The meat seemed to strengthen Jamie and they rode on, wanting to put as much ground between them and the coast as possible.
They crossed the peninsula in slow stages, rarely coming upon a house or road. Camping out was no problem. Jamie was able to set snare to catch game, and they found plenty of fresh water.
It was full autumn now; the leaves had turned even here, and the nights were coming cold. They slept, arms about one another, by the fire. Even without a gun to protect them, Charity was unafraid. They were almost home—hadn't Jamie said so?
They had come upon an old Indian trail early in the day. The horse was stepping out with a spirited toss of his head and Jamie was quoting Will Shakespeare when they caught a strong whiff of salt water. Jamie motioned Charity to slide off, and he dismounted beside her. Hand-in-hand they walked to the edge of the low bluff. The Chesapeake spread below them as far as the eye could see.
"We did it, old girl," he said, sweeping her into his arms and kissing her soundly. "Gold and all, we did it!"
Charity grinned back at him happily. "We did, didn't we?"
He kissed her again, tightening his arms about her possessively. "I want to keep you with me, Charity... always," he murmured. He held her against his chest and ruffled her flaxen hair. She'd braided it that morning; the braids and the sprinkling of freckles across her nose made her look twelve years old. "Come with me to Bold Venture," he urged. "I need you."
She could hardly see for the tears sparkling in her eyes, tears of joy. "You didn't say anything about love," she reminded him.
"That too," he admitted with a lopsided grin.
"Oh, Jamie!" She jumped up and caught him about the neck, showering his face with kisses. "Yes! Yes! Yes! It's what I want more than anything." The tears overflowed and spilled down her rosy cheeks. "We must find a priest, Jamie!"
Jamie stiffened. "I didn't say anything about marriage."
She broke loose and backed away, color rising in her cheeks and an awful numbness spreading through her mind. "But you said..." she protested. "You said you wanted me to come to your plantation... to be with you... always." She covered the lower part of her face with her hands and tried to stop shaking. "You said you loved me."
"Damn it, Charity! I do love you." His features hardened. "I love you and I want you. But we don't need marriage. What we have together is more than most people ever find in life."
Her voice when she spoke was calm. How can it be so calm? I'm losing him, she thought. I'm losing Jamie. "And our children, will you have them bastards then?" He could not fail to see the steel in her eyes, the cold steel in her spine.
"I told you, Charity. You'll have no children of me." His face softened and he extended a bronzed hand. "I'll love you and I'll stand by you. You mean more to me than any woman ever has. But..." The brown eyes glittered dangerously. "I'm not the marrying kind. I warned you of that a long time ago."
"You want me to come to Bold Venture as your mistress? Your kept woman?"
He shrugged. "Those are your words, not mine."
"And what would the good folk of Tidewater call me? Mistress Charity? Mistress Whore?" The gray-green eyes were solid ice.
"They'd not say it twice," Jamie promised. He took a step toward her.
"No!" she screamed. "No! They'll not say it at all!" She turned and ran, seizing the gray's reins and pulling herself up into the saddle.
"Come back here, damn it," he threatened. "Charity!"
"You can go straight to hell, James Drummond," she lashed, bringing the end of the reins down smartly across the gray's rump. "You can have your gold—but you'll never have me!" The horse lunged forward through the trees and broke into a gallop. Charity's eyes were clenched shut against the pain. "Never! Never! Never!" she cried. "Not in this life or the next."
Chapter 15
Two days later, escorted by a planter's bond servants, Charity rode into Widow's Endeavor. Elizabeth's expression answered all her questions as to whether she would be welcome.
"I didn't have any place else to go," Charity said, flinging herself into the older woman's arms.
Elizabeth held her tight for a long moment, making little soothing sounds in her throat. "And where else would you go? This is your home! I've been worried about the both of you." Her eyes took in the listening servants. "Is he all right?"
Charity nodded, not trusting herself to speak. Wearily she waited while Elizabeth disposed of the men who had brought her and gave orders to the housemaids. Then she followed her upstairs to her own chambers.
