Kenleigh-Blakewell Family Saga Boxed Set (Books 1 & 2)

by Pamela Clare

  “Eleanora.” She repeated the name—a name more elegant than her own—and smiled.

  * * *

  Cassie sat in the formal dining room, picking at her food. Three candelabras filled the room with a cheerful light that contrasted sharply with her mood. Though the sheriff had left once the bread was eaten, Geoffrey had lingered until she’d been forced to ask him to stay for dinner. He’d insisted on taking the meal in the great house, not the cookhouse, and Cassie, loath to anger him, had given in.

  “More wine, my dear?”

  “No, thank you.”

  Nettie entered the room, which was rarely used these days, and placed a warm apple pie on the table before them. The scent of cinnamon tickled the air. Dessert.

  “Thank you, Nettie. We can serve ourselves.”

  Cassie couldn’t eat another bite. Nan had outdone herself in an attempt to please Geoffrey, putting together the kind of feast that Blakewell’s Neck saw only on holidays. Geoffrey hadn’t seemed to notice the food or appreciate the effort made on his behalf. Her father had always said that wealth made men blind to life’s pleasures, and if Geoffrey was any example, her father had been right. Filling and refilling his plate and his glass, Geoffrey had spoken endlessly of his plans for his estate once he’d inherited it. It was almost as if he wished his father would hurry up and die.

  Not that Cassie could blame him. His father was a heartless man.

  Cassie had never forgotten how Master Crichton had refused to visit Geoffrey when he’d been a little boy sick with fever, how he’d seemed to loathe his son when he’d heard Geoffrey might not be able to walk again. Geoffrey had surprised them all by walking within a month, but the permanent limp he’d acquired became the butt of his father’s jokes. Geoffrey worked hard to hide it, but his father still made sport of him in front of other people. The elder Master Crichton was the cruelest man Cassie knew.

  “It will be wonderful.” Geoffrey took his last bite of pie.

  She hadn’t heard a word. Wine had made her sleepy, and the conversation had left her feeling dull. “Yes, of course it will be.”

  “I want to share it all with you, Catherine.” He lifted her hand to his lips, his gaze never leaving her face.

  Cassie felt strangely unsettled by his gesture. She drew her hand away. “Of course you shall share it with me, Geoffrey. We shall always be friends.”

  The clock struck ten.

  “It’s growing late, and I can see that you are tired, my dear.” He stood, holding out his hand.

  Relieved, she took his arm and walked with him outside to his carriage.

  “How is Henry working out?” he asked.

  “There was a little trouble at first, but he’s come around.”

  “Trouble?”

  “Aye. He was behaving in a quarrelsome manner toward the slaves.”

  “Ahh.” Geoffrey nodded and smiled. “Even a man of his lowly station knows there is an order to the universe, Catherine. Still, if he disobeys, send him back. He knows what awaits him at Crichton Hall should he fail you.”

  Cassie swallowed a tart reply, determined now not to send Henry back, no matter how troublesome he became.

  The carriage driver, a young man, scrambled up to his seat and took the reins.

  Geoffrey turned toward Cassie. “Do you know that I’ve loved you since I was a boy?”

  She looked away, uncomfortable. The song of katydids filled the silence. Fireflies flitted and glowed. “We were close as children.”

  “I love you still, Catherine, and I intend to have you as my wife.”

  “Geoffrey, I—“

  “I do not mean to press you for an answer. In fact, I did not mean to mention it. But being so near you like this, I could not help it.”

  Cassie searched for the right words, eager not to hurt him but needing him to know her feelings. “Geoffrey, we cannot marry. We think nothing alike, you and I.”

  Even in the darkness, she could see his body grow rigid. “Of course we think nothing alike. Since when do men and women think alike? You say the strangest things.” There was an edge to his voice.

  She felt her irritation with him begin to swell. “I have no wish to marry.”

  “That is your father’s doing. He has placed notions in your head that are not in keeping with a woman’s station.”

  She started to speak, but he cut across her.

