment one another every moment of every day.”
Whipping about, she marched out of the cemetery. Latimer met Ceressa’s eyes and reached out to her. She stepped away, blinking back the tears that threatened.
“You should have told me you were in love with someone.” She immediately hurried from the cemetery but suddenly stopped when she nearly collided with Torrence Willshire. There was no doubt he’d heard everything, and embarrassment rushed through her. Worse still, he was in the company of two other well-dressed, pompous-looking men, one of whom Phyllis had linked arms with while she glared defiantly at Ceressa.
Disgust and angst warred within Ceressa, despising the fact that just before Phyllis Carruthers had intruded into her life, she’d eagerly kissed Latimer, believing he loved her as much as she loved him. How foolish she’d been.
For one brief moment, Torrence Willshire looked upon her with compassion until Phyllis Carruthers deserted the one man and positioned herself next to Willshire.
Ceressa walked past them, head high but with heart breaking.
****
“Ceressa?”
The lowering sun cast its light through the windows as Latimer made his way up the stairs in the cottage. There was no reply to his call; not that he’d expected one. The damage had been done. Ceressa would never forgive him. And the sad fact of the matter was that he wanted her to forgive him. Phyllis’s rude and unseemly behavior had revealed to him just how much he truly, deeply cared for Ceressa Quarles.
When he reached the chamber he’d surrendered to Ceressa for the duration of their stay, he saw her lying upon the bed, her back to him, still clad in the plum satin gown. He paused at the entrance.
“I’m not going away,” he said. Still nothing from the silent, unmoving form. Had she turned back into that block of stone she’d become while Phyllis had ranted and raved? “I’m sorry that you were forced to endure Phyllis’s tirade.”
“You should have told me about her.” Ceressa’s voice was muffled.
“You have every right to be upset.”
“Why are you here? Why aren’t you with her?”
“I believe the answer to that is obvious.”
“Go away.”
“Turn over, Ceressa. Look at me. I’ll haul you out of this bed if you don’t.” A few seconds passed during which Latimer debated the foolishness or wisdom in following through on his threat.
Finally, she turned, pushed herself up and swung her legs to the side of the bed.
“That’s better. I can talk to you now.”
“What is there to say?” she aske
d, such hopelessness and despair in her eyes it tore at Latimer’s heart. Somehow, he had to find a way to reclaim the ground lost because of Phyllis. But only God could help him with that.
“I returned to the assembly session, which just ended a short while ago. I thought you might like to know what happened.”
“I suppose.” That she showed the slightest interest encouraged Latimer. He dared to enter and took a seat beside her on the bed, the gentle rose scent that clung to her weaving its spell. He clasped his hands tightly before him to keep from touching her.
“You recall the two men, Lawrence and Drummond?” She nodded slightly and he continued. “The governor publicly labeled them rogues and warned those assembled not to trust them, which only served to further undermine his credibility. When Berkeley asked the people to present their grievances, I and three others came forward. No one else was willing to risk the wrath of the old man, knowing he was in a temper.”
“Then little was accomplished.”
“A few motions were introduced, and members were appointed to the Committee for Indian Affairs. The session only served to reinforce Bacon’s position, and Bacon promptly resumed his demands for a commission.”
“Why ever did the governor pardon him?”
“I’m sure that question is being asked by every man who had hoped that this assembly session would see the resolution of such troubling issues.” He dared to take her hand, and she made no effort to withdraw it from his grasp. “Ceressa, I’m sorry you had to endure Phyllis’s tantrum. I never meant for you to be subjected to her insults.”
“I just wish you’d been honest with me. If you were in love with Phyllis Carruthers, why didn’t you marry her?”
“I’m not in love with her. I admit that for all appearances it would have seemed that I was courting her. When she’s not demanding and insulting, she’s clever and witty and the center of every social event. But that wasn’t what I wanted in a wife.”
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