by Georgie Lee
‘What will you tell him? You dreamed of seeing a ghost here at Belle View?’ she mocked, despite the iciness creeping through her. Lord Spotswood knew Richard’s secret. If Mr Fitzwilliam went to him with his accusations, the Governor would know they were true and might reveal it. If he was determined to bring down Mr Fitzwilliam for colluding with pirates, Lord Spotswood might convict her, too. She’d be ruined and Dinah taken from her, Belle View seized by the Crown leaving her daughter a pauper and an orphan. Heaven smite Richard and her for having been naive enough to care for him.
‘Don’t you dare talk back to me, you lying whore!’ He raised his hand to strike her, and Cassandra cringed, waiting for the blow. Then Mr Fitzwilliam stopped, the red in his face fading a touch as he regained control. He lowered his hand and turned to his men. ‘Find Richard. He must not escape again.’
Mr Adams gave a terse nod and headed back out into the night, followed by his henchmen.
Cassandra prayed Richard was far enough away to avoid danger, even if she wasn’t. If they caught him, it would give proof to Mr Fitzwilliam’s accusations. Something inside her made her doubt Richard would turn her in to protect himself, but his willingness to abandon her made her doubt her intuition. Richard had left her to face Mr Fitzwilliam, like her parents had left her to deal with Belle View and the Chathams to bear Giles. Despair made her knees weak, and she almost sank to the floor in desperation before she locked them tight. She’d never succumbed to wilting fear before. She wouldn’t tonight. She must remain strong against this threat as she had all the others she’d ever faced.
‘As for you...’ Mr Fitzwilliam fixed on the crooked stomacher and the hastily tied skirt, her air of having hurriedly dressed all but giving her away ‘...don’t think you’ve won.’
She raised her chin in defiance. ‘I wasn’t aware we were in battle.’
‘Oh, we are, and I am the conqueror. I believe you are trespassing on my land.’ He withdrew a document from his pocket, unfolded it and held it out to her. Horror gripped her. It was the deed to Belle View executed in Mr Fitzwilliam’s name. ‘Before your father died, he borrowed from mine a large sum of money, using Belle View as collateral. He didn’t pay back the debt and I renegotiated the loan with your uncle for the same terms. He also failed to repay it before he died.’
‘That’s a lie. There was no agreement of any kind between my father and yours, or Uncle Walter, in their papers after they passed. Even if there was, the plantation is in my name, not his. Uncle Walter had no legal right to renew the debt without consulting me first and I never would have agreed to it.’ She was grasping at straws, but she had to. The deed appeared real, but she still didn’t believe it. Uncle Walter had urged her so many times not to sell Belle View. She couldn’t believe he would have mortgaged it out from under her.
‘How quaint, a woman attempting to argue the law with a burgess.’ Mr Fitzwilliam lowered the deed and chuckled, making Cassandra want to slap the condescending smile off his face. ‘Walter Lewis held the power of attorney to manage the estate and therefore the right to extend or enter into contracts. It isn’t my fault he failed to mention it to you. You have since defaulted on the terms of the agreement and by right of law this plantation is mine.’
‘This is a forgery. Show me the original agreement between my father and yours, show me the renewed contract between you and Uncle Walter. Point to where my father and uncle signed their names. Explain to everyone the terms and why you waited so long to claim what you say is yours.’
His superior smile vanished and the angry red flush returned to his cheeks. He caught her by the wrist and yanked her close, his hot breath nearly suffocating her and his fingers making the pearls bite into her skin. ‘I’ll provide it and any other documents necessary to take ownership of this land. And what will you do about it? Who will you, a London whore, appeal to in order to say it isn’t legal? No one will believe you and I’ll make sure you, your brat and every servant and farmer who works this land are tossed off it. What will you do then? Where will you go? How will you and your daughter survive?’
He let go of her, and she stumbled back, rubbing her wrist where a circle of angry bruises began to develop. Jane appeared at the top of the stairs, Dinah clinging to her legs, both of them watching and listening, the fear on their faces as intense as it had been on the Winter Gale. If Cassandra lost Belle View, there was nowhere they could go, no one to appeal to for help. The Chathams had turned their backs on her, she had no inheritance, no income from England and Richard was gone.
