“I’ve never been drunk in my life,” she said with all the dignity she could muster.
“Here, eat this,” he commanded, thrusting a thick slice of bread at her, the top liberally coated with fresh butter.
She gave her concentration to eating.
After filling a basin with warm water, Clay took a cloth and began washing the cut on her thigh. He was bending over her when the door opened.
“Mr. Clay, where have you been all night, and what are you doin’ in my kitchen? You know I don’t like things like that goin’ on.”
The last thing Clay needed was another lecture from a woman who worked for him. His ears were still ringing from Janie’s tirade. She’d screamed at him for a solid hour because he’d been writing a letter of explanation to Bianca to be sent on the frigate that was just leaving while Nicole was lost in the woods.
“Maggie, this is my…wife.” It was the first time he’d said the words.
“Oh,” Maggie grinned. “Is this the one Janie said you lost?”
“Go back to bed, Maggie,” Clay said with great patience.
Nicole turned around and looked at the large woman. “Bonjour, madame,” she said, and raised her piece of bread in salute.
“Don’t she speak English?” Maggie asked in a stage whisper.
“No, I doesn’t,” Nicole said, her back to Maggie but her big brown eyes flashing.
Clay stood up and gave a look of warning to Nicole before taking Maggie’s arm and leading her to the door. “Go back to bed. I’ll take care of her. I assure you I am quite capable of doing so.”
“You sure are! Whatever language she talks, she looks about as happy as any woman can get.”
A glare from Clay made Maggie leave the kitchen, and he went back to Nicole.
“I guess we are married, aren’t we?” she said as she licked the last of the butter from her fingers. “Do you think I look happy?”
He stood up, emptied the dirty water into a wooden bucket, and refilled the basin. “Most drunks are happy.” He began again on her thigh.
Nicole touched his hair, and he lifted his head to look at her for a moment before bending again to his work. “I’m sorry you didn’t get who you wanted,” she said quietly. “I didn’t really do it on purpose. I tried to get the captain to turn around, but he wouldn’t.”
“I know. You don’t have to explain. Janie told me everything. Don’t worry about it. I’ll talk to a judge, and you’ll be able to go home again very soon.”
“Home,” she whispered. “Those men burned my home.” She stopped and looked around her. “Is this your home?”
He straightened. “Part of it.”
“Are you rich?”
“No. Are you?”
“No.” She smiled at him, but he turned away to get a skillet from the side wall of the enormous fireplace. Quietly, she watched as he melted butter in the skillet and fried half a dozen eggs, putting another skillet into the fire and adding several slices of ham. Buttered bread went onto a griddle.
Within minutes, he set a long platter of hot, steaming food beside her on the table.
“I don’t believe I can eat all that,” she said solemnly.
“Then maybe I can help you. I missed supper.” Lifting her, he set her in a chair before the table.
“Did you miss it because of me?”
“No, because of me and my temper,” he said as he dished out a plate of ham and eggs for her.
“You do have a terrible temper, don’t you? You said some very unkind things to me.”
“Eat!” he commanded.
The eggs were delicious. “You did say one nice thing,” she smiled dreamily. “You said I know how to greet a man. That was a compliment, wasn’t it?”
He stared at her across the table, and the way he looked at her mouth made her blush. The food was clearing her head somewhat, but something about being alone with him, the warmth of the brandy through her body, made the memory of the first time she’d met him very vivid. “Tell me, Mr. Armstrong, do you exist in the daylight, or are you only a nighttime ghost, something I’ve created?”
No answer came from him as he ate his food and watched her. When they were finished, he took the plates away and poured more water into the basin. Without a word, he put his hands under her arms and lifted her back onto the table.
She was very tired, very sleepy. “You make me feel like a doll, like I don’t have any arms or legs.”
“You have them both, and they’re all dirty.” He took one of her arms and began soaping it.
She ran her finger along a crescent-shaped scar at the side of his eye. “How did you do that?”
“I fell when I was a kid. Give me your other arm.”
