by Jane Peart
“Well, here I am,” she replied in a whisper.
Her lovely eyes seemed to reflect the shining thing suspended between them, fragile as a butterfly wing, a silken thread that might, in time, become a strong, sure bond.
At that very moment an insistent tapping came upon their bedroom door, and Janet’s piercing voice intruded.
“Duncan, Noramary, a carriage is coming up the drive. Your guests are arriving!”
Duncan groaned under his breath, sighed heavily, and smiled—a smile that did unexpected things to Noramary’s heart.
“Later…” he said. “When everyone is gone…” The implication dangled as he drew her to him, framed her face in his hands, and bent to kiss her. Her lips yielded sweetly to his kiss, and it left her strangely stirred.
“Come, Mistress Montrose. Our guests are waiting.” Duncan took Noramary’s hand and slipped it through his arm. “There will be time for us… we have a whole lifetime ahead of us.”
The evening was a gaily festive one. Virginians in this part of the country knew how to enjoy themselves, Noramary discovered, finding the company as cultured, the conversation as spritely, the ladies as elegantly gowned, the gentlemen as suave as any she had observed in Williamsburg circles.
Throughout the evening she kept glancing at Duncan, thinking of the unforeseen intimacy of their earlier encounter, his eloquent declaration. Noramary was deeply moved to know he had cared for her so long ago. Duncan, she was learning, was a man of many moods, an intriguing, fascinating man.
With renewed resolution, Noramary determined to put the past behind her forever, and, not even by a random thought, betray the trust and honor this good and gracious man had given her. She would be to Duncan Montrose the best wife it was in her ability to be—with God’s help!
The Camerons had brought with them their houseguest, Cecil Brandon, a well-known English artist who had been commissioned by James to paint the portraits of Jacqueline and their two young sons, Bracken and Brett.
After their introduction, he was bent over Noramary’s hand, and she felt scrutinized by his lingering gaze. If she could have read his thoughts, she would have been quite overwhelmed.
What an exquisite creature. And how incredible to find such a vision in this vast wilderness. Of course, Jacqueline Cameron is a great beauty, but it is to be expected. She is from France—a sophisticated, worldly woman. On the other hand, Mistress Montrose is hardly more than a girl, with the radiant innocence of childhood still upon her—the heart-shaped face, the delicate ivory skin, the magnificent violet eyes, slender figure, cloud of dark hair… entrancing!
All through dinner Brandon could not take his eyes from her, while all around him the conversation flowed almost unheeded.
Even though Noramary was unaware of his observation, it did not escape the notice of Jacqueline and Duncan. They exchanged a knowing glance. Duncan himself followed the direction of the artist’s focus and smiled, joyful that this treasure belonged to him.
Indeed, Noramary did look lovely in the mellow candle-glow, Duncan thought, the gleam of her dark hair pulled high, exposing her tiny ears with the bobbing flash of the ruby earrings and the creamy expanse of throat and shoulder. She seemed to him even more beautiful than the first time he had met her. How strangely things had turned out! Duncan recalled his bitter frustration after that first meeting at the Barnwells’ party, the despair when he realized he had met Noramary too late—that he was already engaged to her cousin!
As he looked down the table-length, he could hardly believe his good fortune. A man might wonder if there really were a planned purpose for life… if he and Noramary had really been destined for each other, after all.
Suddenly Noramary caught his look and smiled at him. Hope leaped afresh in Duncan’s heart. He and this woman would build a wonderful life together at Montclair. What had once seemed a vague dream now appeared to be reality. Duncan could not believe his good fortune!
Brandon impatiently endured the traditional ritual of brandy and conversation among the men when the ladies withdrew after dinner. However, as soon as they rejoined them in the drawing room, Brandon sought out Noramary immediately.
“Madam, I must compliment you on the delicious dinner, the beautifully appointed table. I cannot remember when I have enjoyed a gathering more,” he began. Then, unable to contain his enthusiasm, he blurted out, “Madam, I must paint you… if you would permit it.”
