by Kim Bowman
But doing what?
He walked to the barn to see if the roof was still in need of patching and frowned. Someone had finished his job. No matter. Perhaps there were more fence posts to drive. He walked the entire eastern perimeter and stared along the northern side. He came to an abrupt halt. If Carolina saw him here on her way back, she might think he was coming after her—which he wasn't.
John shut his eyes and sighed. He was being ridiculous. If she caught him over in that direction, he'd just tell her the truth: he was looking for something to do in order to earn his keep. Is that so? Shoving that traitorous thought from his mind, he pushed off from the fence and started toward the stables. If Gabriel didn't have any work for him, he might as well find something to do with his day, and the further away from Carolina, the better.
The day they'd arrived, Gabriel had allowed him to use the last stall in the stable for the black and white stallion he'd brought with him from Boston. Since then, he'd only taken him out long enough to brush him and take him for a few laps around the stable yard for exercise. Perhaps today he could take him down to the pasture and let him stretch his legs.
John saddled his horse and led him outside to the lush pasture before mounting. He filled his lungs with fresh air and tapped Hammond with his heels. Hammond took off running. The wind whipped through John's hair, blowing it every which direction. “Come on, boy,” he urged.
Hammond ran faster and the grin he knew had to be splitting his face widened. It had been so long since he'd ridden his horse as if he hadn't a care in the world. Gabriel had offered to buy Hammond on more than one occasion, but John refused to sell such a fine piece of horseflesh and planned to take him back to England when he went.
Along the southern side of the pasture was a three-tiered fence. Gripping the reins a fraction tighter and lowering his upper body closer to Hammond's mane, John squeezed his legs together and sailed over the fence. When he pulled the reins, the horse slowed to a trot and then to a canter.
John led Hammond into a nearby grove of trees along a narrow, worn trail. With nothing but time, he went slowly, taking in the beauty surrounding him and the tranquil sounds of nature filling the air: three birds tweeting to each other, twigs snapping under Hammond's hooves, a rabbit or some other small critter running through a little cluster of dry, fallen leaves, the gentle splash of water. He froze. The gentle splash of water? He thought the pond was on the other side of the pasture. Had he gone in a circle?
He shrugged off the thought and continued forward. A break in the trees was ahead and he pulled Hammond to a stop, ready to turn around.
Just then, a movement caught his eye; then another. Interested in any distraction that would keep him away from the plantation longer and divert his mind from Carolina, he dismounted his horse and made his way up the small grassy hill in front of him.
He reached the top and his jaw dropped.
There in front of him in a small, open pond was Carolina. Naked.
Unlike him when he'd gone swimming in the pond sans clothing, she didn't stay in the deeper water where her body was fully concealed, so he was treated to a generous glimpse of her pert breasts as they came above the water every few seconds while she frolicked and swam. His body hardened instantly, and he swore under his breath. Did she have no shame? Apparently not, since she moved to float on her back, which exposed even more of her to his hungry gaze.
It took every ounce of control he possessed to turn away and walk back down the hill to his horse. But with every step he took, the memory of her deliciously bare body flashed in his mind.
Still in an uncomfortable state from his too-detailed memories when he reached the stable, he scowled at the boy who offered to put his horse away and then stalked off to hide himself in the little room where he bunked. One thing was for sure: although perhaps not done intentionally, Carolina would have an even easier time tempting him the next time she approached him. With a body as luscious and inviting as hers, only a blind man could continue to resist her.
Chapter Seventeen
Carolina wasn't getting out of the water until her skin had grown more wrinkled than her mother's face and had burned more than John's had. She hated what her mother was doing by getting Charlie's mother's hopes up about a marriage between Carolina and Charlie.
She flipped over onto her back and floated. So many times, she'd come to this little pond to escape her troubles. But none of her troubles had ever been as overwhelming as this one.
