Counterfeit Lady

by Jude Deveraux

  She stared at him a moment, then smiled. “Wesley, you are very sweet. You don’t want to marry me.” She turned away from him.

  “Yes, I do! You’d make a perfect wife. You could run the whole plantation, and everyone likes you.”

  “Stop!” she laughed. “You’re making me feel very old.” She stood on tiptoe and kissed the corner of his mouth. “I thank you for your offer, but I have no desire to leave one marriage and go directly into another one.” She narrowed her eyes at him. “And if you dare look relieved, I will never speak to you again.”

  He lifted her hand and kissed it, rubbing her fingers between his. “I may cry, but I certainly won’t look relieved.”

  She laughed and pulled her hand away. “I need friends more than a lover right now. If you really want to help me, maybe you could get Mr. Rogers to give me a good price on the land.”

  Wesley watched her for a moment. His marriage proposal had been a spur-of-the-moment thing, but now he thought how pleasant it would be to be married to someone like Nicole. She would have surprised him if she’d accepted him, but he wished she had.

  He grinned at her. “Old man Rogers is going to be so pleased to sell that land, he’s going to practically give it to you.”

  “No violence,” Nicole laughed.

  “Maybe a broken toe or two, but that’s all.”

  “Well…if it’s just toes.”

  They laughed together and went down the road toward Mr. Rogers’s house.

  They did get a good price for the land. Nicole had very little cash from the clothes Gerard had sold, but Mr. Rogers allowed her to pay off the land slowly over the years. She also agreed to grind the grain from his farm for free for three years.

  “He didn’t exactly give us the land,” Wes said when they left. “His grain ground free for three years!”

  Nicole’s eyes sparkled. “But wait until he gets his bill for the fourth year!”

  After they left Mr. Rogers’s house, they went to the printer’s office, where Nicole had handbills printed advertising her mill’s rates for grinding.

  “Nicole!” Wes said as he heard her tell the printer the new rates. “How do you expect to make any money? That’s a third less than Horace charges.”

  She smiled. “Competition and quantity. Would you bring your grain to me or to Horace?”

  The printer laughed. “I think she’s got you there, Wes. I’m going to tell my brother-in-law about this, and you can be sure he’ll come to you.”

  Wesley looked at Nicole with new respect. “I had no idea there was a brain behind that pretty face.”

  She was serious. “I don’t think there has been. Or, at least, it’s been clouded with childish ideas of love and romance.”

  Wesley frowned as she left the printer’s. He had the feeling she was hurt more than she’d admit. Damn Clay! he thought. He had no right to use Nicole the way he did.

  At home again, Gerard was the one who gave Nicole trouble. The little man backed away from her in disgust.

  “It was disgusting enough to have to sell ladies’ dresses.” He stopped and smoothed his hair. It was cut in the Brutus style, fashionably shaggy and unkempt. It lay close to his head, limp, without body or curl. “Of course, the women were pleased to meet me. They were not like the people in this house. They liked the stories of my family, the magnificent Courtalains.”

  “Since when has Nicole’s family become yours?” Janie snapped.

  “See!” Gerard shouted. “I am unappreciated.”

  “Both of you, stop it,” Nicole said. “I’m tired of hearing you bicker. Gerard, you have proved yourself a perfect salesman. The women love your accent and your charming manners.”

  He preened under her compliments.

  “If you want, you may give the handbills to the farmers’ wives. In fact, that may be a good idea.”

  “Handbills are not silks,” he muttered.

  “But food is food,” Janie said. “And if you want any, you’ll work like the rest of us.”

  Gerard took a step toward Janie, his upper lip curled into a sneer, but Nicole put her hand on his forearm and stopped him. He looked from her hand to her face, then back again. He covered her hand with his. “For you, I would do anything.”

  Nicole, as politely as possible, moved away from him. “Isaac will row you up and down the river to the houses.”

  Gerard smiled at her as if they were lovers, then quietly left the house.

  “I don’t trust him,” Janie said.

