As Megan left the orangery, a maid came in to clear away the tea things. Jamie asked her to bring him ink and writing materials. It was clear that he would not be able to leave for Maryland as soon as he had hoped. He could at least write Charity and tell her what had happened.
The girl hurried back with pen and ink and a small lap desk for the viscount. Jamie sat before the fountain for a few moments before dipping the quill and beginning his letter.
Darling,
You probably won't believe a word of this, but...
It took three pages front and back to explain that he was now Lord DunCannon's heir and that he might not be able to return until shortly before the wedding. He signed it simply Jamie, looked at it for a second, then added Viscount Braemar.
The maid was waiting just outside the door. "Shall I take that for you, sir? I can put it with his lordship's correspondence. A rider will be taking it to London tomorrow."
Jamie handed over the letter. "It's very important that this go on the next possible ship."
"The steward sees to all that, your lordship." She dipped a curtsy and smiled at the handsome heir. Not like the other one, she thought, always grabbing at a body. Then she hurried upstairs as she had been ordered.
The girl tapped lightly at lady DunCannon's door. "Your ladyship?" Permission was given for her to enter. She curtsied and handed over the letter. "Here it is, your ladyship. Just as you said."
Megan Flynn Drummond stood for a long time with the letter held tightly in her hand after the maid had departed. It was raining outside again, and the sound of drops against the windows made the warm room all the more cheery. "Ah. Jamie," she whispered. "Me darlin' Jamie. Forgive me." Without opening it, she tossed the letter into the fireplace and watched until it blackened and was devoured by the hungry flames.
Megan sank into a chair and stared into the fire. Pray God her son would never know what she had done. The pain of losing his colonial sweetheart would be short-lived. Jamie was a lord! The blood of kings ran in his veins, but there would always be those who would point out the disgrace of his lowborn mother. Jamie could not afford the scandal of a wife without family, position. If he married high enough, the memory of who Megan Flynn had been would fade.
She had loved Gilbert as much as a young and foolish maid can love a handsome young man. But she had suffered from that love. She had been separated from home and family, been called whore, and seen her only child named bastard. She had broken all the rules, and by some quirk of fortune she had won. It was too much to expect that her son should be so lucky.
If Lord DunCannon were to appear at the court of King George with his Irish peasant wife, there would be sneers and insults. She might be Lady DunCannon, but she was not, and never could be, a lady. Her son would have better.
Far better for Jamie and his country lass for both to cling to their own kind. She could marry a colonial squire, and Jamie could chose a wife from the flower of England—a wife he would never be ashamed of.
A log fell and sparks scattered across the hearth. Megan started from her reverie. She stood and smoothed the wrinkles from her gown. "What's done is done," she whispered to the empty room. "Better a few months of unhappiness than a lifetime."
* * *
Lord DunCannon stayed up long beyond his usual hours that night, enjoying the company of his wife and son. Jamie told many tales of the Tidewater and kept back a few they might have enjoyed had the circumstances been different.
The three played at cards, and Jamie played the harpsichord while his mother sang old folk songs and Irish ballads. They laughed and joked together as Jamie had remembered them doing in his mother's cottage when he was a small child.
"My fingers are so rusty it's a wonder you can tell one tune from another," Jamie apologized.
"Nonsense," Gilbert said. "You're doing fine. Play 'False Sir John.' I know that one." He joined in with his rich deep voice on the chorus, and they sang the entire song over twice.
Megan clapped her hands at the end. "Bravo, my lord. Bravo!" She sat by his feet and leaned against his legs. "It fills my heart to have you both here like this. Tell Jamie we will have none of his running back to Maryland."
Lord DunCannon frowned. "You are serious about wanting to go back, James?"
"I'm going back as soon as you can spare me."
"Since my stroke there are many things which have been neglected here at Drummonton and at my other estates. There are still papers which require your signature and monies which must be transferred into your personal accounts. Give me a few months. Then, if you still want to sail off across the Atlantic, I'll give my blessing."
