Romancing the Rogue

by Kim Bowman

  “You're wrong,” Carolina fired back; her blood boiling with outrage. “It's the hardworking men like him who built our city and our country. Not everyone can come from wealth and own a plantation. Someone has to build that plantation.”

  “Yes, and we call those people 'hands', Lina.”

  Carolina sucked in a hard breath. “He's none of those vile things you say about him.”

  “He is, and I don't like him here. I've only allowed him to stay because—”

  “You didn't allow him to stay, Gabriel did,” Carolina snapped. “If it were up to you, he'd have died of thirst while walking back to town after helping Gabriel return home.”

  Mother frowned. “Don't be so nonsensical. I won't deny that I don't like his presence, but I would never be so cold as to throw him out.”

  “Yes, you would,” Carolina mumbled under her breath, because heavy steps could be heard down the hall and Carolina didn't want anyone to overhear their argument.

  “No, I wouldn't; but as soon as he's earned his fare, he'll be gone. And don't you dare try to do anything to encourage him to stay longer,” Mother warned, wagging her finger.

  “I—”

  “Miss Lina,” Bethel called.

  Carolina's eyes widened in terror. “I'm coming, Bethel,” she called back, hoping Bethel would stay put and her mother wouldn't follow her.

  “Where do you think you're going?” Mother grabbed her arm to stay her. “I'm not satisfied you understand my warning.”

  “I understand,” Carolina blurted, throwing a glance over her shoulder to see if she could catch a glimpse of Bethel, who likely hadn't heard her command.

  Mother placed her hands on her hips and unease washed over Carolina. “What's the meaning of this,” Mother demanded of Bethel as soon as she came into view holding a large tray with two glasses of water.

  “I asked Bethel to prepare some water for Gabriel,” Carolina answered, as her blood began to race.

  “Do you think I'm a fool, Lina?”

  “N-no.”

  “Then don't treat me as such.”

  Carolina swallowed convulsively. “I didn't.”

  “You insult my intelligence with your lies. And you—” She turned toward Bethel with a lethal stare. “—have you forgotten who you belong to or do I need to remind you again?”

  Carolina's blood turned to ice. “No!” she said, jumping in front of Bethel. “She knows.”

  “I don't think she does, or she wouldn't be taking orders from you.”

  Behind her, the glasses of water rattled on the tray as Bethel's hands trembled. Carolina's heart crumbled. They both knew what was to come. There was little more that Mother loved than demonstrating her authority.

  “Go get me the strap, Lina,” Mother commanded.

  “No.”

  Mother's lips formed a tight line. “Don't defy me, Lina. This is your fault anyhow. Now get me the strap.”

  She took a step backward to better shield Bethel, which only served to infuriate her mother more. Tears stung her eyes. “Strap me,” she said on a sob. “Let her go. This is my fault and I should be the one punished.”

  “No. She did wrong and she'll never learn if she's not punished.”

  “Move 'side, chile,” Bethel said softly. “'T'll be a'right.”

  “Very good,” Mother clipped, before turning to walk toward the kitchen where she'd ordered the strap hung as a subtle reminder of just whose house this was.

  Carolina's vision blurred and she blinked rapidly to clear her eyes. She wanted so badly to protect Bethel, but they both knew her efforts would only be temporary. On more occasions than she cared to remember, she'd found herself in this very position, only to have made things worse for Bethel by further inciting her mother's wrath. But that was when nobody else was here to stop Mother. Father was physically unable and none of the other house servants would dare cross Mother.

  But what of Gabriel?

  She'd never know if she didn't at least try.

  “I'm so very sorry,” she choked out; then not waiting to hear Bethel's response, she ran down the hall and out the back door, sobbing her brother's name as she went.

  Chapter Twenty

  Just as John and Gabriel approached the little series of three steps that led to the back entrance of the big house, Carolina came tearing out the door and ran down the stairs, shrieking Gabriel's name and the word help as two torrents of tears streamed down her bright red face.