  “I know you disagree, Catherine, but centuries of human history have shown that a woman’s place is at her husband’s side. It is the natural order. You will come to love being my wife. I will cherish you, protect you, provide for you. Our children will live like royalty.”

  She fought to keep her anger under control, but the evening had worn her patience to a single thread. “I will not marry you, Geoffrey. I do not love you.”

  The muscles of his jaw twitched. “I know more about you than you realize, my dear. When I truly ask you to marry me, you will eagerly consent, I assure you. Now wish me a good night.”

  Abruptly Geoffrey’s arms encircled her, and his lips pressed hungrily against hers.

  Cassie was so surprised she did not fight him, her mind registering only shock and a vague sense of revulsion.

  His arms pulled her close, and his tongue thrust clumsily between her lips.

  She twisted her head and tried to push him away. Pulling one arm free, she slapped him across the face with all her might. “Stop!”

  “Don’t fight me, Catherine.” His grip tightened. His breath stank of wine and onion. “You can’t win in the end. Let me show you how much I love you.”

  He bent his head toward hers again.

  “I believe the lady told you to stop, Crichton.”

  Chapter Thirteen

  Cassie’s breath caught in her throat.

  Cole stood in the shadows, leaning lazily against the carriage wheel.

  “You’ve no right to interfere in the affairs of gentlemen, convict!” Still, Geoffrey did not release her.

  “You are no gentleman, Crichton.”

  “It’s all right.” Cassie recovered her voice. “Geoffrey was just leaving.”

  She felt Geoffrey’s hesitation, sensed the hatred surging between the two men.

  Geoffrey’s grip began to loosen. He stood back and, lifting her hand to his lips, kissed it in farewell. “Good evening, Catherine. Remember what I said.” He climbed into the carriage. “What are you looking at, boy?” he shouted to the young driver.

  The carriage lurched forward and disappeared into the darkness.

  “It seems I owe you another debt of thanks.”

  Alec could see she was trembling. “You shouldn’t be alone with him.”

  The words came out more harshly than he’d intended. He’d come to demand the truth from her, not to rescue her. But when he’d seen Crichton forcing himself on her, all of that had been forgotten. It had taken every ounce of restraint he possessed not to beat the bastard to a pulp.

  “Don’t tell me what I should and should not do.” Her chin shot up defiantly.

  She wanted to fight? Good. So did he. “You’re perfectly capable of protecting yourself, is that it? Or did you want him to take advantage of you?”

  “Like you do?”

  Alec laughed. Slowly he walked toward her, a predator stalking his prey, until he stood mere inches away. “I don’t seem to remember you objecting to my kisses or my touch. Shall we test your resolve, compare his kisses to mine?”

  “You’ve been drinking. I can smell it on your breath.”

  “You’re damned right I’ve been drinking. And I want some answers.” All evening anger had been a viper coiled in his gut, whiskey adding sting to its venom. It was time for him to strike. “I want the truth from you. Now.”

  “What truth?”

  “Did you force the old woman to lie about my identity?”

  “Of all the ungrateful—”

  “Answer the question.”

  “You’re being ridiculous.” She turned and began to walk to
ward the great house.

  He stepped in front of her to block her path and lifted her chin, forcing her to meet his gaze. “Answer me.”

  “Of course not! I don’t know how you could even think such a thing! Why would I try to keep you here when I’ve come to dread the very sight of you?”

  “I can tell by your eyes when you’re lying. Did you know that?”

  “Then you know I’m telling the truth.”

  “About the old woman, yes. Why do you lie about your father?”

  Her eyes widened in surprise. She blinked it away. “You know nothing about my father.”

  “I know no one has seen him for months. I know he leaves his daughter and his only heir unprotected while he supposedly looks for breeding stock for his stables. I know he lets his daughter manage his affairs as if she wore breeches.”

  Cassie stiffened. “What difference does it make that I’m a woman? Or perhaps you think women should have nothing on their minds beyond needlework and frippery.”

  “Running an estate is men’s work.”