It had been a while since she'd seen Charlie, but today only confirmed her previous assessment that he would not make her — or anyone — a good husband; and it wasn't fair to anyone, especially Charlie, for Carolina's mother to play with the family's feelings when nothing would come of it.
Unfortunately, her mother thought otherwise and would likely do whatever she thought necessary to ensure Carolina married him instead of John.
The bottom of the sun fell behind the top of the distant line of trees that made up the western border of their land, an unspoken warning that dinnertime was growing near. Carolina jerked to a start. Dinner. She'd lost track of time, and if her latest — and hopefully last — plan to convince John to lay aside his pride and ask for her hand had any chance of working, she needed to find Gabriel.
She exited the water and dressed as quickly as her wet flesh would allow. She glanced at the sun and bit her lip. She had only two hours, at most, to bring her plan to fruition tonight — and there was little doubt in her mind that she'd have to do something tonight before Mother could further encourage a possible marriage between Charlie and Carolina.
Heedless of her unkempt appearance, Carolina ran toward the indigo fields. Father had told her Gabriel had gone there for the day when she’d gone to check on John and found he was no longer in bed.
A smile bent her lips when she spotted Gabriel by himself, shoveling some dirt at the end of a row.
“Can you do me a favor, Gabriel?”
“Does it have to do with John?”
“Yes.”
“Then, no.”
Carolina's smile faltered. “Please?”
Gabriel picked up his shovel and dug the tip into the ground. He bit his lip and, holding onto the end of the shovel with both hands for balance, used his foot to thrust the shovel into the ground, loosening a large clump of black South Carolina dirt. “What do you want me to do?”
“Tell him that Mother has requested his presence at her supper.”
Gabriel dropped his newly scooped dirt, and it had nothing to do with his unsteady stance, but rather because he was howling with laughter. “My injury was in my leg, not my head, Lina. You'll have to do better than that.”
Carolina pursed her lips. She should have known he wouldn't believe her. She'd considered telling him Mother wanted to discuss John's state of employment, but feared that John would just decide to go find work elsewhere rather than face Mother.
Her brother dropped the rusty shovel to the ground and sighed. “Lina, you must leave the man alone.”
“But only a few days ago, you said to pursue him.”
“I know,” he agreed, “but have you forgotten what I said about letting him come to you?”
She frowned at him. “No. And I plan to, but I need your help.”
“My help?”
Carolina fidgeted with the ruffle on her left sleeve. “I just need you to give him a gentle shove in my direction.”
Gabriel arched a single brow, “A gentle shove?”
“Perhaps a nudge?”
“Shove or nudge, call it what you want; but what is it you want me to do?”
“I want you to invite him to supper tonight.”
“No.”
“Please?”
“I like the man far too much to expose him to that amount of suffering,” he said, reaching for his shovel.
“Oh, it won't be so bad,” Carolina countered with false bravado.
Gabriel shot her a dubious look then slowly dug out another shovelf
ul of earth. This time, she kept quiet so not to say something to make him drop his dirt again. He lifted his shovelful of dirt and took an unsteady step to the right before dumping it out.
Carolina released the tight fists she wasn't even aware she'd made. Gabriel had always been her strong older brother. The one person in her family she'd always looked up to. Watching him struggle to do things most men could do without any effort was heart wrenching. But watching him find a way without help or giving up was even more heart wrenching.
“What makes you think it won't be so bad?” Gabriel asked, startling her.
She bit her lip. “John's biggest argument is that Mother doesn't like him. I just thought perhaps if she got to know him for the gentleman I know him to be, she'd alter her opinion of him and he'd stop pretending not to be attracted to me.”
Gabriel's lips formed a thin line, and he stared at her with a blank expression on his face. “And if I told you Mother had already asked me to invite him?”
Carolina's heart skipped a beat. “She did?”
“Yes,” he said flatly.
“What did he say?”
“I haven't asked him yet.”
Carolina rolled her eyes and groaned. “What are you waiting for?”