  She must not have seen them standing next to the stairs, because she didn't stop, she only swiped at the tears on her cheeks and ran toward the indigo fields where he and Gabriel had been working earlier.

  “I wonder what's happened to her,” John said.

  Gabriel shrugged his response, but didn't look too concerned by Carolina's theatrics.

  Just then, the unmistakable sound of leather slapping skin rang through the air.

  “I'll go after Carolina,” John said automatically, as his friend stumbled up the stairs. “Wait, Carolina,” he called as he chased after her.

  She didn't slow.

  He sped up his pace. She didn't have that much of a lead on him, besides she was wearing slippers and a skirt!

  He continued to run after her and grimaced every time she stumbled or tripped. But she kept running and he stayed right behind her. “Carolina, stop.”

  She didn't.

  She was within arm's reach now, and he reached for her, grabbing a fistful of fabric and bringing her to the ground with a strangled whimper. “Let me go. I must find Gabriel,” she cried, trying to break free of his hold.

  “He already knows.”

  “Are you sure?” she choked between sobs as she took to her feet and wiped her eyes.

  John nodded. His mother had been prone to vapors—leaving him with just enough knowledge to comprehend that when these moods hit, it was best to stand there quietly and not say anything, lest you upset them further.

  “Stop staring at me!”

  Or perhaps he was wrong. “I'm not staring,” he said slowly.

  She sniffled and used the heel of her hand to dry under her red-rimmed eyes. “Yes, you are. Now go away.”

  “I came—”

  “To tell me Gabriel knows...”

  “No,” he said gently, stepping closer to her. “I came because I thought you might like some company.”

  “For once, John, I don't want your company.”

  He was taken aback. The past few weeks, he'd tried everything he could to avoid her company, and now she was telling him she didn't want his? “Then what do you want?”

  “To go far, far away,” she said with a sob.

  He started. Her broken tone would suggest she wasn't jesting. “Carolina, what's happened?”

  Sobs wracked her body again, and she crumpled to the ground before him.

  He sank down next to her. “Shh,” he crooned in her ear, taking a seat on the grass as close to her as he could. “It'll all work out.”

  “No, it won't,” she said between sobs.

  On impulse, John wrapped his arms around her and pulled her onto his lap, then bent his head and pressed his cheek atop the crown of her head. Her soft, curly brown hair felt good against his skin. He closed his eyes. He was here because she could use a friend, nothing more, he reminded himself as he began to rock her from side to side.

  Carolina leaned closer to him, pressing her face against his chest. “I hate her,” she whispered.

  “Who?”

  “My mother.”

  Well, that wasn't an unexpected discovery. There were very few people he'd ever met that he wasn't particularly fond of, and Mrs. Ellis was certainly one of them. “Surely, you don't hate her,” he said softly. “You might not like her, but you don't hate her.”

  “Yes, I do,” Carolina insisted. “She's so cruel.”

  “Is this because she's forcing you to accept Charlie?” He didn't know why those were the first words out of his mouth, and he hoped she wouldn't question him further
. Her possible impending marriage to a simpleton or the tender moment they shared now changed nothing between them, and he'd do well not to lead her to believe his feelings for her were anything other than that of a friend.

  “No. It has nothing to do with that. It's something else.”

  He rubbed long strokes up and down her back with his open palm. “What did she do to you?”

  “Nothing,” she said on a sob. “It's Bethel.”

  John nodded. He'd noticed the closeness between the two but had never thought too much about it. He, too, hadn't been very close to his own parents; but instead of being close to a servant, he'd sought his brother's favor. “What's wrong with Bethel?”

  “She's getting the strap, and it's my fault,” she said in a voice that was nearly inaudible.

  A knot formed in his stomach. That explained the noise he'd heard earlier. “I'm sorry,” he whispered around the lump of emotion that had taken root in his throat.

  “It's not your fault; it's mine,” she said.