"The saddlebags on the gray horse," she said softly. "They belong to Jamie. The gold..."
Elizabeth's eyes narrowed. "Wait here, child. I'll see to that myself. My servants are honest, and I'd like to keep them that way. You look like you could use a bath and some sleep. When you're rested, we'll talk." She laid a strong hand on Charity's arm. "This place has been empty without you. Welcome home."
She started for the doorway with a purposeful stride, then paused to look back at the younger woman. "Has he broken your heart again?"
Charity let her gaze drop to the floor.
"Never mind. You can tell me later if you like, or we can let it be. You're home and that's what counts." Sorrow crossed Elizabeth's face. "I'm so glad to have you here. It's been a terrible time. Lady Beauford is dead. We buried her a week after Richard."
"Lady Edith dead? How?"
"She was taken suddenly with severe belly pain, vomiting, and a high fever. Harry sent for me in the night. Despite all I could do, she died before the physician could arrive."
"How awful." Tears welled up in Charity's eyes. "I know you tried your best."
"She was a good woman, and a good friend."
"I should have been here to help you," Charity said.
"Nonsense. None of us know the day or hour of our death." Elizabeth sniffed. "You've had suitors at the gate for weeks. Major Whiggsby's been pestering me for a location where you could be reached, and that Captain Halifax has come calling twice. I don't believe his questions about you are all official."
"Thank you for not saying you warned me." Charity sunk into the feather tick of her four-poster. "The gray horse is mine. If you would, send him back to Bold Venture with the gold and a note. I consider him a fair trade for Duchess." The gray-green eyes clouded. "I'll not be beholden to James Drummond for anything."
"Fair enough. Sleep. I'll hear all your adventures when you're ready to tell them." Elizabeth closed the door after her firmly and hurried down the main staircase. If Charity had brought back gold, it meant their venture had been successful. Her pulse quickened. Widow's Endeavor was badly in need of her share. Tobacco prices had been low in London this year. She had not wanted Caroline to become involved in the smuggling. But now that she was, she could be very useful. If Halifax was enamored of her... Lady Deale smiled to herself. Very useful indeed.
Charity's sleep was long in coming. Thoughts of Jamie filled her brain. She loved him so much. No! No more! She would not permit herself to be in love with a man who cared so little for her. He was a rogue and a scoundrel. She could not regret the weeks of beauty they shared, not even the suffering and hunger... but she would control her own life. She would not be satisfied with second best! If he was not willing to have her to wife, he would never have her at all.
Elizabeth's words troubled her also. Had Captain Halifax recognized them in Chestertown? Was she in greater danger now that she had returned to the Tidewater? Not even the hot bath had calmed her jangled nerves. Would she have to be continually looking over her shoulder for Halifax or the royal sheriff? And if the captain was aware of the connection between her and the smugglers, would he try to get information out of her?
Finally, her covers a tangle, Charity thrust her bare feet out of the bed and went to the table by the door. She poured herself a goblet of blood-red wine and sipped it. If the wine could numb the awful ache she would drink the whole decanter. One hand slid down over her flat stomach. If she had had Jamie's
child, it would have been something of his to love and cherish. She did not believe she was pregnant, but if she was she would welcome the baby regardless of the personal cost.
She left the second glass untouched and returned to the bed.
* * *
If Charity kept busy from sunup until late at night, it was almost possible to forget Jamie. He did not come to Widow's Endeavor. She returned his letters unopened. Elizabeth, saddened by Charity's heartbreak, asked no more questions and passed no judgment.
With winter fast coming on there was work aplenty for the two women. Every bit of food for the entire season must be stored for human and animal residents of the plantation. The fields must be gleaned of the last scrap of usable grain and hay and straw. Geese were driven into the muddy meadows and lanes to fatten. Pigs were turned loose in the forest to scavenge for acorns. Beef, sheep, and hogs were slaughtered, the meat dried, smoked, and pickled.
