Tender Fortune

by Judith E. French

  Cursing the horse's mother and every ancestor back to the Great Flood, Charity allowed him to help her back into the saddle. Tight-lipped and terrified, she clung to the animal's mane. The bouncing jarred her teeth and brought tears to her eyes, but she refused to beg Father Brady to slow down. His insults had cut her to the quick. She'd overcome this beastly horse riding like she'd overcome everything else in her life, or die trying.

  Hours passed and the sore spots on Charity's legs and bottom were rubbed raw. She'd bitten her tongue more than once, and her hands had blisters on them from the leather reins. If only he would let the horses walk instead of going at this life-threatening speed. The man was positively diabolical! First the heavy penance and now this!

  They crossed small streams, and once a river. Father Brady had taken her horse's reins and fastened them to his own saddle before they entered the water. The horses swam easily, shaking themselves like giant dogs on the opposite bank. Charity had been too frightened to protest. The hem of her gown was soaked and one slipper had floated away. Muscles aching and bone-weary, she simply hung on as Father Brady continued to lead her animal.

  The woods gave way to open meadows and grazing cattle. Charity saw no people. Maryland must be very big and very empty, she thought. "When are we going to get there?" she begged weakly.

  "That woods line ahead of us, that's; the boundary of Widow's Endeavor. We've been on the neighboring plantation for the past hour. Only a few miles to go." He gave her a compassionate look. "Yer fair drained, I know. There'll be rest and hot food aplenty, I promise ye."

  "Who owns this land? He must be a rich and powerful man to have so much. Is he married?"

  "No, he's not married." Father Brady frowned back at her. "He's not fer you, girl! Jamie Drummond is a fine figure of a man. Too high fer you to set your snares fer. He's the natural son of Lord Gilbert Drummond. Jamie's an educated man and a shrewd one. When he takes a wife, it will be one who'll bring land and wealth of her own. I'll not have you castin' yer eyes in his direction."

  "It sounds as though this Jamie Drummond is a fortune hunter himself!" Charity challenged, then winced as Father Brady urged his horse into a canter. Hers followed suit and the saddle rubbed and banged against the raw places of her anatomy. "Devil!" she cried. "Slow down or I'll..."

  "You'll what?"

  "I'll become a Protestant!"

  * * *

  Dusk fell over the Tidewater country like a silken mantle. The last rays of the sun spilled pink across the cloudless sky. The birds hushed, and there was no sound but the quiet thud of the horses' hooves on the thick grass. The air felt soft against Charity's face, and despite her weariness, her heart quickened at the strange beauty of the land.

  The horse stopped. Charity fell forward in surprise, nearly falling off. Father Brady dismounted and helped her down. Her legs were as wobbly as a babe's.

  "Sit here. The house is just ahead. I'll go on up and be certain it's safe," Father Brady said, tying the horses to a tree. "Don't be afraid. Yer among friends here."

  It seemed like only seconds later that someone was shaking her awake. A woman's cultured voice broke through her dazed mind. "Come, child, let's get you up to the house."

  The brick manor house loomed ahead of them. Charity followed the woman across a wide lawn and up a curving walk to the river entrance. A servant crossed the yard and looked at them curiously.

  "Matthew!" The woman's tone was brisk. "Have you nothing to do but stand staring like a booby?"

  "No, mum." He touched his forelock and hurried on his way.

  "We'll attract less attention if we go in this way." The brick steps led to a low elegant doorway. Charity noted the polished wood floors and precious carpets in the hallway. "I'll take you upstairs. I know you'd like to freshen up before the evening meal."

  "Where is Father Brady, ma'am," Charity ventured. "I..."

  "He'll be of little use ta us tonight. He's about his own affairs." She led the way up a curving flight of stairs and down another hallway, then threw open a chamber door.

  Charity caught her breath. The room was large and richly furnished. This was not a room for an escaped convict. It was a lady's bedchamber, furnished with a four-poster hung with priceless embroidered material, all blue and gold. The few other pieces of furniture were beautiful: a delicate cherry writing desk, a lowboy, a chair before the fireplace.

  Suddenly shy, Charity bit at her lower lip and looked at the lady through sooty lashes. "Did the father tell you who I..." She reddened at the level gaze and swallowed hard. "Ma'am... I..."

  Lady Deale's laughter rang out merrily in the room. "You must call me Elizabeth, child. No need to blacken so. I'm not laughing at you. It's Father Brady with his tale of a brash and bold street urchin."