She didn’t bother to refute his assertions because he was right. With him holding a deed to Belle View, and threatening to tell Lord Spotswood of his suspicions, the fight was as good as lost. A woman couldn’t argue the law with a burgess and no court was likely to side with her against Mr Fitzwilliam even if she could raise enough money to hire a solicitor and challenge him. He had the deed and his respected word while she had nothing but accusation about forgeries she couldn’t prove.
Her mother’s clock chimed the quarter-hour, and Cassandra pressed her fingertips against the fine mahogany case. If Mr Fitzwilliam took Belle View, all connection to her past and all hope for Dinah’s future would be lost. It wasn’t only her and Dinah at risk, but the many other families who relied on Belle View for their livelihood.
For the first time, she understood Richard’s dilemma and why he’d chosen his crew over her.
If only Richard were still here. But he wasn’t. He never would be again.
Cassandra’s heart sank. Everything she’d dreamed of finding in Virginia was being ripped away from her tonight.
‘Whatever you may think of me, or despite what people may say, I’m not a cruel man. I don’t wish to see a child starve, or her mother hang for abetting a pirate.’ Mr Fitzwilliam folded the deed and tucked it into his pocket, the calm he normally displayed covering him once again, but the level tone of his words proved more frightening than his rage. ‘Marry me and I’ll ensure both you and your daughter are well taken care of and Belle View returned to its former glory.’
Cassandra worked to steady herself, unable to believe the lengths Mr Fitzwilliam had gone to in an effort to secure her hand, but she wasn’t about to surrender herself or her freedom to this man. She’d seen the monster behind the gentlemanly façade and refused to allow it to govern her or her daughter’s lives. ‘If you have the deed, why do you need me to marry you?’
‘You’re a charming woman, Lady Shepherd, and you might have left London carrying the taint of scandal, but you still have the blood of aristocrats in your veins. Marriage to me will restore your respectability and, with your honour renewed, you’ll encourage Lord and Lady Chatham, and whatever noble friends you still possess in England, to petition Parliament on my behalf and support my endeavour to become the next Governor of Virginia.’
The man was insane, willing to believe anything in his quest for power. ‘I have no influence with the Chathams or anyone of note in London. I can be of no help to you, especially not as your wife. As you were so kind to point out, I left London a disgraced woman.’
‘You’ll have money once the Belle View dock is established as a prime shipping wharf. Money is all you need to make London forget your past and help us build our future as the most powerful couple in Virginia.’
‘If you want Belle View, then take it. Make money off the dock and buy your own influence. It’s more than anything you think I can offer you.’ She would not marry him. She still had some of the money Richard had given her on the Winter Gale, jewellery and a few other things of value. She could sell them and it would keep her and Dinah and Jane until she could find work and another place to live, assuming she could. She possessed no real skills, nothing to offer anyone in exchange for the money she needed to live. Perhaps one of the Williamsburg ladies might hire her as a companion, assuming Mr Fitzwilliam didn’t darken her name. If he did, she could go to another colony, somew
here where people didn’t know or care who she was and find work there, but it would once again mean abandoning everything she’d ever cared for to face a grim and unknown future. Cassandra sagged down in a wooden chair beside her mother’s tall clock, her courage and faith in herself and the future quickly fading.
‘No, Lady Shepherd. Marriage is what I am offering you and the only option you have. If you refuse my hand tonight, I will bring charges against you for abetting a notorious pirate and see to it that you are convicted. I will have your daughter taken from you and placed with a family of my choosing to raise as they see fit. If you accept me, I will give your daughter a good life among prominent people and you will be the lady of the manor once more. You’ll no longer have to worry about maintaining Belle View or struggling to keep it, and all those relying on it, afloat.’
She glanced past him to where Jane sat trying to soothe Dinah, who’d buried her face in the nurse’s shoulder. They depended on her to protect them here as much as aboard the Winter Gale and she couldn’t fail them, even if it meant placing herself in this man’s control. Her mind searched for a way out of this, some other path to keep her from binding herself to Mr Fitzwilliam, but she could think of nothing.
‘Well, Lady Shepherd?’ Mr Fitzwilliam laid a heavy hand on her shoulder, and she shuddered. ‘Will you marry me and see you and your daughter raised to the highest levels of society, to have respect and influence, or will you reject me and have you and your child thrown out of Belle View, the two of you separated for good?’
