There were no tears to hide from Lady Deale and the servants. Charity's pain cut deeper than tears. For years she had thought only of her own needs and wants. Now there would be a child to consider, another bastard. Would he curse her when he was old enough to know shame? How had she been so foolish as to let it happen, knowing the cost to be paid by both mother and child?
Men were not blamed for their by-blows. Their reputations did not suffer. If it was a sin to come together unwed, why did God let all the shame be cast on women and babes?
She could not bear the questions that lashed her day and night. She tried to pray for guidance and forgiveness. Desperately she wanted to go to Oxford and see the priest that was reported there to confess her sins, but she dared not take the chance. What if he let slip her secret?
And yet, in her cunning, she played a part. She laughed and joked with Elizabeth, forcing herself to ride out on Duchess almost daily. She walked through the fields, wrapped in a long fur-lined cloak, hoping the exercise and careful eating would keep her slim a little longer.
Lord Beauford met her on one of these walks. It was on the beach. Wind from the bay whipped her hair and turned her cheeks apple-red. The sound of dogs and horses' hooves snatched her from her inner thoughts, and she turned to see the earl and several of his people.
"Caroline! Whatever are you doing out on a day like this?" Harry demanded.
"I might say the same of you, my lord," she answered saucily. "I thought you would be home near the fire."
"The hounds were getting stale. And if I stay off a horse too long, my legs won't wrap around a saddle. But this is no place for a maid." He motioned for his huntsman to take her up behind him on his horse. "We'll carry you home, and I'll trouble Elizabeth for a spot of tea. The dogs struck up a doe and we had a devil of a time getting them under control."
The bay shied sideways. "He won't carry double, my lord," the huntsman said.
"Help her up behind me then," Beauford ordered. In spite of Charity's protests, the man did as he was told.
Charity settled her skirts around her legs and put her arms around the old man's waist. "Thank you, Lord Beauford. It's chillier out here than I thought," she admitted graciously.
Beauford turned the horse's head toward the house. "The rest of you may ride back to Avalon," he said. "I'm capable of escorting the lady home by myself." He held his animal to a walk. "Hang on," he warned. "Caesar's almost as old as I am," he joked. "He'll carry us steady enough."
The earl chatted on easily as they rode. "It's been many a year since I've carried a beautiful woman on horseback." He chuckled. "A man's never too old to take delight in that."
In the saddle, Lord Beauford seemed younger, stronger. He rode with the skill of one who had always been a horseman. It was easy to think of him as Harry, a good friend.
A treasonous idea flickered through her mind and Charity pushed it ruthlessly away. She tried to pay attention to what Beauford was saying.
The thought returned to plague her. Jamie's not coming back. Lord DunCannon will find a place for him. He won't come back. She clenched her eyes tightly and tried to remember Jamie's face as the sloop sailed. You must find another and wed quickly, a voice said. Or else your child, yours and Jamie's, will be born a bastard.
"...he didn't think much of that as you can imagine. Never get prime stock out of poor breeding. George and his father hated the sight of one another. Not that I cared much for the first one, but at least he didn't cheat at: cards." Beauford made a derogatory sound in the back of his throat. "Threatened to send me to the tower, the young whippersnap. King he may be, but he's a poor excuse for a gentleman!"
Charity realized suddenly that Lord Beauford was talking about the King. "You know His Majesty, King George II?" she asked.
"Know him? I'm just telling you I exposed him as a cheat and a liar." Harry chuckled again. "It cost me. Oh, how it cost me. But some things a man just can't let slip by."
"But he didn't have you arrested?"
"He swears he will if I show my face in England. Exile, my girl. I've been sent off to the Colonies to die. But I fooled him. I haven't died yet, and if he isn't careful, I just might outlive him. Sauerkraut-swilling prig!"
Charity giggled. What kind of man was Harry Eames, Earl of Beauford, that he dared to make fun of His Majesty the King? "You are a very brave man, my lord, or a foolish one," she said.
"Some of each, I like to think. And the same might be said of you, Mistress Caroline. Didn't your mother ever teach you to show proper respect for a peer of the realm?"
