"I've heard. You should be prepared to woo him a little if need be."
"So should you!" she laughed.
"I'll do my best to avoid it," he grinned. "But remember, he was well aware of your affair sans legal sanction, and in the course of this venture, I expect you to use your head―and your body―if the need arises."
"I can assure you, the need won't arise," Louisa snapped, glowering. "You were asking about whether William would recognize you," she changed the subject. "Physically, no, but you're more arrogant, less refined, a lot tougher than Marshall. A shade of difference, perhaps, but not, I think, to William's eye. Perhaps, it could be explained away with the hardships of marriage, and so on," she teased, "but, I doubt it."
"I can be charming when I put my mind to it."
"With considerable effort, might be more accurate," she parried.
He looked at her, glad to have her with him, confident she would do whatever was required. "We'll soon be at Easton's and as the son and daughter-inlaw of his most prominent backer, William will be entertaining us like royalty. It will be good to see you in your finery―and, I imagine, in your element." He paused to take a long look at her. "I've a gift for you, Louisa. It was to have been your bridal gift from Marshall. I've saved it to give to you at the beginning of our official relationship as Marshall and Louisa Hudson, in Marshall's place." He reached under the pillows of their bunk, and pulled out a slender but wide green velvet case. He hesitated, "Let it be a gift from me as well, Louisa. It's something I'd give you if I could." He placed the case in her hands, then leaned over to kiss her.
She returned his kiss, lingering over his touch. "Of course, it can be a gift from you both," she said, opening the box, which was heavy for its size. "Oh, it's incredible!" she gasped, taking the necklace from its case. The jewels shown brilliantly with a fire of their own, the heavy V-shaped collar of emeralds gradually descending to a point from which hung a large lustrous stone. "I've never seen anything so beautiful!"
"Let's see how it looks on you," said Aaron, reaching for the throat of her dress, helping her with the buttons and then with the golden clasp of the necklace. She revealed herself as might the bodice of an evening gown, with the collar covering her throat, the larger stone nestling perfectly between her breasts.
"A jewel among jewels, Louisa," he said caressing her breasts. "I don't know if you'll be safe wearing that in public," he said as he unbuttoned the rest of her bodice.
"I'm definitely not safe with you!" she laughed, starting to unclasp the heavy collar.
"No, leave it on."
"That's an odd request," she teased, disrobing without haste, turning around slowly. "Is this the way it should be worn to advantage?" she asked. "I'd be a sensation at Easton's, don't you think?"
"They'd dethrone Easton and make you empress of the new republic with no regrets." And they laughed as they lay together.
Then she was quite serious, touching his face, outlining his features with fingers he kissed whenever she touched his lips. "Thank you for this beautiful gift, Marshall," she whispered, looking deeply into Aaron's eyes.
"Thank you, Louisa, for the gift you give me," he whispered in return, taking her with the tenderness and love he felt but wouldn't admit. He made love to her gently, much as Marshall had on the first voyage they made together. And though she would have denied it, Louisa's heart was now lost somewhere in the space between the two men she called Marshall.
Chapter Forty-one
AARON lay in their bunk aboard the Isabella. Normally, if he did not have the watch, nothing would have kept him awake in the early hours before sunrise. Unless it's a matter of pleasure, he reminded himself, listening to Louisa's rhythmic breathing as she lay close to him. But he had already filled himself to the brim and had slept deeply for several hours. He lay next to her thinking over the usual scenes of an early-morning watch, recalling the sense of wonder that filled him each time he witnessed the breaking of day on the open sea. If he could pause for these moments, the stillness, the promise, the sensation that was like no other, overwhelmed him.
But now he was below deck and wide awake, feeling unusually irritable, restless, and resentful. "A clever trap this has turned out to be," he grumbled under his breath. Politics was of no interest to him. And though he abhorred the institution of slavery and found the philosophy which tolerated it incomprehensible, he never expected to endanger himself in any cause that might abolish the system. He truly cared nothing for the argument over the preservation of the Union, having long ago divested himself of any such loyalty. His first and only responsibility was to himself.
Oddly enough, it turned out to be a circular devotion. He first sought to save himself from hanging, then he found himself seeking vengeance for his brutalization, and, finally, he became committed to revenging Marshall's death. In the process he would render service of the highest order to his native country and assist in the downfall of a detestable system of human bondage. But, certainly, without this simple duty to himself, he would never have found himself enmeshed in such a complex web. He would have slipped away unseen, and gone his way without a second thought. What am I doing here? he wondered silently. I should be at sea again myself―with no time for loyalties to intrude, and even less time to brood over the woman warming my bed, he thought. There's a lot to be said for a good whore―no obligation after the price has been settled.
Over the three weeks at sea, Aaron's hunger for Louisa had been tempered by his growing concern for his mission, and by the fact of her eager presence. He was only too aware that her accessibility, her needy response to him took the edge off his desire for her. But let her appear indifferent or distracted and his craving for her surfaced very quickly.
As he stared out at the new day from the warmth of his shared bed, he remembered countless early-hour watches when he would return to his solitary bunk. Never before had he rolled over in his bed aboard ship and looked into shining blue eyes, nor been drawn into a warm embrace in the chill of morning.
