The maids tittered; Lady Deale silenced them with a stern glance. "I will be the judge of your appearance, child." She dusted Charity's glowing cheeks with fine rice powder. "Now remember what I told you. Speak as little as possible, and then try to avoid saying anything remotely sensible. Olivia is Richard's darling, and she has the intelligence of a molting hen."
"There are so many! Between the wives and the daughter, how will I tell them apart?" Charity licked at her lips, trying to remove some of the stain.
"You'll have no trouble. William's wife could lift a team of oxen; she'll be the one with muscles and the mustache on her upper lip. Charles's wife is the bitch. Edgar and Edmund go everywhere together. They're married to sisters across the bay and never bring their families to anything. As for Olivia, she's the one with crossed eyes. Try not to mention it." Elizabeth tucked a pin deeper into Charity's elaborate upsweep.
"Ouch, you've driven it into me... my brain!" She raised her hand to rub at her hair and Elizabeth caught it.
"Don't touch it, you're perfect. Of course, the ride to Moreland House will undo some of our work, but you can't have everything." The older woman turned to one of the girls. "You may tell-Bruce to have the coach ready in a quarter hour."
The girl bobbed a curtsy and darted off. The two other maids began to clean up the debris. Gowns lay scattered about the room along with various ribbons and shoes. Arms full, they bustled out, leaving their mistress and Charity alone.
"Charles hates me, and William is never anything but rude," Charity admitted. "I've tried my best to make them like me."
"Hopeless. Richard's children all take after his first wife. They see you as a threat to their inheritance. Don't worry. Lord Beauford and Lady Edith will be dining with us. Harry's a dear. He's a perfect gentleman. Between him and Richard, they won't let the wolves devour you." She laughed. "One can't steal the cream without daring the cat."
"Everyone's acting as though I've said yes but I haven't. What I said was maybe." Charity's green eyes locked stubbornly with Lady Deale's. "I like Richard, but I'm not sure if I can ever come to love him."
"And since when has love been reason for marriage? Suit yourself, of course. I am not tired of your company. But Richard is a good match for a girl without dowry. If you let him slip away, you may have to settle for much less."
Moreland House was fashioned much in the manner of Widow's Endeavor, only the dwelling was on a smaller scale. Large oak trees on either side of the house gave an air of permanence; the spotless grounds were evidence of the squire's sense of order and love of his land.
Charity had been here several times, but it didn't stop her from carefully examining the house arid yards. If she were to marry the squire, this would be her home and the home of her children. She especially liked the flowering shrubs and daisies which lined the formal drive. Richard was standing on the front steps to greet her, and he hurried forward to help her and Lady Elizabeth alight from the carriage.
Richard bent to kiss her and Charity turned her cheek. "Good afternoon," he beamed, seeming not to notice the rebuff. "How lovely you look, my dear. You too, Lizbet. I shan't be surprised if you find a beau yourself this summer. You look like a girl."
Elizabeth scoffed. "If you believe that poppycock, your eyes must be failing!"
Squire Moreland escorted them into the great hall where his sons and daughter and daughters-in-law were gathered with the guests. Lady Edith smiled and gave Charity a kiss on the cheek.
Lord Beauford pumped Charity's hand up and down vigorously. "You're a breath of fresh air, child. Edith and I couldn't be happier for Richard. You'll keep him young."
Charity murmured a greeting to the room and attempted to retrieve her hand. The earl tucked it firmly under his arm, clearing his throat loudly.
Olivia nodded in their general direction and continued her conversation with an older gentleman in uniform. Charles mumbled a weak "Good afternoon."
The uniformed gentleman stood rigidly and gave a military bow. "Major Edmund Whiggsby, King's Regulars, retired, at your service. You must be Mistress Smythe-Tarylton. I believe we missed meeting at Lady Deale's reception."
"Major," Charity replied softly.
The earl of Beauford sniffed. "How could she have met you, Edmund? You've been in Williamsburg for weeks!" Beauford lifted his carved walking stick and rapped Richard's eldest son on the knee. "Where are your manners, William? In my day a gentleman showed proper respect for a lady!"