She sighed. “I was hoping it was something romantic, like you got it in your Revolutionary War.”
“Sorry to disappoint you, but I was only a boy during the war.”
She ran one soapy finger along his jaw line and then his chin. “Why haven’t you ever married?”
“I did. I married you, didn’t I?”
“But it’s not real. It wasn’t a real marriage. You weren’t even there. That man Frank was. He kissed me, did you know that? He said he hoped I didn’t marry you, because then he could kiss me some more. He said I had an upside-down mouth. You don’t think my mouth is upside-down, do you?”
With his eyes on her mouth, he paused as he was washing her, and when he started soaping her face he still didn’t speak.
“No one ever told me it was ugly before. I didn’t know.” Tears began to gather in her eyes. “I bet you hated kissing me. I know it felt funny, not at all like it was supposed to feel.”
“Will you stop talking?” Clay commanded as he finished rinsing the soap off her face. Then he saw that more tears were gathering in her eyes and realized the food hadn’t sobered her up much after all, or at least he hoped it was the brandy and that she wasn’t so silly all the time. “No, your mouth is not ugly,” he finally said.
“It isn’t upside-down?”
He dried her arms and face. “It is unique. Now, be quiet, and I’ll take you to your room where you can sleep,” he said, swinging her into his arms.
“My flowers!”
Sighing, he shook his head and bent so she could get the flowers from the table.
He carried her outside, into the main house, then up the stairs as she snuggled against him quietly. “I hope you stay like this and don’t become that other man again. I’m going to stop stealing, I promise.”
He didn’t answer as he opened a bedroom door on the second floor, and as he put her on the bed he realized that her dress was still quite damp. When he saw her eyes close in weariness, he knew she’d never be able to undress herself. Cursing under his breath, he began to undress her, aware that there wasn’t much of the dress or the delicate chemise left. When the buttons gave him trouble, he tore the fabric away.
Her body was beautiful. She was slim-hipped and small-waisted, and her breasts lifted impudently. He went to the dresser to get a towel, all the while cursing the situation. What the hell did she think he was made of? First her thigh, and now he was supposed to treat her like a child and dry her. But she certainly didn’t look like a child!
Clay’s vigorous rubbing woke Nicole from her sleep. As she smiled at the pleasant sensation, he roughly pulled the light quilt back and put her under it, letting out his breath when she was out of view. He turned to leave the room, but she caught his hand.
“Mr. Armstrong,” she said sleepily. “Thank you for finding me.”
Bending over her, he smoothed her hair from her face. “I should apologize for causing you to run away. Now, go to sleep and we’ll talk tomorrow.”
She didn’t release his hand. “Did you hate kissing me? Was it like kissing an upside-down mouth?”
There was a little light coming into the room, and Clay guessed it was nearly morning. Her hair was spread out over the pillow, and his memory of kissing her was far from unpleasant. He bent to
ward her, meaning to kiss her only lightly, but her mouth did entice him and he took her upper lip between his teeth and caressed it, running his tongue along its contours. Nicole’s arms went round his neck and pulled him to her as she opened her mouth under his.
Clay nearly lost himself before he pulled away and firmly put her arms under the covers. Nicole smiled at him dreamily, her eyes closed. “No, you don’t think it’s ugly,” she murmured.
He stood and left the room, closing the door behind him. He started to go to his own room, but he knew it would be no use to try to sleep. What he needed was a plunge in a cold stream and then a long, hard day of work, he thought as he left the house to go to the stables.
When Nicole woke in the morning, her first impression was of sunshine and light. Her second was of a headache. She sat up slowly, her hand to her forehead, and as the bedcovers fell away she hastily pulled them up again, wondering why she’d slept in the nude. Looking over the side of the bed, she saw that her clothes lay in a torn heap.
As her mind became alert, she remembered seeing Clayton throwing rocks at the dogs and putting her on his horse. The ride was a vague memory, and the time after they reached his house was a blank.
