The Winds of Fate

by Michel, Elizabeth

“I want your promise.”

  “You can’t be serious.”

  “Surely I am. It is a day for favors. I’ve given you your Cookie back. I’ve given you my name. What do I receive in return? A debt to be paid. Your word. Your honor. Your promise.”

  Devon felt the sting of a blow across the back of his neck. He swung around. He advanced toward the perpetrator, but pulled up short.

  “Get away from my niece. You bastardly spawn of a bitch.”

  Devon gave his master a sardonic smile. “No. That would not be accurate. My mother assured me that I was legitimate. Not that my ancestry has done me a lick of good.”

  Jarvis raised his quirt. “I’ll teach you to know your place. Why are you not in the fields?”

  Claire gasped, grabbing her uncle’s arm. “He is here at my request. Pray leave him be. He is a physician, and I ordered him to attend Cookie.”

  “Umph. Off with you then,” said Jar vis.

  “Forgive me,” Devon bowed. “It was pleasant to meet you again, sir, but I’m afraid I have another engagement−” With a calm, deliberate glance, he passed onto Claire a disconcertingly charming smile. “I beg your pardon.”

  “I will walk you out,” Claire said. She might be terrified, or whatever it was she was feeling, but she seemed able to conceal her feelings from Jarvis.

  He paused at the garden gate. “Your uncle must have been nursed on vinegar.”

  “You’ll not say−” she couldn’t finish.

  “A scene would be fatal.”

  “A monumental deception such as this is impossible.”

  “Well you’re obviously stuck with me. You’ll learn to accept defeat graciously. That is, when you decide to be a woman. Anything else, I consider lacking.” He made her the grandest bow. “Your servant, Madame Blackmon.”

  Claire ran to her room and slammed the door. “He’s alive.” Claire raked her fingers through her hair, uncertain whether she was on the verge of hysterical laughter or tears. “What am I going to do? Who could have imagined such a fate?” She had bought her own husband off the docks!

  Claire paced, her stomach in knots and her thoughts in wild disarray. If her uncle discovered the felon was her husband he would eliminate him and waste no time in marrying her off. Why had fate determined this disaster? Was she being punished for the lie she told to a condemned man? He expected her to fulfill her promise. Ridiculous. She was not the sort to drive men wild with lust. So why did he see fit to pursue her? Was it because life had diminished for him that he wanted to make her suffer?

  Claire looked down at the ring on her finger. She dreaded the gold, the symbol of her bondage, the symbol that turned her ordered existence on its head. She wanted to pretend that the last hours never happened. Claire attempted to pry off the offending jewelry, but it would not budge. She cursed. Of all the bad luck in the world−that he would be on this very island.

  “What is wrong, Claire?” Lily closed the door behind her.

  Claire turned and faced the mirror, fingers trailing the edge of her silver handled brush. Lily’s eyes searched hers in the reflection. There was no escaping Lily. “Disaster, Lily. Remember the felon I married in Newgate−he’s here−on this island.”

  “Impossible. We saw to his grave.”

  “Our greedy Mr. Goad lied to us. The physician is Devon Blackmon.”

  Lily sat down, digesting the revelation. “I knew no good would come from your marriage at Newgate. Can you trust him? How will you manage?”

  “I could weep.”

  “What does he want? Food? Money? Freedom?” Lily paused. “I think there’s something more. Something you are not telling me. What really happened in Newgate?”

  Claire swallowed a hard lump in her throat. Devon Blackmon emerged a dangerous aspect of her life, a threat to her new found independence. There would be no peace when he was around. He was reckless enough to bring them all down. “I made a promise, that’s all.”

  Lily pulled her spectacles down her nose and glared at Claire. “What kind of promise?”

  Claire cheeks burned. “I can’t say. I mean, it’s nothing, really.”

  Lily folded her hands in her lap. “I’ve finished giving broth to Cookie. She is resting well. The good physician saved her life. We are indebted to him. Whatever promise you made him, I believe you have a moral responsibility to keep.”

