Sam sent him a level glance from beneath his brows. “Angry? Angry does not begin to explain the emotions I feel right now. You have just told me that Chance could very well be my son and that you have suspected it for years. From everything you have said, I agree with your suspicions: Chance Walker is my son!” Sam’s fist hit his desk with a loud crash. “Yes, I am angry with you, furious and deeply wounded. And yet . . .” He brought his emotions back under control and muttered, “Despite everything, I would not willingly destroy a lifetime of friendship.” Bleakly he added, “I could have wished you had spoken decades ago, but I understand many things now, such as why you managed to keep Chance always under our noses and were always enlisting my help in his behalf. I am thankful for that.”
A weight slid off Morely’s shoulders. Uncertainly he asked, “But what are we to do now? We still have no proof.”
Sam smiled like a tiger, his resemblance to Chance very pronounced. “Then it is up to us to find proof, isn’t it?”
Part Four
Devil’s Own
There is something in the wind.
William Shakespeare,
The Comedy of Errors
Chapter Seventeen
Darkness had fallen an hour previous to the arrival of the newlyweds and their party at Devil’s Own, so Fancy was denied her first eager glimpse of the place that was now to be her home. Lanterns, both on the wagons and carried by Chance and Hugh, had lit their way through the night, and only occasionally did she catch a hint of the changing landscape. From her swaying perch in the wagon, she gradually became aware of a feeling of openness. That sensation, coupled with the sight of fewer and fewer trees and brush outlined by the wavering lantern light, made her certain they had left the woodland behind. When she spied the tobacco plants growing at the edge of the narrow path they followed and, shortly after that, a strip of rail fencing, she knew that their destination could not be far ahead, and a sense of excitement swept through her.
The wagons began a slight ascent, and ahead of them, through the darkness, Fancy saw flickering lights and the vague outline of a building. A few minutes later the wagons halted in front of the house, the light from inside spilling outside: the wide covered front porch was lit on either side with an ornate pair of lanterns. A half dozen broad steps led to the porch, and just as Chance helped Fancy from the wagon, the double doors of the house were thrown open and a neatly garbed gentleman came outside.
A merry smile wreathing his weathered face, the man exclaimed, “Welcome! Welcome to Devil’s Own, Mistress Walker. We have been eagerly awaiting your arrival.” He sent Chance a look. “The house has been too long without a woman’s touch.”
Leaving Hugh to see to Ellen and Annie, Chance led Fancy up the steps, saying dryly, “That is strange coming from you, Jed, considering that your excellent wife, Martha, keeps the house in exemplary condition.” Glancing down at Fancy, he said, “This is Jed Thompson. He and his wife came to me as indentured servants over ten years ago. By the time they had fulfilled the terms of our contract, I had discovered that my house could not be without them, and they had decided that working for me was not such a terrible fate.”
Reaching the porch with Fancy at his side, Chance stopped in front of Jed. “My wife, Fancy,” he said simply. “I trust that you and everyone at Devil’s Own will serve her with the same diligence and care that you have shown me.”
Jed bowed to Fancy. His hazel eyes twinkling, he said, “Mistress. It will be our pleasure to serve you, and I hope that we will always give satisfaction.”
Fancy murmured a warm reply, instantly liking this small red-haired man, and allowed him to usher her inside.
Because of the darkness she had not been able to tell a great deal about the house from the outside, but entering the spacious hall, with its elegant spiral staircase disappearing into the upper reaches of the house, she was able instantly to set to rest whatever doubts she might have had about her new home. The heart-pine floors gleamed with polish, crystal and brass wall sconces held expensive bee’s wax candles, and a delicate candelabra hung from the high ceiling, its golden light dancing across the tall gilt mirror and long mahogany sideboard that sat against one wall. Several arched doorways led off the hall, and from one of these a tiny, buxom woman came bustling forward, her blue eyes shyly meeting Fancy’s.
Hurrying up to them, she dropped a swift curtsy and said, “Welcome to your new home, mistress. I am Martha, Jed’s wife.”