Gabriel grumbled something, but she didn't bother to care what it was. Her mother had invited John to dine with them. She didn't know why, nor would she question it. As Father would say, one should never look a gift horse in the mouth, and this was one gift horse she had no intention of looking at anywhere near its mouth.
Unfortunately, an hour later, she wished she'd examined the teeth of that gift horse, or quite simply demanded to know why John had been invited and then talked Gabriel out of inviting him.
For just as she'd finished changing into a clean gown for dinner and pinning her hair in a coif she'd overheard a lady in Charleston describe as the height of fashion for ladies in Paris, doom set in with the sound of a team of neighing horses.
Carolina poked her head out her window and gasped. The Fields were here.
Pulling on her gloves, she ran down the stairs, taking them two at a time and silently praying Gabriel wouldn't be able to convince John to come tonight.
No such luck.
Standing in the hall by the front door wearing a set of Gabriel's finest clothes was John. Her breath caught. Even though the sleeves of his borrowed coat didn't quite reach his wrists and his shoulders appeared to be stretching the seams of the fabric, he looked dashing with his hair slicked back, exposing his clear blue eyes and his stoic face.
The moment ended too soon for Carolina's liking when a thwack, thwack, thwack reverberated from the door.
“I's a'coming,” Lamar shouted, running down the hall.
Carolina stepped back onto the lowest stair to get out of the butler's way but didn't take her eyes off John who seemed to have an intensity in his eyes she hadn't noticed before.
Suddenly, the commotion of their guests being let in the front door ended the moment she and John shared, forcing them to redirect their attention to the intruders.
“It's nice to see you again, Mrs. Fields,” Carolina said, accepting the older woman's embrace. She turned to the side and greeted Lucinda, Charlie's sister, and then their cousin Hannah. Mr. Fields stood with Charlie just inside the door. “Mr. Fields, Charlie,” she murmured with a slight curtsey.
“Lina,” Mr. Fields greeted before nudging his son.
Charlie looked at his father and then turned back to Carolina with the same empty expression he always wore. “Lina,” he slurred.
“Come in, come in,” Mother encouraged. Even when trying to sound sweet and inviting, she didn't. Perhaps it was because she'd dripped so much vinegar through the years, she was incapable of producing the minor amount of sugar it would have taken to sound sweet. Who really knew? What Carolina did know was the reason Mother had invited John. The smug smile on her face when Hannah Fields came in told Carolina all she needed to know: Mother intended to push him off on Hannah, a poor relation of the Fields, to get him away from Carolina and force Carolina to accept Charlie.
Carolina bit her lip to contain her laughter. The likelihood of that happening was the same as Mother learning to shoe a horse.
Now, the likelihood of torturing Carolina and making her jealous all evening was decidedly in Mother's favor.
“Hannah, why don't you sit there? Then we'll put John next to you. And, Lucinda, why don't you sit on the other side of John?” She grinned at Carolina then rushed from the room to greet another set of arriving guests.
Carolina ground her teeth. Apparently, while Carolina had been forming her plan this morning, Mother had, too.
“Sit, Lina” Charlie commanded loudly, but not unkindly.
Carolina offered him her best smile and sat in the chair he was pointing to. It wasn't his fault he was so blunt and impersonal. Truly, she had no idea why he was that way. He just was and had been his whole life as far as she knew. “Thank you.”
He nodded stiffly and took his seat. As she expected, he took an instant interest in his dinner plate. He picked it up and then turned it over and over in his hands. He set it down and picked up the dull butter knife to the right of his plate. Turning it this way and that, he watched in amazement as the light from the chandelier that was reflected on the silver moved up and down the side as he moved it in his hand. “Watch, watch,” he said, slapping her arm with the back of his hand to gain her attention.
She bit her lip so not to grimace in pain. As he continued to slap her, Carolina gently placed her hand over his to still his movements. “What is it, Charlie?”