A crimson tide spread up William's pockmarked face as he found his feet and managed a hasty bow. "I meant no disrespect to the lady."
Sparks billowed outward from Harry's faded gray eyes. "Is that so?" He made a disbelieving sound deep in his throat.
William's round face was taut, his thin lips tightly compressed as he glared at Charity. "I would be less than honest if I pretended sentiments I did not feel," he dared. "No offense intended to you, Lord Beauford, but this is a family matter."
Charles rose at his brother's side; the malice in his glare was withering. "Are you offended, Miss Caroline?" he demanded. "Under the circumstances, I should think..."
The old man raised his walking stick menacingly.
"No," Charity squeaked. "Please... I... No, I am not offended." Her throat felt dry, her knees shook, and she fervently wished for the floor to open and swallow her up.
Lord Beauford dismissed them both with a curt nod and led her back to Elizabeth. "Common whelps," he muttered. "No breeding at all. Quite a disappointment to Richard, the whole litter."
Charity glanced frantically about the large room for Richard; he was engaged in heated discourse with his daughter and daughter-in-law. Elizabeth's chuckle broke through her panic.
Wolves, she mouthed silently.
Charity's stage fright melted away. What else had she expected? Elizabeth had warned her. What matter if the entire bunch despised the sight of her. She had only to please Squire Moreland... if she wished to please him. She turned her face up to old Lord Beauford and forced a dazzling smile.
"You are my cavalier. It seems they think little of me as a stepmother." Her lashes fluttered effectively. "I shall never forget your kindness."
"If I can ever be of service, child, you have only to ask."
Lady Edith joined them. "Don't tell him such things, Caroline," she said good-naturedly. "Harry could never resist a pretty face. He'll have a spell, and we'll have to carry him up to bed." She waved to the squire. "Richard, come claim your lady," she called. "He's spoiled Olivia rotten," she confided to Charity. "A pity."
"Bad stock on the mother's side," Harry grumbled.
"Pay no attention to him," Lady Edith said. "Richard's father pulled Harry out from under a horse in some battle fifty years ago, and Harry thinks that gives him the right to pass judgment on Richard's offspring. A man with none of his own is in no position to comment."
"Richard's like a brother to me," the earl protested. "A finer man never drew breath. Not one of those scallywags is fit to follow in his footsteps. Salt of the earth, the old Morelands." Puffing from his outburst, he lowered himself into a comfortable chair. "The Morelands have been loyal to the Beaufords for five hundred years. Good yeoman stock." He tapped the floor with his stick for emphasis. "I've never fathered a thoroughbred, and I'm an excellent judge of horseflesh. Use logic, woman."
"Richard!" Lady Edith reminded.
Squire Moreland patted his daughter's hand cajolingly and crossed the room to take Charity's arm. "Come, my dear. Let us lead the others in to dinner. We'll all feel better after a good meal."
Charity was seated between the squire and Lord Beauford, with Elizabeth and Lady Edith on either side of them. Directly across from her sat Charles and his wife, Maude. William's wife, the ox heaver, was just to Charles's left; Olivia and her sour-countenanced mate occupied the seats beside Maude. Charity felt as though she were back in the prisoner's box at Old Bailey. Their stares soured her wine and made the tender roast beef taste like sawdust in her mouth.
Olivia's cross-eyed glare was the worst; Charity couldn't tell if the woman were watching her or not. She kept her own eyes cast down, pretending great interest in the squire's rambling stories.
"You're not eating," Olivia observed snidely. "Perhaps you find the humble fare at my father's table inferior to what you're used to?" Olivia speared a large chunk of beef and shoved it into her mouth.
"Surely she likes roast beef," Maude purred. "It isn't Friday."
Charity took a sip of wine and forced a smile. "It's delicious, really," she murmured, longing to fling the roast into Olivia's smug face.
"She's right, my dear," Richard said. "You've hardly eaten a bite. Have a biscuit." He turned his head and called to the maid. "Jane! Bring some hot biscuits from the kitchen. These are getting cold."