“And the best cook in the Colonies, too,” Chance said with smile.
The remainder of the party entered the hall just then and more introductions were made, although Hugh needed none, as he was obviously well-known to the Thompsons. Tired from her jolting ride in the wagon, Fancy was glad when, just as soon as the initial flurry of their arrival had died down, Chance said, “Martha, if you will show Ellen and Annie to their rooms and see to their needs, and Jed, if you’ll tend to Hugh’s wants, I shall escort my bride to our rooms.” He glanced down at Fancy and smiled crookedly. “Tomorrow will be soon enough to explore your new home. From the look of you, you are longing for your bed.” To Martha he added, “Have Maryanne bring up a tray of light refreshments to our rooms after you have settled everyone.”
Bidding all good night, Chance took Fancy’s arm and led her up the spiral staircase. At the top of the staircase they entered another handsome hallway, and he ushered her along. Finally he stopped at a door and said with surprising diffidence, “Your rooms, madame. I hope you find them satisfactory.”
Fancy smiled softly at him, her eyes shining. “I am sure that I will.”
Bringing her closer to his tall length, he stared down into her face. Brushing his lips tantalizingly across hers, he murmured, “Mine are just next door. There is a connecting door between the suites. I have sworn not to make love to you during this month, but I trust you recall where you are to sleep.”
Fancy half scowled at him. “As if you would let me forget.”
He laughed and threw open the door. Her breath held expectantly, Fancy stepped inside, Chance following directly behind her. It was a beautiful room that met Fancy’s gaze, spacious and airy. A lovely needlework carpet in soft shades of rose and cream lay in the center of the glistening pine floor; a pair of wing-back chairs in a deeper rose color sat near one of many windows, a small table of mahogany and pine between them. The four-poster bed was a delicately carved affair, and the bed hangings and curtains draping the many windows were of printed cotton in the same soft shades as the carpet. A variegated silk coverlet of cream, rose, and green lay over the feather-filled mattress, and with pleasure Fancy noted that the marble on the tables near the bed and the washstand were pale green and blended charmingly with the decor.
There were more furnishings in the room, but letting out a sigh of delight, Fancy turned a pleased face up to Chance and said, “ ’Tis a lovely room, Chance. I shall spend many happy hours here, I know.”
Shutting the door behind them, he murmured, “They will be exciting hours, too, once you let me join you in that bed.”
A blush suffused her cheeks and she said hastily, “Does that door lead to your rooms?”
Flashing her a wry glance, he nodded. “Yes, and our dressing rooms. Would you like to see them?”
Very conscious of his warm body standing close behind her, and terrified that if he should touch her, she would forget it was her idea to wait to resume intimacies, Fancy said quickly, “Perhaps just a brief glimpse? I am rather tired.”
The dressing rooms were comfortable and commodious; Chance’s bedroom was larger than hers, the ruby-and-gold colors of the hangings and curtains as bold and masculine as he was himself. Averting her eyes from the massive mahogany bed that dominated the room, she said brightly, “It is very nice, too.” She gave a little yawn and added, “Oh, my, but I did not realize how very tired I am. Do you mind if I retire now?”
Chance turned her gently around and she found to her excitement and alarm that she was effectively tr
apped by his strong arms as they settled around her waist and pulled her closer to him. Then he kissed her, a warm, lazy kiss that sent her senses spinning.
Gazing down into her suddenly desire-flushed face, he said softly, “Fancy, I do not intend to leap upon you every time we are alone. I told you that I would give you time. I will. Do not fear me.”
She smiled up at him mistily, unaware of how very tempting she looked with her cat-slanted eyes golden with emotion, her mouth rosy and damp from his kiss. “ ’Tis not just you I fear, husband,” she breathed huskily, “but myself as well.”
What could he do after that disarming admission but kiss her again? His arms tightened and his mouth found hers, his lips warm and demanding as they stood there locked together.
Drowning in his embrace, Fancy swayed in his arms for endless moments, feeling the seductive sweep of desire flowing through her. It was his hand on her breast, the fingers shaping her sweetly aching nipple, that brought her back to the present.