Elizabeth wondered what she would have done without Charity's help. Most of the serving girls were little more than children. They had to be instructed by the older women, and then watched carefully to see that they did as they were told. Although Charity and Lady Deale did no physical labor, the overseeing was long and tiring.
Women worked as long as there was daylight, spinning wool to be woven into clothing. Other girls dipped candles and hung plants and spices to dry. Elizabeth's herbs had to be dried and ground to powder or hung from the kitchen beams, away from dampness, ready for illness, accident, or fever.
The men separated the wheat and carried it to the mill to be ground into flour along with cornmeal. Lofts were filled with straw, pumpkins, and squash. Holes were dug to store apples and potatoes in sandy soil. Lifestock had to be carefully culled, saving only the best to feed through the winter.
After sundown, when the slaves and bond servants were abed, Charity struggled with her lessons in the library, furrowing her brow over multiplication and practicing her script until her hand cramped. Her reading progressed slowly, complicated by Elizabeth's insistence on her learning not only English but the French for every sentence, every phrase.
"A Tidewater mistress must be able to keep the plantation's books," she repeated for the tenth time. "You have to be able to read and to write a fair hand. I would be cheated blind if I had to depend on my employees or the ships' captains."
"But French? Why must I know French?" Charity had demanded.
"Because I say so. Now copy this page again. Your work looks like hen scratching."
Exhausted, Charity dropped into her bed at night and tried not to dream of Jamie's hands on her, or his slim muscular body moving against hers. She shut her mind against the sound of his voice when he told her he loved her and wanted her with him always, and hardened her heart against her own desire to go to him at any cost.
On the day of the first snowfall, Lady Deale turned away Major Whiggsby with the excuse that Caroline was still in mourning for her departed Richard.
"News of your return has spread. There will be suitors, my dear. You must decide how you will contend with them," Elizabeth said at the supper table. "And you can't continue to avoid Jamie. He is a neighbor and my business partner."
Charity's upturned face was as smooth and guileless as a child's, the gray-green eyes moist with a sparkling film. "You're right, as always, Aunt."
"Don't let your unhappiness turn you bitter." Elizabeth sighed and put down her fork. She was too astute to have overlooked the young woman's turmoil.
"If Major Whiggsby comes again, you may tell him I'll receive him." The words sounded far away and unreal, Charity's bell-like tones clipped and cultured. "He just purchased the McCleary plantation, didn't he?"
"So gossip has it," Elizabeth admitted. "Whiggsby's rich enough to be a serious consideration for a husband, but I'm not sure I care much for him. I suppose we could invite him to the Christmas party. Lord Beauford will be coming, and Jamie, of course." It had taken a personal trip to Avalon to convince Harry to share the evening with them. He'd taken his wife's sudden death hard.
"It won't seem right to have Lord Beauford here without Lady Beauford."
"No, it won't, but I couldn't leave Harry all by himself in that huge house. It's aged him; he always believed she'd outlive him in the natural course of things."
"I liked her; she was always kind to me."
"Edith was kind to everyone. She never let Harry ruffle her, even at his most difficult. I pity him now, but it would never do to let him know it."
Elizabeth looked thoughtful for a moment. "I think perhaps we should also invite Captain Halifax to the festivities."
Charity's eyes met the older woman's quizzically. "You don't think it's dangerous having him around? He's bound to ask questions."
"On the contrary, inviting him to the party will prove we have nothing to hide. He has no link to"—she waited until the dessert was served and the maid departed—"to either Bold Venture or Widow's Endeavor. I trust you have wits enough to keep it that way."
* * *
Jamie took her unaware. She was at the washhouse directing the maids in the weekly scrubbing of clothing when she heard his voice behind her.
"Caroline."
Charity's pulse quickened. He wore a coat of green merino with buff breeches and a crisp white stock. His tricorn hat was of matching green and sported a feather cockade. His hair, lightly powdered, was pulled back and fastened at the nape of his neck with a dark green ribbon. The tight breeches and hose showed off Jamie's lithe muscular frame, making her throat tighten and a little chill of excitement: run through her body.
"You may leave," he ordered the girls.