"Father says you're a Catholic," Charles challenged. "Surely you realize how impossible that is. The Morelands have a position in the community..."
"Caroline's religion is a matter that does not concern you," the squire warned. "We have discussed it, and I have no objection to her private worship as long as she conforms to our religious practices in public."
"Nothing wrong with Catholics," Beauford defended. "My grandmother was a Catholic. They make good mothers. The Baltimores haven't done too bad a job with this colony either."
"The Baltimores are no longer papists," William reminded. "That was years ago, sir, in rougher times."
"Rougher times, eh? Better times I say! Better men those days! You whippersnappers are all too soft. Comes of having things handed to you on a platter. No better woman than my Grandmother Mary. Edith knew her. Isn't that right, Edith?"
Edith broke off her own conversation with her dinner partner to soothe the old man. "The duchess was a lovely woman, Harry, a paragon." She patted his arm and returned to her discussion.
"I'm surprised to hear you take such a pro-Catholic stand, Lord Beauford," Major Whiggsby said. "From what I hear, it's the papists who are behind this wave of smuggling."
"Many of our neighbors are Catholic," Elizabeth reminded. "There is no reason to make such accusations without proof. You are a relative newcomer to the Tidewater, Major. Doubtless the smugglers are from the western side of the bay. They may well be Virginians and not honest Marylanders at all."
Charity suppressed a giggle as Olivia's face whitened. Her husband and brothers took up the argument at once.
"Gentlemen! Gentlemen!" Harry rapped on his cup with a spoon. "This is hardly fit table discussion for ladies. Can it not wait until the ladies withdraw?"
"Certainly," the squire agreed. "Certainly. No need to bore them with such talk."
"But I'm not bored," Charity corrected. "I'd like to hear more about them. I find it exciting." She laid her hand over the squire's. "As long as we are under your protection, surely there's no real danger." Her eyes sparkled. A little danger was what this dinner party needed. One would think they'd all assembled for a Protestant wake!
Olivia gasped. "Smugglers," she said loudly, "are not the concern of gentlefolk. I for one find such conversation offensive." Her round eyes showed clearly what she thought of any female who would venture a contrary opinion. "Of course, as a Catholic yourself, we might know where your sympathies lie."
William's wife grunted her complete agreement as she continued to chew her last mouthful. Charity decided she looked like an ox. Maude stood up, dropping her napkin and fluttering her eyes.
"I think I feel faint," she murmured.
"Oh, sit down," Harry roared. "We've had no dessert yet, and I smelled rhubarb pie earlier." He glared at Maude. "I said sit down, young woman. If you're not hungry, I am. A man of my age has few enough pleasures." Maude sat down meekly. "Good. Now, Richard, let us continue. We'll talk of mother's milk or tobacco, or something which will not send your delicate females into a frenzy." He winked sideways at Charity. "We can continue our discussion about the smugglers after dinner. I believe Whiggsby is a confidant of that Captain Halifax. I'm certain he has some news for us about the investigation."
Major Whiggsby glanced about the room meaningfully. "As you say, Lord Harry, I believe I have excellent—" He broke off abruptly as a maid entered with a tray of food. "One cannot be too cautious. Lives may be at stake." He scowled. "Better to be safe than sorry is my rule."
"Naturally," Squire Moreland agreed. "We'll discuss it over brandy in the library."
The meal continued without further incident. Then came the custom that Charity dreaded; the ladies withdrew into a small sitting room to visit while the men continued their serious conversation away from delicate ears.
Elizabeth waved Charity to a seat between Lady Edith and the fireplace. Lady Edith had just slipped off her kidskin shoes and was rubbing the arch of one foot.
"Are you troubled with foot problems, my dear?" she asked.
Charity shook her head. Maude and Olivia were whispering together, and William's Martha was glaring at her again. She dreaded the interrogation that she knew would begin any moment. There must be some way of avoiding their attack. Suddenly she stood up and waved to a maid "Where are the...? I have to..."
Maude tittered.
The red-cheeked maid bobbed a curtsy and led the way from the room. "This way, mistress."
Coolly Charity followed. Let them say what they liked. She wouldn't have to sit and listen to it.