She looked about her, realizing that this must be a bedroom in Arundel Hall. It was a beautiful room, large and bright. The floors were oak, and the ceilings and walls were painted white. Around the two doorways and three windows were carved pediments, simple and elegant. One wall contained a fireplace, another a deep window seat. The four-poster bed hangings, the curtains, and the window seat upholstery were all of the same fabric—white linen with blue figures. There was a blue wing chair before the fireplace and a white chippendale chair in front of a window, facing an empty rosewood embroidery frame. Another chair and a tall, three-legged tea table were at the foot of the bed. A matching wardrobe and bow-front cabinet of walnut inlaid with curly maple took up the rest of the room.
Stretching, Nicole could feel her headache leaving her, and she threw back the covers and went to the wardrobe. All the clothes she and Janie had made hung there. She smiled, feeling welcome; it was almost as if this beautiful room were meant to be hers.
She slipped into a thin cotton chemise, the top of the bodice embroidered with tiny pink rosebuds, and over it went a dress of India muslin, a wide velvet ribbon around the high waist. The low neckline was filled with transparent gauze. Hastily, she swept her hair back, curls falling forward to frame her face, and she tied it with a green velvet ribbon to match the one on her dress.
Pausing as she turned to leave the room, she saw that two of the windows faced south toward the garden and the river. When she looked out the window, she expected to see a garden like the English had, but what she saw made her gasp. It was closer to a village!
To her left were six buildings, one attached to the corner of the house by a curved brick wall. Smoke curled from the chimneys of two of the buildings. To her right were more buildings, including another one connected to the main house. Most of these buildings were hidden by enormous walnut trees.
Directly in front of her was a beautiful garden. There were paths bordered by high walls of English box. In the middle of the paths was a tile pool, and just to the right could be seen the corner of a little white pavilion, hidden under two great magnolias. There was a long bed of flowers and herbs, a kitchen garden walled by a brick fence covered in honeysuckle.
Past the garden, the land dropped away sharply to form low, flat fields, and she could see cotton, golden wheat, barley, and what she suspected was tobacco. Past the fields was the river. And everywhere there seemed to be barns and sheds and people going about their work.
Breathing deeply of the sweet summer air, catching the scent of the hundreds of different plants, she lost her headache completely and was impatient with a need to see the outside herself.
“Nicole!” someone called.
Nicole smiled and waved down at Janie.
“Come down and get something to eat.”
Nicole suddenly realized she was ravenous as she opened one of the doors and went down the stairs. The hallway held several portraits, a few chairs, and two little tables. Everywhere she looked, she saw beauty. On the ground floor, the stairs ended in a wide central hallway, capped by a lovely, carved double arch over the stairs. She was standing there trying to decide which way to go when Janie appeared.
“Did you sleep well? Where did Clay find you? Why did you run off in the first place? Clay wouldn’t tell me what he’d said to make you run away, but I can guess it was somethin’ terrible. You look a little thin.”
Laughing, Nicole held up her hand in surrender. “I’m starving. I’ll answer what I can if you’ll show me where I can get something to eat.”
“Of course! I should have guessed and not kept you standing around.”
Nicole followed her to the garden door, which was covered by an octagonal porch with steps leading off in three directions. The right-hand steps, Janie explained, led to Clay’s office and the stables; the center steps led into the shady, secret paths of the garden. Janie took the left stairs, which led to the cook houses.
The cook was named Maggie, a large woman with frizzled red hair. Janie explained that Maggie had once been an indentured servant, but, like a lot of Clay’s employees, she’d decided to stay on even after her time of indenture.
“And how’s your leg this mornin’?” Maggie asked, her blue eyes twinkling. “Not that I think it’d be anything but healed after the sweet tendin’ it got last night.”
Nicole looked at the cook blankly and started to ask her what she meant.
“Be quiet, Maggie!” Janie said, but there was an air of conspiracy between the two women as she pushed Nicole toward the table and wouldn’t let her speak.