  Nicole waved her hand. “He’s harmless. He just wants us to treat him royally is all. He’ll soon learn.”

  “You’re too generous. Just take my advice and stay well away from him.”

  Spring came quickly to the Virginia countryside, and with it came the ripening of the early crops. It wasn’t long before the enormous grindstones in the mill were again turning after the long winter break. Nicole’s handbills worked, and farmers came from miles around to bring their grain to the mill.

  Nicole never allowed herself a minute to relax. She hired another man to help in the fields that were seeded with barley and wheat. Gerard reluctantly helped at the mill, but he made it clear that he considered the Americans beneath him. Nicole kept reminding him that her grandfather the duke had worked in a grain mill for two years.

  No one seemed to consider the idea of the twins returning to Clay, and Nicole knew it was a sign of his trust in her. Once a week, Isaac rowed the children across the river to visit their uncle.

  “He looks bad,” Isaac said once after he returned.

  Nicole didn’t bother to ask whom he meant. In spite of all her work, Clay was never far from her mind.

  “He drinks too much. I never knew him to drink so much before”

  Nicole turned away. She should feel glad he was so miserable, since he certainly deserved it. But somehow she wasn’t glad. She left Isaac and went to the vegetable garden. Maybe a few hours of hoeing would keep her mind off Clay.

  An hour later, Nicole leaned against a tree and wiped her forearm across her face. She was hot and sweaty from the vigorous hoeing.

  “Here, I brought you something,” Gerard said as he handed her a glass of cool lemonade.

  She nodded her gratitude and gulped all of the liquid.

  Gerard brushed a piece of grass from the sleeve of her cotton dress. “You shouldn’t be out here in the sun. It will ruin that beautiful complexion of yours.” He ran his hand down her arm.

  Nicole was too tired to move away from him. They stood in a deeply shaded place, out of sight of the house and mill.

  “I’m glad we have this time alone,” he said, moving closer to her. “It’s strange that we live in the same house, yet we rarely have a chance to be alone, to have a private conversation.”

  Nicole didn’t want to offend him, but neither did she want to encourage him. She stepped away. “You could talk to me at any time, I hope you know that.”

  He moved near her again, his hand running up and down her arm, caressing it. “You’re the only one here who understands me.” He spoke in French, moving his face closer to hers. “We’re from the same country, the same people. No one else knows what France is like now. We’re drawn closer together by our common bond.”

  “I consider myself an American now.” She answered him in English.

  “How can you? You are French as I am French. We are of the great Courtalains. Think how we could continue the line.”

  Nicole’s back straightened as she glared at him. “How dare you!” she gasped. “Do you forget my mother? You are married to her, yet you proposition me like some scullery maid.”

  “How can I forget her when her screams nearly drive me mad? Do you think there is a minute that I’m not aware that I am bound to her? What can she give me? Can she give me children? I am a man, a healthy man, and I deserve children.” He grabbed her, pulled her close to him. “You are the only one. In all of this heathen country, you are the only one worthy to be the mother of my children. Yo
u are a Courtalain! Our children’s blood would flow with the blue of kings.”

  It took Nicole a second to comprehend what he was saying. She felt her stomach turn over when she did understand. There were no words to express her feelings. She slapped him hard.

  Gerard released her immediately and put his hand over his cheek. “You will pay for this,” he whispered. “You will be sorry you ever treated me like one of these filthy Americans. I will make you know who I am.”

  Nicole turned away and went back to the garden. Janie had been right about Gerard after all. She vowed to stay away from the little Frenchman as much as possible.

  Two weeks later, Wes brought the news that Clayton had married Bianca.

  She braced herself against the impact of the news.

  “I tried to reason with him,” Wes said. “But you know how stubborn Clay is. He’s never stopped loving you. When he heard about the annulment, he stayed drunk for four days. One of his men found him by the side of the swamp in the south pasture.”

  “I assume he sobered up for his wedding,” she said coldly.

  “He said he did it for the child. Goddamn him! I can’t understand how he could stomach going to bed with that cow.”