  Claire avoided the fields and mountains where brush was cleared and fields lay readied to cultivate, anywhere the slaves would be at work. To prevent any kind of encounter with Devon Blackmon, she spent many hours at the governor’s mansion in overlong teas and dinners. The governor’s wife, Mary, ignorant of Claire’s pervading sense of doom, received the extra attention her guest afforded; craving to relieve the tedium of island life, and more importantly to socialize with a member of nobility regardless of the fact that Claire remained a poor relation. Claire had blue-blood flowing through her veins through her father, an earl. As far as Mary remained concerned, it was if Claire were once removed from the Queen.

  As for the governor, he doted over Claire and Lily as if he were a favorite grandfather. He loved to play chess, which both of them excelled at. His sense of humor, and childish demeanor warmed Claire’s heart. With fondness, she thought of him as a simple man more suited to the uncomplicated life of a country squire than the most important ruling governor of the Caribbean.

  As Claire saw no more of Devon Blackmon, her fears started to ease. She supposed he had resolved to drop the affair, bowing to discretion. In the bright light of a dawning day, Claire refused any more perverse thoughts on the matter and accepted an invitation to luncheon at the governor’s mansion

  “How do you like our island?” Mrs. Bennett, an elderly lady who had lived on the island most of her life asked Claire.

  “The splendor grants my soul a richness and peace. I feel so at home.”

  “You are so like your father. He absolutely loved Jamaica.”

  Claire gaped. “You knew my father?”

  “I knew him two decades ago. I admired him. Unlike typical aristocrats, your father had vision. He worked his plantation with hired men. Many of his innovations have been adopted throughout the island. He reinvested his profits. Soon the plantation surpassed everyone else. My late husband followed his model and yielded better results. Your father sailed for England, fell in love and remained.” She cleared her throat. “His philosophy differs from his brother, Sir Jarvis. Perhaps you’d like to have tea with me?”

  Claire liked the older woman. An inner craving to learn more of her father filled a need in her so great she burst with happiness. Here lay her roots. “I look forward to the opportunity.”

  A gentle breeze lifted the draperies of the azure blue painted salon. “Oh do come in,” demurred Mary. “We have a new visitor I’d like you to meet.”

  Claire found herself seated next to Sir Jeffrey Teakle. From under her lashes, she studied him with disguised humor, the man a portrait of caricature. Every inch of him tucked and gathered in colorful satin and lace. Yards and yards of lace, rivaling the governor’s and that was a feat. Under his powdered wig, ferret-like eyes caught everything, but his most dominant feature, a bulbous nose led down to thin lips and a neck with skin stretched thin enough to look like a plucked fowl. This entire glittering ensemble proclaimed him an inheritor of the proud lineage of the grand and glorious conquerors of England. Claire eyed her cousin from across the table.

  Lily pursed her lips. “Are we having peacock for lunch?”

  Claire stifled a giggle, echoed by Mrs. Bennet.

  “Tell us, Sir Teakle,” Mary pronounced with her usual finesse, giddy over a new member of the realm with whom to socialize. “How are you related to the fifth earl of Cambric?”

  “Oh dear me. I could never bore the ladies with the length of my lineage.” He waved his hand, a lace handkerchief fluttered−a point of modest humility to recommend him. “I rather find the ladies present most interesting. I think it proper to hear of them.”
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  “Claire and Lily are from London,” Mary said. “Claire is also of nobility. Her uncle, Sir Jarvis runs a plantation on the island. Lily, her cousin is also unmarried.”

  Claire sat speechless. Mary proved determined to be matchmaker.

  Lily coughed in fitful spasms.

  “A cold coming on?” the governor inquired.

  “An inherited ailment. Took several of my aunts,” Lily said and Mary dropped her fork.

  “Good God. I cannot permit a plague,” said Sir Teakle, fanning the air away from him.

  Lily spoke up. “A contagion indigenous to my family, striking the females. Not infectious to anyone. So far, I’ve outlived everyone’s expectations.”

  From over her teacup, Claire surveyed her cousin with a stern eye. How clever to put herself off the marriage mart, leaving Claire open to Sir Teakle’s courting. “Lily is very good at playing chess, her strategies impeccable. Maneuvering is her forte.”

  “Whether in love or chess, one never knows when one will have to protect oneself from travesty.” Lily slanted a well-meaning look from Claire to Sir Teakle.