"Good morning," Louisa said softly, at his urging lifting her body to lie on top of him, teasing his face and chest as strands of her soft hair brushed lightly against his skin. She kissed him eagerly, and moved her body against him, sure of his responses, sure of her power over him, greatly enjoying the pleasure she gave. Aaron wondered again what possessed Marshall to abandon Louisa. Surely, he thought, no sum of money, no political advantage, no loyalty could be worth the trade. Yet he found himself irrationally accepting the idea that he might lose her in his responsibility to what had become his cause, and as they seduced each other in the comfort of the growing light of day, Aaron silently cursed everything but the instinct that brought them together.
They spent the final day aboard the Isabella leisurely preparing to arrive in Monterey, neither eager for nor regretful of the commencement of the charade. Aaron was sure their relationship would appear authentic, and he trusted he could conduct himself appropriately―his rough edges worn smooth with proper tutoring and through Louisa's more recent nurturing.
He hadn't told Louisa of some unexpected news he'd received just before their departure from San Diego. He had thought the strain of leaving Rachel was enough for Louisa to cope with for the present. He had not relished the news and had wanted time to weigh the possible implications, and any alternatives open to them. Actually, he questioned whether he needed to worry or not. Emma Hudson was a woman with a keen intelligence and distinct love and regard for the well-being of her son.
Mother and son had been separated for a long time, and, in recent years, their comings and goings were separate even when they were under the same roof. Aaron remembered the woman's watchful maternal eye and wondered whether Emma would detect the nuances in his portrayal of her son. Am I skillful enough to deceive her? he wondered. She was to arrive in a few weeks, depending on the speed of her journey around the Cape, and there was no way to avoid meeting her that he could foresee, at this time. She had decided to come to see her gran
dchild whom she knew would have been born by now, and whom she expected to be in Monterey since the child's parents were due there. Aaron hoped the masquerade would be sufficiently underway, the others successfully convinced of his identity and new political persuasion, and that Emma could be kept at arm's length long enough to give him all the time he needed. Perhaps she could be convinced she was needed in San Diego and, if necessary, dispatched there with Louisa.
Aaron worried about what Louisa's reaction to Emma would be. The women had parted on friendly terms, but Emma had at that time been unaware of the depth of Marshall and Louisa's involvement. Their fondness for each other was inescapable to anyone but the most blind, yet mothers are often unobservant, especially where a son's love affair is concerned. Surely, she knew, but overlooked the obvious, thought Aaron. Yet Emma had consented to Marshall's engagement to Janna Carson, never openly questioning the sudden public end to Louisa and Marshall's romance. And, by her reaction to the news of Louisa's pregnancy and her willingness to defend her son in the matter, she had been oblivious, at least, to what went on in private between the two lovers.
Janna Carson had not been Emma's choice of a mate for her son. She found Janna shallow and cold and selfish, but since Simon was so in favor of the match and Marshall not opposed, Emma had accepted the prospective union as a means of discouraging Marshall from further inclination toward Louisa. It had been remarkably easy―too easy, she would reflect later when the news of Louisa's pregnancy came to her.
The means of separating the lovers had angered Emma most of all. Emma would not have chosen Louisa for her son because of what she knew of the family history―the dissipation, the inclination to excess, the questionable sanity of both Louisa and her mother. But Simon's conscienceless coercion of the young couple to end their affair and promote his selfish plans was beyond her comprehension, and beyond her tolerance. Whatever her misgivings about Louisa's heritage, they did not warrant the wrenching apart of two people who had risked a great deal to love each other. Emma realized too late that her son and the girl she had sheltered on many an occasion had loved each other secretly to avoid the disapproval of the family, and to insure a means to make their open union a reality by waiting until Marshall became financially independent and able to support them whatever the family reaction. Finally, threatening Louisa with prosecution on a murder charge in Justin's death, in circumstances which could never be proved but which would disgrace the couple, regardless of the outcome, would forever damn Simon in Emma's view. At last, Emma faced the reality that Simon would do whatever was necessary to get what he wanted.
At first Emma could not comprehend what would make Simon believe he could threaten Louisa with the murder of her father, but she learned to her horror what both her son and her husband knew. She was sick and furious and outraged, and only half placated when Simon swore that he had only recently learned of Justin's abuse of Louisa. He swore he would never have tolerated it, but now Emma had severe doubts about her husband's morality, a rift that now would never be mended. She only hoped her coming to California, her expression of regret, her request for pardon for disregarding Marshall and Louisa's right to choose whomever they might as a partner in love would allow her access to her grandchild.
Emma was, for once, feeling her age, and somehow the grandchild loomed as a beacon for the future, a link to immortality in the chain of generations. Her distress over Marshall and Louisa's affair, the grief she felt over Simon's growing lust for power and money, the sorrow she felt for a child she might have protected, and her other disappointments long past remembering, had suddenly aged Emma. She saw the war that seemed more possible with every passing day, and her husband's involvement in the South's prospects for success, to be more ominous than exciting. Whatever premonition she had of the future was clouded by her growing distrust of Simon, and by the disgust she felt over what she was learning of his affairs.