  He caught Nicole’s arm as she turned away. “I’m sorry I said that. I didn’t mean to hurt you.”

  “How could you hurt me? Mr. Armstrong means nothing to me.”

  Wes stood quietly and watched her go. He could strangle Clay for what he’d done to that beautiful young woman.

  Arundel Hall was filthy. It hadn’t been cleaned in months. Bianca sat quietly at the dining table, eating ice cream and sugar cookies. Her enormous belly stuck out in front of her so far she looked as if she were about to deliver the child at any moment.

  Clay came into the house, stopping at the dining room door. His clothes were muddy, his shirt torn. There were circles under his eyes, and his hair was plastered to his head from sweat. “What a lovely sight to come home to,” he said loudly. “My wife. Soon to be mother of my child.”

  Bianca ignored him but continued slowly to eat the delicious, cold, rich ice cream.

  “Eating for two, my dear?” he asked. When he got no response, he went upstairs. Dirty clothes were slung everywhere. He pulled open a drawer and saw that it was empty. No longer were there clean, mended shirts waiting for him.

  He cursed and slammed the drawer, then went out of the house, walking quickly toward the river. He spent very little time at home now. His days he spent in the fields; his evenings he sat alone in the library and drank until he thought he could sleep. Even then, he rarely did.

  At the river, he stripped off his clothes and dove into the water. After his bath, he stretched out on the grassy shore and fell asleep.

  When he woke, it was night, and for a moment he didn’t know where he was. In a dazed, half-awake, half-asleep mood, he walked back to the house.

  He heard the moaning as soon as he entered the house. Quickly, he shook himself out of the sleep. Bianca lay curled at the foot of the stairs, her hand holding her stomach.

  He knelt beside her. “What is it? Did you fall?”

  She rolled her eyes at him. “Help me,” she gasped. “The baby.”

  Clay didn’t touch her but ran from the house to get the plantation midwife. Within minutes he was back, the woman following him. Bianca lay just as he’d left her. He lit a lantern as the woman bent over Bianca.

  She ran her hands over Bianca’s still form, and when she held them up to the light they were bloody. “Can you get her upstairs?”

  Clay set the lantern down and lifted Bianca. The veins in his neck stood out as he strained to get her heavy form up the stairs. He laid her gently on the bed.

  “Go get Maggie,” the midwife said. “I’ll need help for this one.”

  Clay sat in his library, drinking steadily while Maggie and the midwife tended to Bianca.

  Maggie quietly opened the door. “She lost the baby,” she said quietly.

  Clay looked at her in amazement. Then he smiled. “Lost the baby, did she?”

  “Clay,” Maggie said. She didn’t like the look in his eye. “I wish you’d stop drinking.”

  He poured another glass of bourbon. “Aren’t you supposed to comfort me? Shouldn’t you tell me there will be other children?”

  “There won’t be,” the midwife said from the door. “She’s a heavy woman, and when she went down those stairs, she went hard. There’s a lot of damage inside her, especially to her female workin’s. I’m not sure she’s gonna live.”

  Clay drained the bourbon and refilled the glass. “She’ll live. I have no doubt of that. People like Bianca don’t die easily.”

  “Clayton!” Maggie commanded. “You’re taking this too hard.” She went to him and put her hand on his. “Please stop drinking. You won’t be fit for a day’s work tomorrow if you don’t.”

  “Work,” he said, and smiled. “Why should I work? What for? For my darling wife? For the son she just lost?” He drank some more bourbon, then began to laugh. It was an ugly laugh.

  “Clay,” Maggie said.

  “Get out of here! Can’t a man be alone once in a while?”

  Slowly, the women left the room.

  When the sun came up, Clay was still drinking, still waiting for the forgetfulness the drink would bring.

  In the fields, the hands started their day’s work. It was unusual not to see Clay watching them. Toward afternoon, they began to slow down. It was nice not to have the boss looking over their shoulders. By the fourth day, when Clay still did not come to the fields, some of the men didn’t bother to go to work at all.