"A few more weeks is all I can spare, Father. I can't be late for my own wedding."
"Surely your Caroline will understand that your duty to your father comes first," his mother put in. "A few months, Jamie. It's all he's asking."
Jamie shrugged. "I gave her my word, Mother. A few weeks is all I can stay. I'll come back next fall if need be. But I'm sure Father will be well enough by then to take care of everything himself."
"Pray God," Megan answered, then took her husband's hand. "It is very late, my lord. You should be in bed. You need your rest."
"I think perhaps we should all call it a night," Jamie agreed. "It is late, and I'm going to ride to Braemar with the steward early in the morning."
They exchanged good-nights and Jamie walked down the corridors to his own chambers in the west wing. Something troubled him about the ease with which his father had given in about his returning to Maryland. Lord DunCannon had never been that easy to sway.
He opened the door to find the room already lit with candles. The inner door to the bedroom stood ajar. He crossed the sitting room and saw that his bed was occupied. The pretty maid from the orangery waited, wearing only a smile.
"My lord?" Her blond hair fell over full pert breasts. "Can I do anything for you?" Her bottom, he noticed, was as well-shaped as her other parts.
Jamie sighed. The room was suddenly very warm, and he was suddenly aware of just how long it had been since he had made love to Charity. He was certain that he'd not gone so long without satisfaction since he was fifteen. "I seem to make a habit of finding beautiful ladies in the altogether," he said quietly as he slipped out of his coat.
"You don't have to be afeared of his lordship," she purred. "He sent me."
"I'm sure he did." Jamie moved to the bed. "Don't think I don't appreciate the offer. What's your name, anyway?"
"Katey, my lord." She reached out a plump hand. "I can do anything you like. His lordship likes me fine."
Jamie bent and picked her up, then carried her toward the door. "It's late, Katey, and I'm tired. I'd rather sleep alone tonight, if you don't mind." God, but she was soft. And she smelled of woman. A flicker of desire passed through his body. You're a fool, James Drummond, to throw out a plump partridge when you're near to starving! He deposited her on the sitting room settee. "Find your clothes, wherever they are, and go." He fished a few coins from his pocket. "It's no one's business what we did or didn't do. But if I hear of this, my girl, you'll have trouble." He dropped the money onto her bare belly and forced himself to go back into the bedroom.
"Yer not one of them, are you?" she called after him.
Jamie closed the door softly and threw the bolt. He quelled the surge of desire that had enveloped him. I'll not take DunCannon's leavings. He undressed quickly and climbed into the empty bed, unwilling to admit, even to himself, the real reason for evicting the girl. He wanted a woman, true enough... but not just any woman. He wanted one with flaxen hair and green eyes that plagued his dreams. Charity's heart-shaped face played across his mind and he groaned. A few more weeks, sweetheart. He wondered if he could hold out that long.
* * *
Spring burst on the Chesapeake almost overnight. Calves and wobbling colts trotted after their mothers in the green meadows; teams of horses crossed the fertile fields turning the earth for planting. And Charity waited for
a letter from Jamie that never came.
Desperately she, laced her gowns as tightly as possible, knowing it wouldn't be possible to keep her secret much longer. Her waist was thickening, her breasts becoming fuller. The sickness had passed, but she was always sleepy. Elizabeth's sharp eyes would soon notice the changes in her body.
If there was not so much to do on the plantation in the spring, doubtless she would have guessed already. Jamie had left Bold Venture in Elizabeth's care, so she had not only the planting at Widow's Endeavor to oversee, but that of the Drummond plantation. Fences must be mended, new fields cleared, and old ones worked.
Fish could once more be taken from the rivers and bay. They were netted and caught by hook and line to be eaten fresh or smoked or salted for shipment to England. The tobacco fields must be readied for the young seedlings, and new workers trained to care for them.
Charity could assist Elizabeth with some of the duties but not all. She was totally ignorant of farming but was beginning to learn how to instruct the bond servants, especially the maids and weaving women.