  She walked around Charity appraisingly. Trust him to present her with such a problem! She might owe him a favor, but this was more than she'd bargained for.

  Elizabeth pursed her lips. "You're lovely. Of course, you know that already. But you'll need a lot of training if you hope to fool even a maidservant that you're a lady born!"

  "You know the truth?" Tears welled up in Charity's eyes and she blinked them away. Lord! She was already starting to act like some lily-soft wench! "It was not you I meant to cuzzle, ma'am, I swear it."

  Lady Deale was shorter than Charity by a hand's span. Still, she drew her into her arms, and Charity found herself sobbing like a baby against the white-haired woman's sweet-smelling shoulder. "There now," Lady Deale assured her as Charity gained control of her emotions. "A good cry is always the best medicine. Wipe away those tears now. You need have no fear of me. I was born Agnes Fisher. My father was a wool merchant. I married my way to a title, and with luck you could do the same."

  "But why?" Charity sniffed and rubbed her nose with the back of a wrist. "Why would a great lady wish to bother with such as me?"

  "I've already told you, child. When... when Father Brady told me of your plight, I agreed readily to help." Readily? Elizabeth chuckled. It was more of a penance. Now they were even for that last scrape he'd gotten her out of with the high sheriff. "I'm an old woman with neither chick nor kin," she continued. "My life is this plantation and my people on it. And my... business affairs." She sighed. "Let's say I'm a bored old woman who admires pluck. There's little enough of it among young people nowadays. We'll get on, Charity Brown, so long as you don't try to cuzzle me. Mind your tongue and do as I tell you. I expect loyalty from my friends, and that includes you."

  "Yes, ma'am." Charity bobbed a curtsy. "I'm no fool, nor a thief. You can trust me, my lady, I swear it."

  The older woman's eyes narrowed thoughtfully. "The first thing that must go is your name. A pity." She shrugged. "It suits you, but it's no lady's name. We should also be prepared for your own to appear on runaway notices."

  Charity looked stunned. "You're right. But I thought they'd think I drowned."

  "They might, but we won't count on it. Let's see. How about Caroline? Yes, Caroline will do nicely for our purposes. You shall be Caroline Smythe-Tarylton, my cousin William's daughter from Kent."

  "Does your cousin have a daughter, ma'am?"

  "He has six at last count; one is certain to be named Caroline. In any case, Kent in England is far enough from the Tidewater. Repeat after me. I am Caroline Smythe-Tarylton."

  Charity grinned. "I am Caroline Smythe-Tarrytine."

  "No. Listen to the way I pronounce the sounds. Say it exactly as I do."

  Charity repeated the name a half-dozen times, until Lady Deale was satisfied. "It isn't easy, ma'am. Sounds like you're talking with your mouth full of egg."

  "You must call me Elizabeth. Better yet, Aunt Elizabeth. That's enough for tonight. I'll send a servant with water for bathing and a tray. Say as little as possible."

  "How will I be able to fool them, ma'am... Aunt Elizabeth? They'll know I'm not... Servants are great ones for gossip." Doubt filled the almond-shaped eyes. "I'd not put you in danger for me."

 
"Do as I tell you, and I'll worry about my servants. They are loyal to me." Elizabeth hesitated. No need to say that in this household above all others there must'be still tongues. She was surprised at the concern the girl voiced. There was something very special about Charity. Perhaps Father Brady had not done her such a disservice in bringing her here. "No one saw you come in but Matthew and he is half simple. You are my cousin William's daughter Caroline. How and when you arrived is not the concern of my servants." Elizabeth smiled kindly. "Is there anything else you need?"

  "My dress is all torn an' I've nothin' else to put on."

  "There are dressing gowns and night things in the chest. Leave the gown outside your door tonight. I've a girl who's a wonder with a needle. She may be able to rescue it. We'll put her to work on your wardrobe in any case. My things won't fit you, but there are a few gowns... Never mind, don't worry your head about it. Bathe and eat and get a good night's sleep. I'll expect you at the breakfast table at the second bell." Lady Deale shook her head. "I'm having a birthday ball at the end of the month. You'll have to be presented then, ready or not. There's little time and so much to do."

  "I'll try my best not to disappoint you, ma'am," Charity promised.