She gasped and stepped swiftly from his arms. “You promised.”
Chance sighed. “Fool that I am.” His eyes narrowed. “But tease me again as you just did and I am afraid that I shall be forced to take back my promise.”
“Tease you?” Fancy flashed back, defensive and embarrassed at the same time. Had she teased him? She had not meant to. Not meeting his eyes, her color much heightened, she muttered, “I did no such thing. You simply took what you wanted.”
“If I had taken what I wanted, Duchess,” Chance drawled, a devilish glitter in his blue eyes, “you would be lying on that bed with your skirts tipped up and me lodged securely between your soft thighs.”
Ignoring the rush of heat that went through her at his words, she brushed past him and said tightly, “You are crude, sir. I will not stand here and listen to you a moment longer.”
Chance let her go, but he followed her to her room. Lounging against the doorjamb, he murmured, “And I am your husband. Remember that, sweetheart. You married me.”
Remembering just how he had connived that state of affairs, Fancy bristled. “You tricked me into marriage, do not forget. That is precisely why I want some time to, to ...”
“Grow used to my crude, barbaric ways?” he drawled.
“Exactly.”
There was a gentle tap on the door and Chance strode over to answer it. A small young woman stood there, twisting her hands together nervously. Her hazel eyes brightened when Chance smiled at her. Ushering her into the room, Chance said to Fancy, “This is Martha’s youngest daughter, Charity. While she cannot claim to be a fully trained lady’s maid, I am sure that you will find her services adequate.” Pushing Charity forward, he said, “Charity, this is my wife, Fancy, your new mistress. And you will soon see that she is not the ogress you fear.”
Charity blushed hotly and sent a beseeching gaze in Fancy’s direction. “Oh, mistress, I never once—”
Fancy smiled warmly at the young woman, whose bright red hair and small buxom stature would have proclaimed her Jed’s and Martha’s daughter even without Chance’s introduction. “Do not pay him any heed,” she said kindly. “I am sure that we shall deal very well together, Charity. I hope that you find helping me a pleasure and not a trial.” She shot her husband a look. “As I am sure your parents have found Chance to be upon occasion.”
Chance laughed. “Yes, I am sure that they have.” He gave Fancy a mocking bow and said, “I will leave you in Charity’s capable hands. There are things that I must see to, having been gone for much longer than I had originally planned. Her sister, Maryanne, will no doubt show up in a few minutes with some refreshments. Good night, Madame Wife.”
Charity proved to be eager and helpful, and by the time Fancy was comfortably ensconced in her bed and ready for sleep, she had also met Maryanne, enough like Charity to be her twin, except that Charity, at eighteen, was five years younger than Maryanne. After having partaken of the chicken soup and thick slices of bread and butter that had accompanied the light meal, Fancy waved the two young women away, hardly able to keep her eyes open.
She was deeply asleep when Chance slid into bed beside her. Pulling her close to him, he murmured into her ear, “The bargain, sweetheart, have you forgotten it?” Fancy made some sort of sleepy protest and then proceeded to snuggle deeper into his arms. A smile on his face, Chance fell asleep.
When Fancy woke the next morning, hot bright sunlight was spilling into the room and there was only the indentation in the pillow next to hers to show where Chance had lain. Not wishing to dwell upon the situation between her husband and herself, eager for her first glimpse of her new home, she sprang out of bed and hurried to one of the windows. Pushing aside the printed cotton, she looked outside. A smile of pure pleasure lit her face as her eyes fell on the great green expanse of grass, interspersed with towering oak and magnolia trees, that lay before her. The land sloped gently downward toward the shining silver of the river in the distance, and she spied a sizable dock built out into the flowing water. A wide road that ended in a broad sweeping circle in front of the house divided the view in front of her. To her left she saw a large, rail-fenced pasture, half a dozen mares busily cropping grass while their foals gamboled about. Aflower garden lay on the right, delightful walkways edged with bright blooms of pink, yellow, and purple, the faint scent of roses and spicy stocks wafting on the warm air.