They laughed together, recognizing that in some ways they were indeed two of a kind. The shared teasing cleared Charity's mind of the unthinkable. Jamie would come back to her as he said he would! They would marry in June as they planned, and he would be happy when he found out that she was carrying his child. She must only be patient and keep faith.
They met Elizabeth coming from the barn, and both women persuaded Lord Beauford to come in for tea. To atone for her guilt, Charity paid close attention to all the old earl's long-winded stories, laughing and questioning at the right places.
Later, when Harry had gone home and Charity was checking the dried fruits and grain in the larder, she reviewed the day in her mind. She would say an extra prayer for Lord Beauford tonight. He was a good man and a good friend. Red crept up her throat as she remembered the voice in her head. Find a husband. The blush covered her face and she turned her head away so the maids couldn't see. Marry the Earl of Beauford? Betray Jamie? She took a deep breath and shook her head. It was the devil whispering in her ears, punishment for her sins. Lord Beauford would never consider marrying me. "Stop it," she said out loud.
Jane's head turned toward her. "Mistress? Were you talkin' to me?"
"No, go on with what you were doing. There must be another crock of peaches here someplace." She must pay attention to what she was doing. The girls would think she was crazy. Maybe she was, with such foolish thoughts in her head. Charity's quill made a large smudge across the page. "Damn."
The black girl's eyebrows went up.
"Here it is, mistress," another servant called. "It was behind the apple leather. The mark for peaches is right on the front."
Charity ripped out the precious page and began again, listing the supplies from the top in neat, painful lettering. I'm unworthy of his love, she thought, to doubt him. There's not even been time for a message to arrive from England.
She worked steadily, listing the crocks of apples and fruit, the barrels of cornmeal and flour, the kegs of sauerkraut and sour pickles until she reached the bottom of the page. Then she read it carefully. Her finger paused, trembling, and her eyes filmed over with salt tears. Halfway down the page, she had written Jamie.
With an anguished cry, she dropped the quill and ran from the larder, leaving the bewildered maids to stare at each other. Why did you leave me? Why? Her unspoken plea went unanswered.
Chapter 18
Jamie rode hard and fast, outdistancing the escort his father had sent to meet him at Bristol. Cold rain beat against his face, soaking his clothes and boots, turning the road into a sea of mud. He had had no sleep the last two nights, and precious little before that.
The men had told him nothing, only that Lord DunCannon lived and awaited his son at his country house. Jamie's questions had been met with blank faces. The earl had bidden his son come at once and spare no coin or horseflesh.
Reeling in the saddle, his mind clouded with fatigue and worry, Jamie urged the faltering horse the last mile to Drummonton. Wearily he gave the horse to a groom with instructions on care of the exhausted animal and walked up to the house, entering by the servants' quarters.
Unseen, he followed the narrow hallways and back stairs to come out into the main part of the huge brick manor house. A maid polishing the balusters of the grand staircase took one look at his mud-spattered clothing and fled in search of her superior. Jamie took the steps two at a time to the second floor, opening the d
oor to one elegant chamber after another, until he came at last to a private sitting room.
Lord DunCannon looked up as the door opened and his face creased in a broad smile. "James! Come in! I've been waiting for you."
The face of the man in the high-backed chair was more lined than Jamie remembered it, the thick bushy brows almost completely gray beneath the spotless wig. A cane leaned against the chair; a robe covered his lap. The eyes were as steely gray as ever. It was the face of a man who had suffered, but surely not one dying.
"Father..." Jamie crossed the room to his side and stood waiting.
"No embrace, James?" the deep voice taunted. "After all this time?" He held out his arms and Jamie went down on one knee to be enfolded by them.
"I was afraid you were dead. The letter said you'd had a stroke."
"So I did." Gilbert Drummond cleared his throat noisily. "I came close to dying. There were some who thought I would. But, by God, I've come back from the grave! Enough of that now, let me look at you. The Colonies haven't done bad by you. I sent off a boy and welcome back a man." He reached out and rang a small silver bell. "There's another here who will be glad to see you—my Lady DunCannon."