The girl stopped in the doorway and pointed outside, down the brick path that led through the garden. "It's thataway, yonder behind them trees. Jest Folla the path, ye can't miss it." She bobbed again awkwardly and hurried back to her duties.
With a sigh of relief, Charity looked about her. The garden was beautiful, and it seemed deserted. Neat paths of brick and oyster shell wound among the flowering bushes and trees. Here and there were rounds of growing spice. Charity recognized mint, sage, rosemary, and lavender. She paused to kneel and break off a sprig of mint, crushing it between her fingers and inhaling the sharp scent.
If she were mistress here at Moreland House, she'd spend a lot of time in this garden. Perhaps someone could teach her how to care for the herbs and flowers. Surely that must be permitted a lady!
How fresh the air was! Richard must care for the garden, or at least his dead wife must have cared. She had not thought he was a man who would trouble himself to keep this place of beauty.
Charity glanced back at the house. She had no need to use the necessary. It was only a ruse to avoid those troublesome hens. And now that she had escaped, she'd not put herself back in their clutches. The garden was much more pleasant. She spread her full skirts about her on the grass and gave her full attention to a mockingbird on a branch nearby.
Gradually, the rumble of men's voices intruded on her thoughts. She couldn't make out what they were saying, but their muffled speech came through an open window at the corner of the house. The word smuggler came clear! Beauford's shout rang above the rest.
Their discussion earlier about the smugglers had been the only item of interest all day. What were they saying that was too upsetting for the women to hear? Could it be anything concerning Jamie? Charity moved closer to the house.
Lilac bushes shielded her from view. Only a few feet closer and... Yes! She could hear them plainly. Richard was speaking.
"...can understand the frustration of the Tidewater planters. What is England giving us in return? The taxes I must pay on the items I need to survive are murderous."
"Surely you don't sympathize with these pirates, Father?"
"You know better than that, Charles. But—"
"But nothing, Squire," the major protested. "You are either for or against the law and His Majesty's justice."
"Don't be an ass, Whiggsby. You've no call to question Richard's loyalty. He's a Moreland!" Harry roared. "Might as well ask if I'm in favor of the blackguards!"
Something warm and furry brushed against Charity's ankle and she bit off a cry of apprehension. Feeling foolish, she knelt and picked up a purring cat. "Shhh," she warned. Whi
ggsby was saying something in a low voice.
"...will put an end to this once and for all. The vessel Irish Lass has been seized and her master imprisoned. When the smugglers approach the ship at the rendezvous..."
Charity's breath quickened as she listened to the plans for capturing the smugglers. If Jamie Drummond were involved, he would soon join the captain of the Irish Lass. Would he implicate Elizabeth? Charity shivered in the warm sunshine. If they caught Jamie he would hang, and all he owned would be confiscated. Widow's Endeavor might suffer the same fate. And questions might be asked about Elizabeth's newcome niece... questions for which there were no proper answers.
Cautiously, Charity released the tomcat and pressed closer toward the window. If she could learn the details of the trap, it might be possible to... just maybe...
Chapter 7
"It was not very polite to disappear like that," Elizabeth chided gently. The sway of the carriage kept Charity from seeing the mischief in the older woman's eyes. "Olivia was quite disappointed. She had so many things she wanted to ask you."
Charity murmured something in reply and absently drew one leg up under her as she leaned against the side of the carriage. Her mind was not on Elizabeth or the rude members of Squire Moreland's family. She was trying to decide what if anything she should do to help that rascal Jamie Drummond.
She was badly frightened. It was no shame to admit it to herself. Aiding a smuggler was a serious crime. It could well bring her to the gallows beside him. Why should she risk her neck for him?
A warm flush rose up her neck and cheeks. She could not lie to her own heart. Jamie Drummond had entwined himself in her affections. A giggle escaped her full moist lips. She had been playing at being-a lady so long, she was beginning to think like one. Affections nothing! Even now she could remember the feel of his strong arms about her... the beat of his heart next to hers. She had never been in love. But it was a strong bet that what she felt for that good-for-nothing roué was something akin to real love.
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