  “Why? Why must it be so? A woman once ruled all of England, yet Englishwomen aren’t even allowed to rule themselves.”

  “Women rule in their own way. They raise the children, run the household—“

  “While men run everything else.”

  Alec could tell she was truly angry with him now and felt his own temper rise. “I’ve no wish to debate civilization’s finer points. One day you’ll marry and discover the joys to be found in serving a husband.”

  Were those tears in her eyes?

  “If ever I wed, it will be to a man who treats me as his equal.”

  “Better to rule in hell, Cassie?”

  Her voice quavered. “My life is none of your affair.”

  “Very well, then. You don’t trust me. I don’t trust you. But I don’t have your life in my hands. It is the reverse, in fact, and I detest it!”

  “Your life was in my hands, and I saved it, if you’ll remember. Perhaps living like a bondsman will do an arrogant fool like you some good!” She pushed past him and walked inside, slamming the door behind her.

  For the second time in recent memory, Alec found himself feeling like an ass.

  * * *

  “Come, Daniel, be brave. You must drink,” Cassie urged, cradling the child’s damp head.

  How could she explain to a four-year-old that his survival depended on the vile concoction she now held to his lips? Having tasted the bitter quinquina once, the boy was reluctant to drink again.

  “You want to get well, don’t you?”

  He nodded weakly, his tiny body racked with chills.

  She swallowed the lump in her throat. It could just as easily be Jamie lying here.

  “Then you must drink, sweetling.”

  The boy reluctantly parted his fever-parched lips, and, with a grimace, slowly drank the contents of the cup.

  “That’s a good boy.” She lowered his head gently to his pillow and smiled reassuringly to Nettie, who stood next to the bed, her face a wan mask. “Bathe him with wet cloths to cool him. Let him drink if he becomes thirsty. I’ll be back to give him another dose this afternoon.”

  The ague had hit Blakewell’s Neck early that morning, sending four field hands and two slave children, including little Daniel, to their beds with high fevers and violent chills. Awakened just before dawn by Nettie’s frantic knocking on her bedroom door, Cassie had found her hands full all morning helping Takotah tend the sick.

  Those who were able to keep down the medicine, which had a miraculous effect on the fever, would be on their feet within the week. Cassie prayed, not for the first time this morning, that Daniel would be one of them.

  She closed the small leather pouch in which Takotah stored the lifesaving red powder and gave the little boy one last kiss on the cheek, but he had already lapsed into a feverish sleep.

  “He’s a strong boy,” Nettie said, more to herself than to Cassie.

  “Aye, he is strong. And he has us to care for him.” Cassie rose and took Nettie’s hand with a reassuring squeeze. Her throat was tight. “We will not let him die.”

  “Thank you, Cassie.” The tears Nettie had been denying all morning streamed down her face. It had been years since Cassie had heard Nettie use her name.

  A light knock on the door told her that Luke had returned with the water she’d sent him to fetch a few minutes ago. English physicians, with their strange ideas about illness and medicine, did not permit those with fevers to drink, but Takotah had taught her that to refuse water to the sick was not only cruel, but might also be harmful. She would take Takotah’s wisdom over the pompous blusterings of a physician anytime.

  She opened the door and stood back to admit Luke, who was carrying two large jugs brimming with sweet water. Barefoot, his broad, muscular torso slick with perspiration, he carried the jugs as if they were empty, placing them lightly on the wooden table next to the bed. He had been hovering about the cabin all morning doing whatever he could to help. He’d even brought in a load of kindling and firewood, despite the obvious fact that it was nearly the end of June and the cabin was more than warm enough. Cassie hadn’t realized how fond he was of Daniel.

  “If you need anything, I’ll be outside,” he told Nettie, his deep voice strangely soft.

  “You gonna stand in the sun outside my door all day?” Nettie asked, shaking her head and smiling for the first time all morning She sniffed and wiped the tears from her face with the corner of her apron. “Don’t be a fool. It’s much cooler in here. Sit down. Daniel will want to see you when he wakes up.”