Jamie frowned. Hugh Thomas's mother had little use for him. There could be no reason on earth that would cause her to be glad to see him. He eyed his father cautiously. Had the stroke affected his mind?
Lord DunCannon laughed. "I see those wheels turning in that brain of yours, James. You're wondering if I'm not a little senile, aren't you?" He rang the bell again, and almost immediately a servant appeared.
"Tell Lady DunCannon her son is here," Gilbert ordered. "Ask her to join us." He waved Jamie to a chair. "You look worse than I do. I wouldn't have sent word for you to hurry if I'd known the weather would take such a turn. No need to kill yourself getting here. I can't wait to hear about your adventures in the Colonies. Are we making a profit raising tobacco?"
"Yes, sir. A small one." Jamie's eyes flicked to the doorway. Lady DunCannon was sure to cause a scene when she saw him sitting on her satin chair cushion in this state of disarray.
The door flew open and Megan Flynn ran toward him. "Jamie!" she cried. "My Jamie!" Her arms went around his neck and she covered his face with kisses. "My darlin' boy, safe at home. Oh, Jamie, I've missed ye so!"
He held his mother against him, suddenly becoming aware of the gown she wore and the elegant wig. "Mother?" he questioned. "What does this mean?"
Megan stepped back and gave him her biggest smile, his hand caught tight in her small firm one. She looked toward the earl. "My lord, haven't you told him?"
"Told me what?" Jamie stammered.
Gilbert Drummond chuckled. "This is Lady DunCannon. I've made your mother my legal wife, James."
He looked from one to the other disbelievingly. "You mean... you and Mother..." Jamie shook his head. It was too much to take in. "Married?"
"Don't you see?" his mother said. "It's true, Jamie. I am my lord's true wife, and you are his legal son and heir, the Viscount Braemar."
"But what of Hugh Thomas?"
"Never mention that name again in this house!" his father thundered.
It would be days before Jamie heard the whole story; heard and believed.
Hugh Thomas had been falling deeper and deeper into gambling debts when he got into a violent argument with Lord Justin. Justin called him a cheat and challenged Viscount Braemar to a duel. Someone warned Lord DunCannon, and the earl had gone by coach to try to stop the young men before blood was spilled.
He arrived too late to stop the duel but just in time to see his son turn and fire at his opponent two counts short of when he should properly have turned.
Hugh Thomas's cowardly shot missed, and Lord Justin had raised his pistol to fire back. Unable to face the threat of death, Hugh Thomas had run from the field of honor.
In a fury, Lord DunCannon had followed him home to Drummonton, confronting mother and son with Hugh Thomas's perfidy. He called his son a coward and threatened to disown him.
Lady DunCannon had defended Hugh Thomas and a terrible fight had ensued. Insults were hurled, and in the midst of the dispute the earl had been stricken. He'd fallen to the floor, unable to speak.
Thinking he was dying, his wife bitterly admitted to Hugh Thomas that he was not of Lord DunCannon's blood, but actually the child of her own cousin Edward, whom she had loved since she was a girl. Lord DunCannon could not move or speak, but his mind was whole. He heard every word.
Despite their prayers to the contrary, Gilbert Drummond had not died. Megan had cared for him tenderly, and he was carefully guarded by stout retainers so that he might not be hurried to his grave.
As soon as he had recovered enough to sit up in his bed, the parish minister, his superior, and Drummond's solicitors were summoned to the earl's side.
"Long ago, before ye were born," Megan had explained to her son, "yer father an' I were joined in a handfast marriage, long before he wed her. We had witnesses. He was young then and headstrong; he wanted me bad enough to make me his wife even though I was nothing but a dairymaid on his father's estate. All these years, I knew he'd claim you in time. He's always loved me, but you were his pride. A man will do much for such a son, even make a lady out of an Irish country girl."
Out of fear of his parents, Gilbert Drummond had kept his common-law marriage a secret and had eventually wed a woman of his station. But according to English law, the first marriage, with or without the benefit of clergy, was the true one. Hugh Thomas and his mother had been put aside. The second marriage to the noblewoman was invalid, making Hugh Thomas illegitimate, not Jamie.