At first Simon's takeover of the family business was an arrangement which pleased her as she watched her fortune and status grow under Simon's clever management. From time to time, something would give her great distress, yet each event could be explained away and, with enough time, forgotten. Now these grievances boiled up from the past to compound the current rift; Emma's discontent further encouraging her to travel west. She needed time away from Simon. These were things that Aaron knew from contact with the Russells, and he feared what Emma's reaction would be when she connected Simon to Marshall's death. Perhaps, he reflected, the punishment for the sins of omission was as severe as for sins of commission. He knew Emma would never escape an overwhelming guilt in the death of her son, and he wished he could save her from it.
Chapter Forty-two
THE bay at Monterey was beautiful and refreshing to see. The town spread gently, spaciously at the edge of the water against the backdrop of hills covered with dense trees and greenery. Aaron and Louisa left the Isabella late one afternoon, rested from their sea journey, restored by the days and nights of private, dreamlike solace they took in each other. No promises were exchanged, few words of endearment spoken. Yet Aaron and Louisa heard each other's silent voices and their bodies responded with what promises they could make. Both would later remember their time together aboard the Isabella with longing and sadness.
The couple was met at the port by William Easton's carriage and carried to Crane's Nest on some truly spectacular roads that lifted above the whitewashed, red-tile-roofed town. As they entered the heavily wooded hills, the air became crisp and cold, and Louisa snuggled into her cloak while the carriage ascended slowly to William's secluded home. She watched Aaron's face intently, reassured by the confidence she saw there and by the knowing smile he gave her. They said nothing to each other as they rode along, immersed in their private thoughts and last-minute anxieties.
When they arrived, William greeted them warmly in the dusk. "Marshall, Louisa, so good to see you. So good to have you accept my hospitality at Crane's Nest! Louisa, it's been such a long time since I last saw you, and that's my loss. You're more beautiful than I remembered."
"Thank you, William. I'm happy to be here. What a magnificent location you have. Won't you be sad to leave it?"
"Why, yes, I will," he hesitated, uncertain of what she knew. "Come inside. The best is yet to come," he promised. They climbed the gray stone steps and passed through massive, dark, carved wooden doors into a brightly skylit foyer. Before them ascended an enormous white marble staircase, at the foot of which extended spacious, treasure-filled rooms. Louisa began to comprehend the extent of William's schemes as she took in the priceless furniture and objects that adorned the place. She could barely hide her astonishment at the riches she saw. She had seen plenty of estates filled with rich possessions, but nothing to rival this. She wondered where the man had acquired his taste, not to mention his possessions. She never suspected the source of his good fortune was Justin and men like him.
Aaron was prepared for Crane's Nest, if not for William Easton. He knew well of the backing the plot to take over California had. But now he came face to face with the cold hard reality of the importance of his mission, of the importance of stopping Simon and his partners. Apparently nothing would stop them from trying to gain power; money was obviously no object; ordinary loyalties meant nothing, even common decency was not respected. Any means of success was fair in their minds, the end was paramount―even a son's life could be offered up to their dreams. If he hadn't understood it before, he comprehended it now: only exceeding cleverness, superior strength, relentless pursuit would make him and his mission successful. And nothing would interfere with him. Any lack of commitment he had vanished in the instant it took him to grasp the stakes of the game he was now engaged in. Any concerns he had about his sentiment for Louisa were diminished. He realized his life was on the line as he stared into a richly mirrored wall and watched William show Louisa a particularly favorite painting which hung in the room. Aaron's blood raced through his veins, and he felt prepared even excited to be in
volved in so severe a test of his wits.
"And next week," he heard William promise the two of them, "this room will be filled with some old friends, as well as new, anxious to meet the younger Hudsons, the children of our benefactors." He looked at Aaron. "It's a shame, but I doubt your mother will have reached Monterey by then, but no matter, her later arrival will merely give us another occasion to entertain, something I love to do, and there are so few real events to warrant it here."
Louisa carefully concealed her surprise at William's remark. She looked at Aaron to receive no hint from him. What else hadn't he told her? She realized the facts she had were few, and she would be better off saying as little as possible. By doing so, she would risk less and probably learn more.
"Won't she be disappointed to learn you left her grandchild behind?" continued William to Louisa. "I suspect her journey was more for the purpose of seeing her granddaughter than for 'reasons of state'!"
At that, Louisa could barely control herself. But miraculously, she only offered him a polite smile as he escorted them up the winding staircase to their rooms, which overlooked an untouched wilderness. The view from their windows gave them the feeling that they were perched high among the tree tops, secluded and totally alone. The wing they were in extended into the woods farther than any other portion of the house. In the light of day, nothing but trees, and later, deep blue ocean and sky filled the horizon. No sound but that of the forest reached them. It could be a very private place.
When they were alone, Louisa immediately brought up Emma's arrival. "Why didn't you tell me? What if she discovers who you are? Oh, what if she learns Marshall and I are not actually married? She'll try to take Rachel from me!" Her eyes were wide with fright, her body very rigid.
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