  “You never need to feel that concern with me,” protested Sir Teakle. “I abhor the game.”

  “Your Excellency, your physician and Sir Jarvis have arrived,” intoned the butler.

  “Good. Good. Send the physician in. My arthritis is acting up.”

  The door swung open and everyone’s eyes turned to the newcomers. Claire dropped her teacup. Sir Jarvis clicked his heels across the wood floor followed by Devon Blackmon.

  “If there is any trouble from him, Governor Stark, it will be back to the fields for him and the touch of the lash.”

  The governor fluttered his fingers through the air. “We will manage. I suppose you have a million matters to attend.”

  Jarvis raised his cane to Devon. “Be quick about your labors and get to the other patients.” The knight fumed from the airy dismissal, pivoted and left.

  Devon sauntered in like he owned the place. He nodded to everyone, but his eyes settled on her, touching her everywhere. The governor saw the stricken look on her face.

  “I have borrowed the doctor’s services, Claire. I understand he worked wonders with a servant of yours,” said the governor.

  “How−how did you know?” Claire rallied her thoughts. She could feel her cheeks burn as a mocking grin gleamed with startling whiteness against Devon’s sun-darkened skin.

  “I complained one day about Doctors Abernathy and Bone,” said the governor. “Lily overheard me and recommended him. It is she I have to thank.”

  “Of course, Lily…” Claire narrowed her eyes at her cousin. She would give Lily a piece of her mind for suggesting the very thing she wished to avoid.

  Though surprised by Devon’s new attire, she’d eat nails before she would show any notice. He appeared well-dressed, yet when he stepped closer, she corrected her first impression to note his garments were made of plain, worn homespun, probably cast-offs. His clothes sat upon him well, lent more by his natural grace, she concluded. Thick dark hair was cropped short with heavy waves framing the sharp angles of his handsome face. She turned her head away, and then heard him laugh. Her eyes clapped on him, but his benign countenance showed nothing. He knelt to attend the governor’s feet.

  “This is the man you bought off the docks. What a bargain. Don’t you think, Claire? said the governor. “It was very wise of you to buy him. He’s worth many times the amount you purchased for him. Your uncle will be a very rich man in renting out the physician’s labors.”

  Claire was not proud to admit she had bought a man.

  “He’s a slave you say?” Sir Teakle said, apparently desiring not to be left out of the pecking order. “What say you slave, of this beautiful paradise you now call home?”

  Devon worked on the governor’s feet. She could see he’d rather ignore the knight. It wasn’t in his nature.

  “Far be it from me to call it a mirror of heaven that is, asking the opinion of a slave.”

  The governor chuckled. “In addition to medicine, the man has wit.”

  “Now about you, Miss Claire,” Sir Teakle wheedled. “I find you fascinating. What do you think of this earthly mirror of heaven the slave suggested?”

  Claire sputtered. Sir Teakle had set his cap for her. Why couldn’t she think of some exotic ailment like Lily? She experienced again the sensation of being stripped naked by that green gaze. She refused to look at Devon, suspecting the fool would find creative ways to make her life miserable until her debt was paid. “With all humility, Sir Teakle, I find myself soaring at such heights that I have to go downstairs to get to heaven.”

  Governor Stark chortled. “The lady demonstrates clever wit as well. What do you think, Sir Teakle? Is she not a match for you?”

  “Indeed. I am in the company of an angel. I admire a woman whose pride is subordinate, and whose loveliness is beyond distinction. Like a fair chrysanthemum, your beauty attracts me and sends wild my heart. With your permission, I plan to visit with your uncle to make my intentions known. That is, if I may be so bold.”

  “I-I consider your intentions−” Claire couldn’t get out the rest of her words. How did she tell Sir Teakle she already had a husband, and he was hale and healthy five feet from him? Dear Lord. Whatever was she to do? Complications rose by the minute.

  “How romantic.” Mary sighed. “To think I made the introductions.”

  If Claire wasn’t afraid of the water she’d run to the sea and drown herself. No doubt the knight was anticipating their wedding night. Claire managed not to shudder. “We’ve just met−”

  “I believe my cousin is still in mourning,” Lily intervened.