  Chapter 19

  IT WAS AUGUST OF 1796, ONE YEAR LATER.

  Nicole stood on top of the hill and looked down at her property. Putting her hands at the small of her back, she massaged her tired muscles. It helped to ease the pain if she could see what had caused her fatigue. The hot August sun blazed down on the tall tobacco plants. The cotton would soon be bursting its pods. The golden wheat, almost ripe, waved gently in the breeze. The sound of the millstones, grinding evenly and steadily, floated up to her. One of the twins yelled, and Nicole smiled at Janie’s sharp reprimand.

  It had been well over a year since her marriage had been annulled. She realized that she marked all time from that hour in the judge’s office. Since that fateful day, she’d done little besides work. Every morning, she was up before daylight, seeing to the mill, to the crops that were planted and harvested. The first time she’d taken her crops to market, the men had laughed, thinking they’d be able to get her produce for a low price. But Nicole wouldn’t allow herself to be cheated; she drove a hard bargain. When she left the market, she was smiling, while the male buyers were frowning and shaking their heads. Wesley walked beside her and laughed.

  This year, she’d enlarged her land holdings. She’d used all her crop money from last year and bought more land. She now owned one hundred twenty-five acres of land on the high side of the river. It had good drainage, fertile soil. She had a little trouble with erosion, but she and Isaac had spent some of the winter months laying stone fields. They’d also cleared the new land. It had been hard, cold work, but they’d done it. Then, early this spring, they’d set out tobacco plants, then seeded the other fields. There was a kitchen garden, a milk cow, and chickens by the house.

  The house itself had not changed. Every penny had gone into improving the land. Adele and Gerard had one side of the attic, Janie and Nicole the other. The twins slept on pallets downstairs. It was a crowded existence, but they’d all learned to get along. Janie and Gerard rarely spoke to each other, each pretending the other didn’t exist. Adele still lived in a dream world of prerevolutionary France. Nicole had been able to persuade her mother that the twins were her grandchildren and that Adele must personally help educate them. For days she’d be an excellent tutor. She’d spice the children’s lessons with fascinating tales of her life at Court. She told about when she was a child, about the odd habit
s of the king and queen of France. At least, the habits sounded strange to the children. Once Adele told the story of how the queen had her clothes brought to her every day in wicker baskets lined with new green taffeta. The taffeta was never reused and was given to the servants. The twins had dressed themselves in green leaves and pretended they were Adele’s servants. She was delighted.

  Yet, sometimes, some little thing would set Adele off, and her fragile peacefulness would be shattered. Once, Mandy tied a red ribbon about her neck and Adele saw the child. It reminded her of her friends’ executions, and she screamed for hours. The twins were no longer frightened of Adele’s screams. They merely shrugged and went away or ran for Nicole to go to her mother. After a few days, in which Adele cringed in fear talking of murder and death, she’d return to her fantasy world. Never was she aware of the present, that she was in America, that France was far away. She knew only Nicole and the twins, tolerated Janie, and looked at Gerard as if he didn’t exist. She was never allowed to meet strangers, who frightened her horribly.

  Gerard seemed to be content that his wife had no idea who he was. Once she saw Nicole, Adele seemed to forget all the time she’d spent in jail and the time at Gerard’s parents’ house. To Nicole, she spoke of her husband and her father as if they were still alive, as if they would come home at any moment.

  Gerard stood away from the rest of the people in Nicole’s house. He made himself an outsider. He had not been the same since the day Nicole had slapped him. He would go away for days at a time and return in the middle of the night, giving no explanation of where he went. When he was at home, he often sat by the fire and watched Nicole, stared at her until she dropped stitches in her knitting or stuck a needle in her finger. He never said anything more about marrying Nicole, but sometimes she wished he would. At odd times, when she caught him staring at her, she wished he’d confront her and they could have a good argument. But she felt foolish every time she thought of it. He wasn’t doing anything wrong when he watched her.