  "You'd better." The stern look was softened by the warm gleam in her gray eyes. "You'll work harder than you've ever worked in your life and probably curse me behind my back before we're through. Just be sure I don't hear of it." Lady Deale winked mischievously and swept from the room in a rustle of satin petticoats. "Don't be late for breakfast."

  "No, Aunt Elizabeth," Charity called sweetly in as close a copy of her ladyship's accent as she could manage. "I shan't." With a giggle, she hurled herself onto the bed and burrowed into the soft featherbed. Rolling onto her back, she dangled one bare foot overhead and sighed with pure joy. If only her mam could see her now.

  A light tap at the door caught her attention. "Yer bath, Miss Caroline."

  Charity giggled and slid under the coverlet. "You may come in."

  * * *

  If the first night was easy, it was the last easy one she would know for weeks. Every hour of every day and evening was planned. Days began with the morning meal in the formal dining room, and continued on the back of a horse. To her horror, Charity found that riding was to be an important part of her education.

  "Back straight!" Lady Deale chided. "Mind the rein. That mare has a tender mouth. You're not pulling on a fish!" The older woman sat her sidesaddle like a burr, her neat riding habit impeccable, her gray hair peeping stylishly from under the tricorn hat with its red feather. "And keep your heels down."

  Charity cursed under her breath and struggled to remember all the rules at once. "The animal has a mind of her own, madam," she protested. "And I've not fallen off today, have I?"

  "No, though it's the first time all week. Maggie's vowed she'll run away if she has to mend your riding habit another time. You spend more time on the ground than in the saddle."

  Cheeks flushed by the rebuke, Charity dug her heels into the buckskin's sides and gritted her teeth as the mare broke into a canter. It looked so easy when Elizabeth did it. Maybe she should have set out to be a nun instead of a lady. Nuns didn't have to careen about the countryside like highwaymen!

  "Caroline!" Elizabeth called. "Pull up!"

  Charity turned her head to see the lady gesturing frantically to the right. A red blur streaked out of the grass almost under the mare's legs. And right behind came a pack of dogs, barking and howling. Charity gasped and grabbed the mare's mane with both hands as she reared on hind legs and broke into a gallop.

  The ground flew by beneath her. Charity clenched her eyes tight and screamed. Shouts behind her caused her to open her eyes. A rail fence loomed ahead! Charity went numb with fear. She felt the mare's body rise and then a bone-wracking jar. Somehow, she was still in the saddle. One rein had slipped through her gloved hand, and the horse was galloping wildly across a grassy meadow.

  A man's voice cut through her terror. "Hold on. I'll get you." From the corner of her eye, she saw a rider on a black horse racing up beside her.

  The buckskin shied sideways as the black narrowed the distance between them. She was tiring now, breathing heavily; her neck was wet with sweat. Still Charity clung to the mane. A leg brushed hers, and Charity felt an arm go round her waist. Then she was in midair. The scream died in her throat as she was lifted onto the other horse. Her arms went around her rescuer's neck.

  "My God, girl! What riding!" He reined in the black, holding her carefully before him, then setting her lightly on the ground. He sprang down from the saddle and swept off his tricorn.

  "Are you hurt?"

  Speechless, Charity let her gray-green eyes travel from the tips of the black leather boots up the buff doeskin breeches and ruffled shirt to fasten on the boyishly handsome face with the sparking brown eyes. Russet-brown locks spilled over the high forehead, adding to the rascal's laughing charm. He was tall, but not too tall. The shoulders were nice, the waist slim. Twenty-five, Charity guessed, or younger. She took a deep breath and smiled.

  "Nothing broken, kind sir. And who may I thank for coming to my rescue?" Holy Mary, Mother of God, let him be James Whatever-His-Name... the single one. This one's mine! He's got to be mine!

  "Jamie Drummond, my lady, at your service. Are you certain you're unhurt?"

  "Why'd you take that jump?" Elizabeth cried as she reined in her horse. "I take it you've already met Jamie."

  Charity blushed. "I didn't plan to take any jump. The horse ran away. I might have been killed if it weren't for the bravery of Mister Drummond."

  "Poppycock." Lady Deale looked first at Jamie and then at Charity. "Well, boy, where are your manners? Are you going to help me dismount?"

  With a hasty apology, he helped her down, unable to hide the broad grin. "My good fortune to arrive at the right time. The dogs are mine. We were chasing a fox. I owe you both an apology."