Fancy had not known what to expect at Devil’s Own. The memory of Chance as she had first seen him in his wellworn buckskins had always been at odds with the fine clothes and elegant manners she had observed at Walker Ridge. She had been intensely curious to see which man his home more resembled. For all she had known, the rich attire he’d worn at Walker Ridge had been the sum of his wealth, and Devil’s Own could have been a dank and ramshackle log cabin set in the shadowy, sinister depths of the forest. Turning away from the window, she admitted she was very glad that her new home was not the dungeonlike cabin that had occasionally flitted through her thoughts. There was much about her new husband that was a mystery to her, and she realized uneasily that she had been forced to entrust her very life into the hands of a man she knew little about—other than the disagreeable fact that his slightest smile warmed her heart and his lightest touch set her on fire. Her lips twisted. Not a strong foundation upon which to build a marriage. Then she shrugged. There was no use repining, and she could console herself with the knowledge that at least she had a more than adequate home in which to live—instead of that imaginary hovel.
Devil’s Own was not nearly as grand, or as impressive, as Walker Ridge, but in some ways that pleased her. Having lived a number of years in the huge, palatial ancestral home of the Merrivale barons, she was looking forward to a home in which she would not get lost—as she had done several times in her early days as the new Baroness Merrivale. Devil’s Own, she thought happily, seemed to be just about perfect. Smiling to herself, she rang for Charity. She could hardly wait to start exploring.
Several hours later, an extremely amiable Chance at her side, Fancy acknowledged that her initial excitement had not abated one whit; if anything, it had grown. As she had guessed, the house was not overly large. It boasted a mere six bedrooms compared to the almost twenty that Merrivale Manor had possessed. But each was spacious and as charmingly furnished as one could wish, and she found herself thinking with pleasure that the house was perfect— comfortable and more than ample in size, yet somehow retaining a beguiling coziness.
Pride evident in his voice, Chance pointed out that the original portion of the white clapboard house was two and a half stories high, with wide porches at the front and rear and a hipped roof with dormer windows and towering chimneys at either side. Four years previously, he explained, he had added the large one-story wings at each end of the first structure. The effect was now one of elegance and graciousness. There were outside blinds on all the windows, which were painted a deep green and gave the house a crisp, clean look. Lilacs and trumpet-flower vines and honeysuckle twined around
the columns of the covered porches, their shiny dark green foliage contrasting pleasingly with the blinding whiteness of the house.
At the rear of the main house, the outbuildings—the kitchen, the smokehouse, the laundry, a dairy, a weaving house, and Chance’s office—spread out in an ever-widening circle, and beyond those neat structures were the houses and cabins where the servants and all the other people who worked on the plantation were quartered. Since the majority of the workers at Devil’s Own were either indentured servants or those, like the Thompsons, who had served out their contract, there were few slaves, and housing consisted of fewer than a half dozen small cabins in a staggered row. Beyond the outbuildings Fancy could see the stables, several large buildings and barns that Chance promised to show her another day. Beyond that area were the drying sheds for the tobacco.
The plantation was more like a small village than a lone outpost in the verdant wilderness, and as she and Chance wandered about, Fancy was struck by the comparison. There was a bustling air about the place; people hurried here and there, busy with their various tasks. Chickens clucked and crowed, the sounds of the milk cows’ lowing could be heard, and the frequent calls and neighs of the many horses punctuated the air, as did snatches of conversation and laughter from the humans.
After returning to the house following a light meal they had all eaten together, Hugh disappeared in the direction of the stables, where Chance was soon to join him. The other ladies retired to their rooms for a brief nap during the hottest part of the day, and so it was that Chance and Fancy were left alone again for a few minutes. Leaving the confines of the house, they chose a cool, shady spot nearby to sit and enjoy the view of the river, and their conversation was aimless until, a twinkle in his eyes, Chance said, “I am sorry to desert you so soon after your arrival, but I have hardly had time to acquaint myself with the English horses I purchased. I have been far too busy chasing after a different spirited and lovely English filly.”
A Heart for the Taking Page 28