  “That’s right, I’m in mourning. My husband has passed on,” Claire confirmed then winced when Devon cleared his throat.

  “Then my condolences to you,” said Sir Teakle. “How did your husband expire?”

  “Tragic,” sniffed Mary who recited Claire’s tale with ostentatious exaggeration every time she told it. “So young and so in love. He doted on her. She cared for him more than life itself. He was so handsome and strong and vital. Everything a woman could dream. Claire worshiped the ground he walked on. Eternal lovers.” Mary clapped her hands together, her fingers pointed to heaven. Then Mary leaned over and spoke to Sir Teakle. “He died from a broken neck.”

  Claire accepted Mary’s consolation with aplomb. She covered her face with the handkerchief she tugged from Sir Teakle’s pocket. She nearly wept for Devon heard everything. What would Devon do? She had to keep up the front to keep Sir Teakle from the hunt, especially since the governor’s wife had upped the ante by hinting at an inheritance. She blew her nose. “It was sudden.”

  Lily pushed her spectacles up. “I know my cousin’s feelings well. For Claire, it is almost as if he is alive and in this room.”

  Claire kicked Lily under the table. From the corner of her eye, she gauged Devon’s reaction. He appeared engrossed with bandaging the governor’s feet. How dare he be amused?

  “Try that,” Devon ordered, standing back to view the results.

  “Much better,” declared the governor. “The man is a marvel. Makes it worth suffering all the ladies’ plaguey bereavement. Good God, Claire. It’s been six months. Time to move on.” The Governor hobbled around the dining room, bubbling with child-like joy. “What say you about all this women’s sorrow business?” he asked Devon.

  Devon bowed to the governor, but his eyes fell on Claire. “If your husband, so strong, so handsome and so vital−and you in love with him...” He grew still in his ruminations, stroking his chin.

  In the agonizing silence, Claire held her breath. Would he reveal everything?

  Devon smiled, but after a long moment managed to present a serious face. “Eternal lovers... Faith, that is a new experience for me. In my years as a physician, I have yet to see that practiced and look forward to see the deed done.”

  “Eternal lovers. Eternal lovers.” Claire raced her
mare about the island, the drumming of the hooves pounding in her head over and over again. Where had Mary selected that from? And leave it to Devon to pick up on that bit of information. She set her knees into the horse’s flanks, thankful his double entendre passed over everyone’s head. She avoided the wretched blackguard for another week, and she triumphed with her evasion, yet the circumvention did little to assuage the anger and shakiness, haunted by her promise.

  Sir Jeffrey wasted no time in his courtship. He approached her uncle, and since then, idled hours at the manor house, demanding her attention. Never able to get past the nose and lace, she grew distrustful beneath his narrowed eyes. He devoured her like a hawk.

  Visiting the governor’s home became impossible. One never knew when the Governor’s feet would act up. To be lashed by Devon Blackmon’s taunts, repulsed her, but no more than the sniffing, whining, pompous, Sir Jeffrey. She missed her visits with the governor and his wife. But Mary proved to be on a mission, and there would be no deterrence of her efforts to see her wed to Sir Jeffrey. Why Mary had even procured samples of ivory silks for a wedding gown for Claire to approve.

  Claire slowed her mare to a canter, discovering minor solace from her self-imposed isolation. She attempted to seize upon the day. The sun, a great dragon held court over the earth. A myriad of vibrantly hued blossoms, their heavy fragrance rising on fitful breezes allayed the heaviness in her chest. She rounded a bend on a sandy road. A well-dressed stranger emerged up ahead. Curious, she slowed her mare to a trot. A visitor perhaps? She raised an eyebrow, a rare enough occasion for someone new to the island. He had his head down when she greeted him.

  “Good day, sir.” She said and then believed him peculiar when he remained mute. She moved past him.

  A long bronze arm shot out and snatched the reins of her horse.

  “How dare you.” She raised her silver-handled whip.

  From beneath the broad brim of his straw hat rose a swarthy face that would forever remain tattooed on her brain.

  “You.”

  “Good day, Madame Blackmon. It is always a pleasure to have the bride look upon her husband’s countenance with such tender regard.”