Just like Giles, Mr Fitzwilliam held all the power and, with a word to Lord Spotswood either about Richard or the deed, he could destroy her. She didn’t want to marry him, but she couldn’t allow Dinah to suffer at the hands of strangers, to be raised without love or neglected. At least in marriage, Cassandra would be here to shield her from Mr Fitzwilliam, to give her the care and concern she deserved and needed. Cassandra had fought a cruel husband to keep Dinah close and she’d endure another to protect her. She could do nothing for her if she was in prison or dead. ‘Yes, I’ll marry you.’
‘I knew you’d see reason.’ He ran his hand over her hair, and she winced, wanting to push him away, but she couldn’t. Everything she did now must be to defend Dinah. She didn’t trust Mr Fitzwilliam’s assurances to be good to her. ‘We’ll make a formal announcement at Lady Spotswood’s masked ball in two weeks. I want all of Virginia to know of our union and for my good name to prevent anyone from besmirching yours. Tomorrow, I’ll call for you so we may obtain our marriage licence.’
He slid his clammy hand beneath hers and raised it to his lips, pressing his wet mouth against it, the nearness of him almost making her wretch. The fading impression of Richard’s gentle touch and the pleasure they’d enjoyed in their brief time together would torture her now more than it had during all her lonely years with Giles. It added to the bitterness already consuming her, for Richard’s affection had never been real and the comfort of it was gone. There would be nothing for her to hang on to in her marriage to Mr Fitzwilliam, to give her hope in the darkest moments except her love for Dinah and the need to keep her safe.
‘I’ll call for you in the morning.’ Mr Fitzwilliam dropped her hand, offered her a low, sweeping bow that did nothing to hide his smirk of triumph, then strode from the house.
‘You can’t let him do this to you.’ Mrs Sween rushed up to Cassandra once he was gone. ‘There must be some other way.’
‘If there is, we must find it before the wedding.’ It was the only thing keeping her from sliding to the floor and weeping tears of desperation. Like Richard, she’d been ensnared by her decisions and his. There was nothing left to do but face the consequences, alone.
‘And if we can’t?’ Mrs Sween pressed.
Cassandra shuddered, sickened at what she might have to endure every night if she couldn’t find a way to break this betrothal without it costing her everything. She pushed herself up out of the chair, trying not to succumb to her fears. There must be some way out of this and she would find it. She had to. The alternative, like the idea that Richard never truly loved her, filled her with too much despair.
Chapter Ten
Cassandra entered the ballroom of the Governor’s Palace on Mr Fitzwilliam’s arm. Even with the tall sashes open to let in the night air, the crush of gentlemen and ladies combined with the persistent Virginia heat made the room as suffocating as her gown. The last two weeks had consisted of nothing but one defeat after another with Mr Fitzwilliam. Every shred of evidence she’d demanded to see in regards to the deed he’d produced. She still wasn’t convinced it was real, but she couldn’t prove it was a forgery any more than Richard could prove Vincent was trading with pirates. She hadn’t given up, but with the day of their wedding drawing steadily closer, her hope was quickly fading.
Cassandra moved to pass the two red-coated dragoons guarding the door and enter the room, but Mr Fitzwilliam made her pause on the threshold.
‘Wait. I want people to really see us, to know we’re here.’
The blue-walled ballroom with its white wainscoting was splendidly decorated with vines interwoven with flowers. A stringed quartet sat along the far wall playing their melodious tune. In the centre of the room, couples stood lined up across from one another, ready to turn and promenaded down the line for the latest contredanse, one that had been in England for some time, but which had only just reached Williamsburg. Among the dancers, and the many guests crowded together around the dance floor, women dressed as shepherdesses mingled with harlequins, but most of the revellers donned their own dresses with only a few alterations to hint at the medieval princess or the ancient kings they’d chosen to impersonate. Despite the masks and costumes, it was easy to recognise nearly half the guests. Mr Fitzwilliam all but flaunted his identity. He wore a fine suit of French blue with gold embroidery and a matching cape lined with fleur-de-lis to give the slightest appearance of a musketeer costume. A slender mask draped across his eyes, which glistened with a delight matched by his disgustingly wide smile.