Maggie piled food on Nicole’s plate—eggs, ham, batter cakes, tansy pudding, fried apples, hot biscuits. Nicole could not eat half of it and apologized for the waste. Maggie laughed and said that with sixty people to feed three times a day, nothing went to waste.
After breakfast, Janie showed Nicole some of the dependencies, as the outbuildings were called, of a Virginia plantation. Off the kitchen was a milk room where the butter and cheese were made, and next to the kitchen was the long, narrow loom house where three weavers were at work. Beside the loom house was the wash house that stored enormous wash tubs and barrels of soap. There were quarters above these buildings for the plantation workers, who were a mixture of slaves from Haiti, indentured servants, and employees working for wages. The malt house and smoke house stood near the kitchen.
Across a path from the kitchen was the produce garden, where a man and three children were weeding the vegetables. Janie introduced Nicole as Mrs. Armstrong to everyone. Nicole tried twice to protest, saying that her visit was actually temporary and should be treated as so.
Janie put her nose in the air and acted as if she were deaf, mumbling something about Clay being as sensible as any man could be and she had great hopes for him.
Across the family garden, which Janie said she’d let Nicole discover on her own, was Clay’s office, a large brick building shaded by maple trees. Janie did not offer to show this to Nicole, but she smiled when Nicole strained to see inside the windows. Near the office, under cedar trees, were more buildings: workers’ quarters, ice house, storage shed, gardener’s house, estate manager’s house, stables and carriage house, tannery, carpenter’s shop, cooperage.
Finally, when they were standing on the edge of the hill where the land fell away to the fields, Nicole stopped, her hands to her head. “It is a village,” she said, her ears ringing with all the information Janie had given her.
Janie smiled smugly. “It has to be. Nearly all the travel is by water.” She pointed ahead, across acres of fields to the wharf on the river. “Clay has a twenty-foot sloop down there. In the north, they have towns like in England, but down here each planter is almost self-sufficient. You still haven’t seen all of it. Over there is the dairy barn and the dove cote. A
little farther past that is the poultry house, and you haven’t met half the workers. They’re down there.”
Nicole could see about fifty men in the fields, including a few on horseback.
“There’s Clay.” Janie pointed to a man in a large straw hat astride a big black horse. “He was out there before sunup this morning.” She gave Nicole a sidelong look, obviously hinting she wanted to know more of what happened last night.
Nicole could give her no information since she remembered so little. “What’s your job in this place?”
“I take care of the loom house mostly. Maggie oversees the kitchen buildings, and I take care of the dye pots, the weavers, and the spinners. It takes a lot of cloth to run a place like this. We have to make saddle blankets, cheesecloth, and canvas, as well as the workers’ clothes and blankets.”
Nicole turned back to look at the house. The beauty of the house was in its simplicity and classic proportions. It wasn’t large, only about sixty feet long, but the brickwork and the pediments over the windows and doors were what gave the house elegance. It was two stories high, with a pitched roof with several dormer windows. The simplicity was broken only by the lovely little octagonal porch.
“Are you ready to see some more?” Janie asked.
“I’d like to see the house. I really only saw one room this morning. Is the rest of it as lovely as that bedroom?”
“Clay’s mother had all the furniture made for the house. That was before the war, of course.” She started walking through the tall hedges to the house. “I’d better warn you, though, that Clay’s let the house go in the last year. He keeps the outside in perfect shape, but he says he can’t spare the help to look after the house. He’s a man who doesn’t care what he eats or where he sleeps. Half the time he’ll sleep under a tree out in the fields rather than ride back to the house.”
Once inside the house, Janie excused herself, saying she had to get back to the loom house since she was very far behind in her work.
Nicole was glad to take her time studying the house. The bottom floor consisted of four large rooms and two hallways. The center hall contained the wide, carpeted staircase and served as a reception area. A narrow hallway ran between the dining room and the morning room, the outside doorway leading a path to the separate kitchen.
Counterfeit Lady Page 6