  Elizabeth ran a practiced hand down the buckskin's front legs. "The mare's sound and Caroline seems whole. This is my cousin's girl, Caroline Smythe-Tarylton." Her eyes dared him to find amusement in the declaration. "Caroline, my neighbor, James Drummond."

  Charity dropped the faintest curtsy. "Sir, I shall be forever in your debt."

  His eyes twinkled with mischief. "I shall hold ye to it, fair lady." He took her hand and raised it to his lips. "If I had caused you to be thrown, I'd never have forgiven myself."

  His frank stare brought bright spots of red to her cheekbones. With dignity, Charity dusted off her riding skirt. "My riding is a bit rusty, I'm afraid. At..." She faltered and then lied smoothly. "At the convent, I had little chance to practice my... my seat. I can see that you are a fine horseman, sir. Perhaps you could find time to give me some pointers."

  Jamie roared with laughter. "By God I shall, Miss Caroline. It's a promise. With your leave, Elizabeth. I'd not wish to take liberties with... your cousin's daughter."

  "I refer to Caroline as my niece; it simplifies matters," Elizabeth corrected sternly.

  "I would be happy to escort you both home," Jamie offered.

  "On my own plantation," Elizabeth scoffed. "I think not. If you'd be of assistance..."

  Easily Drummond lifted the older woman onto the sidesaddle and handed her the reins, then did the same for Charity "Until next week then, Miss Caroline. Elizabeth's birthday ball. You will be there?"

  "Oh, yes. I shall. I'm staying... in-indeffly." She looked at him through lowered lashes. "And I shall expect you to keep your promise. About the riding lessons." She grinned. "I really need them."

  "I always keep my promises to beautiful ladies," he assured her. "Tomorrow morning?"

  "No," Elizabeth interjected. "We'll be busy all week. Perhaps another time... after the ball. Caroline has a full schedule."

  "Of course." Drummond touched his hat and smiled at Charity endearingly. "Until the ball, ladies, I bid you good day."

  "Silly little goose!" Elizabeth snapped. "Didn't I tell y
ou to keep a still tongue in your head? What's this nonsense about a convent? You'll have the stories so crossed we'll never keep them straight. And your accent is still abominable!" She touched the mare with her crop and the animal leaped forward.

  "I had to say something," Charity protested. "And he's such a love." The buckskin broke into a trot.

  "Jamie Drummond is not for you, girl. Set your eyes elsewhere."

  Charity's forehead wrinkled in a frown as she tried to hold her seat in the trot. "You're not the first to tell me that."

  "It's good advice. Heed it. Jamie's not the marrying kind. He'd be more likely to leave you with what's described as a 'delicate condition.'"

  Charity's face flamed. "He'd better not try! I'll give him more than he bargains for!"

  "That's what I'm afraid of."

  Chapter 3

  Charity paced the wide board floors before the empty fireplace. Her hands were moist and her mouth was dry. What if she tripped coming down the grand stairway? What if one of the guests knew the real Caroline Smythe-Tarylton and denounced her as an imposter and escaped convict? What if she were struck speechless and was unable to say a word when she was introduced?

  Maggie stooped to bite a loose thread from the hem of the apple-green gown. "Not to worry, Miss Caroline. Yer the most beautiful lady on the Tidewater—in all of Maryland Colony." She stared admiringly at the satin dress and matching ribbon that hung down over Charity's bare back. "You've skin like milk, miss. Ye look like an angel!"

  Charity worried at a fingernail. Elizabeth had ordered them cut so short she couldn't bite them. "Keep your gloves on," she'd ordered. "And say as little as possible. Just smile and look innocent."

  How did one look innocent? Charity stood on tiptoe to peer into the mirror over the mantel. The face that looked back at her was a stranger's. "Caroline," she murmured, half to herself. "Caroline Smythe-Tarylton."

  "Yes, miss?"

  "Nothing, Maggie. Everything's fine. You can go, really." She began to pace again. Carriages had been arriving for what seemed like hours. Would she never get the signal to come downstairs? Maybe it was all some terrible joke. Lady Deale never really intended to present her to her guests as a lady. They were all in on the trick. When she did come down, they'd order her to the kitchen to scrub pots like the scullery maid she was. Her throat tightened and she felt like she was going to be sick. She'd never been this frightened—not even when the horse had jumped the fence. Not even when she'd thought she was going to drown in the bay after she'd jumped off the ship!