Cassandra had taken some pains to conceal her identity with a larger half mask, ashamed to be seen with Mr Fitzwilliam despite the spreading news of their engagement. She wore her black-silk mourning dress trimmed in grey embroidery with a matching grey petticoat. It hadn’t been out of the trunk since the week before she’d left England. Despite having inwardly revelled in Giles’s passing, she’d done all expected of a widow in London, hoping to win back the Chathams’ favour. It hadn’t worked. They, like society, had refused to remember the dead man’s sins and had accused Cassandra of making a mockery of mourning. If she’d possessed enough money for new clothes, she would have left the dress in England. Instead, she’d kept it, thinking it could be cut into an outfit for Dinah. She never imagined she’d wear it again. Thankfully, her white half mask hid the puffiness of her eyes from the long nights spent pacing the Belle View halls, worrying about the future and how to extricate herself from this before it was too late.
Mr Fitzwilliam patted her hand where it rested listlessly on his arm, his touch making her skin crawl. He grinned with satisfaction when a bustle of revellers paused in their conversations to offer their congratulations. Sickened by his conceit, she cursed her inability to tear off the mask of the burgess hiding the criminal and to expose the thieving wretch Mr Fitzwilliam really was to these people. She might despise Richard for having abandoned her, but she shared his desire to ruin Mr Fitzwilliam. For this reason, she prayed he did find Captain Dehesa or Mr Powell and could give Lord Spotswood the evidence he sought. It was a thin prospect to hang her salvation on, for she doubted Richard would succeed where he’d failed before, at least not in time to save her from marriage. Mr Fitzwilliam would retain his place in society, and Cassandra would be the one debased by him.
‘Come along.’ Mr Fitzwilliam guided her into the crowd. Near the dance floor, more than one matron ducked behind her fan with a friend to wh
isper about them. Their daughters lit up the centre of the room with their own flashes of historic colour, oblivious to anything but the young gentlemen they danced with. In the last week, despite no formal announcement, Mr Fitzwilliam had done all he could to make it clear to everyone they were to marry, including securing the licence and setting the date. Tonight, he intended to inform anyone who hadn’t heard or who hadn’t chosen to believe the gossip.
Mr Preston, dressed in a dark green velvet frock coat with elaborate silver embroidery, white breeches and a white waistcoat, his identity poorly concealed by a handheld mask, frowned at their arrival. When they passed him, Mr Fitzwilliam bowed to him with a flourish, silently gloating about his impending acquisition of the Belle View wharf. Mr Preston lowered his mask, not relishing Mr Fitzwilliam enjoying the advantage of reviving the Virginia Trading Company and cutting into the Chesapeake Trading Company’s growing business. Like Cassandra, he’d be glad to see the Virginia Trading Company sunk.
‘There’s Lord and Lady Spotswood. We must tell them our good news.’ Mr Fitzwilliam led her across the room like a Roman general parading a conquered queen before his emperor.
The one victory she’d enjoyed over him this past week was Richard’s escape. Despite an exhaustive search, Mr Adams and his men had never found him. She couldn’t imagine where he’d gone, but he wasn’t here, helping her. He’d never been there when she’d truly needed him, not in London and not tonight. Regret made her steps heavy until Mr Fitzwilliam jerked at her, increasing their pace.
Miss Fitzwilliam trailed behind them, as sour in her appearance as she’d been in the carriage, seeming to rejoice in the forthcoming nuptials as much as Mr Preston. She was dressed as the devil, with a deep red gown trimmed in black lace. In her blonde hair, done in ringlets and tight curls, she’d pinned two small horns and a black-silk mask covered her blue eyes. Her costume, much like Cassandra on Mr Fitzwilliam’s arm, raised a number of eyebrows and set many matrons to whispering behind their hands. There’d been a heated discussion between the siblings before they’d all set out with Mr Fitzwilliam demanding his sister change, but she’d held firm in her decision to wear her chosen costume. Cassandra had sided with Miss Fitzwilliam, insisting that devil costumes were all the fashion in England. With time to leave running short, he’d grudgingly given up and they’d set out. Miss Fitzwilliam appeared oblivious to the stir her costume caused and probably delighted in embarrassing her brother on the night of his great triumph.