  Luke glanced at the boy in the bed and back at his mother before sitting down somewhat awkwardly on an old milking stool far too small for him.

  “Send for me if anything changes,” Cassie said.

  No one seemed to hear her.

  “You must be thirsty.” Nettie poured water into a cup and handed it to Luke.

  Luke nodded his thanks and drank deeply, his eyes never leaving Nettie’s face.

  So that’s the way of it, thought Cassie, feeling chagrined for having been so blind. Luke had taken a liking to Daniel’s mother. She left, closing the door quietly behind her.

  Though the sky was overcast, the day was already oppressively hot as she made her way toward the cookhouse, where the noon meal and a few moments’ respite were waiting for her. Heavy clouds lay over the land like a suffocating blanket, and the air, thick with the smell of wood smoke and manure, was hot and sticky, without the slightest hint of a breeze. Perspiration trickled between her breasts and down her back. Despite the playful shrieks and giggles of the children, who chased one another through the rows of small cabins, she felt overcome by a sense of foreboding. First Geoffrey. Now the ague. Though she had purchased a large amount of quinquina when she was last in Williamsburg, she knew there might not be enough to go around should the ague spread. Heaven help them.

  Aching for sleep, she longed to crawl into bed and let her dreams carry her far from worry and disease. Rest had been long in coming last night. She’d lain awake until late in the night, restless and troubled. Geoffrey had behaved so strangely. All that talk of marriage. He knew full well she would never marry him.

  She lifted her sleeve to her lips as if to wipe away the memory of Geoffrey’s unwanted kisses. How astonishingly different was her body’s reaction to Cole. Geoffrey’s touch had made her feel queasy, while Cole’s . . . Could it be only yesterday she and Cole had stood on the riverbank kissing? It seemed ages ago.

  What kind of woman would want to make love with a man she thinks is a rapist?

  His question had haunted her all night. She had no answer. If she truly believed him a felon, why did she yearn for his touch?

  Yet if she believed he was telling the truth, why did she treat him like a servant?

  Though she could not legally release him from his indenture without the approval of a magistrate, she could at the very least relieve him of doing manual labor and ask
him to employ his business sense on her behalf. He did claim to own a vast estate. But would he help her? Or would he belittle her? Like every other man Cassie knew, he did not approve of her running things. He’d made that clear last night. She could imagine him looking through the ledgers, a disapproving frown on his face, condescension in his voice as he criticized every decision, every unconventional idea.

  Running an estate is men’s work.

  The memory of his words made her bristle.

  In the cookhouse, she found Nan just sitting down to eat.

  “Daniel... is he—”

  “He’s asleep, but he still has a powerful fever.”

  “Oh, look at ye, love.” Nan rested her hands on her ample hips, looking Cassie up and down. “Ye must be famished. Sit down and let old Nan fetch ye a thick slice of bread and some cheese.”

  Cassie sat and gratefully accepted the food, only to discover she had no appetite.

  “What is it, love? I can see in yer eyes something’s wrong. Ye’re not feelin’ feverish too?” The cook felt her forehead.

  “Nay, I’m fine. Just tired.” Cassie forced herself to take a bite, then chewed and swallowed. Nan had enough to worry about. Cassie would tell her about Geoffrey’s strange behavior some other time. She started to take another bite, but never got the chance. The door flew open.

  “Miss Cassie!” Nate was out of breath, his freckled face red from exertion. “It’s Rebecca!”

  “The baby?”

  It was still early, but babies rarely seemed to appear when one expected them.

  “No.” He shook his head, a shock of red hair falling into his eyes. “Fever. She’s burning up!”

  Cassie stood, gathering the leather pouch. “Nate, fetch water from the well. I’ll bring cider and all the clean cloths we can spare.”

  Nate stood wringing his hands. “Do you think she’ll ... ”

  “We’ll do all we can.” Cassie placed a reassuring hand on Nate’s arm. “Nan, find Zach or Cole. Tell one of them to fetch Takotah and bring her—”