  John stilled and tightened his hold, hoping she'd find the comfort she needed. Then before he could stop himself, he leaned forward and dropped a kiss on the crown of her head. “It'll be all right, Carolina. Gabriel went in there after you left. He'll stop her,” he whispered against her hair.

  Carolina sniffled. “No, it won't stop. He might stop her now, but she'll just do it again when he's not close to the house.”

  John shut his eyes and rocked her sobbing form. “Is there anything that can be done?”

  “No,” she said so softly he might not have heard her, had his head not been so close to hers. “Mother and Father refuse to grant her freedom because she does so much around the house. She's nothing but a machine that breathes to them.”

  John's heart clenched, for as willful and spirited as Carolina seemed, she had a good heart. First, it had showed with how she'd treated Charlie, and now with Bethel.

  “Was it always like this?” he asked before he could think better of it. In just his short amount of time here, he'd learned many things had changed following Mr. Ellis' return from war—but nobody dared speak of it.

  “With Bethel, yes.” She swallowed convulsively. “Mother resents her.”

  “Because you're closer to her?”

  Carolina nodded against his chest. “Her skin might be a few shades darker than mine, but in my heart, she's my mother. That's why she's doing this today,” Carolina whispered. “She knows it hurts me more than it does Bethel.”

  “I'm sorry,” he said for lack of anything else to say. “I don't know what I can do to help make it right, but I will always be here for you.” He clamped his mouth shut. That was a promise he had no business making to her. He couldn't always be there for her. Their lives were far too different.

  “Thank you,” she said; her face pressing against his dingy shirt muffled her words a bit.

  John continued to hold and rock her. He couldn't do anymore than that. He'd never experienced anything like she was experiencing right now. All of the servants he'd ever known were given wages for their work and were free to leave if they so desired. Bethel wasn't. She had to stay, no matter what she was asked to do or the punishment she'd incur for not. However, as much as he wanted to help, he just couldn't.

  Time dissolved in that hot South Carolina field, and finally Carolina's sobs and sniffles subsided. He turned his head to the side to peek down at her and felt a bittersweet smile tug his lips when he realized she'd fallen asleep.

  Nobody who might be around to see them was the kind who'd say anything, so he saw no reason to wake her up. Instead, he continued to hold her, loving the way she felt in his arms. He'd never fully understood slavery until he'd come to the plantation. Of course, while in Charleston, he'd actually met a few freedmen, such as Silas, who were working for their employers and collecting a wage, but that was rare. He'd also encountered a few field hands at neighboring plantations who seemed to like working for their “massas”.

  The same could not be said for those who worked these indigo fields. Gabriel's insistence to work alongside them—which he learned was actually more common on plantations that had too few hands than he originally thought—had raised the morale and smoothed things over a little. But there was still a lot of resentment among the field hands toward Mrs. Ellis. Gabriel had mentioned that prior to his father's accident, they'd all been treated very well, and he was surprised there hadn't been a slave rebellion when Mrs. Ellis took over. Perhaps that was because they all seemed to love Carolina, and she them.

  “John?”

  John jerked at Gabriel's voice. “Carolina,” he whispered, gently brushing her cheek with his lips. “It's time to wake up.” When she didn't immediately wake, he gave her a little shake.

  Her eyes fluttered open and she looked from Gabriel to John, her tearstained cheeks turning red.

  “I think Bethel would like to see you.” Gabriel's voice sounded as though it was full of gravel.

  John helped Carolina off his lap and then gained his feet. “Don't,” he warned Gabriel, when Carolina had run far enough to be out of hearing distance.

  Gabriel threw his hands into the air in a show of mock innocence. “I didn't say anything.”

  “No,” John allowed, dusting off his backside. “But you were about to.”

  “About to what?”

  “Demand I marry her.”

  Gabriel lifted his brow. “Why would I do that?”

  Scowling, John folded his arms. “We were doing nothing wrong. I was just trying to console her.”

  “Why do you fight it so?”

  “Fight what?” John burst out.