Noramary was completely taken aback. Then, as if by appointment, Duncan was beside her and Brandon was directing his request to her husband.
“Sir, I would like very much to paint a portrait of your wife. Indeed, I would consider it a privilege to do so.”
Noramary turned to Duncan and was surprised to see the look of pleasure and pride in his expression.
“I see you appreciate beauty, sir,” he said.
“Beauty, yes, but not just beauty for itself, sir. Only when it is coupled with an inner sweetness of soul, unspoiled and pristine… mat is when I want to capture it… before it is corrupted in any way.” He made a slight gesture to Noramary. “As this lady can surely testify, too much beauty can be a burden… unless it brings peace, tranquility, and happiness.”
Noramary made a small movement as if in protest to Brandon’s extravagant phrases, yet at the same time she was moved by his perception. Had she not felt the weight of just such a burden when, even as a child of twelve, that stunning, sensitive beauty had caused her heartbreak?
Then Duncan was speaking. “Perhaps when I return from accompanying my sister to board her ship in Yorktown, we can make some arrangements about having Noramary’s portrait done. How long do you expect to be in this part of the country?”
Noramary did not absorb much of the rest of their conversation; she was too bemused by Duncan’s eagerness to comply with Brandon’s suggestion. She was even more aware that while they had been talking to the artist, Duncan’s arm had circled her waist, its gentle pressure sending a tremor of pleasure through her.
Finally the evening came to an end. The guests began to leave, with many thanks, return invitations, and promises to visit, as well as farewells and Godspeed to Janet.
As was his custom, Duncan rode to the gates alongside the carriages of his departing guests. Janet, pleading weariness and need for sleep before her long journey the next day, took her candle and retired.
Noramary lingered, walking back into the dining room, admiring once again the elegant table, flowers, and candelabra still in place. Then she wandered into the drawing room, feeling a new pride in its handsome furnishings, the quiet dignity of its atmosphere. This was her home now. She was mistress here. And, to her amazement, she had enjoyed her role as hostess more than she had imagined possible. Duncan, too, had seemed pleased.
What an evening it had been! She had felt more like herself than at any time since… well, since long before she had left Williamsburg. It was as if some heavy weight had fallen away and she could now take a long breath without pain.
Was it possible that something had transpired between herself and Duncan tonight that bode well for their relationship? Could the growing respect and affection she had for him be turning to love? Did such things really happen?
Tonight they had seemed a real couple. She recalled how, arm in arm, they had moved among their guests before dinner, stopping to chat with this group and that. Noramary had felt relaxed, and Duncan had seemed to take delight in her every word. She had found it easy and natural to visit with Duncan’s friends, even to bringing off a bit of humor now and then. Later, at dinner, she could feel Duncan’s eyes on her from his place at the opposite end of the table, and she had experienced an instantaneous rush of pleasure. Something intangible tingled in that silent communication, something that made her pulse race, brought flaming color to her cheeks, set her heart beating so fast that it was hard to breathe.
Delva was waiting for Noramary in the bedroom. But after she had helped her mistress out of her elaborate gown and into her bl
ue panne peignoir, Noramary sent the girl away.
Thoughtfully Noramary replaced the rubies in their case. The Montrose Bridal Set. Her hand stroked the velvet lid, remembering the poignant moment when Duncan had given them to her. The promise in his eyes when he had kissed her. Would this be the night she would truly become his wife?
Noramary looked at the high, canopied bed, its silken coverlet turned back invitingly, the mounds of ruffled pillows offering peaceful repose. But Noramary was far too stimulated by the events of the evening to be sleepy.
She brushed her hair, giving it long, vigorous strokes until it crackled. She sat for a long moment, regarding herself in the mirror with a kind of curiosity. What had Brandon seen in her face that compelled him to paint her portrait? And why had Duncan acquiesced so readily?
Sighing, she blew out her candle, crossed to the window, thrust it open, and leaned on the sill, looking out into the night.
The air was cold, with the snap of autumn; the moon glistened on the early frost that coated the grass and outlined the tender saplings Duncan had planted along the drive.