“Watch,” he commanded again, his eyes fixated on the knife in his other hand.
“That's very nice,” she complimented. “Would you care to see another trick?”
He turned his wide-set green eyes toward her. “It better?”
“Better than yours?” she asked for clarification.
He nodded slowly.
“Of course not,” she said, taking the knife from him. “Yours is by far the best trick I've seen. But this is just a bit different.” She dropped her voice to a stage whisper. “It never hurts to know more than one trick when entertaining.”
Nothing about his expression changed. But that was no surprise. She'd never seen him smile or frown, laugh or cry, appear confused or certain. No matter what the situation, his expression stayed the same: disinterested. Even if he was interested or did feel one of those emotions, you'd never know it by looking at him, only by listening to his words; which unfortunately for Charlie, was something very few people ever did.
“Show me!” Charlie demanded.
“Watch over there.” She pointed to a little spot on the far wall, waited for him to fix his eyes where she'd pointed, and then turned the knife at an angle that would catch the light from the chandelier and reflect it on the back wall.
Unintelligible, high-pitched squeaks filled the air and Carolina grinned. He liked her trick, and if the noises he made weren't enough confirmation, the way he wildly bounced up and down in his seat certainly was.
“Would you like to try?”
Charlie's noises grew louder and he reached for the knife.
Carolina brought the knife against her chest. “You need to sit still first.”
He didn't stop right away and reached for the knife, nearly mauling her chest as he did so.
Had he been anyone else, she'd have been horrified that he was practically touching her breasts. But he didn't know any better, and despite the muffled giggles and gasps coming from his sister and cousin, she didn't feel it was appropriate to shame him for what he didn't understand. Instead, she fought to keep the blush from her cheeks and used her free hand to push at his wrists. “You need to sit still and put your hands in your lap, Charlie. I'm not going to give it to you until you do.”
He struggled against her another ten or fifteen seconds, but she continued to hold the dull knife against her chest. He let out a scream she knew to b
e of frustration, though he didn't look frustrated, then turned and put his hands in his lap. He clenched them together tightly and persisted to let out a series of short shrieks.
“You have to stop doing that, or I won't give it to you,” Carolina warned. He reached out to grab the edges of his plate, but Carolina's hand shot out faster than his, and she covered the top of his plate with her open palm, holding it in place. “No.”
He let out one more shriek and then dropped his hands to his lap, resigned.
Carolina waited a few seconds to make sure he'd calmed down. She hated treating him this way, but it would seem nobody else—including his own parents—had any interest in his behavior and would rather ignore him than even attempt to help him. She pushed aside her bitter feelings about the situation and pulled the knife away from her chest to hand it to Charlie, only to be stopped a second later by a shriek that sounded more appropriate for a murder scene than a dining room.
“You know better than to play with your knife, Lina,” Mother snapped, from where she stood just inside the door with the last of her guests. “You're so careless you're likely to cut your finger off. Give that to me.”
Heat crawled up Carolina's face at her mother's words, and she gripped her knife tighter. “It's not even sharp, Mother,” she pointed out.
“Give me the knife,” Mother demanded again, opening and closing her hand.
Just then, Charlie decided to grab the knife; whether to give it to Mother or to try to make the candlelight reflect on the back wall, she didn't know. “Let go, Lina,” Charlie said, yanking on the knife.
Carolina didn't know whether she loosened her grasp or the moisture on her palm made it harder to hold, but somehow Charlie tugged it loose and sent it flying across the table to create an ear-piercing screech as it nicked John's wineglass then clattered against his plate.
Always the helpful young lady, Lucinda picked up the utensil and handed it to Mother. “Here, Mrs. Ellis.” She turned her laughing blue eyes to Carolina. “Don't worry, Lina. I'll be sure to dispose of all of the knives in the silver set Mother plans to buy for you and Charlie as a wedding gift. It would be tragic if either of you were to hurt yourselves.”