"But if you knew the truth," Jamie demanded, "if you knew all along, Mother, how could you put up with the indignity, with Hugh Thomas's insufferable behavior?"
Megan's brown eyes twinkled. "Right has no force in the household of an earl. Until his lordship decided our marriage was true it could never stand up. I have no hate for Hugh Thomas, egg-sucking coward though he be. Were he more a man and less what he is, you, my son, would not be Viscount Braemar today." Her amused voice had not lost the lilt of Ireland. She was still a young woman, Jamie realized, and still very beautiful.
There had been another marriage ceremony before Jamie had arrived from Maryland, but now there must be a special blessing on that marriage with the heir present. Lord DunCannon made large bequests to the parish and took upon himself the entire burden of building a poorhouse and setting aside funds for its maintenance. Those who were scandalized by Lord DunCannon's behavior whispered behind his back but made little public outcry. Doubtless the stroke had affected his brain, and it was better to have a son by a dairymaid than another man's bastard.
"But will you be received?" Jamie asked his mother. He could not imagine her moving in court circles or dealing socially with the nobility.
"Of course not!" She looked shocked by the notion. "But your father's health is what comes first. We live very quietly at Drummonton." The stroke had left one of Lord DunCannon's legs stiff and his left arm weak. "You are the best medicine he could have, and if he becomes well enough to go to London, I will stay here. I would not embarrass my lord by askin' to go."
Jamie kissed his mother's cheek and hugged her. "You could never embarrass anyone. You were born a great lady." He took her hand and sat beside her on the settee. They were taking afternoon tea in the orangery beside a delicate little fountain Lord DunCannon had brought from Italy. "I hope someday you can come to Maryland. There's someone there I want you to meet."
"A colleen?" Megan leaned forward eagerly. "Oh, Jamie. You didn't tell me you had a sweetheart. Who is she?"
A good question, thought Jamie, for once at a loss for words. Whatever Megan knew, Gilbert knew. His mother kept no secrets from the earl. Jamie would have to chose his words carefully. "You'll love her, mother. Her name is Caroline Smythe-Tarylton and she lives on a neighboring plantation. We're going to be married in June."
"In June? But you can't," she pro
tested. "I thought you understood. Lord DunCannon needs you here. I need you. As heir, he would never let you go back to that... that wilderness."
Jamie laughed. "That wilderness, as you call it, is home, Mother. It's more beautiful than you can imagine, a little like Ireland. I think I have a knack for tobacco farming... and a few other things." Brown eyes met brown eyes and locked, two subborn wills in silent struggle.
"This Caroline, her father is a farmer?" Megan lowered her eyes thoughtfully. "A commoner?"
A muscle tightened in Jamie's jaw. "You're a commoner. We're both commoners," he replied lightly. A nightingale in a bamboo cage began to sing, and Jamie wondered if he too was trapped in luxury. The inactivity and constant attention to his father's affairs were confining. Now his mother was hinting that he might not be permitted to return to the Colony. And worse, she was suggesting that Charity might not be good enough for Lord DunCannon's heir.
Megan stiffened slightly. "I am what I am. But you are the son of a peer. You will be the Earl of DunCannon someday."
"I'm the same man that took ship from Bold Venture."
"Did I say different?" His mother's voice softened. "You have been a lord since the day you were born. I wish only that I could have saved you so much pain when you were a boy. You took it hard, thinking you were a bastard. But had I told you the truth, you could not have kept it. The time was not right."
"I love Ch—" He coughed to cover the slip. "Caroline, and I will marry her. Viscount Braemar or not, my life is in the Colonies now."
Megan rose gracefully. "I must see to Lord DunCannon. He likes a bit of brandy after his nap." Her fingers brushed his. "You must tell me more about your Caroline. My lord retires early. Perhaps you could come to my chambers this evening. It has been so long, Jamie. The sight of you is a bit of heaven to my eyes."
"As you wish, Mother." He wished again he could have brought Charity with him. Telling about her was not at all the same as seeing her. Charity was a hard woman to explain.
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