Duncan! A little tingle coursed through Noramary. How long would it take him to ride to the gate with the last guests… and return?
chapter
14
DAWN’S FAINT BLUSH stained the pale gray morning with shimmering light and gradually stole into the master bedroom at Montclair.
Duncan leaned down to kiss Noramary’s eyelids, still closed in sleep, and gently brushed back the dark strands of silky hair from her forehead. She stirred in his arms, half-waking.
“It’s time to get up, dearest,” he whispered regretfully. “Janet will be up and anxious to leave as soon as it’s fully light.”
At that Noramary’s eyelids fluttered, then opened. She looked up into Duncan’s face, and her eyes widened as if in surprise. Then, in a rather drowsy remembrance, a tiny smile turned up the corners of her rosy mouth and she sighed contentedly. As awareness sharpened, she recalled how infinitely tenderly Duncan had made her fully his wife.
That’s what he had murmured over and over, beloved wife.
He gathered her close, and, as Noramary put her arms around his neck, he buried his head in her sweetly scented hair. That she could return his love filled Duncan with a sense of gratitude and tenderness so sharp it was almost pain.
“I hate to leave you, my darling,” Duncan said, releasing her reluctantly, “but I’ll only be gone long enough to see Janet safely aboard her ship and settled. I’ll be away only a few days.”
Only a few days, Duncan had said, but as soon as Noramary saw the carriage disappear at the bend of the drive, she felt a strange emptiness. And as the days passed, she was amazed that she could miss him so much.
Of course, Noramary was not used to solitude. The Barnwell household had been a lively one, with five girls coming and going constantly, and a steady stream of company besides. It had been a home filled with noise, chatter, the sound of running feet, laughter.
Here, with only the houseservants for company, Noramary experienced an altogether new kind of loneliness. To her amusement she found she missed Janet as one would miss an aching tooth when it has been pulled! She was, however, more grateful than ever for her sister-in-law’s rigorous instruction, for the household tasks filled many of the lonely hours and provided a welcome pattern to the days Duncan was away.
As the day of Duncan’s expected return drew near, Noramary found herself anticipating his homecoming with equal portions of joy and reserve. Their intimate relationship was still so new.that she had to wonder if the days apart had changed him. She still did not know Duncan well. Now for some reason, Janet’s admonition came to mind.
They were putting out the elaborate silver flatware that was to be polished for use at the farewell dinner party when pausing in the act of counting the place settings, Janet had spoken in a low, serious tone.
“I hope you will not misunderstand what I am about to say, Noramary. Please try to accept it as an older woman’s advice to one just starting out in married life. I do not know how well you think you know my brother, but I feel I should give you fair warning.
“You have heard the saying, ‘Still waters run deep,’ haven’t you? Well, that could have been written of my brother. On the surface, he may appear calm, controlled, but he is a complex man. A man of strong passions, of fierce loyalty, unswerving honor, lasting love. But I have also witnessed his anger, sudden, violent as summer lightning, followed by cold, implacable unforgiveness and ruthless retribution. I say this not to frighten you, but to warn you.
“You are very young, and the young sometimes act thoughtlessly, behave recklessly, or take carelessly things that older people cherish or venerate. I would caution you to be aware of the fragile quality of most relationships… especially the one between a husband and wife.”
Noramary had been tempted to pursue the conversation, to ask Janet about those times when she had seen Duncan’s darker side, but something had kept her from doing so. Still, she could not help wondering if one of those times might have been when he learned of Winnie’s elopement.
Such an event could be devastating to a man’s pride, fill him with feelings of anger, resentment, a desire for revenge.
Yet, it was hard to picture the Duncan she had come to know as unforgiving. He seemed compassionate, understanding, gentle, as only a strong, confident man could be.
Because Janet was not inclined to discuss the matter further, Noramary tucked the information in the back of her mind, hoping that she herself would never have to witness this terrifying anger of Duncan’s or, worse still, be the cause of it.