  “Your obvious attraction to my sister.”

  John blew out a breath. He couldn't deny it. He was becoming more attracted to her with each passing day. But he still couldn't marry her. “I can't marry her.”

  Gabriel rolled his eyes up toward the sky and twisted his lips. “I know she's annoying with her incessant chatter and never-ending theatrics; and I'll even grant you she has the ability to drive a man mad with her tendency to appear at the most inconvenient time possible. But she doesn't do it with the intention of being an annoyance, it's just who she is.”

  “I know that.” And dash it all, it was those very things about her that entranced him more than anything else. He might have found it awkward, at first, that she kept bringing him water, but he'd loved standing there talking with her as he drank it, just like all the other times they'd talked. He enjoyed her being her, but her being her did not bode well for the wife of a vicar.

  “Then what keeps you from marrying her?”

  John shoved his right hand into his pocket and idly turned his pocket watch over in his hand. “I just can't.”

  “Can't or won't?”

  “Can't.”

  “I don't believe you.”

  John scowled. “You can believe whatever you want, but that's the truth. I'm financially not in a position to take her as my wife.”

  Grimacing, Gabriel readjusted his stance. “John, listen to yourself. You told me only days ago that the reason you couldn't marry her was because she wasn't meek and mild like all the proper ladies of England, and now it's because you don't have the funds.” He lifted a single hand into the air to stop John's rebuttal. “Frankly, I don't care which it is. Both of them are excuses, and they're both weak. If Lina only cared about money and living the carefree life of a wealthy landowner’s wife who only had to worry about hosting parties and commanding her household about, she'd have accepted Charlie by now. He might not be the most appealing gentleman, but he has enough wealth to command the respect due him.

  “Having grown up with her, I know better than anyone how uncomfortable it is to claim a relation to the girl who goes around as if the world is her stage and she is the lead actress in a melodrama. But you've already acknowledged that you understand that's just who she is. What I don't understand is why you'd care so much what others think of her to throw away your own happiness.”
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br />   “It's not for me I fear public ridicule. It's for her,” he said defensively. “I love her enough not to care what others say about her, but how will she feel when she's mocked for her vibrant personality or is whispered and laughed about behind fans?”

  Gabriel looked him right in the eyes and asked, “Do you think she's the kind who'd care?”

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Carolina pulled the crisp sheet and soft blanket up to her chin and closed her tired eyes. So much had happened today, and all she wanted now was to close her eyes and fall asleep.

  John's handsome face with his high cheekbones, chiseled jaw, clear blue eyes and crooked smile formed in her mind. A poor transient, or not, he was still attractive, which was only compounded by his kind personality. He might seem a little brash at times, but that wasn't who he truly was. Today, she saw him as she knew he'd be: a sweet and compassionate man she'd only been able to catch quick glimpses of when he'd been trying to put her off, a task at which he still seemed most persistent.

  Not that it mattered overmuch tonight. There was always tomorrow.

  She jolted. It did matter. Her mother had been so furious with her for what had happened today, she had said they'd both be going to the Fields’ tomorrow in order for Carolina to accept Charlie's suit. That meant if she didn't get John to lay aside his pride tomorrow morning, she'd officially be engaged to Charlie before the sun set; and while she'd only be engaged and not actually married, it would take nothing short of a Divine Intervention to free her from an unwanted marriage at that point.

  The thought gave her a colossal surge of energy; she leapt from her bed and began walking the length of the large plush rug in the middle of her room. Drawing her lower lip between her teeth, her mind raced. What could she do now? She would literally only have hours before Mother would insist it was time to pay a call on the Fields to make their engagement official.

  A sound outside caught her attention, but she ignored it and continued to pace. She'd taken John water, brought him a picnic—which he didn't even eat, spoke candidly to him, and nothing seemed to have caught his notice. What a lot of good Bethel, Gabriel and Marjorie had been. Not one of them had offered her a solution that seemed to make him take anymore notice of her than he had before.