Elizabeth had ridden over to Bold Venture early in the morning to discuss clearing a new field with the foreman. She returned before noon, her face drawn Charity met her at the door. "What's wrong?"
The older woman looked at Charity strangely. "Lord DunCannon has sent a new overseer to take charge of the plantation."
"A new overseer? But what of Jamie?" Charity's blood chilled.
"The man is Alexander MacNeal, a Scot. He set sail before Jamie arrived in England." Elizabeth averted her eyes to hide the sorrow that must show there. "He says that Lord DunCannon has set aside Jamie's half brother and his mother. He has wed James's mother and made him his heir. MacNeal says that Viscount Braemar will never return to America."
The toughness that had kept her alive in Newgate Prison and refused to let her drown in the Chesapeake held back the tears and prevented her from giving in to the faint blackness that threatened to wrench her from consciousness. "Jamie said he would be back in time for our wedding in June," she said stubbornly. "Why should I believe the words of a total stranger?"
"If James has been made Lord DunCannon's heir, he may not be able to keep his word," Elizabeth answered.
Charity's eyes narrowed. "You mean I might not be fit to marry the son of a lord?"
"DunCannon is a powerful man." Elizabeth wanted to take the girl in her arms but dared not. Charity looked as if she might shatter if she were touched. "An earl, Caroline. Not a squire, but an earl." Damn it! She'd known something like this would happen!
"Thank you, my lady"—Charity's voice cracked—"for reminding me of my place." She turned toward the stairs, her eyes hot with unshed tears. She was only fit to carry his unborn child. He didn't want her as wife, only as concubine. She checked an instinctive movement to put her hand where the child lay beneath her heart. Her world was dissolving; the only security, the only sanity was a tiny, growing spark of life... a spark that must be defended if it cost her everything.
Charity twisted her hands together and her fingers closed on the stone of Jamie's ring. Ruthlessly she yanked it off. A nobleman gave his whore such baubles! She'd not wear such a sign of her position. She looked down at the beautiful object cupped in her hand, remembering the joy she'd felt the day he gave it to her. He'd told her it was a ring that carried a curse. Perhaps it did, she thought wryly. Perhaps it did.
* * *
The next morning Charity waited until Elizabeth was out of the house before coming down. When she descended the stairs, she wore a powder-blue riding habit of soft velvet with matching tricorn and rakish feather. Her hair was swept up and pinned to fall in a single curl across one shoulder; the gray-green eyes were hard.
Without waiting for breakfast, Charity ordered that Duchess be saddled.
"Her ladyship is at the prize house," Maggie said.
Charity knew that men were to begin work that morning on the roof of the tobacco processing building. She'd been certain Elizabeth would be there to be sure it was done correctly. Nothing on Widow's Endeavor was beyond her scrutiny; it would keep the older woman from interfering in her own plans.
"Tell Lady Deale I have gone to Oxford," Charity replied. "I'll be home for high tea."
But when she was well out of sight of the house, she took not the road for Oxford, but the way to Avalon. "So I am not fit to wed the son of an earl," she said to the little horse. "Well, perhaps I can do even better." Her brave words did not cover the trembling of her voice.
If her child were not to be born a bastard, she must have a husband. She knew only one man on all the Tidewater she would consider marrying. That that man was old enough to be her great-grandfather did not seem to be important. What was important was that she find a way to get him to ask for her hand—and quickly, before her pregnancy began to show.
Charity knew that she was already three full months and more with child. If she succeeded in getting Lord Beauford to wed her, how would she ever convince him that the baby was his? At his age, was he capable of fathering a child? If he cast her out after the marriage, at least no one could accuse her babe of bastardy.
She would make Lord Beauford a good wife. If he would keep her and the child, he would never regret it. She would nurse him and be a companion. Whatever he required, she would do, so long as she could be sure of security for herself and the babe.
You are doing no more than your mother before you, her inner voice said. Duchess twitched her ears, seeming to hear and agree. She married to get a home and protect her children.