Giggling, they started for the door. For an instant, Jamie's smoldering gaze held Charity transfixed. She was acutely aware of the homespun cloak, dove-gray and shapeless, which covered her from her throat to the toes of her sturdy leather shoes. A blush rose to darken her cheeks.
"Stay where you are!" she exploded.
Bewildered, the bondmaids looked nervously from Jamie to the young mistress. Whom should they obey?
Jamie raised a hand threateningly. "Out, I say!" They fled with cries of alarm.
Sparks billowed outward from the cinnamon-brown eyes as he advanced on Charity. Trembling, she held her ground.
"Get out of here! You have no right!"
"I have every right, damn it!" His long fingers seized the coarse mobcap that covered her flaxen hair and pulled it away. Her hair tumbled about her shoulders. "You don't belong here," he said breathlessly.
"And where do I belong?" she flung back. He was so close she could feel his breath... smell the spicy man-scent of him.
Pain mingled with joy in the deepest core of her being. Charity's head snapped up. Ice-green eyes locked with his.
"You belong to me," he said huskily.
"On what terms?" Charity riposted.
"I'll not be blackmailed into marriage, not even by you!"
"Then you have my answer."
"I won't accept that, Charity. I took nothing that wasn't offered." The light flickered in his eyes, softening... more dangerous than the controlled anger.
Charity's instinct recognized the danger. Reason struggled with desire. Her body stiffened as her blood cooled. "No, you didn't. But it's not offered now. Leave me alone, Jamie. We're through."
"I won't let you go," he whispered.
"You can't stop me!"
"No?" Without warning, Jamie grabbed the neck of the cloak and ripped it down the front. Buttons flew in all directions, and Charity backed against the wall. He seized her roughly and his mouth ground upon hers, scorching her with an uncontrolled raw sexuality.
His hands traversed her body through the cotton bodice, capturing a breast as the passionate kiss seared her very soul. When he released her, she would have fallen if he hadn't caught her. The earth moved beneath her and she fought for air.
"No other man can give you that," he taunted. He spun and started for the door, then stopped and looked back. "If
you choose another, you'll regret it for the rest of your life."
"If I do choose another, at least he'll be man enough to ask for my hand in marriage!"
The door slammed behind him, and the frozen earth of the kitchen yard sounded with the hoofbeats of his departing stallion. Charity leaned against a tub of washwater and choked back dry tears. Her fingers went to her bruised lips, still burning from his kiss. Slowly she straightened her shoulders and tucked her hair back under the cap. Her flesh was weak, but she was more than flesh. Determination flowed through her trembling body. She would do what she had to do. She would do what was right... no matter the cost.
She gathered the buttons from the floor and called back the girls to finish the laundry. They would gossip, but there was nothing to be done for that.
"Jane, you're in charge here. I'll be back to check on you in a little while," she ordered. With a final authoritative nod, Charity pulled the torn cloak about her shoulders and stepped out into the yard.
Snowflakes drifted down to melt against her cheeks; she walked on, seemingly oblivious to the cold. The wind nipped at her ankles and sought the gaps in her clothing. She swallowed hard. Jamie had never been violent with her before. If he cared for her so much, how could he refuse marriage? Would he feel the same if she were truly Caroline Smythe-Tarylton?
Without realizing it, she had wandered to her spot at the foot of the garden. She leaned against the fence, staring out across the bleak meadow, empty now and brown, its lush fertility entombed in the icy grasp of winter. The familiar blue sky had turned to gray; the earth was frozen and cold through the leather soles of her shoes.
"Jamie," she whispered. "Oh, Jamie... why?" With heavy heart, she turned back toward the house.
* * *
It snowed again on Christmas night. Widow's Endeavor shone with the reflected light of hundreds of candles, a scandalous extravagance that Lady Deale excused in honor of the holiday. The house was decked in pine boughs and crowfoot, and a huge Yule log burned in the fireplace of the great hall. Everyone from Lady Deale down to the lowest stableboy was garbed in new clothing and caught up in the spirit of Christmas.
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