Duncan certainly had none of Robert’s impulsive charm, boyish gaiety, mischievous sense of humor, Noramary mused, then quickly chided herself for making such a comparison.
She had not wanted to think of Robert. But in those long, lonely afternoons, when she walked alone through the autumn woods surrounding Montclair, thoughts of him came to her despite her resolution to thrust him forever out of her mind. They had often walked together in the woodlands near Williamsburg on just such golden, Indian summer days.
The nights during Duncan’s absence were even more unmanageable. Even though she had fallen asleep only once in his embrace, the secure comfort she had felt within his arms now made it difficult to sleep soundly in the bed they had shared.
Each night Noramary tossed and turned, then drifted into a shallow slumber, troubled by dreams. To her dismay, the dreams had been of Robert Stedd! Two mornings she had awakened with his name on her lips, shaken by memories she thought long since erased.
Earnestly Noramary tried to discipline herself to keep her mind occupied.
Aunt Betsy had started her on a sampler when she first came to Williamsburg. All the cousins were at work on similar projects, as it was deemed essential for all young ladies to display not only their skill with a needle, but to present the important events of their lives, express their ideals with appropriate Scripture verses. Since coming to Montclair, however, Noramary had neglected it because of new demanding duties required of her as mistress.
Now she found that the solitary evenings gave her time to take up her needlework again, and she had made good progress on the line of Scripture to embroider at the bottom of the sampler.
On the morning of Duncan’s expected return, Noramary rose early to see the servants’ tasks supervised, then by early afternoon, she dressed in one of the most flattering of her “at home” dresses, a coral wool bodice with a cream tucker and skirt embroidered with wild rowan berry blossoms.
Afterwards she made a final inspection of the house, satisfied with the polished perfection of each room. There were fires burning in all the fireplaces; the scent of candlewax and the fragrance of flowers mingled pungently with the smell of applewood logs. It was a bright and cheerful house—a house awaiting its master’s return.
As the afternoon shadows lengthened, Noramary became more restive, frequently looking out the window to pe
er down the drive for some sign of the returning traveler.
At length she settled herself at her frame and diligently applied herself to her sampler, trying to suppress her nervousness. Her needle was poised over the canvas when she started at a sound outside. Carriage wheels? Yes, it was! Noramary flew to the window as the carriage rumbled into sight. Duncan—home at last!
She ran from the room and down the hall. But when she saw Titus, one of the houseservants, opening the front door, she halted, assuming the more dignified stance expected of the mistress.
She held her breath as Duncan stepped inside, handed his caped coat to Titus, and glanced past him to Noramary, standing in the archway to the drawing room. Seeing her, he beamed with pleasure.
“Welcome home, Duncan,” she said demurely, dropping a little curtsy.
“It’s good to be home,” Duncan said heartily, his eyes feasting upon her until her cheeks flamed.
“Shall we serve dinner now, Mistress?” asked Titus.
Noramary glanced at Duncan with lifted eyebrows.
“In another half hour, Titus. Tell Cook,” Duncan ordered. “I want a few minutes with Mistress Montrose.” Again his glance swept Noramary. “Let us go into the parlor, my dear. I have something to show you.”
Tucking her arm through his, he led her through the arched doorway. Once inside, he cupped her chin with one hand and kissed her mouth lightly, then with his other hand, he drew a small package from his waistcoat pocket and handed it to her.
“A gift!” Noramary gave a cry of delight. “Oh, Duncan, you are spoiling me terribly!”
“Perhaps I like spoiling you,” he said, smiling at her with great tenderness.
Noramary had received few presents in her life, and so it was with a child’s eagerness that she opened the little box. When she lifted out a dainty folded fan, her face lighted up.
“Duncan, how lovely!”
With a flick of her wrist, she unfurled it, displaying the arch of creamy silk on which a spray of tiny red roses was handpainted. The sticks were of filigreed ivory, with a crimson satin tassel dancing from the guard. She held it up in front of her face in a coquettish gesture, fluttering it flirtatiously.