"But she married the father of her unborn child," Charity retorted. "Tom Brown knew what he was gettin'." That she was about to deceive a friend cut her to the quick.
Would she be able to sleep beside the old man night after night and not remember Jamie's strong arms about her? Her trembling grew to a shaking in the warm morning sunlight.
"It won't be deceit if I make his last days full," she said stubbornly. "He's lonely. I can make his days less so." And his nights?
Charity wound her hand in the little mare's mane. Once before she had stood on the deck of a rolling ship with nothing behind her and everything before. She had gambled then, and she must take the gamble now.
"Nothin' without pain," Mam had said.
For a little while she had known love, now she must bear the pain. A smile tugged at the corner of her mouth as she thought of the child to come... a baby... Jamie's baby. No one would ever take it away from her; for that child she would do anything.
And still, when she came into Lord Beauford's study and he turned to face her, smiling warmly, all her carefully constructed plans came undone. Tears rolled down her cheeks and she cried so hard she could not speak.
"Now! Now! What's this?" Harry came forward to put his arm around her comfortingly. "Nothing's amiss with Elizabeth, is there?"
"No, my lord," she sobbed, wiping her eyes with the backs of her hands like a child.
Harry led her to a chair and stood above her. "Then nothing can be so terrible. What of that young Drummond? He's not drowned or murdered by pirates, is he?"
Charity shook her head, her shoulders shaking with uncontrolled weeping. Lord Beauford offered a handkerchief. She took it and gradually was able to slow the tears. "Thank you, my lord," she sniffed. "I'll be all right now."
Harry looked relieved. "Whatever it is, I promise I'll do what I can to help. Look at you! Your pretty eyes are all swollen. Did someone frighten you?" His voice hardened, and Charity could see for a moment the man who had challenged the King of England.
"I'm sorry, Lord Beauford," she whispered. "I'm crying because I almost committed a terrible sin."
"And what was that?" His tone barely covered his amusement.
She swallowed hard and looked at him with large green eyes. "I... I came here to seduce you, sir. To try and get you to make love to me."
Chapter 19
Lord Beauford stared at her as though she had begun speaking in a foreign lang
uage. "What did you say?"
Charity fastened her eyes on the embroidered fire screen by the hearth. Her voice when she spoke was little more than a whisper. "It's true, my lord." She clasped her hands together tightly. "I'm sorry. You have every right to be angry with me."
Face taut, the old man moved painfully back a step and glared at her sternly. "Why?" he demanded.
Charity straightened her shoulders and met his authoritative scrutiny with hauntingly beautiful green eyes. "I am with child, Lord Beauford. I... I meant to try and trick you into... into marriage."
There was a heavy silence in the room, emphasized by the loud ticking of an ornate clock. Charity started to rise, but he waved her back sternly. "No! Sit there."
"I am sorry," she murmured.
Beauford exhaled. "I would not have taken you for a fortune hunter. Is it worth so much to you... all this?" He waved his hand to take in the magnificence of Avalon, her broad acres and rivers, her fields and forests. "That you would take a man of my years to your bed?" The old eyes lashed her. "That you would trade Drummond's fortunes for mine?"
Color rose in Charity's cheeks and the green eyes cooled to bits of frosty jade. "I loved Jamie," she admitted hoarsely. "But now that he has come into his inheritance, they say he will never return to the Tidewater. You are my friend and the only man I trust." Her head went up, the heart-shaped face a study in ivory. "I care not for your wealth, my lord, only that my babe have a name."
"And you thought to ensnare a senile old man?"
The soft words hurt more than a blow from his walking stick could have done.
"But I couldn't go through with it," she finished. She rose proudly. "I will go and trouble you no more, Lord Beauford. Forgive me. I was weak for the sake of my child."
"And if you had succeeded? What then?"
"Then I would have been as good a wife to you as any man could ask. I am no thief to seal a bargain with false coin."
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